tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20932085088799759202024-03-19T04:54:00.948-07:00Love at First LayoverTravel: Smarter, Better, FurtherSamanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03692438649665155641noreply@blogger.comBlogger143125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2093208508879975920.post-2459287580036388672022-08-07T07:04:00.005-07:002022-08-07T07:06:27.609-07:00What Are We Working For?<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My morning laziness led to a painful internal confrontation about work and money and the meaning of life and salvation and all that...</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was unsettling, so I thought I'd write it down so I can stop thinking about it.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioxlO-OBhQKT6NoGr7s4A6n41LQMVxklArXY-g09esQjivKbm9wsrOXSwrpbMGP3lNxfyJgfOJb7KiXghGZQjzJFk6ZZEQEAoV-zrzEFUQqLENWsf3w6ZOFFSSLo-oRhYDytBoPk3qvjUyhZV3RdK2zekCRRWseTT5OKJjjJaQG5PLpzmifTl02cI_/s960/svaneti%20bells.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioxlO-OBhQKT6NoGr7s4A6n41LQMVxklArXY-g09esQjivKbm9wsrOXSwrpbMGP3lNxfyJgfOJb7KiXghGZQjzJFk6ZZEQEAoV-zrzEFUQqLENWsf3w6ZOFFSSLo-oRhYDytBoPk3qvjUyhZV3RdK2zekCRRWseTT5OKJjjJaQG5PLpzmifTl02cI_/w300-h400/svaneti%20bells.jpg" width="300" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In a slow, situational-depression-influenced cascade of poor decisions, my sleep cycle is currently in a state of disruption.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Thus, my very well-meaning plan of going to the 7:30 am service at the church near my apartment became a plan to go to the 10 am service, which became a plan to watch a live streamed service at home.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Since I'm in Bangkok, Sunday morning in the U.S. hadn't happened yet, so I decided to watch an old recording - literally the first result that popped up on my TV's YouTube app when I searched "UMC service." I didn't think too much, just wanted something familiar and easy.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It turned out to be this: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tBiHfTYjTpY">TuckerFirst UMC Traditional Service 09/05/2021</a>. </span></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img alt="Tucker First United Methodist Church - Tucker, GA | Methodist Church near me" class="n3VNCb KAlRDb" data-noaft="1" height="400" src="https://www.joinmychurch.com/images/church-pictures/thumb/320/church-picture-81022-1.jpg" style="height: 320px; margin: 0px auto; width: 320px;" width="400" /></span></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It's cute.<br /></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> It was a bit strange to hear the outdated announcements about people and a community I didn't know and wasn't a part of (I looked it up - the church is in a suburb of Atlanta, Georgia). As the date indicates, it was Labor Day weekend, and the sermon was related to, you guessed it, <i>labor</i>.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The U.S. Department of Labor writes that "Labor Day is an annual celebration of the social and economic achievements of American workers. The holiday is rooted in the late nineteenth century, when labor activists pushed for a federal holiday to recognize the many contributions workers have made to America’s strength, prosperity, and well-being."</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Very nice.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The workers' movements, union fights, communism vs. capitalism, Karl Marx debates feel long resolved. Now, when we talk about socialism in the U.S., it's mainly as a dog whistle for Bernie Sanders, AOC, and their ilk, with conservatives fearing that socialism will mean government control of everything and having to give away their hard earned money to undeserving lazy, poors. As <a href="https://www.jstor.org/stable/24027184">Fukuyama explained in 1989</a>, capitalism has won, communism has lost, and the liberal democratic world order has been solidly established as the superior model, which will only grow and spread until all the world is at peace within an interconnected global economy. Right??</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But I, as a (wannabe) Sovietologist who maybe wishes she were born into the political climate of the early Cold War rather than the War on Terror, know better. I know the history of the October Revolution, the rise and evolution of Marxism and Leninism, the hopeful ideals of early communist thinking. I've marveled at the dreamscape art of the Russian avant-garde communist futurism movement, and the farmer and factory worker idealized through socialist realism. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img alt="On the Farm in Winter – На ферме зимой" itemprop="image" src="https://www.digitalsovietart.com/images/paintings/29888/5b5ffcb609554-570x404.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></span></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I have a poster very similar to this hanging in the study of my Tbilisi apartment</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Want to revel in this with me for a moment?</b></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Statues that <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=soviet+statues+of+workers&client=firefox-b-d&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiOl7eQgbT5AhWwTGwGHS-tBVAQ_AUoAXoECAIQAw&biw=1536&bih=684&dpr=1.25">glorify workers</a> and <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=soviet+statues+of+mothers&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwjmxuiRgbT5AhUVjtgFHSRHDacQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=soviet+statues+of+mothers&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQA1DLAViBB2DjB2gAcAB4AIAB7QGIAZUGkgEFNy4wLjGYAQCgAQGqAQtnd3Mtd2l6LWltZ8ABAQ&sclient=img&ei=Mk_vYublNZWc4t4PpI61uAo&bih=684&biw=1536&client=firefox-b-d">mothers</a></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=socialist+realism+art&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwiMu-eW_7P5AhXcjtgFHdZ_DasQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=socialist+realism+art&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQAzIECAAQQzIFCAAQgAQyBQgAEIAEMgUIABCABDIGCAAQHhAFMgYIABAeEAUyBggAEB4QBTIGCAAQHhAFMgYIABAeEAgyBAgAEBhQgQFY2AVgwQZoAHAAeACAAVmIAZoDkgEBNZgBAKABAaoBC2d3cy13aXotaW1nwAEB&sclient=img&ei=JE3vYoyZHdyd4t4P1v-12Ao&bih=684&biw=1536&client=firefox-b-d#imgrc=JJMCkRJLEEwlBM">Socialist realism art</a></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://oknasocrealisma.com/en/">Very cool online gallery of socialist realism, even with pieces for sale! </a><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://gendersociety.wordpress.com/2018/08/10/the-unfinished-gender-revolution-lessons-from-russia/">“Down with Kitchen Slavery! Yes to a new way of life!” Poster - 1931</a></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://i.pinimg.com/736x/33/53/e2/3353e2248a079b8f72faeb16d8118d5b.jpg">Liberation from kitchen slavery, poster</a></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://thecharnelhouse.org/2014/07/05/radical-chic-avant-garde-fashion-design-in-the-soviet-1920s/">Avant-garde Soviet fashion </a></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=early+soviet+design+futurism&client=firefox-b-d&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiJz6PMhbT5AhUL7jgGHRcJB6kQ_AUoAXoECAEQAw#imgrc=3Oox-Tfve_agCM">Some cool, weird Soviet Jetsons designs in here </a></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://sovietmodernism.com/2015/12/29/ministry-of-roads-building-tbilisi-georgia/">Some of that design was even, eventually, realized </a><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b> -------------------------------------------------------</b></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Of course, the whole underpinning of the overthrow of the Russian empire and the formation of the Soviet Union was based on the Marxist principle that the proletariat (the<i> laborers</i>) should own the means of production, rather than the bourgeoisie. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">While studying this idea in university, I wasn't totally sure what side of the dialectic I was on. In modern society, it's much harder to identify the "means of production" in the same clear way that Marx could. An entrepreneur can make millions with just a computer. Is the "means" in this case the common laptop? An education? Capital? Staff? Artists and creators can <i>produce </i>and share and sell their work all over the world through the internet. In intellectual, office work, are people themselves the means of production? Who owns the workers? </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">If you own a business and employ someone, does that make you part of the bourgeoisie? If you have a job, are you part of the proletariat, or must it be manual labor? We no longer live in a society based on feudal principles. No longer is there a strict dichotomy between a toiling lower class and an aristocratic upper class that earns passive rent and profit on that labor, spending their time pontificating on philosophy and creating art.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I'm sure these questions have been asked and studied and talked and written to death in modern scholarship, but I pretty much stopped following the history of labor and communist theory after the Soviet Union fell apart in 1991 - Fukuyama got me good. It was even a comforting thought that the struggle was over, the <a href="https://www.jstor.org/stable/20045621">Clash of Civilizations</a> had been resolved. It was our (<i>wealthy white westerners</i>) job now to spread the gospel of liberal democracy and the invisible hand to the less enlightened corners of the world. Prosperity will come through economic and social development, which is only hampered by corrupt, militaristic dictators who hold their people down for selfish personal gain, which perhaps justifies assassinations and propagandistic manipulation, and nation toppling and nation building. And maybe that's true. To a degree, I believe it myself, but I also feel a profound, unsatisfying emptiness in it all. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img alt="Persecution of Christians in the Soviet Union - Wikipedia" class="n3VNCb KAlRDb" data-noaft="1" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/72/Christ_saviour_explosion.jpg" style="height: 446.063px; margin: 0px auto; width: 585px;" /></span></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Demolition of Christ the Savior Cathedral in Moscow, 1931</i><br />(They turned it into an awesome outdoor public swimming pool,<br />then rebuilt the church in 2000. <br />In 2012 Pussy Riot sang their "Punk Prayer" on the alter, and in<br />2013 they wouldn't let me in because my dress was too short...)<br /></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPuiHXDXGEHXLG8mKnVVLwaAcgOkO3IGTZ1K6BFJMpOmQEv_sSLE-GBEV3RykmtYHTUfnXbbb9VkX_R9KpUbNI-V_svsIb0UVGRuZGqP2pp_Vfg5-l5q7FwCausJIXpCN2v50SEBQi6eFBqeXywfcnAPxyz1Ecd5AloQDCo_55LE2oR8v_rbYyqJ4S/s2048/moscow%20christ%20the%20savior.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPuiHXDXGEHXLG8mKnVVLwaAcgOkO3IGTZ1K6BFJMpOmQEv_sSLE-GBEV3RykmtYHTUfnXbbb9VkX_R9KpUbNI-V_svsIb0UVGRuZGqP2pp_Vfg5-l5q7FwCausJIXpCN2v50SEBQi6eFBqeXywfcnAPxyz1Ecd5AloQDCo_55LE2oR8v_rbYyqJ4S/w480-h640/moscow%20christ%20the%20savior.jpg" width="480" /></a></span></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">very cool me circa 2013...I still have this dress...<br /></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That's part of why I am spiritual - it gives me peace to recognize that there is a massive, cosmic mystery that it's impossible to understand completely. It's okay that we don't have the answers. Of course life is unsatisfying - it's not the end, not the goal. So at some point in my teen years I decided that the only thing that mattered in life was love - in all its forms and all its verbiage (give, receive, show, spread), and my purpose was to try and alleviate others' suffering as much as I can. And striving for that purpose will give this life meaning. <br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This brings me back to the labor day sermon. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It's based on the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jesus_and_the_rich_young_man">gospel passage of Jesus and the 'rich young ruler/man'</a> - this is where Jesus utters that famous (and always, for me, horrifying) phrase "it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven."<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">You can <a href="https://youtu.be/tBiHfTYjTpY?t=1807">listen to it here</a>, but if you're impatient like me, I paraphrased her excellent sermon below:<br /></span></span></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The word "weekend" appeared in the English common vernacular in 1879 - less than 150 years ago</span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Before that, people more or less worked everyday, with the occasional Sunday off for church </span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But people kept coming to work hungover, or calling out sick on Monday, so English factories expanded to a half-Saturday off as well</span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Then, a mill in New England wanted to be fair to their Jewish employees so let everyone off all day Saturday and all day Sunday</span></span></li></ul><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> </span><span> </span>(<a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/business/archive/2014/08/where-the-five-day-workweek-came-from/378870/">A lot of the research seems to have come from this Atlantic article</a>)</span></span></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In 1938, the Fair Labor Standards Act cemented the two-day weekend into law in the US (it also instituted a minimum wage, limited child labor, and required overtime pay)<br /></span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In 1928, economist John Maynard Keynes wrote that technological advancement would bring the workweek down to 15 hours within 100 years</span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A 1965 Senate subcommittee predicted Americans would work 14-hour weeks by the year 2000 (lol)</span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So, what happened? There are a few theories...</span></span></li><ul><li><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">1) Instead of taking time off, we starting buying more stuff, as in the ~1960s new corporate marketing techniques convinced Americans to covet things they never saw as essential before, which required more money, and thus more hours, even as pay for those hours increased</span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">2) Instead of taking time off, work itself became idealized - phrases like "the protestant work ethic," and "the American dream," emphasize that working long, hard hours is part of what it takes to be a morally upstanding citizen. Grind culture is a thing - it is admirable and advantageous to be constantly working, on, and available, being the first one in and last one to leave.</span></span></li></ul><li><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Surely, hard work is a virtue, but <b>working for what?</b></span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b> </b>"Is working hard at winning at hard work worth working for?"</span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She summarizes the gospel passage:</span></span></li></ul><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="text Mark-10-17"><sup class="versenum">17 </sup>As He was setting out on a journey, a man ran up to Him and knelt before Him, and asked Him, “Good Teacher, what shall I do so that I may inherit eternal life?”</span> <span class="text Mark-10-18" id="en-NASB-24601"><sup class="versenum">18 </sup>But Jesus said to him, <span class="woj">“Why do you call Me good? No one is good except God alone.</span></span> <span class="text Mark-10-19" id="en-NASB-24602"><span class="woj"><sup class="versenum">19 </sup>You know the commandments: ‘<span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Do not murder, Do not commit adultery, Do not steal, Do not give false testimony</span>, Do not defraud, <span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Honor your father and mother</span>.’”</span></span> <span class="text Mark-10-20" id="en-NASB-24603"><sup class="versenum">20 </sup>And he said to Him, “Teacher, I have kept all these things from my youth.”</span> <span class="text Mark-10-21" id="en-NASB-24604"><sup class="versenum">21 </sup>Looking at him, Jesus showed love to him and said to him, <span class="woj">“One thing you lack: go and sell all you possess and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow Me.”</span></span> <span class="text Mark-10-22" id="en-NASB-24605"><sup class="versenum">22 </sup>But he <sup class="footnote" data-fn="#fen-NASB-24605a" data-link="[<a href="#fen-NASB-24605a" title="See footnote a">a</a>]">[<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Mark%2010%3A17-27&version=NASB#fen-NASB-24605a" title="See footnote a">a</a>]</sup>was deeply dismayed by <sup class="footnote" data-fn="#fen-NASB-24605b" data-link="[<a href="#fen-NASB-24605b" title="See footnote b">b</a>]">[<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Mark%2010%3A17-27&version=NASB#fen-NASB-24605b" title="See footnote b">b</a>]</sup>these words, and he went away grieving; for he was one who owned much property.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="text Mark-10-23" id="en-NASB-24606"><sup class="versenum">23 </sup>And Jesus, looking around, *said to His disciples, <span class="woj">“How hard it will be for those who are wealthy to enter the kingdom of God!”</span></span> <span class="text Mark-10-24" id="en-NASB-24607"><sup class="versenum">24 </sup>And the disciples were amazed at His words. But Jesus responded again and *said to them, <span class="woj">“Children, how hard it is to enter the kingdom of God!</span></span> <span class="text Mark-10-25" id="en-NASB-24608"><span class="woj"><sup class="versenum">25 </sup>It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God.”</span></span> <span class="text Mark-10-26" id="en-NASB-24609"><sup class="versenum">26 </sup>And they were even more astonished, and said to Him, “<sup class="footnote" data-fn="#fen-NASB-24609c" data-link="[<a href="#fen-NASB-24609c" title="See footnote c">c</a>]">[<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Mark%2010%3A17-27&version=NASB#fen-NASB-24609c" title="See footnote c">c</a>]</sup>Then who can be saved?”</span> <span class="text Mark-10-27" id="en-NASB-24610"><sup class="versenum">27 </sup>Looking at them, Jesus *said, <span class="woj">“With people it is impossible, but not with God; for all things are possible with God.”</span></span></span></span></p><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She emphasizes a few things from the passage:</span></span></li><ul><li><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Jesus repeats not all the commandments, but the ones that are about human relationships, about how we treat one another - though he changes 'do not covet' to 'do not defraud' - maybe a subtle reference to this guy's wealth?</span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When Jesus is about to drop the bomb, he "looked at the man and loved him" - he didn't call him greedy, or a capitalist pig, he didn't look at him with righteous indignation or moral superiority. Jesus understood how hard this was. We love our stuff; it gives us a sense of security. <br /></span></span></li></ul><li><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This was a shocking teaching for the disciples, and it should be shocking to us today.</span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Surely Jesus doesn't mean <i>all </i>our possessions, right? We need our houses and cars and 401Ks. Surely this is a metaphor, right? Maybe...or maybe not. Certainly people like Saint Francis and Mother Theresa took it literally.</span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This was a shocking teaching also because in Jesus' time, wealth was looked at as a blessing, as a sign that God favored you, that you were worthy of respect - it's not so different today. <br /></span></span></li></ul><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Of course, we know that Jesus was a social justice warrior, an anarchist, a disrupter of the social and economic order. But still, damn. To think just how radical that suggestion was - to give up everything and <i>embrace </i>poverty, rather than chasing even the little comfort that could be afforded to the working poor at that time and place? Wild. <br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Okay, back to the sermon. Here's the upshot.<br /></span></span></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The disciples aren't feeling it. They already abandoned their families and possessions to follow and serve Jesus, and they want to be sure that they will be saved. But instead of reassuring them, Jesus says, essentially, no mortal can save themselves, but they can only be saved by God.<br /></span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Then she talks about *grace*, which is beautiful, but not really to the point of my ruminations on labor and wealth and duty... </span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She quotes a colleague, who said something lovely inspired by van Gogh: "Work isn't successful because of an outcome, work is successful if it glorifies God."</span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Grace frees us to work for beauty and justice and connection to the holy instead of just working for ourselves. </span></span></li></ul><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Even if you're not religious, I think most people would agree that beauty, justice, and love are things worth working for - maybe even the only things worth working for. So why is it so hard? I think there is an essential contradiction in this world. The outcome that feels the most right, the most pure and true, the outcome we all agree we want for tomorrow, can't be reached through actions that feel good<i> </i>today. That outcome can only be reached by doing things that are in total opposition to the way the world urges us to act, and what gives us immediate satisfaction. In fact, lots of things (most things?) that give us immediate satisfaction are things we regret later, or take us further away from our goals. I wish I was the kind of person who thinks before they speak, and is careful and thoughtful and strategic in all their actions, but I am an impatient, impulsive, often aggressive person who usually ends up making rash decisions that come back to bite me. </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3RlYp58dALkVdDn2W6le9nx60ut4HSHrz6yE9Pe1F9zPdeLh5I-TORAinKhrwSE3paHFSF8UiLCbIa2ucD9W_GPrh7VVhfL1hyh6OWw7CAkG6VOb2axfa1YzOyf5KvQTJkodcrvNqV6v5Dkkcoufnhs4895ZjGZ4M8EmxUWDnD1bieT6AVGCchzu9/s2048/big%20gun%20tula.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3RlYp58dALkVdDn2W6le9nx60ut4HSHrz6yE9Pe1F9zPdeLh5I-TORAinKhrwSE3paHFSF8UiLCbIa2ucD9W_GPrh7VVhfL1hyh6OWw7CAkG6VOb2axfa1YzOyf5KvQTJkodcrvNqV6v5Dkkcoufnhs4895ZjGZ4M8EmxUWDnD1bieT6AVGCchzu9/w300-h400/big%20gun%20tula.jpg" width="300" /></a></span></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">at the Tula weapons museum being dumb, as always<br /></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sometimes, I wish that I could separate myself from the world. That's one thing traveling gives you - allows you to be a person apart from their community, their family, their country, their identity. It tests you, lets you see who you are at your core. But that freedom doesn't last forever. Unless you're a monk, I suppose, which is why monks wall themselves off from the world. Maybe this is why I've always loved <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/985/985-h/985-h.htm">Tolstoy's Father Sergius</a>.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Living in community with others is essential, but it means that we can't avoid comparing ourselves to others. It's the grass is always greener phenomenon - why <a href="https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwirrfnq0LT5AhVflIkEHeeVA98QFnoECFAQAQ&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.forbes.com%2Fsites%2Fannahaines%2F2021%2F04%2F27%2Ffrom-instagram-face-to-snapchat-dysmorphia-how-beauty-filters-are-changing-the-way-we-see-ourselves%2F&usg=AOvVaw1Sr19W5FQVT8LQeYcXdQLf">Instagram gives young girls depression and body dysmorphia</a>, why <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/travel/2022/03/31/finland-happiest-country/">the Fins are so happy</a>, and why <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/global/2017/may/11/outclassed-neighbors-income-happiness">living next to wealthier neighbors makes people less happy</a>. </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In the gospel story, the rich man walks away upset, grieving. My immediate thought was that he is grieving for his possessions that he would have to give up. When I think about this religious duty, and/or moral imperative, to <a href="https://www.stuff.co.nz/national/119436810/peter-singer-youve-got-to-give-till-it-almost-hurts">give until it hurts</a>, it tangles up my brain. It feels both right and wrong. I find myself making justifications - but I'm not rich! When I'm rich (aka when it's easy), I'll give away all my excess wealth. But I've thought that for years, yet as my salary has increased, it's somehow never been enough for me to feel comfortable giving away more - instead, my retirement savings have grown, and so has my consumption. Someone once told me "it will never be enough," and they were very right. I didn't understand at the time, but as our salaries grow, so do our expectations, our wants and needs, and who we compare ourselves to changes. Anyone who has been working for more than a few years already knows this, I'm sure.<br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When I think about it like that, Jesus' words start to make more sense. And that Labor Day sermon feels even more true - accepting grace is the freedom from that constant comparison, that rat race, the need to level up. It's releasing the shackles of social pressures. Because the reality is that we do care what people think of us, about our social class and status, and we do measure our own and others' worth by how much we earn and how we can show that 'success.' If we could chose to measure our value with something else, to genuinely care only about how much beauty and love and justice and virtue we bring into the world, how much suffering we alleviate, how much we glorify God (whatever that means to you) in our lives, wouldn't that feel so much better? Being a monk or a nun sounds so beautiful, sometimes...so peaceful. Even being a Catholic priest. It gives you a clear-cut calling and task, and a sort of social license to not compete. For someone like me who is so instinctively competitive, the thought is liberating.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img alt="Gergeti Trinity Church (Georgian: წმინდა სამება - Tsminda Sameba) is a popular name for Holy Trinity Church near the village of Gergeti in Georgia. The church is situated on the right bank" class="n3VNCb KAlRDb" data-noaft="1" height="400" src="https://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/16/24/c6/99/gergeti-trinity-church.jpg" style="height: 450px; margin: 0px auto; width: 450px;" width="400" /></span></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Gergeti Sameba - could I live here?<br /></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div> <span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When I was a child, I used to think that if I were to be widowed at a relatively young age, especially if I had grown children, I would join a convent, and devote my remaining time and energy to serving others. The older I get, the more I dig myself into the material world, and the more I rely on my bank account and my possessions for comfort and security. The idea of ever absconding to the abbey sounds ludicrous. I increasingly romanticize rural life, too, getting a piece of land and comparing myself only to the birds and the flowers and the little old ladies down the road, measuring my success by what I can grow and build through my own work and the blessings of nature. But even that dream has gone from isolated mountain top cabin to a Martha Stewart style ranch compound with attractions for visitors (the money has to come from somewhere!), and coming into the city a few days a month to give inspirational speeches and to consult on the agriculture industry.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I've even caught myself feeling, just for a second, a horrible jealousy for those who lose everything in a fire or to war. They get to start again from zero, to reorganize their life from scratch without the burden of what they already have. It's not so different from the economic concept of sunk cost - decisions should only be made by weighing future inputs and outcomes, without consideration of what has already been invested. Sounds good in theory, but the human mind isn't wired that way.<br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We've moved from a feudal,
agricultural society, to a factory-based, manufacturing society, to now
something else? Maybe? There are new elements: digital technology, the
growth of creative industries, welfare states. But we still have the
manufacturing sector, it has just become, through globalization,
segregated to certain parts of the world and certain workers. </span></span></div><div><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There have always been richer societies and poorer societies, but globalization has helped shift the divide of rich and poor, upper class and lower class, from being one that cuts across each society, each country, to one that cuts across the world, dividing global north from global south. </span></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img alt="File:Global North and Global South, according to the Wikimedia Foundation.svg - Wikimedia Commons" class="n3VNCb KAlRDb" data-noaft="1" height="205" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/6/69/Global_North_and_Global_South%2C_according_to_the_Wikimedia_Foundation.svg/1200px-Global_North_and_Global_South%2C_according_to_the_Wikimedia_Foundation.svg.png" style="height: 300.3px; margin: 0px auto; width: 585px;" width="400" /></span></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p> <span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Atlantic article on the 5-day work week linked above
notes that "The Great Depression cemented the two-day weekend into
the economy, as shorter hours were considered a remedy to
underemployment." - further shortening work hours could be a remedy to
anticipated future under-/unemployment brought about by automation. It's
certainly not a novel concept.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Keynes and Congress envisioned a world with less work. What happened? Why didn't the progress in lightening and shortening labor continue? If there a fear that if we work less, we will be worth less? Do we not otherwise know how to value ourselves? Or will we fill the free time we gain with more love and beauty? Better distribute the bounty of an increasingly productive global economy among the strata of society? Or will we simply consume more - media, things - without really creating much of value? Will we spend all our time in the meta verse (<a href="https://futurism.com/metaverse-communist-propaganda">which apparently smells like communist propaganda</a>)?</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Maybe COVID's transition to remote work flexibilities for office workers is the jumpstart the movement needs to continue to progress. Although the real need, from the perspective of labor rights, is not fewer hours for office drones like me, but fairer practices for the laborers of the world who still do very much toil in factories and fields. Perhaps a better person than me would spend more time and energy fighting for those causes, lifting up the downtrodden. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When I decided that the only good way to spend a life was spreading love and alleviating suffering, in the service of others, I saw two options: earn money and give it away to those in need, or commit my career to working in the systems that help those in need. That's how I ended up at USAID. As I like to think of it - spending the tax dollars of the richest country in the world to make life better for the poorest in the world. The truth is, however, moral licensing in this profession is prevalent and powerful. Even after a week of nothing but spreadsheets during the day and takeout at night in front of my HD TV in my government-provided apartment, I feel a poorly earned sense of satisfaction, of having done something worthwhile, that seems to lift the daily responsibility of service in real time. Every time I pass a beggar and don't drop a coin, or think about how much money to put in the plate at church and choose the lesser value, I soothe my own guilt by thinking - <i>but my job is worthwhile. </i>Even though, honestly, I seriously doubt the worth of my contributions to the behemoth that is the international aid and development industry. Perhaps Tolstoy got it right all along...</span></span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkzV_tPjhY1bQI6ck_QFgntgp6IsPZD4Op0E9-ce8ER9-pzh9rE6rcX7C6h5whI85H1et2IdOi3-Tin3-yrMLXfaS9zpSSLpdAB70HT9jPT8AahH-W2ZjzM_8GkUdUodYSyNsw7lU5g81j1rJaepSoe7OUfXi1ooxkJPb0tNv59FnEa9KNluNdxKkZ/s2048/tolstoy%20grave.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkzV_tPjhY1bQI6ck_QFgntgp6IsPZD4Op0E9-ce8ER9-pzh9rE6rcX7C6h5whI85H1et2IdOi3-Tin3-yrMLXfaS9zpSSLpdAB70HT9jPT8AahH-W2ZjzM_8GkUdUodYSyNsw7lU5g81j1rJaepSoe7OUfXi1ooxkJPb0tNv59FnEa9KNluNdxKkZ/w400-h300/tolstoy%20grave.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Tolstoy's grave at Yasnaya Polyana<br /></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"The less importance he attached to the opinion of men the more did he feel the presence of God within him. " - Father Sergius eventually comes to realize.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Peter Singer, the philosopher whom I first encountered in a mind blowing undergrad class called "Global Ethics," who wrote the moving theoretical essay "The Life You Can Save" that popularized Mother Theresa's quote "give until it hurts" in the frame of charitable donations, is worth $9 mil (<a href="https://www.idolnetworth.com/peter-singer-philosopher-net-worth-224198">according to this potentially very unreliable website</a>). </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Knowing the right thing to do doesn't make it easier. In fact, it might even make it harder, because feeling that you have decoded something about life and the world and humanity and good and evil and justice and morality is such an achievement in itself that, in a way, you feel that it might be enough, at least for now. Action can come later.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">All this thinking makes me realize how much I don't know...all the conversations and debates and scholarship that are happening that I am not at all aware of. Almost makes me want to go back to school! Then I remember that I am too old, it would be embarrassing to compare myself to the other students, and if I want to keep up with the Joneses, I need to make money, so anyway...<b>Happy early Labor Day!</b><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img alt="soviet-murals-3" border="0" data-zoom="zoom-class2" height="640" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-3Ab6hlgl_Fk/WfBYEpkfArI/AAAAAAABUFM/6WZqWkWzfh8NbONilF-8asGP7RD26ZjJgCHMYCw/w463-h640/soviet-murals-35?imgmax=1600" style="background-image: none; border-color: currentcolor; border-style: none; border-width: 0px; cursor: zoom-in; display: inline; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" title="soviet-murals-3" width="463" /></span></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Soviet mural in Ulan-Ude, Buryatia, Russia<br /></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><b><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><br /></b><p><b> </b></p></div>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03692438649665155641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2093208508879975920.post-30707151409655866972022-08-06T10:02:00.000-07:002022-08-06T10:02:40.702-07:00Growing On Me Like Mold<p><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="endnote text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="table of authorities"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="macro"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="toa heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Closing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Default Paragraph Font"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Message Header"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Salutation"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Date"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text First Indent"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text First Indent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Block Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Hyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="FollowedHyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Document Map"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Plain Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="E-mail Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Top of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Bottom of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal (Web)"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Acronym"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Address"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Cite"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Code"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Definition"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Keyboard"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Preformatted"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Sample"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Typewriter"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Variable"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal Table"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation subject"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="No List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Contemporary"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Elegant"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Professional"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Balloon Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Theme"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" QFormat="true"
Name="List Paragraph"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="42" Name="Plain Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="List Table 1 Light"/>
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</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><i>*It took me a really long time to get this post finished and published, so it's pretty old now, but I thought it would be nice to have a record of how I felt during those first few weeks.*</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b>Backdated: July 1, 2022</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">My new life in Bangkok hit a stumbling block when, immediately
upon arriving, I got COVID.</span></p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">I had two days of exploring the neighborhood, and on the
third I woke up with a sore throat...</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjonJ8kWGMGs4D3iPFv-lAzVjAfQGw2DFbe1LVn61NyoXNb7zBCQVzkvdMmf9ivt7ldyMR1dkxPqB7anQGq347qBN2QtjgzOI2Gl7v-ao-382PWxB2H-XSUld6sDKn12_lr4TWo9uvfxbBnhQVG-anNXJfH5N-NTugZqoP9WvYuago7rob4Xxn8QRh8/s640/IMG_7019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjonJ8kWGMGs4D3iPFv-lAzVjAfQGw2DFbe1LVn61NyoXNb7zBCQVzkvdMmf9ivt7ldyMR1dkxPqB7anQGq347qBN2QtjgzOI2Gl7v-ao-382PWxB2H-XSUld6sDKn12_lr4TWo9uvfxbBnhQVG-anNXJfH5N-NTugZqoP9WvYuago7rob4Xxn8QRh8/w300-h400/IMG_7019.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">faint line apparently still counts<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">I spent the next ten days in my apartment, stewing in my limited
impressions of the city, frustrated that, after the first three days, I felt
completely healthy, yet trapped. <br /></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">To be honest, I did sneak out a few times – swimming in the pool at odd hours when there was no one else there and lounging on the
pool deck in the shade until I got too sweaty, sitting in the garden in the
front of the building until I got too sweaty, walking (mask on!) through the
neighborhood <i>sois</i> (side streets) until I got too sweaty. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Somerset Park Suanplu Bangkok (SHA Extra Plus), Bangkok | 2022 Updated Prices, Deals" class="n3VNCb KAlRDb" data-noaft="1" src="https://pix10.agoda.net/hotelImages/74361/-1/d849fa7552e91134d9ec158c013beda8.jpg?ca=9&ce=1&s=1024x768" style="height: 438.75px; margin: 0px auto; width: 585px;" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the pool in our building<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <br /></span></div><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">I explored Lazada (a sort of Thai Alibaba or Amazon), ordering
cheap puzzles and shelf liner and a measuring tape, looking for projects to occupy
my time. I also worked, of course, but I’d been working from home for months
now, and, maybe for the first time in my life, I was genuinely excited to go to
the office and meet in person the team I have been working with since January, so continuing online work was underwhelming.</span></p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Bangkok has been largely an experience of moisture
(see paragraph above on sneaking out, and below on climate) and of scent. So far, I am not a fan. Here are the top things that are making it difficult for me to like this city.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b>1. Smells</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Everything smells. Sometimes good, mostly bad. You get a painful olfactory whiplash from how quickly smells change. Walking on the street, every 10 steps or so the scent landscape shifts. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Gasoline --> grilling meats --> garbage --> sewage --> burnt cooking oil --> garbage --> fetid canal water --> incense from a little shrine --> garbage.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">It's not ideal.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiyZfLfr_taBYkNMhHCCiyynpfBeIxGEqnb_DOBNaKle5boipqdwEpOdPJTtJU-VBgN3p-lrNQUcOHl_xF4NOFZN06o6UbGEsLrYYWA8w_GgQY1YdW_2jgV27qTHDXkaJ8JOVwWwYnMz4z3wfmdsbCE8HaYDUtCZ1aIYum9aMPYXTVMAO36_YgQW9R/s640/IMG_6951.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiyZfLfr_taBYkNMhHCCiyynpfBeIxGEqnb_DOBNaKle5boipqdwEpOdPJTtJU-VBgN3p-lrNQUcOHl_xF4NOFZN06o6UbGEsLrYYWA8w_GgQY1YdW_2jgV27qTHDXkaJ8JOVwWwYnMz4z3wfmdsbCE8HaYDUtCZ1aIYum9aMPYXTVMAO36_YgQW9R/w300-h400/IMG_6951.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">road.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzZ4IUuMk2-oFM5zjEHA_WNrklfRYHzkeIK9HLdpoDTuspAytLwBygy3M10W9Bh4AELxGyCd9g3D4Ti6kTZVxZF5yTtxyUVTpTDeekmsKiG_JqXNuRWpI4pYTVKkTyoyTnd4-L9asZ9ci0xByuZnkoZQh8I2w1_lFImEJLBOPfVRsLOpO_s07rZBiX/s640/IMG_6989.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzZ4IUuMk2-oFM5zjEHA_WNrklfRYHzkeIK9HLdpoDTuspAytLwBygy3M10W9Bh4AELxGyCd9g3D4Ti6kTZVxZF5yTtxyUVTpTDeekmsKiG_JqXNuRWpI4pYTVKkTyoyTnd4-L9asZ9ci0xByuZnkoZQh8I2w1_lFImEJLBOPfVRsLOpO_s07rZBiX/w400-h300/IMG_6989.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">sidewalk.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3vqbj-VVXcQMmpemBy9njorA2WSRcvD_2iDfmDSYxU2LLDDsx05B5z2q3vajnNBzhVIg0xhl27Kb--RjP4hE_HMlUket0qauP_gWfef1mtu-JVMz4JvUVIOhFwYdgNSgt6wLqIZm1pyDeWZ2rxwpeywxngKuZPHKrxfayL-dR8g9lw2B2e4zhn7k2/s640/IMG_7005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3vqbj-VVXcQMmpemBy9njorA2WSRcvD_2iDfmDSYxU2LLDDsx05B5z2q3vajnNBzhVIg0xhl27Kb--RjP4hE_HMlUket0qauP_gWfef1mtu-JVMz4JvUVIOhFwYdgNSgt6wLqIZm1pyDeWZ2rxwpeywxngKuZPHKrxfayL-dR8g9lw2B2e4zhn7k2/w300-h400/IMG_7005.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">a section of a building painted whimsically</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b>2. Hot and Humid</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">This climate is very new for me.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><span>I grew up (ish) in Riyadh, KSA, where it was extremely hot, but dry. I was often dehydrated because I refused to drink warm water, and bottles kept out of the fridge for any period of time quickly grew warm. </span><span>When I started wearing an </span><a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=+abaya+black&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwiAyJqM3Kz5AhWGj9gFHSOfA9sQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=+abaya+black&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQAzIECAAQQzIFCAAQgAQyBQgAEIAEMgUIABCABDIFCAAQgAQyBQgAEIAEMgUIABCABDIFCAAQgAQyBQgAEIAEMgUIABCABFD_Alj_AmDUBWgAcAB4AIABSIgBhgGSAQEymAEAoAEBqgELZ3dzLXdpei1pbWfAAQE&sclient=img&ei=1HzrYoCOM4af4t4Po76O2A0&bih=577&biw=1280&safe=active&ssui=on" target="_blank">abaya</a><span> at age 9, the black fabric felt stifling, and I wanted to go out in public less and less. </span>The rare semi-annual thunderstorm was an occasion for getting soaked dancing in the rain and making potions in empty pots. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">I spent most of my youth in rural coastal Virginia, where it's humid but not so hot for most of the year, and anyway you're either outside in nature very intentionally enjoying the heat, or inside, moving between air conditioned spaces. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Tbilisi is both hot and humid (though the humidity is nothing compared to SE Asia) in July-August, but the rest of the year is mild and seasonal. Spring and fall are particularly beautiful, and the little snow that falls in the winter is a special treat.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Bangkok is a different beast altogether. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">It's <i>so</i> humid here in the rainy season that mold is ubiquitous. Even in the glitzy high rise where my office is located, the caulking around the bathroom sinks is speckled with mold. I change out my bath towel every two days otherwise it gets mildewy (plus I shower much more often here). </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">It's the kind of heat that, standing still, sweat begins to bead up all over your body. The kind of heat that makes the sunscreen melt and drip off your skin. The kind of heat that makes you cut corners and take shortcuts and bend the rules. The kind of heat that drives people crazy.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">The rain often comes suddenly, with heavy clouds replacing clear skies in a matter of minutes. I now keep an umbrella in the office just in case I miscalculate and need one during the work day. It cools things down, but only for the briefest time before it becomes a steam room. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">I've only been in Bangkok in the rainy season - people say the dry, clear blue skies and comparatively cool 90-degree days of "winter" are lovely, but we'll see...</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">I will say that I love the intense thunderstorms that happen almost every night this time of year. From my apartment windows I have a wide view of the city and often see crazy lightning strikes and flashes that light up the whole sky.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b>3. Intense</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">I know that I am more of a country person than a city person. Even so, I can get into city life! I love being able to walk to cool shops and restaurants, I love a vibrant café culture, I love diversity (of people, food, events) and having lots of options for arts and culture.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Unfortunately, Bangkok is not currently offering me any of that.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">I can't walk anywhere in this damn weather - too hot, too wet, or both. Even if I just embrace the sweat, dress properly, slather on SPF, still it's unpleasant because sidewalks are poorly maintained, and only exist on major streets where there are cars and motorbikes and tuk tuks zooming past at 100 miles an hour <i>(okay, not so much the tuk tuks)</i> or idling in traffic releasing tons of exhaust directly into your eyes and mouth. The air quality is generally poor, so I worry I'm doing my lungs more harm than good by walking. It's such an enormous city that walking can't get you very far, literally. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB1_kT6f__iiAupcpOyYIiT0cJJM88zqvS5NlVhhPN0eFwwwkiZan269FkI04AjVE8fyn17c-POD4c7oOFAnN95yGYnH189Otk1uK4DCfn4i5LM75nQQsTViFeTtuRfcvMBbjaHAOCePeGfu0OY5YfpAp_xPzjOfXb8oWtJP2UMCtROXwIJ-Px-ZXS/w400-h300/IMG_7074.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A park near my house</span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"> <br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZoL6wCiPIwUjBDzhoTgAiD9CZhA1fP-_mZXIq7sPPsHRbnGwHi2stHgMfzdTTSEHFOtXq8ZV4IXugAjMWa2p2Jiq6wn0-5LKOKLRNwvycTaIhqjXZfwuGYBPQ0d5EmYoxokVTBUu1st_bVRNQ5ZFkHo3CJSYOakwljK7vG9hodghBHb6VK_6j-W6-/s640/IMG_7072.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZoL6wCiPIwUjBDzhoTgAiD9CZhA1fP-_mZXIq7sPPsHRbnGwHi2stHgMfzdTTSEHFOtXq8ZV4IXugAjMWa2p2Jiq6wn0-5LKOKLRNwvycTaIhqjXZfwuGYBPQ0d5EmYoxokVTBUu1st_bVRNQ5ZFkHo3CJSYOakwljK7vG9hodghBHb6VK_6j-W6-/w400-h300/IMG_7072.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The park is mostly concrete...</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB1_kT6f__iiAupcpOyYIiT0cJJM88zqvS5NlVhhPN0eFwwwkiZan269FkI04AjVE8fyn17c-POD4c7oOFAnN95yGYnH189Otk1uK4DCfn4i5LM75nQQsTViFeTtuRfcvMBbjaHAOCePeGfu0OY5YfpAp_xPzjOfXb8oWtJP2UMCtROXwIJ-Px-ZXS/s640/IMG_7074.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a></span><br /></div></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Jf1VccPxgWnwVtIZym5k3FkVL6FJd0aPBssIQ40cZ9XbafpzvaE-flJi1KXk92qlpsPjRBffTWrIEhbDpWJe6zCn6FNKrYTvTgq_1JtdC9kCX1GBpQj1w8n1EVIrTnFP-CmJ5Ik8xktTmQuczeOQZU6vZw3m757znK4g2Qk-dzvjHjM7Xerdgruf/s640/IMG_7075.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Jf1VccPxgWnwVtIZym5k3FkVL6FJd0aPBssIQ40cZ9XbafpzvaE-flJi1KXk92qlpsPjRBffTWrIEhbDpWJe6zCn6FNKrYTvTgq_1JtdC9kCX1GBpQj1w8n1EVIrTnFP-CmJ5Ik8xktTmQuczeOQZU6vZw3m757znK4g2Qk-dzvjHjM7Xerdgruf/w400-h300/IMG_7075.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Wdd8jenR4uxGbD0rdVBkX5ijimqZlcUj8ArHOljTXrhy6K3hvpXBQZILe_gfPDtv3k0th8vnMqwk-ZFHugxOY3h_N9tsHmy6I8qmpHZAUIsOoHcxTGg3MsPKQVT67eWC-RqAY0zebY6HHlDUjDWmTT3H0GnBVCGn_2K_T7itG9UHMwXmGP_Lu3Ac/s640/IMG_7079.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Wdd8jenR4uxGbD0rdVBkX5ijimqZlcUj8ArHOljTXrhy6K3hvpXBQZILe_gfPDtv3k0th8vnMqwk-ZFHugxOY3h_N9tsHmy6I8qmpHZAUIsOoHcxTGg3MsPKQVT67eWC-RqAY0zebY6HHlDUjDWmTT3H0GnBVCGn_2K_T7itG9UHMwXmGP_Lu3Ac/w400-h300/IMG_7079.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">There are few good alternatives to walking, as I don't live near public transport (thanks, work...), gridlock traffic means taxis are painfully slow.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Also, the streets aren't pretty. It is admittedly interesting to have a wander around and soak up the newness and strangeness of it all, but there's not much obvious, objective beauty. Buildings are primarily either glassy high rises (not to my taste) or run down concrete blocks. While I would love to investigate the curious nuances of the history and layers of Bangkok, I just don't know enough to be able to identify when there is a flicker of something interesting. So it just looks ugly. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi7lI8nGXFNfc6NZOu5o-tIAY7FTW5Cy08TvDwGNcGHvMxcMWtnPigH8mtGSJ6qcl12psX96l4NHxPRaxcgXqECGqW0jTxHqCeagByOCpyoqlvePqIwoSNpQAX6a_3sSnf81rE1czv0Ps_mB56ogWJJxhDThtzan5RB6U-qhxvue2GBJ7lPWqYfumu/s640/IMG_6992.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi7lI8nGXFNfc6NZOu5o-tIAY7FTW5Cy08TvDwGNcGHvMxcMWtnPigH8mtGSJ6qcl12psX96l4NHxPRaxcgXqECGqW0jTxHqCeagByOCpyoqlvePqIwoSNpQAX6a_3sSnf81rE1czv0Ps_mB56ogWJJxhDThtzan5RB6U-qhxvue2GBJ7lPWqYfumu/w300-h400/IMG_6992.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">rat party</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">I've tried to take walks after dark (sun sets everyday, all year around 6:30 pm) when it's cooler, but the broken pavement, cockroaches, and rats that feast on the day's refuse, piled high on the curb outside restaurants, makes walking at night more of an adventure than I am usually up for.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDccz4BNnntAmB4ThgJpEsWwVMSN3hEVlxmW2Rrnd_FACqbd939rrg4U_F5mxT7-7hKgez3XDsi-m7UI3RMXv6cDl-atCuJR9TJC30bpLrfKmjgTsd06pb4jqCaafPq-ehMJOQjvWsw_iQ-BfoXYpw6J8L1cxrgTOPuRppYbw50maaTWtu00in6_Gi/s640/IMG_6952.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDccz4BNnntAmB4ThgJpEsWwVMSN3hEVlxmW2Rrnd_FACqbd939rrg4U_F5mxT7-7hKgez3XDsi-m7UI3RMXv6cDl-atCuJR9TJC30bpLrfKmjgTsd06pb4jqCaafPq-ehMJOQjvWsw_iQ-BfoXYpw6J8L1cxrgTOPuRppYbw50maaTWtu00in6_Gi/w300-h400/IMG_6952.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One of the nicer sidewalk areas in my neighborhood</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Cafes, restaurants, bars, are certainly popular and there is a sort of hipster culture I've nibbled at the edges of that I'd love to explore more, but, very unfortunately, so many of the hangout places are INSIDE SHOPPING MALLS. Like Dubai. It makes sense, in a way. In a city this large, multi-story and high density buildings are the most efficient and smartest approach. As I have already ranted, being outside and walking around are not particularly enjoyable, so the malls become bright, shiny neighborhoods contained within themselves. Logical, practical, unaesthetic (to me). There has been a lot of talk lately about the new Saudi design proposal/ publicity stunt/ future city "<a href="https://www.neom.com/en-us/regions/theline" target="_blank">The Line</a>" - the Bangkok mall clusters, connected by raised walkways, is something like what I imagine living in The Line might be. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj86wMZRdKodV8bNvIRG3y1XgXK-2NqOkb1vGefu3m4Y_nQuBA1gvUOt--IXWgRFkVwoviOABYjung05CWt9hcByTTRpw_D3F-_aUGfuh9gatnnODoIB1-Dy5Jz3M3oy7vl_k3tDBdzvdX0-jXYHQaK-He8930nvA5ZqKpvQTs6kYTEcaI_rxlsKELV/s640/IMG_6988.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj86wMZRdKodV8bNvIRG3y1XgXK-2NqOkb1vGefu3m4Y_nQuBA1gvUOt--IXWgRFkVwoviOABYjung05CWt9hcByTTRpw_D3F-_aUGfuh9gatnnODoIB1-Dy5Jz3M3oy7vl_k3tDBdzvdX0-jXYHQaK-He8930nvA5ZqKpvQTs6kYTEcaI_rxlsKELV/w400-h300/IMG_6988.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: medium;">the rare quiet intersection</span><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX9rHeDNVtoYrpobT210QeMP5fhaogjuzZsKMLHA1G6zocQwvY_tPLAPFXdIqx43OYarB1ogyVvjqicYTobZ389cPPBCVbJQP2t6KoG736scn-YopI7daDfW7bx4C-Y5EKW3iWlOFgQ701c6z8bF6RW6UhYQ6IpnyMyxesuhueFBWkW5l90twGRMeW/s640/IMG_6962.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX9rHeDNVtoYrpobT210QeMP5fhaogjuzZsKMLHA1G6zocQwvY_tPLAPFXdIqx43OYarB1ogyVvjqicYTobZ389cPPBCVbJQP2t6KoG736scn-YopI7daDfW7bx4C-Y5EKW3iWlOFgQ701c6z8bF6RW6UhYQ6IpnyMyxesuhueFBWkW5l90twGRMeW/w300-h400/IMG_6962.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">just a monitor lizard chilling at a bus stop</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMq15W6-neWV_XRA7dw4s_YB0gKF7x5OmmRk4go8zLCIVJF_olEywom-rAJ_lhw94w1XErp-9n0bHNY9kkM9o0B--5m4PrpXbJsjLmaUd8DJ_k-V4s2AnkDkim9mddzBbmEBAHTvNJDTAAFskcURj9ufc1DgclT_H7U-l03x2sYqWSjAhGmV3PVLOS/s640/IMG_6963.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMq15W6-neWV_XRA7dw4s_YB0gKF7x5OmmRk4go8zLCIVJF_olEywom-rAJ_lhw94w1XErp-9n0bHNY9kkM9o0B--5m4PrpXbJsjLmaUd8DJ_k-V4s2AnkDkim9mddzBbmEBAHTvNJDTAAFskcURj9ufc1DgclT_H7U-l03x2sYqWSjAhGmV3PVLOS/w300-h400/IMG_6963.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">monk smoking, watching a monitor lizard</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmynEk_zMic_mf8e5FMZCfRLiTotCzlEf725wfA9QKeyI-PEGy1QUnFgxmh_6NBOqSj7NR9GbPJmAvF9vTzeWuwHtq8VagWAT0yvV3kYePQYgAvph6Hr7u29H26iL7wj567oIrGmwtXD_KmC8FtF_ICC0hMZ9IkQU-HiOi3y1q7YWNlTQmf7JphV3R/s640/IMG_6986.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmynEk_zMic_mf8e5FMZCfRLiTotCzlEf725wfA9QKeyI-PEGy1QUnFgxmh_6NBOqSj7NR9GbPJmAvF9vTzeWuwHtq8VagWAT0yvV3kYePQYgAvph6Hr7u29H26iL7wj567oIrGmwtXD_KmC8FtF_ICC0hMZ9IkQU-HiOi3y1q7YWNlTQmf7JphV3R/w300-h400/IMG_6986.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">a wild cat relaxing on a bench</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">I'll note one major achievement of Bangkok's government (?) is the lack of car horns. With so many vehicles, you'd expect a constant, painful cacophony of horns, but instead, the painful cacophony is just engines revving and construction sites banging and vendors shouting and tires screeching. My audio-sensitive brain can barely handle it as is, so if horns were added into the mix, I might hit a breaking point. Thankful for that.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">As for cultural events and diversity and all that - I am too new and friendless to have been able to take much advantage of that yet, but I'm hoping to turn the corner soon and embrace the benefits of living in Bangkok!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Despite the weather and the smells and the intense urbanity of it - I think Bangkok might be slowly growing on me...like mold.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Some positives to come in my next post.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>
<p></p>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03692438649665155641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2093208508879975920.post-2945818270860292372022-06-18T22:23:00.004-07:002022-06-18T22:24:42.959-07:00Death by Chilis<h3 style="text-align: left;"><i> A story of my first day in Bangkok</i></h3><p><i> (written on Saturday, June 18, 2022)</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p><i>
</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In the earliest hours of this morning, I moved to Bangkok,
Thailand.</span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The process of moving took three full days of traveling,
including an overnight stop in Seattle to see one of my best friends <3 </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-7YsDtY4XNmFhTNve-dyQZd_rZ1jnlRK_-YhOHbtABZJF0z2KaDS94qm4YBgZmg5nsRIgufucPLUdlUKTECDskarnc75vjTPrHXx2asG8r7sdRR2U0qsdUQ1bkchDVDAms1uAoNj4wpAgojWtsZ1Gr-nVwLz5RVTyiQXuOwx_qLKEv7xk2KiUijq7/s2016/IMG_6893.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-7YsDtY4XNmFhTNve-dyQZd_rZ1jnlRK_-YhOHbtABZJF0z2KaDS94qm4YBgZmg5nsRIgufucPLUdlUKTECDskarnc75vjTPrHXx2asG8r7sdRR2U0qsdUQ1bkchDVDAms1uAoNj4wpAgojWtsZ1Gr-nVwLz5RVTyiQXuOwx_qLKEv7xk2KiUijq7/w300-h400/IMG_6893.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Mt. Rainier poked its head out!</i></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUhbq8MbK5oQJ771pX8RTLKdhk5vtFayfeO5F8Ruh0F598hL8OIx8XUQaknyxe1kmpj2Go93BGH6OEFrhVCFPlFoRpRAGWojTByBW7HvYxDizB-VX6uZNpMkXg6s57QOgUWdxNNnvXE4ArHerzn6McAXby3N4y02ONRjr7RE9NgVTpfahcfPODvqtY/s2016/IMG_6894.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUhbq8MbK5oQJ771pX8RTLKdhk5vtFayfeO5F8Ruh0F598hL8OIx8XUQaknyxe1kmpj2Go93BGH6OEFrhVCFPlFoRpRAGWojTByBW7HvYxDizB-VX6uZNpMkXg6s57QOgUWdxNNnvXE4ArHerzn6McAXby3N4y02ONRjr7RE9NgVTpfahcfPODvqtY/w400-h300/IMG_6894.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPEfdXhi4yGqRKXlbEf3DOsCArVou-Sp21cwlO_t9qPzEPWZOqH-FgQI2lrMTqfsioI5YocJnPRtGOj9hmjntvYCheMiyTWILE-Y8K3K2uLVB76iLIAQcE5If34YQYJkiPIS7hlH_6GbJQ5Wu4Weho_6Gp-OzCk53vBb80Whs9VfOnSNYHtcqUQ5wn/s1544/IMG_6896.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1544" data-original-width="1158" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPEfdXhi4yGqRKXlbEf3DOsCArVou-Sp21cwlO_t9qPzEPWZOqH-FgQI2lrMTqfsioI5YocJnPRtGOj9hmjntvYCheMiyTWILE-Y8K3K2uLVB76iLIAQcE5If34YQYJkiPIS7hlH_6GbJQ5Wu4Weho_6Gp-OzCk53vBb80Whs9VfOnSNYHtcqUQ5wn/w300-h400/IMG_6896.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Elyse and I tourist-ing it up on the Great Wheel </i></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-size: medium;">Flights: DC - Chicago - Seattle - Tokyo - Bangkok </span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1544" data-original-width="1158" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB2PAiCB7_0byoJqqueugyr26C1irlot1ZWU2gGrdBX-l3o_3TXfu6dP4UEBIN1qWS7dR5Y0gUTYRFCXwq5HEg9gelFmK7cMbgkG-Pm2X1w5k2fKaBFTveXTnUlNJ3DMP25zT8UXT1O-SP-qnGDJzl8O7CEZpkAJMgrXK69N9ksFstv3CIIgTl_OU1/w300-h400/IMG_6915.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>The journey begins</i></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB2PAiCB7_0byoJqqueugyr26C1irlot1ZWU2gGrdBX-l3o_3TXfu6dP4UEBIN1qWS7dR5Y0gUTYRFCXwq5HEg9gelFmK7cMbgkG-Pm2X1w5k2fKaBFTveXTnUlNJ3DMP25zT8UXT1O-SP-qnGDJzl8O7CEZpkAJMgrXK69N9ksFstv3CIIgTl_OU1/s1544/IMG_6915.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgob1OU4wl_s6uw8rlH91T3XnHzeC79CGIL17kJN0du7Vqkqc0QW7HRIcgHkFWAc1PlIBsrQUnBLcV8C1yxRe-PRshqJoIFZglhRZI4_ldAFHJh8IjE-DOHl7tBPlNwi2HE0zZxyPB7ai2PF9No_pOI8_Hdmb131bwtzW3PJGNct_Jn1oyzekrfb4-/s1920/7F72D724-00AC-4C2E-8DC6-C8903A7BB6FF.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgob1OU4wl_s6uw8rlH91T3XnHzeC79CGIL17kJN0du7Vqkqc0QW7HRIcgHkFWAc1PlIBsrQUnBLcV8C1yxRe-PRshqJoIFZglhRZI4_ldAFHJh8IjE-DOHl7tBPlNwi2HE0zZxyPB7ai2PF9No_pOI8_Hdmb131bwtzW3PJGNct_Jn1oyzekrfb4-/w225-h400/7F72D724-00AC-4C2E-8DC6-C8903A7BB6FF.JPG" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Japan airlines was like - <br />this girl is way too big for a normal seat...</i></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaYz67dVKOxYB4LrMXw3p9ESPR6qiB-o2YyLhMJJ6sTVvg3cnFW_6qCGVtdSb6a4g_BnkrpliNiGU6FQwFgjQBxMpLW_R-st2vRpVz35P-ntsTgUNEdD_BHG6oVym5naG99RYt9DY8A-HyHPclS2H2ebD71h0R48B9y__hnfjmcZZBdQsbCNOcPv-_/s2016/IMG_6924.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaYz67dVKOxYB4LrMXw3p9ESPR6qiB-o2YyLhMJJ6sTVvg3cnFW_6qCGVtdSb6a4g_BnkrpliNiGU6FQwFgjQBxMpLW_R-st2vRpVz35P-ntsTgUNEdD_BHG6oVym5naG99RYt9DY8A-HyHPclS2H2ebD71h0R48B9y__hnfjmcZZBdQsbCNOcPv-_/w300-h400/IMG_6924.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>They even had Japanese toilets on the airplane!!</i></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">I was in my apartment at 1 am, and asleep by 3. It was a
fitful night, jetlag and nerves keeping me from fully sleeping, but I got
enough rest to function today. It’s Saturday, so I only had two goals:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;">1) Eat</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;">2) Start to adjust<br /></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> I failed at both. <br /></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;">I came with two big suitcases, but in fact my move is still ongoing because the bulk of my stuff has not yet
been shipped either from Virginia or from Tbilisi, so I will be living
out of
my suitcases and the Embassy ‘welcome kit’ for the next several weeks or
months. It's a strange balancing act, trying to decide what I should
keep provided by the hotel (serviced apartment), what I should use from
the welcome kit (which I have to keep track of for the next two years),
what I should buy, and what I should wait for my version of to be
delivered from home(s). </span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;"> Over the last five years living in Tbilisi, I got married, bought an apartment, started my career, adopted a dog, and overall built a life. </span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> </span><span> When I moved away from home for the first time at 18 to go to university, I remember thinking <i>wow, I can't believe all the stuff I really need fits in this tiny space! </i>And I loved the feeling of being light and unshackled to possessions.<i> </i>I would certainly never call myself a minimalist, but from about 2012 - 2019, I was moving at least once a year, traveling constantly, generally in a state of flux and uncertainty, and pretty broke. Once I settled in Georgia in our own apartment, and started to earn some disposable income, unsurprisingly, I began to buy more <b>stuff</b>.</span> </span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> </span><span> Of course, all that stuff isn't necessary, it's all replaceable and breakable and forgettable, but it's also the stuff that was the backdrop to the best period of my life (so far).</span> I'm not a frivolous spender - by most measures I'm a stingy tightwad, in fact, and have some issues with decision making, which means that almost all my stuff has memories attached to it - if not of using it, of contemplating buying it, researching it, shopping for it multiple times until I found the right thing. I'm sure a good psychologist could unpack the mental complexes that make me reluctant to get rid of old things (yes, I did have this shirt in high school, thanks for noticing), but for better or for worse, it feels weird and bad not having my <b>stuff</b>.</span><span style="font-size: medium;"> <span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> </span><span> That feeling of emptiness is amplified by the fact that I am actually alone. Bacho (husband #1) isn't joining me in Bangkok until September because he has to work, </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span>single-handedly </span></span>holding up the Georgian bureaucracy (only a slight exaggeration). I know no one in this country apart from work colleagues who I've never met in person. I did a shamefully small amount of research because I was very busy and perhaps in a tiny bit of denial. It would be nice to have some of my dumb stuff to cushion the blow.<br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span> </span><span> One way I have decided to cope with my weird-bad feelings is to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uB1D9wWxd2w" target="_blank">restart this blog</a>. So, you're welcome, mom and Indian spam bots. </span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span> </span><span> Anyway, I thought I'd share the supremely uninteresting story of my first day, how I failed to both eat and adjust, and some first impressions. </span></span> <br /></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;"> My office put several staple foods in my fridge and pantry for me - coffee and milk, yogurt, bread, peanut butter, pasta, pasta sauce, mini croissants. I grazed for a bit when I woke up, and about mid-day I decided to venture out into the street to check out the neighborhood. </span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> </span><span> My first impression was the humidity. It was hot, for sure, about 34C/93F. It wasn't too bad until I started walking. After about five minutes, sweat was dripping down <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VEPZPZq22jw" target="_blank">my neck, my back</a>, and lower half of my face (masks are still mandated in public in Thailand). I quickly understood why no one else was walking around. There were plenty of people out, whizzing by on motorbikes or in taxis, but few on foot, probably because of the midday heat plus the lack of sidewalks on the sois (alleyways/ small roads).<br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span> </span><span> </span>One of the best aspects of my neighborhood in Tbilisi (Vake) is its walkability, shaded by large trees and with wide sidewalks on either side of the main streets. Yes, the sidewalks were cracked and mismatched but they were always bustling with people strolling with friends, shopping, commuting by foot, walking dogs, or chilling at the <i>birzha</i>, and there was a robust cafe culture. I haven't quite figured ut my neighborhood in Bangkok yet. Everyone says it's one of the coolest, full of bars, cafes, and even a few Michelin-star restaurants, and popular among expats. I did spot several foreigners - a Malaysian biking club in colorful spandex, a finance bro in salmon pink <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=chubbies+shorts&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwiwtvnMzrj4AhXTxKACHcRCDtYQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=chubbies+shorts&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQAzIECAAQQzIFCAAQgAQyBQgAEIAEMgUIABCABDIFCAAQgAQyBQgAEIAEMgUIABCABDIFCAAQgAQyBQgAEIAEMgUIABCABFDaAViAB2DrB2gAcAB4AIABeYgBkQWSAQM3LjGYAQCgAQGqAQtnd3Mtd2l6LWltZ8ABAQ&sclient=img&ei=bJ2uYrDQNNOJg8UPxIW5sA0&bih=755&biw=1696&client=firefox-b-1-d" target="_blank">chubbies </a>drinking a Starbucks frappuccino, and an unsettling number of old-out of shape-white-man + young-beautiful-local-woman pairings. </span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span> </span><span> I walked in a big square from my apartment and back, stopping at a cafe I had researched for lunch. It was fine. I got nervous and ordered some lame sandwich, so that's on me, but the coffee was delicious. </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span> </span><span> <span>I walked along one big road and several little sois. The big road had a sidewalk but wasn't pleasant with the noise, heat, and exhaust from the vehicles. The sois I was on were narrow and curvy with motorbikes whipping around blind corners, so I plastered myself to the walls of the houses and small (mostly closed or, at least, empty) businesses along the road. The neighborhood seems both more and less urban than Vake, Tbilisi. I'm in a high rise (29 floors) on a street of similar hotels/serviced apartments, but there are also tons of one or two story private houses or businesses surrounded by high walls with large green gardens that stand out when I look down from my balcony. There's also what looks like a Catholic church but I think is a housing development? </span></span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span> </span><span> This is the only picture I took on my walk, oops. I promise I'll get some more to post!</span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span><span> <br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ68F5DYCRBch6IfiIMe-YLYnNd_eDHejjWZjlg4vkwNQvPmL3mvgnVoMvIam1SrY050j32UGkVorB8UfaZsEz8LIxpFAjauyCoL1H2odbNP94bcI8BgXtAvI1gft4GrdIamT8MfHWsw2KhorgsLUA3ghA0JxeZTjRvmNj286x5YFGjATJ_gRW1DHP/s2016/IMG_6940.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ68F5DYCRBch6IfiIMe-YLYnNd_eDHejjWZjlg4vkwNQvPmL3mvgnVoMvIam1SrY050j32UGkVorB8UfaZsEz8LIxpFAjauyCoL1H2odbNP94bcI8BgXtAvI1gft4GrdIamT8MfHWsw2KhorgsLUA3ghA0JxeZTjRvmNj286x5YFGjATJ_gRW1DHP/w300-h400/IMG_6940.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Shiny beautiful scooters! I really want to get one</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> I ate my lame sandwich</span> in the cafe, petting a Pomeranian who was roaming around freely and had apparently just had some kind of medical procedure because he had been shaved in very strange pattern, and he seemed mad about it...but he liked being pet.</span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span><span><span><span><span> <span> </span><span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHL0PvNyX7OcxX6uRdIGZkTvFPPd_IRMRmJYpRfMIrB4P4MWiYIRzzqFRqA0jWkp5Pl8AmeQ0UpcWEWgpj6vsRw5hrfVACcnUWYsFQ5i9E4N_xT1hliLSgAWdnip1u1em-QbT8unuIxwTH9l0C_BQKS-na69qncr7Kzohl5OcsW6Y27s75rxpvH_Aw/s1920/A3591EC3-3DED-4A30-8CD0-37AD0D9AE4D0.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHL0PvNyX7OcxX6uRdIGZkTvFPPd_IRMRmJYpRfMIrB4P4MWiYIRzzqFRqA0jWkp5Pl8AmeQ0UpcWEWgpj6vsRw5hrfVACcnUWYsFQ5i9E4N_xT1hliLSgAWdnip1u1em-QbT8unuIxwTH9l0C_BQKS-na69qncr7Kzohl5OcsW6Y27s75rxpvH_Aw/w225-h400/A3591EC3-3DED-4A30-8CD0-37AD0D9AE4D0.JPG" width="225" /></a></span></span></div><span><span><br /></span></span><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span><span><span><span><span> </span></span></span></span> </span><span> </span><span style="font-size: medium;">Walking on the streets I was out of place - because few people walk, at least at mid day, and because I am pale and big and foreign. I swear I am like twice the size of most people here. I don't even get the old urge to lean and slouch to bring my height more in line with others, there's not even a chance. I just have to embrace it, like we are simply females of different species with different standards of physical presentation. Otherwise, I'll feel like a freak all the time. Motorbikes honked as they passed me, probably trying to pick up a fare (there are lots of motorbike taxis) or maybe jeering at me, who knows. <br /></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> </span><span> </span>The rest of the afternoon I lounged at "home" in a strange, hazy melancholy, taking inventory of my new apartment, halfheartedly unpacking, trying to find some Thai music I like to pump me up, staring at other buildings' pools from my balcony (we also have a pool, I wasn't jealous, they are just pretty to look at). </span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> </span><span> About 6:30, it started to get dark, because we are so close to the equator. It's a bit strange, but a welcome respite from the intense sun. It was around that time that I suddenly realized I was starving. I had no energy to go outside again so I decided to order something from the popular and much-recommended app Grab. Grab is insane. It does everything. You can order a taxi, a driver by the hour, or even a driver for your own car like if you're going out drinking and want a DD. You can book hotels and "experiences," and hire a personal assistant or a cleaning service. You can order groceries, errands run, personal deliveries, and, of course, food. </span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span> </span><span> Grab's features are all available in clear English, but the restaurants on the app seem to primarily list their items in Thai - crazy. Since I can't even read the alphabet, I was lost when there weren't pictures of the items. I managed to find a Chinese place with beautiful pics of the food and google-translated names of the dishes. The menu included gems like: "The old altar pickled rice noodles," "Saliva chicken," and "Wavy potato salad." I ordered everything that looked good, hoping for leftovers - spicy wonton soup, custom noodles with veg, smashed cucumbers, cubed watermelon and sweet Thai tea. They definitely thought the order was for four people, judging by the amount of cutlery included. When choosing each item, you had to select the level of spiciness. The options were:</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span> </span><span> </span>1. A little bit spicy<br /> 2. Less spicy<br /><span> 3. Normal spicy<br /><span> 4. More spicy<br /><span> 5. Born for spicy</span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span><span> I like spicy food! But wasn't sure if I could handle Thai (or Chinese-Thai) levels, so to test it out, I got the wonton soup "normal," the noodles "less" and the cukes "little bit" (note there was no option for not spicy). I also selected "need some peanut" (as opposed to the other option, "do need peanut") on all the items, obviously.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span><span> When the food came, it looked incredible, but I immediately knew I was in trouble by the color of the spicy wonton soup. Pics of the little devils:</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span><span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNMpM-vBug00WpI3XOkQtO5Pux85C2a4QwMrVxr2O66QHKBtQ0qtkBU46hDbpC9lbcYD8wSIj1NMkADu02BA3LHqUuWSUH3JWwTgJwDAX0W3q3KdzWjC4KUS05JxtLCoqK4Jrms8Aduc-KYPS4-bPVVdMjl15dKvzwwMESIIzVd7xZ-DI6XeaZjo4f/s2016/IMG_6944.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNMpM-vBug00WpI3XOkQtO5Pux85C2a4QwMrVxr2O66QHKBtQ0qtkBU46hDbpC9lbcYD8wSIj1NMkADu02BA3LHqUuWSUH3JWwTgJwDAX0W3q3KdzWjC4KUS05JxtLCoqK4Jrms8Aduc-KYPS4-bPVVdMjl15dKvzwwMESIIzVd7xZ-DI6XeaZjo4f/w300-h400/IMG_6944.jpg" width="300" /></a></div> <p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">I took a slow, careful spoonful of the broth and slurped. Pure fire. The back of my throat spasmed as I sucked in a chili flake and I spit the soup all over the countertop and floor, gasping for air. It was <i>by far</i> the spiciest thing I have tasted in my life. But I was so hungry. After ten minutes (I drank half the bottle of Thai tea, it helped) I tried the noodles. I made it about four bites in when the pain in my mouth outstripped the hunger pains in my stomach. 15 minutes. Thai tea. Bread. The memory of the pain began to fade, plus my tongue was sort of numb at that point. I rinsed off a wonton in the sink and ate it. I ate another. Choked some more. Gave up. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">The spicy devils were delicious (I think? Hard to tell, my taste buds are stripped...), but I could already feel the havoc they were going to wreak on my digestive tract, so I have exiled them to the back of the fridge. If anyone has tips for how to make them edible, let me know!<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">I was able to eat most of the smashed cucumbers. They were delicious, even though I had to take a five minute interval
every few bites to prevent my tongue from going totally numb and stave off coughing
spasms. </span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">My fabulous supervisor left a bottle of welcome red wine in my apartment (twist top –
genius). I wasn’t sure if I was in the mood to drink it after the chili assault, plus the only cups I had were
the bathroom spit cups. But I opened up the welcome kit and right at the top there was a
package of wine glasses, so I took that as a sign. Not sure if the wine was
any good, to be honest, since my tongue has been destroyed, but I think I got hints of grape with a bouquet of alcohol.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">A perfect end to my first day in Bangkok.</span></p>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03692438649665155641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2093208508879975920.post-37359029712220315502020-04-17T15:47:00.001-07:002020-04-17T15:50:33.856-07:00How to Demo an Apartment in Tbilisi (during Coronavirus)<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">In my last post, I shared how we decided to buy our new apartment - now I want to talk about how we tore it apart!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">This is what is looked like when we bought it: <a href="https://dkhome.ge/show/7003">https://dkhome.ge/show/7003</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Immediately, there were some things we knew we wanted to change...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<h4>
<span style="font-size: large;">1. Open Kitchen!</span></h4>
<span style="font-size: large;">The first thing we
did was rip down the wall separating the kitchen and living room - an open,
flowy floor plan was a must for us. Many Georgians, especially the older
generation, lived a very different lifestyle and for them an open kitchen is a
nightmare. They warn us - what happens if friends drop by for a visit and your
kitchen is messy or your husband's friends come over and you want a private
space to feed the baby or chat with your girlfriends? What about the smells???? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Our response is
that we just live differently. Neither my husband nor I invite people over
without discussing it first. Big groups of men don't randomly show up at the door at all
hours expecting me to feed and wait on them as was so common in the Soviet
times. Our friends don't care if there is a pot in the sink or the coffee maker
is bubbling away in the corner - we're not putting on a show for them. We like
cooking, but due to our busy schedules we don't do it much, which means that
entertaining in a big, open space where guests can help arrange a cheese plate
or garnish the cocktails is much more important than a hide-away kitchen where
I can secretly toil over a big pot of <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=%E1%83%A6%E1%83%9D%E1%83%9B%E1%83%98&safe=off&client=firefox-b-d&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjNkJqvze_oAhUnwcQBHQuFBegQ_AUoAXoECBUQAw&biw=1536&bih=701">ghomi </a>and <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=%E1%83%AE%E1%83%90%E1%83%A0%E1%83%A9%E1%83%9D&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwivlMuwze_oAhWUIRQKHVH0CNQQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=%E1%83%AE%E1%83%90%E1%83%A0%E1%83%A9%E1%83%9D&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQAzoCCAA6BAgAEB46BAgAEBhQ4ZYBWJGvAWCdsAFoA3AAeACAAbABiAGvCJIBAzAuN5gBAKABAaoBC2d3cy13aXotaW1n&sclient=img&ei=NrSZXq-hF5TDUNHoo6AN&bih=701&biw=1536&client=firefox-b-d&safe=off">kharcho</a>...plus, we have a great
vent hood to help keep any stove top smells from wafting around too much.</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir0YA2e_pfaI2e6BU1yjxQ5VI_85PLBAcOJ-gNVhNSG841_-qa2WL8GbYd-Nr0IgoGBpvNypQh1iRjjnrHH-ROrTVWy4-Db0i2iGMl7m1c9X3rDL3bZnbv63G7-UeMpAjn2UMzKCnmPuY/s1600/bagdatka.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir0YA2e_pfaI2e6BU1yjxQ5VI_85PLBAcOJ-gNVhNSG841_-qa2WL8GbYd-Nr0IgoGBpvNypQh1iRjjnrHH-ROrTVWy4-Db0i2iGMl7m1c9X3rDL3bZnbv63G7-UeMpAjn2UMzKCnmPuY/s400/bagdatka.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This type of wall construction is called "bagdatka" and it a bitch to tear down, apparently</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn2P0a_ISiCit8y3RjtZUjvjDiFH1j48B_JB8_zBsksGuf5_1so86Zhe3JX5L3q62QogXCI0APV2ZDPFi3rs1NgT7zhixkAbHvQiWIch83EDG9AvhNcRNv6w8NiqbDWOrw-dnkvtrColA/s1600/fire.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn2P0a_ISiCit8y3RjtZUjvjDiFH1j48B_JB8_zBsksGuf5_1so86Zhe3JX5L3q62QogXCI0APV2ZDPFi3rs1NgT7zhixkAbHvQiWIch83EDG9AvhNcRNv6w8NiqbDWOrw-dnkvtrColA/s400/fire.JPG" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looks like there was a small fire in here at some point - uh oh</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIao78owMUTwhEQpS-OuEOWe8soEE-C7vgwsxYHbybvWl-wtLzHEXGYbquFptGAJ145fhJKvG6iATjvw7VQIq37nuE9FL_KegWzxM1aKBg07Awki6GC6Io6HwsznUNH-VW6l0qDdfmb_k/s1600/pile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIao78owMUTwhEQpS-OuEOWe8soEE-C7vgwsxYHbybvWl-wtLzHEXGYbquFptGAJ145fhJKvG6iATjvw7VQIq37nuE9FL_KegWzxM1aKBg07Awki6GC6Io6HwsznUNH-VW6l0qDdfmb_k/s400/pile.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One little wall turned into so much scraps</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<h4>
<span style="font-size: large;">2. Laundry Room</span></h4>
<span style="font-size: large;">In the US, it's rare not to have a dedicated space for laundry (which usually includes both a washing machine and a dryer). Even in small apartments there is usually a little closet if there is laundry in-unit. In much of Europe, dryers are rare and it's common to just stick a washing machine in the kitchen or bathroom. While I could handle a washing machine in the bathroom if it's big enough, my husband is totally against it and loves the idea of a dryer. So, we decided to build a laundry closet. Although there is
space in the apartment to add an additional half-bath, we decided that level of
renovation was a bit more involved than we wanted to go, and we love the huge
living room space. So, we built a small washer/dryer closet in
a corner of the living room that shares a wall with the bathroom to easily bring the plumbing in.</span><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">This is our vision:</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikMQLVX85b2Yo4tBwI5Vw19zF0Jr3KeM-L9S9L741bF7c8z9-AdRhHST4Av69LjhtymrghiDlwoVXFE9A7DyiaxssMzJOTxvnhvJ1mIGDohGUGDjK89Zq4lAKPrnPYXLIxqFT2MjiNyjw/s1600/dream+laundry.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="426" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikMQLVX85b2Yo4tBwI5Vw19zF0Jr3KeM-L9S9L741bF7c8z9-AdRhHST4Av69LjhtymrghiDlwoVXFE9A7DyiaxssMzJOTxvnhvJ1mIGDohGUGDjK89Zq4lAKPrnPYXLIxqFT2MjiNyjw/s400/dream+laundry.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"> This is the corner before the laundry closet: </span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkDjZ7f5B-HuczcCWQua7Df9HL8QMM-UL7j5ONxax6IeWV25ktOxmmK4H14-1B5GLNp3hsQiip4WxhIkDLPG66vigLo1KzqmxseWSX2GOSjEl0B-WpxoLmKrXxMQSa0kc_BVpi_f3fZTc/s1600/corner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkDjZ7f5B-HuczcCWQua7Df9HL8QMM-UL7j5ONxax6IeWV25ktOxmmK4H14-1B5GLNp3hsQiip4WxhIkDLPG66vigLo1KzqmxseWSX2GOSjEl0B-WpxoLmKrXxMQSa0kc_BVpi_f3fZTc/s400/corner.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">This is the gypso-carton (no clue what it is in English, some kind of cardboard-y panels) frame we built:</span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbAuUerbt2E4gq8CDL9LZWZqfDvEGjtpJQFHQv1LxLihKVUB6SeJTyk6udAcHfB28vcF9oi8tnEs-plDoegeHuKG4RfEtDQHOSxpa0Q3yjR9H9QDnF52bSnZ5GceYF9uGrhJUT66yDjBM/s1600/laundry+frame2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbAuUerbt2E4gq8CDL9LZWZqfDvEGjtpJQFHQv1LxLihKVUB6SeJTyk6udAcHfB28vcF9oi8tnEs-plDoegeHuKG4RfEtDQHOSxpa0Q3yjR9H9QDnF52bSnZ5GceYF9uGrhJUT66yDjBM/s400/laundry+frame2.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">In progress - we're painting the inside <i>"Flamenco"</i> pink!</span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZWohpA9rcrPG2486TwkT6HpLkGpQh5dQziPaB8qlmQurFB2z7XBQhG7tZCKLSOxH1WWYHiNLTj-bDSLB1hC5k2K0V8AsBU3E9qUAc41gH4WkAgpefEv4fY1oPDAJSB6y1k-YrGfuIemc/s1600/laundry+paint.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZWohpA9rcrPG2486TwkT6HpLkGpQh5dQziPaB8qlmQurFB2z7XBQhG7tZCKLSOxH1WWYHiNLTj-bDSLB1hC5k2K0V8AsBU3E9qUAc41gH4WkAgpefEv4fY1oPDAJSB6y1k-YrGfuIemc/s400/laundry+paint.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<h4>
<span style="font-size: large;">3. Entry hallway</span></h4>
<span style="font-size: large;">To spice things up and bring a bit of charm into the space, we decided to put in marble in the entry hallway. Funny thing is, we were shopping for something else and randomly saw some beautiful grey marble slabs on clearance sale - just 50 GEL per m2! So we got excited and bought 9 m2 - just enough for the entryway floor and a baseboard trim. When we bought it, it was a light grey color - exactly what we wanted. Knowing very little about natural stone, we assumed it was being sold in a form that it could actually be used. In fact, our contractor informed us that it's basically raw and should have been polished/finished on site before installation. After we had already bought the marble and paid to have the very heavy stone carried up all our stairs, it was pretty much too late to process it in a factory. Our installer, though, despite admitting to never having installed such stone before and knowing next to nothing about marble, confidently assured us that he could polish them. No one had any idea about the different types of finishes that are common for marble (<a href="https://www.marbleandgranite.com/blog/2014/september-2014/natural-stone-finishes">at least according to the English language Internet</a>)... </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Here's what it looked like when we bought it:</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhecizgbMntYrcWeo9kVZ4p932be6VPc2AONTT5QV4LTwVhQvbB-Gd1Ivi_Pw66v2YaceYMRMA6-kH-HPFjWitofOHpIfF6yWNQDmBbBSuRBy4R5BVrn012Nmmn7Ou2YyTm-TIlux_fYMY/s1600/marble+Zodi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhecizgbMntYrcWeo9kVZ4p932be6VPc2AONTT5QV4LTwVhQvbB-Gd1Ivi_Pw66v2YaceYMRMA6-kH-HPFjWitofOHpIfF6yWNQDmBbBSuRBy4R5BVrn012Nmmn7Ou2YyTm-TIlux_fYMY/s400/marble+Zodi.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nice, right? Grey, white, a hint of blue</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"> Here's how it looked once we had it installed:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsUbgOtvKPQDuMJeAehKBcHRymLGCNnu8s_ehbwwY9kB5NmhhT93I-r2uR2z2YWH29votnkV754A7wKq2uH6WCLkAjHLPJWNmoVMCj24BBN_HwWCaHpOD8umZTH1NPDQQU4Xb5A-MymDY/s1600/marble+installed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsUbgOtvKPQDuMJeAehKBcHRymLGCNnu8s_ehbwwY9kB5NmhhT93I-r2uR2z2YWH29votnkV754A7wKq2uH6WCLkAjHLPJWNmoVMCj24BBN_HwWCaHpOD8umZTH1NPDQQU4Xb5A-MymDY/s400/marble+installed.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Here is it washed off...hopefully it's darker than it will really look because it's still wet: </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjti8r0xXQdEy2u7XxNPKiCQ8P03zb4U1_HaFUtVOO3PddIA930HyEOiCMvyDhLumcWZrLIu1Ml9nDqzplKV4u-9mm8wqnPZDnHSIDmnKxUCtNAMZm_NNVPHlU9Ejm0opbacGo7_6XlDSM/s1600/real+marble.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjti8r0xXQdEy2u7XxNPKiCQ8P03zb4U1_HaFUtVOO3PddIA930HyEOiCMvyDhLumcWZrLIu1Ml9nDqzplKV4u-9mm8wqnPZDnHSIDmnKxUCtNAMZm_NNVPHlU9Ejm0opbacGo7_6XlDSM/s400/real+marble.PNG" width="300" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We didn't realize that it was coated in such a thick layer of factory dust that it was altering the color of the stone. Once we cleaned it off, it completely changed into something that is neither what I wanted nor something I like. In fact, if it doesn't lighten up once our installer finishes whatever he plans to do, my plan is to just throw a rug over it and hide my tears... </span><br />
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<h4>
<span style="font-size: large;">4. Bathroom overhaul</span></h4>
<span style="font-size: large;">The bathroom was nasty. An old whirpool tub had its jets clogged with black gunk and didn't even have a shower head attachment - not sure how the previous owners lived like that for so long. That was the first thing we ripped out. The only thing staying in that bathroom is the toilet. We're having a double vanity custom made with a black granite counter top - room for it now with the washing machine gone. The new shower/bath combo will be functional and spacious - if not the most trendy look. Floors and walls will be a cool ceramic-granite (that's what it's called in Georgian, still not sure of the exact English translation...) tile in an attempt to give it a spa feeling.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">There was also a water pressure issue, so we had to install a pump, which will be ugly and loud but it's better than limpid showers.</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZUoI202S-DpSxaUEF6p5wadQQiEz5Fs5MRfrBXJsGIRjE6fSGy0nDPLERo1lBYCMWO7cVuHSX6DlbjAoHbseeUaX5bRgEmU75l4otXgn3bdYZ7gHGZqn8V6EstsHNxhXOAN5oz6EwOJw/s1600/old+tub.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZUoI202S-DpSxaUEF6p5wadQQiEz5Fs5MRfrBXJsGIRjE6fSGy0nDPLERo1lBYCMWO7cVuHSX6DlbjAoHbseeUaX5bRgEmU75l4otXgn3bdYZ7gHGZqn8V6EstsHNxhXOAN5oz6EwOJw/s400/old+tub.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This monstrosity (and that tile, wow) was first to go</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQeqUsVUyDYXntbmad498XFXbV9uTfcr8B9Z7lwAqOPS1srXo3e_hAkEACbRvcY4CUR2NskuW5GYcSbnsP7COH95rbtHRdiG2V5AbUV-spdu38Lv7W9iYzFUpvZnd9vI0WU5CMbaj_RSU/s1600/Ideal+bathroom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQeqUsVUyDYXntbmad498XFXbV9uTfcr8B9Z7lwAqOPS1srXo3e_hAkEACbRvcY4CUR2NskuW5GYcSbnsP7COH95rbtHRdiG2V5AbUV-spdu38Lv7W9iYzFUpvZnd9vI0WU5CMbaj_RSU/s400/Ideal+bathroom.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bathroom inspo - this is the tile we bought in the showroom</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnD-Ir1WxQIELMv7mAQsernxKeeF-_0Lq6K5ZxB3f9gZ2cjdI8YK7AtQU7IUkdHXrYSIAApJVhDVdkYehwbBeOGC9cwcMrw6U6bNU_nPDN3qoVHgY0IrWYdLiOWBXow68QIn_cBvkUYGQ/s1600/bathroom+rubble.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnD-Ir1WxQIELMv7mAQsernxKeeF-_0Lq6K5ZxB3f9gZ2cjdI8YK7AtQU7IUkdHXrYSIAApJVhDVdkYehwbBeOGC9cwcMrw6U6bNU_nPDN3qoVHgY0IrWYdLiOWBXow68QIn_cBvkUYGQ/s400/bathroom+rubble.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taking it all down!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCX0knCUDsAK6B-mSXPrSmDbuoRtWhNAFzT51eglIkXjQbeBO6v0mj5x8BjCjf-t-iFmyHOiah7pzDboU8serOUiLgLd2Sd3JC71xAGrN9fFC-1695byKykUJW6wna-x4yHfKhmibJ8X4/s1600/bathtub+shill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCX0knCUDsAK6B-mSXPrSmDbuoRtWhNAFzT51eglIkXjQbeBO6v0mj5x8BjCjf-t-iFmyHOiah7pzDboU8serOUiLgLd2Sd3JC71xAGrN9fFC-1695byKykUJW6wna-x4yHfKhmibJ8X4/s400/bathtub+shill.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New tub going in!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW8Uyftz4Tm4Vy-7TjaHxpl8KYDEGND5cpOw2PtHepXZb_NEhGHXEHzkHCAnm5ESW-UrCyXxXBSgDHXYeXxBAOlXV1iK3sg0M7C5Pn8zNLrgyYESQ3-ITChOfo0khs7t6dGnh7u11OOa4/s1600/sink.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW8Uyftz4Tm4Vy-7TjaHxpl8KYDEGND5cpOw2PtHepXZb_NEhGHXEHzkHCAnm5ESW-UrCyXxXBSgDHXYeXxBAOlXV1iK3sg0M7C5Pn8zNLrgyYESQ3-ITChOfo0khs7t6dGnh7u11OOa4/s400/sink.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our creative workers set up a sink to keep germs away despite the condition of the bathroom!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<h4>
<span style="font-size: large;">5. Kitchen overhaul</span></h4>
<span style="font-size: large;">Along with opening up the kitchen, we removed (and sold!) the existing kitchen unit, and are having custom cabinets made. We are also putting an island in to make the kitchen and living room feel more connected and have casual seating and more storage. Unfortunately we weren't able to put a sink in the island like we wanted due to some confusing problem with the building's central water line, but it will be great storage and have a built in pull-out trash can and a microwave. In terms of design, we're doing black lower cabinets, white uppers, white herringbone subway tile backsplash, and gold hardware. We'll probably do a black composite granite sink (couldn't talk the husband into an apron front farmhouse style sink...porcelain feels too 'grandma in the village' for him).</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW2bBj-2vp_8dx5kGIj3JGXQobf0zxr3ZZiTp937YM8N2mFsNBeAgox1Gn1IZpeVykkuDzwpXIzq62lc0BX03xB58J6fRChQV54d4yypRX9SZWElZEp9JvA4orvLosMdyZzwr54vk-Mmo/s1600/backsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW2bBj-2vp_8dx5kGIj3JGXQobf0zxr3ZZiTp937YM8N2mFsNBeAgox1Gn1IZpeVykkuDzwpXIzq62lc0BX03xB58J6fRChQV54d4yypRX9SZWElZEp9JvA4orvLosMdyZzwr54vk-Mmo/s400/backsplash.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tiler had never heard of herringbone - we had to teach him...but it turned out great!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<h4>
<span style="font-size: large;">6. Paint</span></h4>
<span style="font-size: large;">We removed the wallpaper in the entire apartment and painted it all a light grey, except the laundry room (pink as shown above - don't worry, you'll only be able to see it when you're actually doing laundry!), the master bedroom is a dark blue-grey, the library/guest room is forest green, and we will have a peacock blue feature wall in the kitchen, which I fear is a crazy mistake, but we'll see! </span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSrqxsDnH_etgfW5gTzaA52vzlNAdtzo9JdvCryYDFppD-W_rpbmDQSfjGacsaZeh5pUkPscHRI9Nm3Jbl-U3Hu8v7vMgKt9ByRI1Qsz1sB5IoHrnUf82LmuQHq6PuBWxqwO-38kLQ7O4/s1600/acrobat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSrqxsDnH_etgfW5gTzaA52vzlNAdtzo9JdvCryYDFppD-W_rpbmDQSfjGacsaZeh5pUkPscHRI9Nm3Jbl-U3Hu8v7vMgKt9ByRI1Qsz1sB5IoHrnUf82LmuQHq6PuBWxqwO-38kLQ7O4/s400/acrobat.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our painter is an acrobat</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> There are a few other small things we also did: new engineered wood floors throughout the apartment to replace the current laminate, new insulation on one of the external walls which had some water damage, repainting the front door, replacing some of the windows, etc.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We bought the apartment on <b>February 15, 2020</b>.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It was vacated by the previous owner on <b>March 15, 2020</b> (that's standard in Georgia - contrary to popular belief, it's not the law, just a custom and I would NOT agree to this again...it was an excruciating month of giving the previous owner free rent, feeling bad about bothering her all the time to go measure and check things, and being very antsy about not being able to start demo).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We took a hammer to the first wall on <b>March 16, 2020</b>. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The bulk of the demo was completed in about a week. We hired a couple of guys from the village where my husband's family has a summer house who got it done quickly and cheaply. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Next post I'll break down our budget for anyone who's interested! </i> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We got off to a strong start - a rotating team of workers has been there constantly since March 16. Limitations on the number of people that can gather (3) slowed the pace a bit, and it has been a major struggle to find certain materials that turned out we needed. Also, a few big items we weren't able to get before non-essential businesses were shut at the end of March (baseboards, flooring, and light fixtures, mainly). </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Now, we have finally been brought to a complete halt by the April 15 city lockdowns - most of our workers are from Rustavi, so couldn't travel to/from the site anymore. At least for 10 days, the work is on hold. It's not too bad, because it won't effect the overall timeline. We can't move in without the bathroom vanity, kitchen, and washing machine, and while stores are closed we won't be able to get those (our cabinet maker's wood supplier isn't working either). </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So, we're just trying to enjoy the Easter holiday and not stress about it too much!</span></div>
Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03692438649665155641noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2093208508879975920.post-11712902112435256352020-04-11T11:23:00.001-07:002020-04-11T11:48:19.337-07:00Renovating an Apartment in Tbilisi (During Coronavirus)<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">During the great global quarantine of 2020, people are finding lots of new ways to spend their time. One friend of mine has committed to learning a new skill everyday and signed up for MasterClass. Another friend dug out books on economics, language, history, and is taking herself back to school. Some people have started podcasts, a new fitness routine, are writing books. And me - I am returning to the blog.</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkn7BPdl_zPsxJZ3c-JUmNQo11lrCXzsjtThyphenhyphenf1pkyda4MIKCGg8JFwNQHk0kwIqjlO-8jEDoDt56BDRpTa8tEzDYTFhRzCdPE1SKsMRklh6Z46fOEdTWKYeawb2L5VuWsSq4RBCi1rKM/s1600/buckethead.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkn7BPdl_zPsxJZ3c-JUmNQo11lrCXzsjtThyphenhyphenf1pkyda4MIKCGg8JFwNQHk0kwIqjlO-8jEDoDt56BDRpTa8tEzDYTFhRzCdPE1SKsMRklh6Z46fOEdTWKYeawb2L5VuWsSq4RBCi1rKM/s400/buckethead.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">One Tbilisi dude's effort to protect himself from COVID-19 while on the metro</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It's been a long time. More than two years since I petulantly logged out of Blogger - feeling depressed, anxious, frustrated, angry, self-conscious, embarrassed. I gave up something that had given me so much pleasure for so long because I gave into social pressure that I was being to critical of Georgia, and because I worried that my hobby was immature or unprofessional.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">In the time since I last posted (still can't believe it's been two
years!) I moved in with my boyfriend, got married to that boyfriend, got
a legit real office job, left that job for a dream professional
opportunity, got married, and bought an apartment! So, a lot has
changed. But I still love to write!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">In the throes of the COVID-19 pandemic I have felt the pull again to talk to myself online, so I have decided to revive the blog! This used to be a travel blog, but I moved abroad and basically stopped traveling (#biggirljob)...but in fact, I do actually have something kind of interesting to write about - our apartment renovation!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">AND if anyone actually missed my travel blog, even just a tiny bit - no fear! I have a million and a half draft posts that I plan to slowly go through and finish, so stay tuned!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Now, on to the reno...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">BUYING THE APARTMENT</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My husband (7 months later and it still feels weird to say that...) and I have been talking about buying an apartment for a long time.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We looked at all sorts of properties, but our main criteria were: central location, easy to renovate to our taste (nothing even remotely close to our price range is our taste), at least 100 m2 (1076 ft2), lots of natural light.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My heart was really set on a historic property - something from the 19th century, with a tiled fireplace, parquet wood floors, crown molding, a glassy, light-filled <a href="https://chai-khana.org/en/story/630/the-tbilisi-ezo-a-neglected-communal-space">shushabandi</a>, expansive views of Tbilisi's mountains, a stairwell with wrought iron railings and frescoes painted on the walls - you know, nothing crazy. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was hoping for something like this...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><img alt="თბილისის მარგალიტი – სახლი, რომელმაც ..." class="n3VNCb" data-noaft="1" src="https://teasblogi.files.wordpress.com/2014/06/dsc_0010.jpg" style="height: 388.545px; margin: 0px; width: 585px;" /> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="ისტორიული ბინა თბილისში, მოდერნს ..." class="n3VNCb" data-noaft="1" height="480" src="https://www.shin.ge/images/DACNULI_AVEJI/nivti/korsha/75137220_143096870367771_3122833827152527360_n.jpg" style="height: 240px; margin: 0px; width: 320px;" width="640" /> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="კიდევ ერთი საოცარი უცნობი სახლი ..." class="n3VNCb" data-noaft="1" src="https://www.shin.ge/images/articles/kar_midamo/IMG_0947.jpg" style="height: 260.325px; margin: 0px; width: 585px;" /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But alas, that dream was not meant to be. There are a good number of 19th century properties in Tbilisi, but either they are in horrific condition - holes in the floors/ceilings, rot, mold - and usually terribly done, very damaging renovation attempts from the 90s and early 2000s that rob the place of whatever character survived. </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">Some of the places we looked at were literally unlivable. There are also, probably some historic apartments that have been saved and lovingly restored, but in my search it appeared that either they</span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"> are way out of our budget (like, <i>way </i>out) or have been turned into AirBnB properties. </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">One property we looked at really captured my heart - in a historic 19th c. building on Tsinamdzghvirishvili St. It was in terrible shape after being chopped up and partitioned into multiple properties, several cheap and tasteless renovations, and years of neglect. </span><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">The building has incredible doors:</span></i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZka2JVG8NTCcZBrRAEx3ydUIE7WpPwn1yMy-Ocg6Nx7C1JC-1wrgvZ03dbGcpu-5In_3TsP24wywNF08BvlG7YThp52l0SDbv2wfEencFDOJvALsTOmc-7dGBuwB20GmRUSFM0EycLEI/s1600/Ts+doors.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZka2JVG8NTCcZBrRAEx3ydUIE7WpPwn1yMy-Ocg6Nx7C1JC-1wrgvZ03dbGcpu-5In_3TsP24wywNF08BvlG7YThp52l0SDbv2wfEencFDOJvALsTOmc-7dGBuwB20GmRUSFM0EycLEI/s400/Ts+doors.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Beautiful details like these indoor shutters</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKKIZLF7pcOC_biYpOlt4Q3wPLzasa7uXPRSFnwRGV2KKEkPg1xtCuxdkcyn3xZMLepzVsM22W7vzChyphenhyphenuUYeJFtu5N-dS0zPPsyyJBp12Dl99_Kdyl4KsJTokPsuOqKxriKxGsdT_sPWo/s1600/indoor+shutters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKKIZLF7pcOC_biYpOlt4Q3wPLzasa7uXPRSFnwRGV2KKEkPg1xtCuxdkcyn3xZMLepzVsM22W7vzChyphenhyphenuUYeJFtu5N-dS0zPPsyyJBp12Dl99_Kdyl4KsJTokPsuOqKxriKxGsdT_sPWo/s400/indoor+shutters.jpg" width="300" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">This lovely, architectural spiral staircase weirdly bisected the apartment in an indoor-outdoor kitchen/balcony/pot-smoking area for the current residents</span></i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6YgAeGsbfDqePLTMhEypyUVPs7mI-mZAn7QEbVb8uiRP5d0qqG34rrylzW6u5yCytJ69si4mz0Z4QtxK1ky8FX9SZRVWXeenSJb0vWoUlqDxU_kHiPtiy-5l_HYEVKqV8oknZGMEHTlI/s1600/twisty+stairs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6YgAeGsbfDqePLTMhEypyUVPs7mI-mZAn7QEbVb8uiRP5d0qqG34rrylzW6u5yCytJ69si4mz0Z4QtxK1ky8FX9SZRVWXeenSJb0vWoUlqDxU_kHiPtiy-5l_HYEVKqV8oknZGMEHTlI/s400/twisty+stairs.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">I found this a charming view - my husband, not so excited by the bars on the window</span></i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfek8Fk2lyjTAU8z4UQV_44-FWopOUHmiFPT1rej31aoIpZl-F4RSuwxOo3_KDGwtNKkqATMbg-f_xAOCVhnpp-zsS1HWhq-P_-ADefijhQRHyA5l7Bk4DpntL0WxdPBUaFDTHt_LnpTM/s1600/view.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfek8Fk2lyjTAU8z4UQV_44-FWopOUHmiFPT1rej31aoIpZl-F4RSuwxOo3_KDGwtNKkqATMbg-f_xAOCVhnpp-zsS1HWhq-P_-ADefijhQRHyA5l7Bk4DpntL0WxdPBUaFDTHt_LnpTM/s400/view.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="font-size: large;">This fetid, putrid, rotting hole was located in an archway under the building, just below the bathroom of the apartment - the owner assured us the problem had been resolved, nothing to worry about</span></i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_vuIGUJesL11gkf5MfrYMo8zR6qzm7oft11OjLCqn0jsOWK-hC0GtdQcXR5ddghVbxNaVxrx9U359E3e47SNJ4JEZ_rM0JUDdXkflITHaDtjE0COqXsLcI5NmA3y0pEHQ-P-9vmgvD-E/s1600/gaping+hole.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_vuIGUJesL11gkf5MfrYMo8zR6qzm7oft11OjLCqn0jsOWK-hC0GtdQcXR5ddghVbxNaVxrx9U359E3e47SNJ4JEZ_rM0JUDdXkflITHaDtjE0COqXsLcI5NmA3y0pEHQ-P-9vmgvD-E/s320/gaping+hole.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">This is a different building but the dramatically slanted staircase caught my eye</span></i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Zp8WOtBFCmVjspMUTOKs6LDm4JIzrfuh0aP-MmYb8PETo9b1PnF51X1fWeEb_XciyP1QK4eVUWg834yfvzkadsn4jEV8F_XfvtHx8kZIJ8PvuHjLS9eANawOy218sTFYcAm2kgu8yHM/s1600/tilted+stairs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Zp8WOtBFCmVjspMUTOKs6LDm4JIzrfuh0aP-MmYb8PETo9b1PnF51X1fWeEb_XciyP1QK4eVUWg834yfvzkadsn4jEV8F_XfvtHx8kZIJ8PvuHjLS9eANawOy218sTFYcAm2kgu8yHM/s400/tilted+stairs.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So, in the end, we turned away from the historic buildings. We compromised on an apartment that, on the surface, really has no special features, but it also has no gaping holes, no major problems. It's in a sturdy, stocky Stalinist building, probably from the early 1950s - not a particularly inspiring facade, but well built and much better than the <a href="http://georgiatoday.ge/news/14427/Tbilisi-City-Hall-Moves-to-Initiate-%E2%80%98Khrushchovka%E2%80%99-Replacement-Project">Khrushchev-era monstrosities</a> with their mismatched DIY balconies that dominate so much of the city (and which we have lived in for the past two and half years).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We we walked into the new apartment for the first time, we were shocked. The price didn't seem to line up with the clean, modern furniture and design, the location, and the size. There was nothing wrong with it. Apart from the cosmetic overhaul we knew we would have to do on any property we purchased, it was perfect. The owner was desperate to sell, overwhelmed by debt, and we closed the deal quickly - furniture included (a relative rarity in Georgia).</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Here's what it looked like when we first saw it: <a href="https://dkhome.ge/show/7003">https://dkhome.ge/show/7003</a> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">There are a few significant negatives to the place, I'll admit: only one bathroom, no fireplace, one side faces one of the neighborhood's busiest streets, it doesn't have a big balcony for coffee drinking and sun bathing (just a narrow, honestly pretty scary strip along the street-side of the apartment), and, the big one - it's on the fifth floor with no elevator. And since the ceilings are very tall with thick slab floors between each floor, each flight of stairs feels like a momentous task. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But there are so many positives, the negatives are clearly outweighed: it's in one of the city's most sought-after neighborhoods - lots of trees, walkable, central, stylish (for whatever that's worth - maybe resale value?), and it's where my husband grew up so there's lots of sentimental value for him. The backside of the apartment is a wall of north-facing windows for calming, consistent all-day light that looks out onto a quiet, closed courtyard and the mountain that is home to one of Tbilisi's best parks at <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=%E1%83%99%E1%83%A3%E1%83%A1+%E1%83%A2%E1%83%91%E1%83%90&safe=off&client=firefox-b-d&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwj6tr_zhuDoAhX9QEEAHWeVA68Q_AUoAXoECBgQAw&biw=1536&bih=701">Turtle Lake</a>. Look a bit to the left and you get a fantastic view of the city's favorite landmarks - the ferris wheel and TV tower at Mtatsminda Park. The floor plan was basically perfect and easy to configure into what we wanted. It has airy 3-meter (9' 10") ceilings. Also - there was a niche in the bathroom that was perfect for a big bathtub! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So, we went for it, and made it ours! For both my husband and I, it's the first property we've ever owned, and the purchase and renovation is a big, exciting adventure. We're huge fans of those renovation and design TV shows (you know - Flip or Flop, Desert Flippers, Fixer Upper, etc.) and felt like this was an opportunity to see if it's really as exciting as it looks on TV - so far, I think yes! But now I'm getting ahead of myself... in the next post I'll talk about what we decided to do for the renovation and what sort of limitations we faced being in an apartment, in a city, in Georgia. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Stay tuned!</b></span><br />
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<br />Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03692438649665155641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2093208508879975920.post-73508481276253302972018-01-22T11:02:00.002-08:002018-02-02T12:53:40.327-08:00I'm Not Sick of Tbilisi, But...Time for Changes<span style="font-size: large;">Regardless of <a href="http://www.tabula.ge/en/story/124385-georgian-dream-electoral-list-for-tbilisi-city-assembly">what Kaladze says</a>, this isn't the city full of life...this is the city of solemn faced women in fur coats on buses.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm not sick of Tbilisi, but I'm a little sick of living the way I thought I was supposed to live in Tbilisi.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm sick of only dressing nicely when I leave the house and always having my shoes clean. I'm sick of not smiling at strangers. I'm sick of not running someplace just because I'm full of energy (okay, this desire strikes me maybe twice a year...but still!). I'm sick of seas of black coats only punctuated by the most repetitive and uninspired of trends (Pom Pom hats, fanny packs, platform sneakers).</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZbIzUX2CvBPZHleINiJ9kKl9s2DvyUt4JR5zfEu7Ij8_xhOwRW1_VA_8dokL27vxP1vTEvPYzZTrTJ_9s-EduXus0drGSHW86QDwSoWfGz5jtsVHWF5xRnXg9aZwqN7Jyw-AHMoG4yDE/s1600/bus.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZbIzUX2CvBPZHleINiJ9kKl9s2DvyUt4JR5zfEu7Ij8_xhOwRW1_VA_8dokL27vxP1vTEvPYzZTrTJ_9s-EduXus0drGSHW86QDwSoWfGz5jtsVHWF5xRnXg9aZwqN7Jyw-AHMoG4yDE/s400/bus.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">mid-Jan bus</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I know it's the middle of winter, the end of the holiday season, and most people were drunk and/or asleep for two of the past three weeks, so maybe this plays a role. Regardless, I'm feeling crushed by limits and standards I have set for myself, based on what I think people in Tbilisi expect from me. It really is what people expect, but I'm tired of working to seem "normal." My normal is not Tbilisi normal - and I've decided it's time to embrace that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The past three days the weather has been really lovely! 11 degrees C (52 F), sunny, no wind. I even caught a rare glimpse of the beautiful, snowy Mount Kazbek (or so we all assume) across the city, between the low, close mountains, from my window. The view from my 14th floor terrace left me with a deep sadness that I will soon be leaving this apartment. I have decided to move - for multiple reasons. Partly because I just need a change, to shake things up, partly because this apartment has one huge plus (the huge terrace and beautiful view, although the terrace isn't much use in the winter), and several minuses (its shoddy construction means it's always freezing here, it's expensive, and the 2 bedrooms is way more than I need seeing as no one visits me...). Also, excitingly, Bacho and I have decided to move in together! We are moving to an adorable, cozy apartment just a few blocks away. It doesn't have a view but it has mercifully white washed walls, natural wood floors, and a newly renovated kitchen and bathroom.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Below, for your pleasure and entertainment, I have included a selection of photos demonstrating the types of decor commonly found in Tbilisi apartments, making it clear why the white washed walls and new renovation is not only rare, but really something to get excited about!</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Great kitchen</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWiB1f6CWWsWg4FI2L3twbhrJdN4GBtWbD2NiAI5lg5NxObEBrwSvtCMcScp7fEtq3mCwXqtkkbZ4hn26N7I3Z4OfL2TVYVSsyvQNjItY543qwBPfrOFlWEaC0qTPwOmprxiACye1qUlo/s1600/7701464_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="506" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWiB1f6CWWsWg4FI2L3twbhrJdN4GBtWbD2NiAI5lg5NxObEBrwSvtCMcScp7fEtq3mCwXqtkkbZ4hn26N7I3Z4OfL2TVYVSsyvQNjItY543qwBPfrOFlWEaC0qTPwOmprxiACye1qUlo/s400/7701464_3.jpg" width="223" /><span style="font-size: small;"></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Color Coordination</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Super Hip</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Old School</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Bold wallpaper choice </span></div>
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<br />Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03692438649665155641noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2093208508879975920.post-59945415670379145822018-01-20T23:28:00.002-08:002018-02-02T12:53:40.294-08:00First Holiday Season in Georgia<span style="font-size: large;">When you're a westerner living in an Orthodox post-Soviet country, you really get much more utility out of "Happy Holidays" than "Merry Christmas," because here in Georgia, there are five holidays to celebrate before the season draws to a close, not just Christmas and New Year like in the US. Now that these holidays have passed, I wanted to share with you a little about how we celebrate here in Tbilisi!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>1. Western Christmas (Dec 25)</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Often called "Catholic Christmas" or "American Christmas," this is not observed at all in Russia/Georgia. This year was my first ever Christmas away from my family, and I was so incredibly blessed to have my sister come visit me! Since the 25th was a Monday, and normal working day here, I took off my classes and spent the day just relaxing at home with my sister. In the morning, we opened presents to each other and from family in the US, much of which was candy which we then spent the day eating.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It wasn't at all like an American Christmas, and I honestly wouldn't want to do it again unless I had to. I love Christmas traditions and for me it's always been such a day focused on family that it was really hard to be without them. If Riyana hadn't been here, I probably would have spent the day just like any other, in order to get my mind off what I was missing. The one good thing about Christmas in Georgia is that when the day ends, the holiday season isn't over! The streets are still bustling with people buying gifts, light displays have just barely been set up, and there is still an air of anticipation and excitement everywhere. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZpvOlwd0g-GvAGU38A2sw5A-jSE6yy3sXbWuwYwzmTeDq0i3-60iNQ9VLSDqfaqm0F-7Dkj1_GCzb-4roJZ7N4gYOA2RFlAsYIZZnCFfoJZaTxTqAm6Qm2RntArDt-Z_-Oc6AB3cOIQw/s1600/decorations.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZpvOlwd0g-GvAGU38A2sw5A-jSE6yy3sXbWuwYwzmTeDq0i3-60iNQ9VLSDqfaqm0F-7Dkj1_GCzb-4roJZ7N4gYOA2RFlAsYIZZnCFfoJZaTxTqAm6Qm2RntArDt-Z_-Oc6AB3cOIQw/s400/decorations.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">my Christmas decorations</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgALizDJAve1A4xEErQp7mzQwFxLrs-0x6zxzMTMlC7o_oomf1hp5idgHQnojAhDO7eG7BgprwohUe4-Iy5AQxTVaNih-SqbjygfaYh3l8FLxcQnruMe2EiMG7E-QtSm4neDHclhLbqggA/s1600/me+and+yana.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgALizDJAve1A4xEErQp7mzQwFxLrs-0x6zxzMTMlC7o_oomf1hp5idgHQnojAhDO7eG7BgprwohUe4-Iy5AQxTVaNih-SqbjygfaYh3l8FLxcQnruMe2EiMG7E-QtSm4neDHclhLbqggA/s400/me+and+yana.JPG" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">I don't even remember which holiday dinner this was </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>2. New Year (Dec 31/Jan 1)</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">This is the big one. New Year's Eve is the most exciting day of the year for most Georgians. It is traditionally celebrated by sleeping in to build strength for the all-night festivities, then a late, long family dinner, culminating with <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_af2cUPSUqg">a magnificent city-wide fireworks display</a>, champagne toasts, and singing along to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_hI2fRNzXEY">Mravaljamier </a>on the TV. Then, young people go guesting. In small groups, friends in their teens and 20s will bounce from house to house, greeting their friends' families with New Year's wishes, eating a small plate at every house and becoming continuously more drunk as the night goes on. Typically somewhere around 3 am, lights begin to flick off throughout the city and drunk, full, sleepy eyes close until late the next afternoon.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Did I follow all these beautiful New Year's rules and traditions? No. We all celebrated a lovely evening at Bacho's family's house, and by 1:30 am Riyana and I were gracefully passed out on the couch, stomachs bulging full of roast pork and khachapuri, mouths stained with wine.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">As food is probably the most important part of the night, here is a
short list of what is traditionally on a Georgian New Year's table: </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEkGIKnCNsYqYAHq92IySvflhaSpZNumW_-r0RQvm0qKCZTuSxAA5H2q3HACzJzyqRR-x6WoblYYKsE21H_DVZRksW2QuQCBhVscqbmLKp-pOHnKq9wsasmLnrTqLfBkIKqN10L_X4TsQ/s1600/satsivi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1079" data-original-width="1600" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEkGIKnCNsYqYAHq92IySvflhaSpZNumW_-r0RQvm0qKCZTuSxAA5H2q3HACzJzyqRR-x6WoblYYKsE21H_DVZRksW2QuQCBhVscqbmLKp-pOHnKq9wsasmLnrTqLfBkIKqN10L_X4TsQ/s400/satsivi.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">satsivi - a spiced walnut paste with boiled chicken (served cold) </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdsW60xV2NDSv5SkqjHCiu7Lo3AAtXwKU-RufxBn1uce_e77ARjE1vTQH6Cjv3TuxgoocuxK5e6S2sc3gsWl7UIH2jmpRUcYHGYr_7WQbyYEPfQCuDNzMwfqyi7c13vTwSHVlNHlLE3G0/s1600/churchkhela.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="960" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdsW60xV2NDSv5SkqjHCiu7Lo3AAtXwKU-RufxBn1uce_e77ARjE1vTQH6Cjv3TuxgoocuxK5e6S2sc3gsWl7UIH2jmpRUcYHGYr_7WQbyYEPfQCuDNzMwfqyi7c13vTwSHVlNHlLE3G0/s400/churchkhela.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">churchkhela - a string of walnuts dipped in thickened grape juice</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn99omNxNFWhThTDOWAq-LpeHhA5jYdaWSorWCn0GDmS6_5UIO1cYCVxFJJUjknXrW2krEBfrWHV8GKxLbR5TMhyphenhyphenCjalerY0qSblZ9FgFvx1I3UJw7VJKjK-kdX97Q0ssAYFwfyBeSVi8/s1600/gozinkai.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="530" data-original-width="530" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn99omNxNFWhThTDOWAq-LpeHhA5jYdaWSorWCn0GDmS6_5UIO1cYCVxFJJUjknXrW2krEBfrWHV8GKxLbR5TMhyphenhyphenCjalerY0qSblZ9FgFvx1I3UJw7VJKjK-kdX97Q0ssAYFwfyBeSVi8/s400/gozinkai.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">gozinaki - walnuts fried in honey (sort of like granola)</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKyXU-K6OB8cMfwd1IneTkpmPS-E4A3KTNwTQV_vjlRYgAGHNblcoI1h1fiytZyW2k1MqPHbKa0_OB9x8ad5XDekmJgiOo3N1oB-jLpTy3o2NsiD0mD82iHUTeiK8dr7c0akgtINfJ5IU/s1600/pkhali.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="640" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKyXU-K6OB8cMfwd1IneTkpmPS-E4A3KTNwTQV_vjlRYgAGHNblcoI1h1fiytZyW2k1MqPHbKa0_OB9x8ad5XDekmJgiOo3N1oB-jLpTy3o2NsiD0mD82iHUTeiK8dr7c0akgtINfJ5IU/s400/pkhali.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">pkhali - eggplant strips stuffed with eggplant/walnut mix</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHVHX-DEc9G6vyigOnukCOW5Y_GXu3eJDAJof7i3zvYkocxc4rJ-SuPf8jFfjZEbLQuumgDOqztaRtntq-wH_evH93v0GDQ8RpFL8xaFX8mxzq1TVfjamY_WjH3eytjLh90C_045oy2xQ/s1600/xachapuri.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1239" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHVHX-DEc9G6vyigOnukCOW5Y_GXu3eJDAJof7i3zvYkocxc4rJ-SuPf8jFfjZEbLQuumgDOqztaRtntq-wH_evH93v0GDQ8RpFL8xaFX8mxzq1TVfjamY_WjH3eytjLh90C_045oy2xQ/s400/xachapuri.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">khachapuri - cheese bread</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuqdNvLstktBxrdTGXOYVlrM8rs6RbdznlT8iHVZaJuCr8mF2AE3v6x4XOHrElNMh_I_CHiSzpDH1TIGPzHuP_GWdQAm7BcgIimDogdSI6l9dzH8ZUxurMDnP4y2mnFhnGlJCXE0m8KsE/s1600/pig+head.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuqdNvLstktBxrdTGXOYVlrM8rs6RbdznlT8iHVZaJuCr8mF2AE3v6x4XOHrElNMh_I_CHiSzpDH1TIGPzHuP_GWdQAm7BcgIimDogdSI6l9dzH8ZUxurMDnP4y2mnFhnGlJCXE0m8KsE/s400/pig+head.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">aaaaaand pork. this was a table decoration and also a source of snacks (pig ear)</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;">and, of course, lots of wine, both bottled and homemade!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju_sik4OwymcYWaFqD9koepbnp89pm16N_RsbSmBw-DxCPq055eKops4xIVPbv4gg5ZnpLoPXAY1G__7Q29tye3sLlb159EN6ApXg4ZlNdWzipix5lw8t_zcp-Yc3Io7tpXzddowOtuh0/s1600/wine.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="330" data-original-width="620" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju_sik4OwymcYWaFqD9koepbnp89pm16N_RsbSmBw-DxCPq055eKops4xIVPbv4gg5ZnpLoPXAY1G__7Q29tye3sLlb159EN6ApXg4ZlNdWzipix5lw8t_zcp-Yc3Io7tpXzddowOtuh0/s400/wine.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">January 2nd is called "bedoba," and the day is a prediction of how the rest of the year will go. If you get in fights, it will be a year of conflict. If you find some money, it will be an economically fruitful year, etc... </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">This year, on January 2nd, we went skiing! So maybe it will be a year of falling on my ass?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtRrPXLx74XFzXlN27uFk9RInTKeD5ESVob3bE2UP2yDz8fZgcbs6v_IpaetazmghTU69wRy_whQkY5rpvdk5hJbllHP6EzBiBqWu0QP_J4CcBWqxi5vkKUjucfAeZtarA3DUhS9J0lhw/s1600/boot.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtRrPXLx74XFzXlN27uFk9RInTKeD5ESVob3bE2UP2yDz8fZgcbs6v_IpaetazmghTU69wRy_whQkY5rpvdk5hJbllHP6EzBiBqWu0QP_J4CcBWqxi5vkKUjucfAeZtarA3DUhS9J0lhw/s400/boot.JPG" width="300" /> </a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2h433FabmUi2Up2419zeWjti90Y0jrasL8AiFv-YZIhzlLZkvmDYAJ4nILXcnB5DYTUssduPc9TRY5f-cSZSYOtbUkfSQ67-dOlsPJbQ3uolw7ilB9-XGi3-V3imKHT-HDM4HxgPwSAA/s1600/bacho+ski.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2h433FabmUi2Up2419zeWjti90Y0jrasL8AiFv-YZIhzlLZkvmDYAJ4nILXcnB5DYTUssduPc9TRY5f-cSZSYOtbUkfSQ67-dOlsPJbQ3uolw7ilB9-XGi3-V3imKHT-HDM4HxgPwSAA/s400/bacho+ski.JPG" width="300" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsPtZOz2kBxsqrTzuyx-lLVZcBvigR7KBtdKtWaTljmgxrX29ahgpsWZyOLrysqGwB3RhJNsl4aIkXNLJ9nPUhyphenhyphenSdP0fi0OspuXRyYNgKIj_HYoqiygsnN01yerNWBRMg6PuXt3OnIwiQ/s1600/yana+ski.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsPtZOz2kBxsqrTzuyx-lLVZcBvigR7KBtdKtWaTljmgxrX29ahgpsWZyOLrysqGwB3RhJNsl4aIkXNLJ9nPUhyphenhyphenSdP0fi0OspuXRyYNgKIj_HYoqiygsnN01yerNWBRMg6PuXt3OnIwiQ/s400/yana+ski.JPG" width="300" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>3. Orthodox Christmas (Jan 7)</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The Orthodox version of Christmas<b> </b>is on the 7th, reflecting the old Julian calendar. It is a rather subdued holiday, with most people marking it by going to church (sometimes a midnight, 3-hour-long formal service), and a family dinner.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFbagPhyF3HTfe4mf3DM-clzoom1BHC3aQ4x9cYxXXMxMMUvIDZKCjvSy30ZYexycHOB4Qr1i0q5XXiL7SoEQfReyqipjn5CI1cGTl_6Ro4NaWfdxodfbuTOus7GBTLZRvm75_62AhU_8/s1600/chichilaki.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFbagPhyF3HTfe4mf3DM-clzoom1BHC3aQ4x9cYxXXMxMMUvIDZKCjvSy30ZYexycHOB4Qr1i0q5XXiL7SoEQfReyqipjn5CI1cGTl_6Ro4NaWfdxodfbuTOus7GBTLZRvm75_62AhU_8/s400/chichilaki.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Georgian Christmas tree, called a "chichilaki"<br />
- made with curled wood strips!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;">Most people have the week from the 1st-8th off work, and spend most days drinking and eating and visiting friends. We went skiing in the resort town of <a href="http://bakuriani.ge/en/home">Bakuriani</a>, along with what seemed like half the region. I've never seen that many people in any Georgian city outside of Tbilisi! It was mostly Georgians, Armenians, Azeris, and Russians with the occasional Iranian, Chinese, or American thrown in. </span><br />
<b></b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b> </b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">4. Old New Year (Jan 14)</span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Most people went back to work on Jan 8th<b> </b>for a slow, difficult week of readjustment before Old New Year on Jan 14th pretty much closes out the season. Riyana was gone by this time, but it was marked essentially the same way as Orthodox Christmas - dinners (yes, plural - the second of which again ended with me asleep on the couch...) with family and friends.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Bacho's work also held it's holiday party at a nice restaurant/event hall on Sunday (the office's start time was pushed back to 11 am on Monday!). It was elegant and fun, and there was WAY too much food.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>5. Epiphany (Jan 19)</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The final holiday of the winter season is <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Epiphany_(holiday)">Epiphany</a>! Such a beautiful name for a holiday, I feel like it should always have an exclamation point after it...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Before getting into Eurasian/Orthodox studies, I had never heard of Epiphany(!). In the western/Catholic Church, it's on Jan 6th, but here it's the 19th (that Julian calendar again). The Orthodox say the day recognizes Christ's baptism in the Jordan, and subsequently, it involves <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uyH1f0ob0u8">the faithful jumping into freezing cold water</a>, or water being poured on them by priests. Interestingly - while Eastern Europeans generally have a neurotic fear of being wet outside, that it will make them get sick, Epiphany is an exception - since the water is blessed, it can't make you sick.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I didn't see much of Epiphany(!) in action in Tbilisi other than most people getting a day of work, and the roads and buses being totally empty on my way to class. I did experience the holiday in St. Petersburg, though, where it's even colder than Tbilisi, and it was really a sight to be seen. It's quite the experience to take an evening stroll along the waterfront in a warm jacket, watching the faithful and brave take the plunge.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>NOTE: while it is now January 21st, I still cannot report on when Christmas music will stop being played everywhere...</i></span><br />
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<b></b>
<b></b>
<b></b>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03692438649665155641noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2093208508879975920.post-43387859250802452642017-12-12T21:28:00.002-08:002018-02-02T12:53:40.261-08:00Does Georgia's Reliance on Family Hinder the Economy?<i>This post was inspired by Freakonomics Radio on Marketplace, the episode "Why Family and Business Don't Mix," broadcast 13 June, 2013.</i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Family is the foundation of Georgian society. For the vast majority of society, family is much more influential than even religion - I say this largely because most Georgians rarely attend church regularly, and Orthodox churches don't really have a Sunday school equivalent where children learn the tenents of the religion. Children are taught religious principles, or at least the general social conceptions of what religious principles are (mainly chastity, obedience, and the virtues of poverty and suffering), by their family. </span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZejTVk9qxBRIhio2VvUk8pBeAO5uSTh5Y0O2_gcTA5M3IpsU-qho42kUWkd3tIfaaX2_AIaFfor0SAnBxi0uaYbQL1hkS7FFdQT-fVPAxU00Typ_SEAz_RS98yW_SqYiLZu_r12-LJDc/s1600/geo+fam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="288" data-original-width="450" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZejTVk9qxBRIhio2VvUk8pBeAO5uSTh5Y0O2_gcTA5M3IpsU-qho42kUWkd3tIfaaX2_AIaFfor0SAnBxi0uaYbQL1hkS7FFdQT-fVPAxU00Typ_SEAz_RS98yW_SqYiLZu_r12-LJDc/s320/geo+fam.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Anyone who has spent time in Georgia has likely noticed the intense influence of family. For example:</span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Young people generally live with their parents until they get married</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Usually, a young married couple will move in with the husband's family, affording them no privacy, no honeymoon period, no independence from birth until death...this also means that several generations usually live in the same apartment</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Parents call their adult children constantly on the phone, even when they live together</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Family obligations come before everything </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">It is completely off limits to date the family member of a friend, including family members not by blood or marriage but by the church, which includes godparents, and best man/maid of honor</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Parents have a significant influence on their children's choice of partner</span></li>
</ul>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">A 2010 study by Alberto Alesina and Paola Giuliano at the UCLA Anderson School of Management analyzed how family ties in different cultures affect economic outcomes. The study determined that "cultures that have strong family ties tend to have weaker economies." Giuliano summarized the two main reasons for this correlation for Marketplace:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"<i>People who rely on the family tend to trust, mostly, the family and
less the outside world. Therefore, they tend to be more inward-looking
and they develop a lower level of social capital or political
participation."</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Relying on close family structures is associated with less reliance on and trust in external institutions, such as the court system, the legislature, and civil society. What direction does the correlation, flow, though? Perhaps it's a chicken and egg question. Is it the case that family structures once dominated the world, and in industrialized, large economies reliable democratic institutions replaced the family as the foundation of life and business? Or is it that in economies where public institutions have failed, families pick up the burden?<br /><i></i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Consider, if you will, the concept of blood feuds. This series of cyclic, vengeful violence was common practice in many cultures worldwide (including, famously, Georgia's Svaneti region until relatively recently) until societies became more centralized and law enforcement developed to the point where it more or less reliably and predictably punished those who broke the social contract. With the ability to rely on the government (police), people no longer needed to rely on their families (Uncle Joe going after the kid in the next town over for besmirching his niece's virtue) in this particular realm.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGvkLx4SmQhxH-Lc9uEvSxTph4rSpSjQFEouQQNNVx__FrBXGjmUwvIGptgVBerggS5aid52S2Dxl8ftojyCWF1rt-ZjtEErsF4wCOFBlYh7nyS0wL2Bc6afxp5xGkpVIM54ZkjEk8e7I/s1600/svaneti+towers+georgia+Ushguli.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="682" data-original-width="1024" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGvkLx4SmQhxH-Lc9uEvSxTph4rSpSjQFEouQQNNVx__FrBXGjmUwvIGptgVBerggS5aid52S2Dxl8ftojyCWF1rt-ZjtEErsF4wCOFBlYh7nyS0wL2Bc6afxp5xGkpVIM54ZkjEk8e7I/s640/svaneti+towers+georgia+Ushguli.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Defensive towers in Svaneti, Georgia; <a href="http://www.kuriositas.com/2014/09/the-svanetian-towers-of-georgia.html">Kuriositas</a></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Wikipedia claims that "Blood feuds were common in societies with a weak rule of law (or where
the state does not consider itself responsible for mediating this kind
of dispute), where family and kinship ties are the main source of authority." It's easy to see how this relationship between family and government transfers to other sectors - banking, property, contract enforcement. When you can't count on the government, you can trust your family to help get the job done, and when you can trust your family, you have less incentive to push the government to take on those roles. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">There are some sectors where even family would have a hard time filling the gaps, like copyright or taxes. Still, in less centralized, less democratic, societies these sectors are not very well developed. In Georgia, Saakashvili post-Rose Revolution (2003) introduced what every western news outlet calls "sweeping reforms" which cut through corruption and bribery. Georgia, however, still suffers quite significantly from crony capitalism, and the relation to close family ties is quite obvious. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">As noted on Freakonomics, family business are necessarily less profitable, on average, than other business.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"There’s a lot of
research showing that a family firm – let’s say where the founder hands
off the reins to a relative – that that firm will do worse than if they
bring in an outside CEO. I mean, just think about it for a minute, <b>what
are the odds that the best person to run my company happens to be
blood-related to me?</b> That said, family business is still very common in
many parts of the world — Latin America, parts of Asia and western
Europe. Especially where institutions are not as strong. The U.S.
actually has a pretty low incidence of family firms — and seemingly
getting fewer all the time" - Stephen J Dubner (emphasis added)</span><span style="font-size: large;">.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZebU_Op3QoVNZ7mwLWKe2RBdzdo3UzMluzMafiZQ4Cbxxg56zSR8Ztq_uOJrN8RfzDlQpjuIITyslWmKGHZFjh1mchbqPeI188t6yKvX36hJRtzWKSzD07ESUNQeGWJlpt-_smTxNGCU/s1600/fam+biz+geo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="571" data-original-width="550" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZebU_Op3QoVNZ7mwLWKe2RBdzdo3UzMluzMafiZQ4Cbxxg56zSR8Ztq_uOJrN8RfzDlQpjuIITyslWmKGHZFjh1mchbqPeI188t6yKvX36hJRtzWKSzD07ESUNQeGWJlpt-_smTxNGCU/s320/fam+biz+geo.jpg" width="308" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"family business"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span> <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Georgia isn't exactly crawling with family businesses, but I think that's mainly because the entrepreneurial spirit is somewhat lacking. You do see the pattern play out, however, in rampant nepotism. If you're looking for a job, you can count on a relative (by blood, marriage, or church) to find something for you. If you have a job and you hear of an opening, you are sure to recommend a relative for it. Even in government ministries you can find the minister's nieces, nephews, and godsons...as Dubner noted - what are the odds that the best person for the job is your relative? I wonder how things would look in Georgia if it were a more merit based system.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Another significant problem in Georgia's development is the transparency and efficacy of the judiciary. This is an area where, I think it's relatively clear, due to the inability of the judiciary to provide for its citizens, family relationships pick up the slack. If you want to take an issue to the courts for a civil case, you will be faced with unbelievably long wait times, high fees, and judgements that are often questioned by international watchdog organizations.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">During the 2016 US Presidential election, and the recent Alabama special election for the Senate, a recurring theme has been family - family values, family-led policy, support for family businesses. Many conservatives have decried the loss of family as the primary institution in American society. But with this new evidence, you have to ask, has America's post-WWII economic growth, political leadership, and social development been spurred on by a less family-focused structure? Has America's success allowed Americans to center their lives on the institutions of their choosing, rather than being left with family as the only choice?</span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Ultimately, I think if you ask Georgians whether they would trade their strong family ties for a better economy, the answer will be a resounding no.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.nber.org/papers/w13051">To read the full paper "Power of the Family," click here. </a></span></div>
<ul>
</ul>
Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03692438649665155641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2093208508879975920.post-90917379420550057822017-11-28T02:38:00.001-08:002017-11-29T02:00:56.742-08:005 Ways Gender Roles are Harmful in Georgian Society<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Hello, and good morning/afternoon/evening/anytime of day - because every time of day is ideal for acknowledging (and getting fired up about) the toxic consequences that strict gender roles have on society. In this case, we are talking specifically about Georgia, the <i>country </i></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">in which I currently live.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaDA8qlLHiTfQnUng3WpXK6dxFG5_ZkkasFY69W3Tt5qr72MuR5PW178iuba9Gl2jv8oELBIDtGNaZQR2aeHvbNPpivMGcJkVH7jSBBxbE4Ujd30I2bnPWkpOa1-2ADBJVenWBfhWdl2k/s1600/120314a_0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="900" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaDA8qlLHiTfQnUng3WpXK6dxFG5_ZkkasFY69W3Tt5qr72MuR5PW178iuba9Gl2jv8oELBIDtGNaZQR2aeHvbNPpivMGcJkVH7jSBBxbE4Ujd30I2bnPWkpOa1-2ADBJVenWBfhWdl2k/s400/120314a_0.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">feminism protest that freaked everyone out<br />because some women didn't shave their armpits</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">First, I want to distinguish gender roles, the topic of this
post, from sexism.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>Gender roles:</b> social expectations of the distinct and
separate roles that men and women should hold</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Sexis</b><b>m:</b> </span></span><span style="font-size: large;">"discrimination based on sex or gender, or the belief that men are superior to women and thus discrimination is justified. Such a belief can be conscious or unconscious. In sexism as in racism the differences between two (or more) groups are viewed as indications that one group is superior or inferior." - <a href="https://www.thoughtco.com/what-is-sexism-3529186">Jone Johnson Lewis</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">In many western countries, sexism comes most often in the
form of social norms, ignorance, implicit bias, and institutionalized sexism
rather than explicit, intentional discrimination. Georgia has a little of both,
but I find myself getting the most riled up about the ways that gender roles
are harmful. Additionally, sexism is often banished (at least temporarily) by
drawing attention to it and calling out casually sexist behavior, while gender
roles are generally more ingrained, more stubborn, and people often have trouble
seeing past ‘tradition’ to the systematic harm that gender roles can cause.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Now, <span style="color: #990000;"><b>a disclaimer for all my readers who are afraid of the
term ‘feminism’:</b> </span>Some argue that gender equality doesn’t make sense because
men and women are biologically different. I am not arguing that men and women
are always biologically the same. I am arguing that, irrespective of any
biological differences, men and women are <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">equal</i>
– equally good, equally valuable, equally deserving of respect and
opportunities in society, at work, and at home, and equally able to serve their
communities in various ways. Individuals certainly have specialized skills,
interests, and desires, but as a group, there are no tasks, no jobs, no ROLES
that men as a whole or women as a whole must or should fulfill.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I love Georgia, and want to be part of continuing to make it a better place to live for everyone.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Now, onto the list...</span><br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: -0.25in;"><b>1. Sexual Repression and its Consequences ~my favorite problem~</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">As I mentioned above, most people can't talk about sex. Even many people who are theoretically sex-positive have a lot of difficulty discussing sex in a mature, rational way. If you are one of these men reading this, please keep reading!!! But please don't think that me discussing sex here is a sign that I am interested in having sex with you. I'm not. I am also not trying to be scandalizing for the sake of scandal, but this needs to be discussed! </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://chai-khana.org/en/teaching-sex-georgia">This story from Chai Khana shows some of the challenges<br />faced when trying to teach sexual education in schools.</a> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Young people are not raised with an understanding of what role sex can and should play in a relationship other than as a vehicle for reproduction. On the other extreme end of the spectrum, many boys are encouraged by their male family members to go to a prostitute to lose their virginity, sometimes on their 16th or 18th birthdays they are given a visit to a brothel as a gift from an uncle or older cousin. Men are perceived as needing sex biologically, and women are painted as having little to no sexual desire.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOtPbES5OxgUzX0GgEKd7S800oo7ilcdapr2vSZVhCFU58XerkGSmziW6iVfxC5D-0pjs0_sJSVSeLFBjuB-zh32b9eN9S2TmEUb_S3uL0Jgc_wtqzS_NJe9r-naqi3YDePgkeMnrpZvc/s1600/batumi+brothel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="369" data-original-width="440" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOtPbES5OxgUzX0GgEKd7S800oo7ilcdapr2vSZVhCFU58XerkGSmziW6iVfxC5D-0pjs0_sJSVSeLFBjuB-zh32b9eN9S2TmEUb_S3uL0Jgc_wtqzS_NJe9r-naqi3YDePgkeMnrpZvc/s320/batumi+brothel.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Batumi, Georgia</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Men learn about sex through internet porn and their 30-min stints with prostitutes. They don't know how to have good sex, consensual, emotion-based sex. It is simply a transaction. They don't know or think about women's needs or desires, or giving pleasure to their partner, or using sex to strengthen a relationship.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Women don't learn about sex other than that it is their duty to provide their husbands a child, through sex, and that </span><i style="font-size: x-large;">men </i><span style="font-size: large;">need sex. Women are not told that sex can and should be pleasurable for them. They are not taught how to seek their own pleasure, or even that women can have an orgasm. They are told that if a man asks them for something other than missionary sex, they are being disrespected - it's out of the question that a woman may want something other then missionary herself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Both men and women are often told that it is disrespectful to a woman to ask for oral or anal sex, or even to have sex in any position other than missionary. There is no dialogue between a couple about what they want from sex, or the role of sex in their relationship. Men are told that their desires for more interesting, varied, or frequent sex is normal, but asking for it from their wives is disrespectful, so going to a prostitute is a good solution - women often accept this. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I have heard Georgian men explain that prostitutes are working in the sex industry because they love sex so much and can't get enough on their own. Thus, some men feel that they are doing the women a favor by buying sex from them, satisfying the women's needs. </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXYt-hjKPLjXbehdwmByPVGJQ0Ym3p_MrIAo9B21kUsRokRVYh01KRA12mnvfgKpYRWGzEAcw5w4_5kMUkr9cVjG-3Ydo_WZYCRUqC-dXNL40XLaIu2_LfODDIAr7eAHtsznG1YIbjhNY/s1600/123525425.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXYt-hjKPLjXbehdwmByPVGJQ0Ym3p_MrIAo9B21kUsRokRVYh01KRA12mnvfgKpYRWGzEAcw5w4_5kMUkr9cVjG-3Ydo_WZYCRUqC-dXNL40XLaIu2_LfODDIAr7eAHtsznG1YIbjhNY/s400/123525425.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="font-size: small;">Dolce Vita Strip Club in the daytime</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Is this a problem in and of itself? Women feel respected, men satisfy their needs and interests, brothels are a booming industry. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Yes, of course it's a problem!!!!</b> All the other issues I mention below are interwoven into this essential, kernel problem of Georgian society.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">a) A lack of communication between couples harms a relationship, increasing the risk of domestic violence, divorce, and general unhappiness and unfulfillment. If Georgians are so family-oriented, shouldn't this be a concern of the first degree?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">b) Women are left sexually unsatisfied - sex is a burden and a responsibility. The benefits of regular orgasm in adult women are well documented <a href="https://www.fitnessmagazine.com/mind-body/sex/benefits-of-orgasm/">here</a>, <a href="http://www.chatelaine.com/health/sex-and-relationships/five-unexpected-health-benefits-of-orgasms/">here</a>, <a href="https://www.womenshealthmag.com/sex-and-love/have-more-orgasms">here</a>, and <a href="https://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/11/05/orgasm-health-benefits_n_4143213.html">here</a>. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">c) Women are pressured or even forced into the sex trade, prostitutes are physically and emotionally abused. <a href="http://www.eurasianet.org/node/69306">Teenage prostitution is another alarming aspect</a>. Although prostitution is illegal in Georgia, the laws are barely and inconsistently enforced. With such a heavy push on tourism as a source of economic growth, the government low key benefits from the sex trade as truck drivers from Muslim countries in particular (Iran, Turkey, Azerbaijan) see Georgia as the ideal sex pit-stop.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">d) Boys are encouraged to go to prostitutes from a young age, immediately connecting sex and their body and physical desires with immediate gratification and a sense of entitlement, as well as disconnecting sex from emotions. This has negative implications for psychological health, and conditions men to see sex as their right, rather than a consensual agreement, entered into through mutual desire and built on trust and affection.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimyKk4lHbUDTyvkcUCQrIB_HlBXc9tWwEd5cpwbvFS9d1k_k1I1dsIR6MinpUQbEswSZUKIVLG8FXuLOYmi9_rBX2UOqEwns0LrpdgfUPvha6GOazJdD9D2zCOArf_aZc0s9zZRFhHDOM/s1600/mencareinside.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="638" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimyKk4lHbUDTyvkcUCQrIB_HlBXc9tWwEd5cpwbvFS9d1k_k1I1dsIR6MinpUQbEswSZUKIVLG8FXuLOYmi9_rBX2UOqEwns0LrpdgfUPvha6GOazJdD9D2zCOArf_aZc0s9zZRFhHDOM/s400/mencareinside.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtRasS1REJZ0uRWxBtYEIUjjnLFcy3srsAeXj9m6Xy11APLRaBhy-feLQObBc9VGpi8lfznN25e31RA7ubZIAvDyWLhqDTW1CLNTcKW-sNDVNA80__hxl_9I8dXHd4CAU9QT5Cit-BS70/s1600/mencarecover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="450" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtRasS1REJZ0uRWxBtYEIUjjnLFcy3srsAeXj9m6Xy11APLRaBhy-feLQObBc9VGpi8lfznN25e31RA7ubZIAvDyWLhqDTW1CLNTcKW-sNDVNA80__hxl_9I8dXHd4CAU9QT5Cit-BS70/s400/mencarecover.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">these photos are from <a href="http://agenda.ge/news/75473/eng">an awesome campaign </a>in Georgia from<br />UNFPA encouraging men to be active fathers and caregivers</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Finally, the cult of virginity is extremely detrimental to young women. Anecdotally, hymen reconstruction surgery (generally before a wedding) is alarmingly common. Many people do not understand the female anatomy, and believe that virginity is a clear-cut physical element, a body part. Especially in rural areas, women are often subjected to invasive, shameful, and medically inaccurate virginity tests. Women are taught that their self worth is entirely tied to their virginity. When a woman first engages in sexual activity, her identity and confidence can be shaken. It is not uncommon for young men to promise a girlfriend that they will eventually get married and convince her to have sex with him, then break up with her, leaving her feeling used and somehow 'ruined'. Even if a woman waits until after marriage to have sex, it can still be traumatic to part with something by which her value as a 'kargi gogo' (good girl) has thus been defined.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Of course, my description here is not indicative of all Georgians, but it is extremely prevalent in the country, particularly in rural areas, in more traditional families, in places with poorer education, and for older people.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -0.25in;"><b><span style="color: #990000; font-size: large;">2. Women’s Double Burden (particularly in
Economically Depressed Areas)</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The concept of women's double burden is not new, and not unique to the post-Soviet space, but it is certainly </span>prevalent<span style="font-family: inherit;"> here. It refers to women being both expected to work, a legacy of Soviet labor policy, and expected to run the household, including being the primary caregiver of children. The Soviet communist dream was a society where childcare was state run and available to all, where cheap, attractive cafeterias (столовые) on every street would replace the need for women to cook, and where communal apartments would allow families to share the domestic burden. However, this vision never fully materialized, and while women were required to work in factories or on collective farms equally alongside men, they continued to also shoulder the bulk of the domestic burden, as had been the pre-Soviet tradition. </span></span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">In modern Georgia, particularly in rural and economically depressed areas, jobs are scare. If agriculture is not productive (and it is rarely more than subsistence farming for most people), there are few alternative jobs. The fact that jobs are heavily gendered (another gender role problem), means that men have less access to work that will support their family that is available in the regions, such as being a teacher, or working in a kindergarten or a health clinic.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHB0BTPgg0XHMmZyihuJg1J3PuZkVgt_96KBh9MCtmtVkqGNfA2dI0RPqohr3ry5yNwgfvQviMgDF-wTh6opFIDq1IQ4WxdnfJphjdu-kYE4-cUFVdWqpzTKBdkUxQJ_fv6W4TAFw4hoo/s1600/29456BC2-EB0F-4828-887E-F9C16DDF3875_w640_r1_s_cx0_cy7_cw88.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHB0BTPgg0XHMmZyihuJg1J3PuZkVgt_96KBh9MCtmtVkqGNfA2dI0RPqohr3ry5yNwgfvQviMgDF-wTh6opFIDq1IQ4WxdnfJphjdu-kYE4-cUFVdWqpzTKBdkUxQJ_fv6W4TAFw4hoo/s400/29456BC2-EB0F-4828-887E-F9C16DDF3875_w640_r1_s_cx0_cy7_cw88.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.healthrights.ge/%E1%83%A1%E1%83%98%E1%83%A6%E1%83%90%E1%83%A0%E1%83%98%E1%83%91%E1%83%98%E1%83%A1-%E1%83%A4%E1%83%90%E1%83%A1%E1%83%98-1000-%E1%83%93%E1%83%90%E1%83%A6%E1%83%A3%E1%83%9E%E1%83%A3%E1%83%9A%E1%83%98/">Poverty in Georgia </a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: -0.25in;"><i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vwW0X9f0mME">Here is a great commercial from India<br />challenging traditional gender roles.</a></i></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /><b><span style="color: #990000;">3. Men Resort to Violence</span></b><br /><br /> Gender based violence (GBV) is a huge issue in Georgia, and has been getting more attention lately! Some of the biggest challenges in eradicating GBV is that it is largely normalized and that it is almost never reported to authorities. There are no reliable national statistics on how many women and girls are affected. <a href="http://blogs.worldbank.org/europeandcentralasia/georgia-law-and-services-gender-based-violence-are-ahead-social-attitudes">This article from the World Bank</a> says that "a 2010 study estimated that 10% of married women throughout Georgia have experienced physical violence, and 3.9% of women have experienced sexual violence. These numbers are considered to be vastly under-reported." GBV particularly affects women in national minority groups (mainly ethnic Azeris and Armenians), and goes hand in hand with early marriage. <a href="http://www.unfpa.org/news/domestic-violence-georgia-breaking-silence">This UNFPA article</a> is full of shocking facts, including that "<b>75 per cent of the women in Georgia believe that domestic violence is a private affair and should not be spoken about outside the family.</b> The same research shows that only 2 per cent of women reach out to police, lawyers and other service providers when they face violence at home."<br /><br /> Gender roles play into this in a few ways - first, it is so tolerated because it is normalized. Women are taught that it is in men's character to be violent and aggressive, and it is not feminine to fight back. It is a woman's job to tame the wild spirit of the man through keeping the home, cooking, cleaning, providing him children, maintaining the family reputation, etc. If her husband gets angry, maybe it's the woman's fault for not giving him what he needs.</span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTR7MU_6xdw0PyZTXwM0Io6ppdVun8BR5o9tRKSjo7Zr8hwHdJQnnztbzSaicKrzFM5fkwxMG2G6cQLkWBErlvG0mgiNR6wXQtHdtqyk9je4I3jJ8PGil20m5gI5Fph33yBOcvhD_rVWY/s1600/cms-image-000032319.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="627" data-original-width="940" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTR7MU_6xdw0PyZTXwM0Io6ppdVun8BR5o9tRKSjo7Zr8hwHdJQnnztbzSaicKrzFM5fkwxMG2G6cQLkWBErlvG0mgiNR6wXQtHdtqyk9je4I3jJ8PGil20m5gI5Fph33yBOcvhD_rVWY/s400/cms-image-000032319.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://liberali.ge/articles/view/3892/sigharibis-shvilebi"><span style="font-size: large;">poverty in Georgia</span></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br />Second - emotional conditioning. Worldwide, men are conditioned to not feel empathy, not to express emotions. This can cause men to lash out, to explode, rather than dealing with negative emotions in a productive and peaceful way, such as through crying, talking about their feelings, etc. Men are taught to solve problems through fighting. Honor and respect are such touchstones here in Georgia, if someone were to insult the honor of a man (through anything from someone making a pass at his girlfriend to calling him a name), him and his friends are socially 'required' to physically fight whoever insulted them. Women are conditioned to be open and soft and caring, creating a target for violence and aggression. Women are rarely taught to defend themselves physically. This is sort of an interesting point in Georgian culture, because although this emotional conditioning is definitely strong, the supra tradition includes the effusive expression of emotion, through 'toasts' (speeches), song, and physical affection. Interestingly, this gush of emotion is generally reserved for drunkenness and all-male environments.<br /><br /> Third, of course GBV is prevalent worldwide, in countries at all levels of economic development, but is often exasperated by strict expectations on men to provide for their families. In economically depressed areas, the other side of the coin to women's double burden is the 'impotency' of men (I hate using this word because it sort of propagates the idea that men need to be sexually virile to be men, but I can't find a better term...). This is frequently discussed when describing the lure of terrorist organizations for men in poor areas of Central Asia. <br /><br /> It also contributes to a frustration within Georgian men who feel they are failing to fulfill in the stereotypical role of breadwinner, which can be expressed through violence, particularly within the home.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><b><span style="color: #990000;">4. Rape.</span></b><br /><br /> The <a href="http://blogs.worldbank.org/europeandcentralasia/georgia-law-and-services-gender-based-violence-are-ahead-social-attitudes">World Bank article</a> also references a <a href="http://en.calameo.com/books/000713529d553aaaf9682">2013 study on Men and Gender in Georgia</a>, in which "more than a third of respondents believed that women who are raped have been reckless, or that rape only affects women with a ‘bad reputation.’ Half the respondents believe that if a women does not physically resist, it cannot be considered rape."<br /><br /> I don't have much to say on this issue. It's just horrific.<br />There is <a href="https://chai-khana.org/en/teaching-sex-georgia">essentially no sexual education in public schools</a>, and thus no discussions of consent.<br /><br /> The topic of sex is so taboo that even among young adults, when I bring up sex in an abstract sense, it usually elicits blushes and silence from women and snickers and crude jokes from men. If you can't talk about sex, you can't talk about respect or consent, or the right to say no. In mixed company, if a woman starts talking about sex, she is often perceived as slutty or easy; if a man tries to talk about sex, it is considered highly inappropriate and offensive to the women. It's a vicious cycle. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: -0.25in;"><b>5. Political and Economic Disparities</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><a href="http://eca.unwomen.org/en/where-we-are/georgia">UN Women writes</a> that "Gender perceptions in Georgia place men in a dominant position in many areas of social, economic and political life. Data confirms persistent inequalities between women and men. There is a significant gender gap in labour force participation with the gender wage gap reaching 35 per cent. Women’s entrepreneurship is limited. Female-headed households, marginalized social groups among the internally displaced and conflict affected populations, and women from other excluded </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">groups often experience poverty or at a high risk."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Women have low political participation - only 11 percent of parliamentarians in national and local governments are women. It is a man's role to lead, and a woman's role to support, maintain. So many government agencies are full of brilliant, young women, running everything, but almost always with a male boss at the head. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I hear that famous quote from My Big Fat Greek Wedding a l<span style="font-family: inherit;">ot here - </span></span><span style="font-size: large;">"the man is the head [of the house], but <b>the woman is the neck</b>. And she can turn the head any way she wants." I honestly used to love this quote, but now I find it quite dangerous. It tells men and women that they have a "place" and encourages them to stay there. Why have a relationship full of deception, trying to make the husband believe he controls everything when really the woman controls him through manipulation? That doesn't sound like a healthy marriage to me.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXRSHM5F3VCCiKAEsl6HeLWhdVmUpMJFQldUhRj8A_-9JUIhN9KGpxpNQyIQrqYAdYJeGNA-Q7VpPVbP9qcIHiMXSIcum0IRGSFsZbaC3EKLnm6RCz-T2n9OH_ZNSMJRy8Y8yS4h5VuMQ/s1600/Verwijder1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="246" data-original-width="470" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXRSHM5F3VCCiKAEsl6HeLWhdVmUpMJFQldUhRj8A_-9JUIhN9KGpxpNQyIQrqYAdYJeGNA-Q7VpPVbP9qcIHiMXSIcum0IRGSFsZbaC3EKLnm6RCz-T2n9OH_ZNSMJRy8Y8yS4h5VuMQ/s400/Verwijder1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Gender is not m</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">ainstreamed into national planning and budgeting, and is almost always an afterthought and a platitude. Although, as I mentioned above, women often carry the economic burden of the family, they are rarely economically empowered. Men are considered the final decider on how a household should spend its finances. Despite the fact that women are responsible for shopping for food and household goods and managing the family budget, they are not encouraged to start businesses, ask for raises at work, or negotiate their salary.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9mrRs9wcI9X4fHyVvRBgGpjZFYcMd5UU-wADdIPJgjcQO6nbNIc2XuBVMatlgQMdvH82nuvNGM2QDlJW9sjdiPeN0esmKUZgMzY-KXt-aaMOlc4q-02-yMQmqZ7KHfTRLcd3z-bwrzdI/s1600/b99e81d849e109d95311e11a97373e2e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="570" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9mrRs9wcI9X4fHyVvRBgGpjZFYcMd5UU-wADdIPJgjcQO6nbNIc2XuBVMatlgQMdvH82nuvNGM2QDlJW9sjdiPeN0esmKUZgMzY-KXt-aaMOlc4q-02-yMQmqZ7KHfTRLcd3z-bwrzdI/s320/b99e81d849e109d95311e11a97373e2e.jpg" width="280" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">If you made it this far, bravo. I hope you're not too disheartened by the situation in Georgia. I hope I have successfully argued about the harm caused by strict gender roles, and I hope that it is clear how they harm both men and women.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">There are various campaigns and organizations working on behalf of this issue, with varied success. The UNFPA campaign I mentioned above is great, and the national rugby team recently ran a memorable anti-domestic violence campaign. However, as soon as sexism or gender roles are mentioned by those with real power to change laws or influence norms, the push back from society and the Orthodox Church is extreme and restrictive. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I should add a call to action here, a link to donate to some amazing organization working to end discrimination and violence and sexism, encouraging sex education and women's empowerment. But I don't have anything to give. </span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">If you know of an organization doing great gender-based work in Georgia, please comment it here!</span></b></div>
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Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03692438649665155641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2093208508879975920.post-25468286564384142362017-11-14T02:25:00.002-08:002017-11-28T21:39:44.030-08:00$7.58 Massage<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjutshkFkQE9A7ZwUecIom50eS7eMn5eadJHExQM9IPon81_91fqRjFA73zW94TsULNunm4OSx-xAkQhxZ5xNFPHZGFshOlIXTN78JeUnia3NIrH6Ukwy1FzwXY489aZVCudVG6e9xFWcA/s1600/nat+geo+ru+tbilisi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjutshkFkQE9A7ZwUecIom50eS7eMn5eadJHExQM9IPon81_91fqRjFA73zW94TsULNunm4OSx-xAkQhxZ5xNFPHZGFshOlIXTN78JeUnia3NIrH6Ukwy1FzwXY489aZVCudVG6e9xFWcA/s400/nat+geo+ru+tbilisi.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: National Geographic Russia</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">You can get almost anything for cheap in Georgia.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">In most places with less developed economies, less centralization, less chain-ification, less commercial legislation/enforcement of laws, you have a more stratified consumer economy than in the US. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">In the US, if you want some juice, for example, you go to the grocery store and there are 100 brands to choose from, but they all have approximately the same quality, you're sure that you won't get sick from any of them, and their prices are all within a couple dollars of each other. There are also maybe some fancier juices - cold pressed kale carrot or some Jamba Juice concoction. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">But what if you want something else? You don't need high quality, or fancy, you want something super basic and cheap and you're willing to drink your juice from an old Coke bottle even if it doesn't have FDA approval, but the grandma who sold it to you from the side of the rode was super sweet so it's probably fine - and actually even tastes more natural and fresh than the fanciest of cold presses - as long as you don't get food poisoning...</span></span><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmeIT0bYoz_nUIbXE5dIlYK3AC68W0K0jZFgOt65pZ6M1DjbH7cjYPzjKDSNEwkpHBSdmkSJ4CWIGlYCps5J6tsbFATxKcKEAJpbQOGj-Bhyphenhyphen_vlQq4-Q1FfWfZfNCHeCNB_84SrrM7cpk/s1600/juices.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmeIT0bYoz_nUIbXE5dIlYK3AC68W0K0jZFgOt65pZ6M1DjbH7cjYPzjKDSNEwkpHBSdmkSJ4CWIGlYCps5J6tsbFATxKcKEAJpbQOGj-Bhyphenhyphen_vlQq4-Q1FfWfZfNCHeCNB_84SrrM7cpk/s400/juices.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="font-size: small;">and this is just the cold juices...</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">So in Georgia, most things are available along this model. You have a <i>deeper </i>range of options, for price and quality (quality of the product itself, but more reliability/predictability of the quality, and quality of the 'packaging'), although a narrower range (of brands) at the mid-upper price point. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">I tell you all this to explain how I ended up getting a 20 GEL ($7.58) massage this Tuesday. There are plenty of places here to get a high quality massage, spas and hotels, but they come at a price! I could get a $50 massage once every 2-3 months maybe, but a $7.58 massage - twice a month! The main problems that come with these lower end products is quality and finding them. You know where to find the high end things - there are websites and facebook pages and big stores full of brand name items. The lower end stuff is trickier. There are signs everywhere on the street for massages but most of them are just fronts for prostitution, so to get something legitimate, you mostly have to rely on word of mouth. So when a friend of mine (thanks Alex!) said she got a pretty good massage for 20 GEL, I was excited to check it out!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;">That is how I found myself jumping onto a rickety yellow Bogdan in a rainstorm on Tuesday night headed towards Lamika's house. I called her when I got the Domino's, as she'd told me to on the phone the day before.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;">"SAMANTA?! HI, HI" she shouted into the receiver<br />"Hi, Lamika? I'm here, at the Domino's"<br />"WHERE ARE YOU? SAMANTA?"</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;">"Hi Lamika, it's Samantha! I'm here, at the Domino's - how can I get to your apartment?"</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;">"It's a little further down the street - by the new cafe [it was a Dunkin Donuts]"</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;">I looked up and saw a small blonde woman waving frantically from her balcony.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;">I made my way up to her apartment, where she was standing, smiling in the open doorway, wearing a tank top, linen pants, and an apron-type over skirt. In the front room there was a spread of fruits laid out, and when I declined she led be into the massage room/her bedroom/second half of the living room separated by a sheet hanging from the ceiling. There was a massage table set up on one side of the room, and Lamika worked quickly to strip it of the sheets from the last client. As she ran around the apartment doing I don't know what, she told me to sit down, relax, without telling me where exactly to sit, so I picked one of the several chairs near the massage table and sat down.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicynkt_OThgwsC50Y_qGtSgVWzSOO3M4GkpQDsOYfu6-e0tIXM-oND1WM_-7_iBXfTpS70ApN5toFHlkBrqfdAKErrtxGq_BzwJLS7O9ENuwXs8mcd1MJ8xWyFom7v24oPutZa6V4HJhQ/s1600/soviet+apt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="420" data-original-width="560" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicynkt_OThgwsC50Y_qGtSgVWzSOO3M4GkpQDsOYfu6-e0tIXM-oND1WM_-7_iBXfTpS70ApN5toFHlkBrqfdAKErrtxGq_BzwJLS7O9ENuwXs8mcd1MJ8xWyFom7v24oPutZa6V4HJhQ/s400/soviet+apt.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">a fair approximation of Lamika's apartment</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br />I was trying to play it cool, but I was actually super nervous. After a few minutes of me trying to look really occupied with taking off my jacket and earrings, Lamika stopped flitted around and asked me - "полное, да?" (polnoe, da?) The thing about language is that when you are nervous, you stop thinking...and while sometimes this makes your instincts kick in and you just start speaking like a pro, other times you get super confused and mix up the words <i>polnoe </i>(full) and <i>golaya </i>(naked). So Lamika verified that I wanted a full body massage, and I thought she was asking if I would be naked, which, obviously I would be, so I took it as a sign that I should have already stripped and she was waiting for me! So, without further hesitation, I started to take off my clothes just right there next to the table in her bedroom. She sort of cocked her head then turned around and occupied herself with untying and retying her apron over skirt thing. It wasn't until I had awkwardly slithered on the table (crinkly from the layer of plastic wrap under the cloth) and under the blanket that I realized what she had actually said...but never mind, I was here now and that was the ultimate goal. I hoped she would just think I was super cool and confident and not concerned about nudity.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;">"Music, yes?" I nodded and Lamika went over to her boombox (yes, it was an actual boombox), and twisted the dial until she found Radio Monte Carlo. At this point, I strongly recommend you click <a href="https://tunein.com/radio/Monte-Carlo-1059-s111375/">THIS LINK</a> to get the full effect of what my massage was like, listening to a rotation of</span></span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"> Romanian beach club music and electronic remixes of Destiny’s Child, Kylie Minogue, and Madonna. Not exactly ocean waves or rain sounds, but it added its own sort of ambiance. It perhaps also added a sense of urgency, a driving </span><span style="color: #222222;">rhythm</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">, because the </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">massage itself was pretty good, but her hands worked extremely fast. She probably spent as much time on each area as any other masseuse would, but used twice as many strokes. She also employed the favorite technique of children giving their dads massages everywhere: the karate chop method. I sort of thought that wasn’t a real professional technique but I guess it is... The only thing that I was really not happy with was that the table was too short for my legs, which is really no one's fault but genetics for making my legs awkwardly long...so I came away with a pair of bruises across my shins where the edge of the table bit into them.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Throughout the massage, Lamika's primary concern was clearly not my modesty, or that my skin not touch the plastic table underneath the cloth, but that I don’t get cold. She frequently shifted the little space heater and halfway through the massage remembered she had a thicker blanket and brought it in to lay across me. I think this obsession with staying warm comes from her being super Slavic - she also refused to accept money directly from my hand, insisting that I lay it on the table, which is a superstition I had heard about in Russia but never actually seen anyone take seriously!</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">After the massage, she just said “relax” and then sat on her bed (4-5 feet from the table) and got on her laptop. When I asked if I could get up, she said sure, but didn’t leave the room or turn to give me privacy like she had when I undressed. Instead she came closer and held the sheets so they didn’t fall off the table as I got up. At least I was wearing underwear, but although I'm not really a shy person, I definitely felt awkward that my top was totally exposed, just, like, free swinging in the breeze, and Lamika just smiled at me and said “tell Alex hello for me!” It was great. Also, I'm definitely</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> still not clear on the European concept of boobs. I know that in magazines and TV, boobs are often not blurred out like they are in the US. On the other hand, it’s not like nude beaches are common in this part of Europe or women wear transparent shirts (like in Spain, wow that shocked 14-year old me!). But I guess this massage was <a href="http://loveatfirstlayover.blogspot.com/2016/06/bathtime-at-abanotubani-how-to-guide.html">like the sulfur baths</a> - we’re all ladies!</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Three days later, my back muscles were still a bit sore - in a good way. By the fourth day I had completely recovered. I can see myself going back to Lamika! Maybe once a month. Not as a relaxing end of week spa treatment, more like a medical procedure, but definitely not a bad use of $7.58!</span></span>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03692438649665155641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2093208508879975920.post-2413907450768511682017-10-06T01:38:00.002-07:002017-11-28T21:40:03.795-08:00First Field Visit - Marneuli and the Thousand Staring Eyes<span style="font-size: large;">Over the last two days, I ventured out to one of my field work sites for the first time - the town of Marneuli!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Marneuli is interesting because it is the capital of the Marneuli District, about an hour south of Tbilisi in the Kvemo Kartli region, and it is about 80% ethnic Azerbaijani.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Signs are alternately in Georgian, Russian and Azeri. I theorize (without evidence) that when a sign is in Georgian and Russian, it's a Georgian-owned business attempting to bride to Azeris, and when a sign is in Georgian and Azeri, it's an Azeri-owned business. There are also sometimes signs only in Azeri, so I guess those business either aren't making an effort to attract Georgian clientele, or figure that their business is obviously pharmacy/vegetable stand/flower shop and multilingual signage isn't really needed. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Azeris are generally Muslims, but on my hour and half stroll of the town center, I only saw about 10 women wearing the hijab (I actually didn't see that many women...maybe 20% of the people on the street were women). There were many older women wearing kerchiefs and sort of standard Caucasian Muslim clothing, but, interestingly, there were also a handful of younger women, maybe high school age, wearing more Arab or Turkish style Islamic clothing (basically <a href="https://www.google.com/search?safe=off&biw=1536&bih=701&tbm=isch&sa=1&q=turkish+islamic+dress+women&oq=turkish+islamic+dress+women&gs_l=psy-ab.3...5556.6313.0.6545.8.6.0.0.0.0.242.613.0j2j1.3.0....0...1.1.64.psy-ab..7.0.0....0.Qq2O3yUgj4U">abayas</a>). </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">As I walked around, I was stared at like an alien. I haven't been solo traveling in a small town in Georgia in a long time and had forgotten the mix of apprehension, confusion, and celebrity you feel when everyone gawks at you. Even little kids somehow noticed my foreignness and leapt back when I passed them on the sidewalk, and grabbed their friends' arms and pointed, open mouthed. I have no clue what they were whispering, though, because it was in Azeri.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">On the first day, I ended up with a massive headache because I forgot my
contacts/glasses and because I didn't have time to grab coffee as I had
planned. On the second day, I left my house an hour before I had to be at the meeting point (without traffic, it takes 8 mins by car/24 mins by bus, and there wasn't much traffic at this point) so I could stop by Dunkin Donuts to grab a latte. This plan was quite successful, but pretty much as soon as I got in the driver's fancy new Prius with a no-smoking sign, I spilled the coffee all over my seat. The thing is, no one seemed to notice...so I frantically tried to use the 2.5 tissues I had in my backpack to hide the evidence of the spill, as the scalding hot coffee seeped into the seat and into my pants...and my butt, let's be real. I had coffee everywhere. As the pain from the burning subsided, I continued to sit in a pool of hazelnut scented embarrassment. No matter how I shifted, I couldn't escape it. Thank goodness I was wearing black pants! But the seat did not escape a stain, and the whole car smelled like the coffee. I was sweating bullets throughout the hour long ride, waiting for someone to say "WOW that coffee smells SO intense! Did you spill it or something?" but no one said anything...I am terrified to get back into the car because the driver will definitely have discovered it by then. I can't decide if it would be more embarrassing for him to have cleaned it up, or not...I know this smell is going to follow me around the rest of the day. I hope people just think I'm wearing hazelnut perfume. On my butt.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Since I was in Marneuli as part of a different project that I was observing, I didn't have that much time in the town, but I did manage to take a few pictures. This is a short post - I don't have much to say yet about Marneuli, I just wanted to share these photos, Hopefully more to come from Kvemo Kartli in the near future!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhodRXonb8v2yncDC-yvA1mr6-d5Nmeo-K4WXD4yYnjbS8zta8Y-qnEBxjnNCpqu_xFIWtnSZJA_pi16Ha0_aSAhSCCQdI2ov6qZG3uWtqY0m3APdxRhjCKpjyQxN4kS8sgM6F4Tq8tdFc/s1600/mar1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhodRXonb8v2yncDC-yvA1mr6-d5Nmeo-K4WXD4yYnjbS8zta8Y-qnEBxjnNCpqu_xFIWtnSZJA_pi16Ha0_aSAhSCCQdI2ov6qZG3uWtqY0m3APdxRhjCKpjyQxN4kS8sgM6F4Tq8tdFc/s400/mar1.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">huge lemons? young grapefruit? bumpy apples?</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQBcTEsmLX6OGlcS_LerjKe9r4Lbhd2MpAofPmvx7QrnKr1atV8yMY0R6WH6XmWIvXRzKXCdNlqkHxm2KkAxWgpjTU0yiJhNGZ47VGHM5lfYtFJkn-U1Eh7ttcrU8XzGBNMZyDsGFWfFc/s1600/mar2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQBcTEsmLX6OGlcS_LerjKe9r4Lbhd2MpAofPmvx7QrnKr1atV8yMY0R6WH6XmWIvXRzKXCdNlqkHxm2KkAxWgpjTU0yiJhNGZ47VGHM5lfYtFJkn-U1Eh7ttcrU8XzGBNMZyDsGFWfFc/s400/mar2.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4SY5T97Ynq32VEcZqM8lxCZuG5JedqRWb7rCh4XtQmqScrwLx6P3qJ11l_dEtFb3nn1EsB_JVKuhTj-C0fLvSgyW_7e4BOixPZkhkJ0hrszTH6MZm_qzpKoMu41s2DWAQeDBu26yE9Fs/s1600/mar3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4SY5T97Ynq32VEcZqM8lxCZuG5JedqRWb7rCh4XtQmqScrwLx6P3qJ11l_dEtFb3nn1EsB_JVKuhTj-C0fLvSgyW_7e4BOixPZkhkJ0hrszTH6MZm_qzpKoMu41s2DWAQeDBu26yE9Fs/s400/mar3.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Town mosque</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5i8yrK_1JcLHIA4d4YwLsQgnqR6nOOen7czPujT0gGXlmDpciaQ84PPhH69u9FGs0ly5TqDtwfbR2vOnGTLnikX1AB1H6zjCP_0y4zhYoxrOFbiMgoq1leKIlpWzAbhB-g9PBuaUTVxE/s1600/mar6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5i8yrK_1JcLHIA4d4YwLsQgnqR6nOOen7czPujT0gGXlmDpciaQ84PPhH69u9FGs0ly5TqDtwfbR2vOnGTLnikX1AB1H6zjCP_0y4zhYoxrOFbiMgoq1leKIlpWzAbhB-g9PBuaUTVxE/s400/mar6.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_wm-d4fe_sPUv2tz42uIu8oJ-IwLT_I2MjEjEvnZ59cs8mbqs0lOLQxWoRW5S745BVyr30ySbdjoZ2pqSx4hjKF7b3tREZyfHJjpvb2TjZJrxisPNIKls6XeymhlM0FcyByuhDi6R2Mo/s1600/mar5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_wm-d4fe_sPUv2tz42uIu8oJ-IwLT_I2MjEjEvnZ59cs8mbqs0lOLQxWoRW5S745BVyr30ySbdjoZ2pqSx4hjKF7b3tREZyfHJjpvb2TjZJrxisPNIKls6XeymhlM0FcyByuhDi6R2Mo/s400/mar5.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Monument to Persian/Azeri poet </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXkdOn8ZXYfkN7EbCZnDZ-G2XqyAXhmDlDQh_w11MUzgRDuGFzy375_NHh7ZLfvNtJDZGP8uXpqTs28elSteg_m2yw82xrq1_EpRnaLtqFI4gd1OHx8BxqVbJr1sUb-pxkEYI53RdL5Sg/s1600/mar4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXkdOn8ZXYfkN7EbCZnDZ-G2XqyAXhmDlDQh_w11MUzgRDuGFzy375_NHh7ZLfvNtJDZGP8uXpqTs28elSteg_m2yw82xrq1_EpRnaLtqFI4gd1OHx8BxqVbJr1sUb-pxkEYI53RdL5Sg/s400/mar4.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">It wasn't raining but water was overflowing from the<br />cistern on this roof and falling on the street</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCpG2LV2r25tc1gdRozRnvQuiOT5tVF5eh3UKu6lzCT8b6_1I2lgI5s_FAMzSsq6d3A0V6pPtIr_5FeLsVmIX2-ua0sKiPE9NLv69JR3hckE_6Od5xQWIEwidNLotqlMo0_Lc7E9wrmY8/s1600/mar7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCpG2LV2r25tc1gdRozRnvQuiOT5tVF5eh3UKu6lzCT8b6_1I2lgI5s_FAMzSsq6d3A0V6pPtIr_5FeLsVmIX2-ua0sKiPE9NLv69JR3hckE_6Od5xQWIEwidNLotqlMo0_Lc7E9wrmY8/s400/mar7.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Pomegranates</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiymNbsKg0FYtrkOERnuu2OLGj4Eyw_ZGeMk4IUYNVBd0YQNyPOotpXeU0a3DBUxUfzk1wecufZN0ylMyJpCdpFgAmqOHNKEHK8dQWGpHQ0a7880QmHzomZh5bxI2Q3XiHvwmBeips2xfk/s1600/mar8.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiymNbsKg0FYtrkOERnuu2OLGj4Eyw_ZGeMk4IUYNVBd0YQNyPOotpXeU0a3DBUxUfzk1wecufZN0ylMyJpCdpFgAmqOHNKEHK8dQWGpHQ0a7880QmHzomZh5bxI2Q3XiHvwmBeips2xfk/s400/mar8.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sign in Russian</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1it2txDUke63_HCe9N90v4VeNDFuKFz8QjonjorjWUtCRuq7QNpxqL0kyfx4fC6m_xYZw4yRL6sAOcc9KPRVsd3URKt8HNwSTGwFx8ZGx2EIgJtnTEnnEOp9J05PIH3UnaJd7z06ac5k/s1600/mar10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="466" data-original-width="640" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1it2txDUke63_HCe9N90v4VeNDFuKFz8QjonjorjWUtCRuq7QNpxqL0kyfx4fC6m_xYZw4yRL6sAOcc9KPRVsd3URKt8HNwSTGwFx8ZGx2EIgJtnTEnnEOp9J05PIH3UnaJd7z06ac5k/s400/mar10.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Typical Caucasian Muslim head covering</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKCT7ZixiZMu2OB7R2deBh8ZKLzj6dbuiF-uATQkuOjAp1XEGCT0bcaBUIqvUWyNHjWDSBmPW6A6XNY61JXnk3_aLQjtYCJGtJMd_VCVvquOSVBrMqUnNb68ZgEnu_7oJ6azzhON3s3IA/s1600/mar11.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKCT7ZixiZMu2OB7R2deBh8ZKLzj6dbuiF-uATQkuOjAp1XEGCT0bcaBUIqvUWyNHjWDSBmPW6A6XNY61JXnk3_aLQjtYCJGtJMd_VCVvquOSVBrMqUnNb68ZgEnu_7oJ6azzhON3s3IA/s400/mar11.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKfwBq2c9_f90PoRnMjSQ2MgAs4tLVnCn6aPpw2unwjkx3DXq8e1E5f6GYfJtUjFQcRwX-gmF30NCVhiQ_-l2-b7xsOLHBfwpviZS_sHsHzJnzkmlPxFJw-0YeXksci00CzBt_FqKSjfY/s1600/mar12.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKfwBq2c9_f90PoRnMjSQ2MgAs4tLVnCn6aPpw2unwjkx3DXq8e1E5f6GYfJtUjFQcRwX-gmF30NCVhiQ_-l2-b7xsOLHBfwpviZS_sHsHzJnzkmlPxFJw-0YeXksci00CzBt_FqKSjfY/s400/mar12.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKvrBUags-PZ3y9liualwQ9NuelhReMWgU_Dr0xM7TTXPEC_dmzz1tEks9-O7W7JezlONirkmCxjV-MNBnx3gMRyDXVKHbLePLCwXj-0A33RUKcSTeIirH90HDkXKDPRAz8umX8NnQ1vI/s1600/mar13.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKvrBUags-PZ3y9liualwQ9NuelhReMWgU_Dr0xM7TTXPEC_dmzz1tEks9-O7W7JezlONirkmCxjV-MNBnx3gMRyDXVKHbLePLCwXj-0A33RUKcSTeIirH90HDkXKDPRAz8umX8NnQ1vI/s400/mar13.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Marneuli Judo Academy</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJjxcppN5T8bHItjWF0KDXayyXwMA_zSrtO_MPBLWxMrOjOp-ziyaOUWodasJjw1sJqfHbvF6BxM7pKnHp_t0vCHITtfmDxcVHRENvASCZcv5hBs9OWZKjygY6estXFv4v3ECBuG3I8tg/s1600/mar14.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJjxcppN5T8bHItjWF0KDXayyXwMA_zSrtO_MPBLWxMrOjOp-ziyaOUWodasJjw1sJqfHbvF6BxM7pKnHp_t0vCHITtfmDxcVHRENvASCZcv5hBs9OWZKjygY6estXFv4v3ECBuG3I8tg/s400/mar14.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtQU0yUu400SGTNuKiF-n2LGpYYhkePFnuYkI2JZmSYf18rIwqJHmaVU10vuSHEsYrfHvz2v5CGSPdL2_rAxUXyAjr_rwAPjcgVKex9GGjdssI_xC58mEHhEO19Fxs9FaZZJ07Iuf7QgA/s1600/mar15.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtQU0yUu400SGTNuKiF-n2LGpYYhkePFnuYkI2JZmSYf18rIwqJHmaVU10vuSHEsYrfHvz2v5CGSPdL2_rAxUXyAjr_rwAPjcgVKex9GGjdssI_xC58mEHhEO19Fxs9FaZZJ07Iuf7QgA/s400/mar15.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Signs say something like 'keep the grass green - stay off'</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGLCMMj11TjSmxojh6dxI1boWbrx-ppeqDZYvR8BMyva3tmFZFDJxrksS-qcop_FHnSWLVCnVtKS2MRmL-OFi8A08XToy5B8-RZch_LJB_8Psy3B0JEMOfyVCSjug60vKkFJLPiQpJoao/s1600/mar16.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGLCMMj11TjSmxojh6dxI1boWbrx-ppeqDZYvR8BMyva3tmFZFDJxrksS-qcop_FHnSWLVCnVtKS2MRmL-OFi8A08XToy5B8-RZch_LJB_8Psy3B0JEMOfyVCSjug60vKkFJLPiQpJoao/s400/mar16.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">One of many shops selling elaborate party/wedding gowns<br />(Azeri brides typically wear white and red)</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwB-60cQ5FeXSXxoMnI_QPRXABU-WUFuMC6SdeKRAA901W6YuheVPl6fm0dDG1SwgH885a1uFQ8DpZayGEdxgvHgB6VLgFnqHBRgmHTyDuUXFEdtN85KLlJ_Bs9iDmHfhWEaDDZW_Opuo/s1600/mar17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwB-60cQ5FeXSXxoMnI_QPRXABU-WUFuMC6SdeKRAA901W6YuheVPl6fm0dDG1SwgH885a1uFQ8DpZayGEdxgvHgB6VLgFnqHBRgmHTyDuUXFEdtN85KLlJ_Bs9iDmHfhWEaDDZW_Opuo/s400/mar17.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Kids putting up posters of the ruling party<br />candidate for mayor in this months' elections</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghBR1xoQVO7TRVhpvL-lsp1Ax0wV48nQ3H3dt7DvMhrWWMNTppJYBNa_9h6jIR9ssIqAINPCW60TF4kKuC9dH0D8cPXjZGrZScTErIYRKs4cr9w-ec3NqXQ0-L9oHz3uqXKo7OKffp-6U/s1600/mar9.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghBR1xoQVO7TRVhpvL-lsp1Ax0wV48nQ3H3dt7DvMhrWWMNTppJYBNa_9h6jIR9ssIqAINPCW60TF4kKuC9dH0D8cPXjZGrZScTErIYRKs4cr9w-ec3NqXQ0-L9oHz3uqXKo7OKffp-6U/s400/mar9.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">A row of ruling party election posters torn down</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDGJXZrWThXex_EoLqutjEKgrToPUaCVtrvAwZzeiSbkjZeeOv3aMFJxBDQObP1p8hP4uTQZH3W62y7dkt5L0jlOshCqb3DzAhgO2-lMSawtAXkOYuwarkKC3NzmXQ-XP1gIHdzJNx4RQ/s1600/mar18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDGJXZrWThXex_EoLqutjEKgrToPUaCVtrvAwZzeiSbkjZeeOv3aMFJxBDQObP1p8hP4uTQZH3W62y7dkt5L0jlOshCqb3DzAhgO2-lMSawtAXkOYuwarkKC3NzmXQ-XP1gIHdzJNx4RQ/s400/mar18.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Men's Paradise"</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNekBROQnpTvBSPVanxzbH1RcX0UjwcFXtDQIOTNlom7lVNVUzpf5p_lhz5Ij59fVPhI4FXwqADyW3mBiMEILNCHQCHJPgslPokY_St5dwGrlqlfjWVuhnHsp0-AKCC50mgTBpwh1TUg4/s1600/mar19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNekBROQnpTvBSPVanxzbH1RcX0UjwcFXtDQIOTNlom7lVNVUzpf5p_lhz5Ij59fVPhI4FXwqADyW3mBiMEILNCHQCHJPgslPokY_St5dwGrlqlfjWVuhnHsp0-AKCC50mgTBpwh1TUg4/s400/mar19.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">A big poster of an opposition candidate for mayor<br />(whom I met - the first Azeri woman to ever run for mayor of Marneuli!), <br />above rows of smaller ruling party posters</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0sQndyBDwX4_4vMPs5mgmGJZazSCalupQwnGN204q4-pZiM1D23K74kknZ8DpHEBz6lhagp3yRNHz9y3m38zPU4kHURft0PwBq1HaEbXacP-ul5gF5ui9IH9q0Dbxk2sG7UK_7wPU8Ys/s1600/mar20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0sQndyBDwX4_4vMPs5mgmGJZazSCalupQwnGN204q4-pZiM1D23K74kknZ8DpHEBz6lhagp3yRNHz9y3m38zPU4kHURft0PwBq1HaEbXacP-ul5gF5ui9IH9q0Dbxk2sG7UK_7wPU8Ys/s400/mar20.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Something in Arabic script on a residential side street<br />(if anyone can translate, let me know!)</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdyj7oTsCJW1YtJ-UrLulafNtCNnL22JqkQty2C_sUhzMY8EQFM7-w7cJtIZg-qbw_Vh9tv416xSIkMBmnMqwN6wALpncda-W2sLc8D16nboM3zz4SuSDt5E92R78e0Q98hj27YGmUiEA/s1600/mar21.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdyj7oTsCJW1YtJ-UrLulafNtCNnL22JqkQty2C_sUhzMY8EQFM7-w7cJtIZg-qbw_Vh9tv416xSIkMBmnMqwN6wALpncda-W2sLc8D16nboM3zz4SuSDt5E92R78e0Q98hj27YGmUiEA/s400/mar21.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Poster in Azeri on a lamp post. I think it said something<br />about a credit bank or an agricultural collective...</span></td></tr>
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<br />Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03692438649665155641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2093208508879975920.post-38866384583112649592017-10-02T09:10:00.002-07:002017-11-28T21:40:03.801-08:00Adjusting to Tbilisi: What I Miss, What I Don't<span style="font-size: large;">Last week, this week. Nothing but rain, rain, rain. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I guess the nonstop deluge makes up for a bone dry September of temperatures in the low 30s (high 80s/low 90s). Finally fall is here, but we skipped through that crispy, crunchy, light jacket weather and went straight to a wet, grey fog that I pray is not indicative of the next 4 months of my life in Tbilisi.</span><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">So how is my life in Tbilisi, anyway?</span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Everything is going well: 10 hours of language classes a week (6 Geo, 4 Rus) is exhausting, especially given the additional 1.5-2 hours it takes each day to get to and from the location of my classes on the other side of town. My research is kind of sluggishly progressing. There are lots of moving pieces right now and I'm still establishing contacts and laying some ground work. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I am adjusting pretty well, I think, and since this is my 5th time in Georgia and 3rd time for an extended period, I'm not that surprised. However, there are still many things that frustrate me, confuse me, and make me uncomfortable. I could complain about them for hours, but for now, here is a short listicle of my most salient adjustments coming from a summer of suburban leisure to big(ish) city sort-of-leisure-sort-of-supposed-to-be-working life...</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnfpEu6HLfmSv8YANp2FWHsrzptmF8Ju5u__jvfBuPK0D_tzyeJNUI6Djx4hrNkIHSWdLlXE8_txPR7oiORoBKPWL_MrCqjEZ9HglO0GMWM8J7acna8bhPxtudQTqDrKyFCCu95VPSo_o/s1600/lonely+planet+tbs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="801" data-original-width="1200" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnfpEu6HLfmSv8YANp2FWHsrzptmF8Ju5u__jvfBuPK0D_tzyeJNUI6Djx4hrNkIHSWdLlXE8_txPR7oiORoBKPWL_MrCqjEZ9HglO0GMWM8J7acna8bhPxtudQTqDrKyFCCu95VPSo_o/s400/lonely+planet+tbs.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">courtesy: Lonely Planet</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There is no HGTV in Georgia, which I binged regularly in Yorktown. I don't miss having so much free time, but I do miss the opportunity to watch mindless TV sometimes - and learn about interior design and construction! Although the interior design knowledge has come in handy decorating my new apartment!</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaxImZ1XSGpcCZNRZVezd9MERruM24MazpbXFQvaqDCrEf_HfM2BKzud1oJiNmVeGD1Ubs7HjvoG62PqBJVTDnygH0wPGgck8j4CBiNC7z3XDqnqDoM4irlOb-68AEjrQlwrCjcI-CAdU/s1600/hgtv.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="1000" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaxImZ1XSGpcCZNRZVezd9MERruM24MazpbXFQvaqDCrEf_HfM2BKzud1oJiNmVeGD1Ubs7HjvoG62PqBJVTDnygH0wPGgck8j4CBiNC7z3XDqnqDoM4irlOb-68AEjrQlwrCjcI-CAdU/s400/hgtv.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hello, old friends</td></tr>
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I miss listening to Morning Edition and 1A in the morning, instead of while cooking dinner. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrg1SGvjhVF5X1Xw-BPyXP4OM5XP7WMuqenXYtUVfnXCV4NcW9q0Chu_JvukBUdgWlE-Lr9WFaUHmnsTuTFK6hNGTn3BzsCvxoKJNplnGnjO11szqlQpvbTx5qVp3k4DEASmAME2yOvmA/s1600/npr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="300" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrg1SGvjhVF5X1Xw-BPyXP4OM5XP7WMuqenXYtUVfnXCV4NcW9q0Chu_JvukBUdgWlE-Lr9WFaUHmnsTuTFK6hNGTn3BzsCvxoKJNplnGnjO11szqlQpvbTx5qVp3k4DEASmAME2yOvmA/s320/npr.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">my NPR app is what keeps me going</span></td></tr>
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I miss flavored creamer. Now I just put cinnamon in my coffee grounds. I also miss having a coffee maker that I didn't accidentally crack by putting cold water in the burning hot glass carafe... </span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In Georgia, there are no deals at bars/restaurants like happy hour or half priced wine Wednesdays, and no coupons. Some grocery stores do have sort of loyalty cards but the benefits are unclear.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
In Georgia there are fewer chains - restaurants and stores. At non-chain places I've never been, there is no predictability in quality and it's hard to know where to go to get stuff - where is the go-to place to buy towels? Poster board? Pillowcases? Okay, maybe I just miss Target. </span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
It is SO hard to find good to-go coffee here! Most to-go places are just little newspaper/cigarette stands that will dump a tube of instant coffee in hot water. Some actually have espresso machines and for a premium, they will add a splash of milk. There ARE a couple "fancy" coffee places, but they are few and far between, and expensive. No Starbucks (RIP pumpkin spice latte this fall), although there is a place in the small industrial city of Zestaponi called <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Legends-of-Starbucks-Zestafoni-478127688990780/">Legends of Starbucks</a> which tries pretty hard. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIAVrVUvnrhJViOTWMbAFmtTzk4FkckW1_SwdiG4y4RglO5F28nXqLzOqfUwKdW65D3KaDIP0Zu2KEuFaZ6zFEYSZljVW24sL4PTtpsKugbgYBT9olp4BgL9IKV_8_KjV5LfdyvDthg4A/s1600/LoS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIAVrVUvnrhJViOTWMbAFmtTzk4FkckW1_SwdiG4y4RglO5F28nXqLzOqfUwKdW65D3KaDIP0Zu2KEuFaZ6zFEYSZljVW24sL4PTtpsKugbgYBT9olp4BgL9IKV_8_KjV5LfdyvDthg4A/s320/LoS.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
I miss good ethnic food (Mexican, Thai, Chinese, Indian, Lebanese). There are some okay Chinese places, but not American style Chinese, and the quality of other places is questionable, although with more immigrants in the city, more Indian and Persian restaurants are popping up, so I have hope! There is straight up no Mexican food in Tbilisi - just one horrible attempt in Sighnaghi, a couple hours to the east. The closest thing we have here are the copious shawarma places around Saakadze Square.</span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
There are some things you just can't get in Georgia - frozen yogurt, good milkshakes, custard, cheap take out sushi, cupcakes, pumpkin spice lattes (yeah, coming back around to this again, it's really painful), fall scented candles, index cards, 3-prong folders, English trash magazines, Milky Way Midnight, Texas Pete - the list goes on.</span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
I can't find out as much with a quick Google - partly because a lot of
stuff isn't online (opening hours for a family owned restaurant, prices for small appliances at the store on the corner) and if
it is online, it might not be in English.</span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
I miss driving! I miss running errands quickly - shout out to parking lots! I know this is largely a city thing, not a Georgia thing. The craziness of drivers here is also quite off-putting, along with limited parking, and bad roads. I miss rocking out to music in my car on the long drives from Charlottesville to Yorktown or DC, I miss state inspection laws ensuring cars have their bumpers and lights and catalytic converters (that part that filters out the most toxic of the fumes a car produces). </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU7Z_iYAmCzG-MEhnXrl7TJ1NN5Jw4L8yDfzLI3hg1bEkjtmbzF5LYB4wqdHkpL6BvWV8ZrQBNTTj07zB0kXzAKoCZhX9r9QGD-kQ3kjO5wURBODjkchMIX4He651YPaI47ch0sbIvdKY/s1600/tbs+cars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1096" data-original-width="1600" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU7Z_iYAmCzG-MEhnXrl7TJ1NN5Jw4L8yDfzLI3hg1bEkjtmbzF5LYB4wqdHkpL6BvWV8ZrQBNTTj07zB0kXzAKoCZhX9r9QGD-kQ3kjO5wURBODjkchMIX4He651YPaI47ch0sbIvdKY/s400/tbs+cars.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
I miss being able to easily talk on the phone. After many painful middle and high school years of serious phone-phobia, I finally realized how simple a quick phone call can be, and how much time it can save you - especially if some information isn't on the Internet, or isn't in English. Here, however, I have to go through the whole spiel - do you speak English? No? Russian? Not really? Does this 3-word broken Georgian sentence make sense to you? Making appointments is the worst. </span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
I miss healthy(ish) flavored yogurt, and Greek yogurt. In Georgia all they really have is <i>matsoni
</i>(unflavored tart, thin - delicious in its own way) and yogurt-based, artificial-ingredient-filled desserts that masquerade as yogurt in the dairy aisle.
Yogurt is actually my favorite food so this one is particularly painful
for me... </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
Stuffed crust pizza. My last meal in Yorktown. I still remember the melt in your mouth taste...I will always cherish you, Pizza Hut.</span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
I miss quick-prepare food - instant rice, easy mac, shake n bake, hamburger helper, biscuits in a can, etc. There is some of that here, but it's not easy to find. I was actually shocked and awed the other day to find microwaveable single serve pouches of traditional Georgian dishes. Such a great idea!! I wanted to buy out the whole supply just to support the business, but unfortunately I have no microwave...</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I miss American phone etiquette: writing texts when possible rather than calling, ringer generally on silent/vibrate, not answering the phone when you're in a meeting, teaching a class, taking a class, on public transportation, in a movie theater, in a play, etc. Of course, in America it's also okay to not answer your phone. In Georgia, if someone doesn't answer their phone, you don't just assume they're busy and will call back when they can, you call them again, and again, and again until they answer. It is nice, however, how in Georgia people call just to say hi, just to check in, just for 2-3 minutes. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I miss fashion being predictable and understandable...here I can't really tell if someone is dressed fashionably and I just don't like it (because Georgian fashion seems to mirror some of the worst trends of the past 3-4 decades), or if they aren't fashionable.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://loveatfirstlayover.blogspot.com/2015/09/just-caucasus-things-pt-ii.html"><i>I captured a couple of memorable fashion looks here</i></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>And then there are the things I certainly don't miss from the states...</b> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The dominance of chain restaurants and stores</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The artificial flavors and sugars in everything, how expensive local, natural (whatever that means), wholesome foods generally are</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">How it's impossible to walk anywhere in most places other than big cities<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk322AS69MdL5Km_v1OoXsg6iAhWkfRodudRIaP107HEsYfyCP-Zw31SDsA-hUwjib5oLFuoEm7CjAh6SYFU4we8ll9q8BGC6jv9QL_ULQViHNoYEyXGyIgB-Y0e8j2PwyTfldYazjPkg/s1600/yorktown+roads.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk322AS69MdL5Km_v1OoXsg6iAhWkfRodudRIaP107HEsYfyCP-Zw31SDsA-hUwjib5oLFuoEm7CjAh6SYFU4we8ll9q8BGC6jv9QL_ULQViHNoYEyXGyIgB-Y0e8j2PwyTfldYazjPkg/s400/yorktown+roads.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Yorktown, VA: no sidewalks, no public transportation - lots of parking lots</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.npr.org/sections/thetwo-way/2016/06/13/481884291/putting-deadliest-mass-shooting-in-u-s-history-into-some-historical-context">Gun violence</a>. <a href="http://www.npr.org/sections/thetwo-way/2017/09/11/550096947/at-least-7-people-fatally-shot-in-dallas-suburb-officer-kills-suspect">Gun violence</a>. <a href="http://www.npr.org/sections/thetwo-way/2016/06/12/481744095/police-say-multiple-victims-after-shooting-at-orlando-nightclub">Gun violence</a>. <a href="http://www.npr.org/sections/thetwo-way/2017/10/02/554976369/section-of-las-vegas-strip-is-closed-after-music-festival-shooting">Gun violence</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'm sure there are more to add to this list, I'll add as time goes on... </span>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03692438649665155641noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2093208508879975920.post-15924610733465654222017-08-23T07:26:00.003-07:002017-08-23T07:28:04.175-07:00Salar de Uyuni from La Paz in 34 Hours <span style="font-size: large;"><i>(If you're not going to the Salar de Uyuni and just want to read about my experience, scroll 2/3rds of the way down the page!) </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So, you're planning a trip to Bolivia. If you have an extra day and a
half in La Paz, it IS possible to do Salar de Uyuni (the beautiful,
perspective-bending salt flats south of La Paz) in what is essentially a
day trip. By spending two night in a row in transit, you avoid paying
for two nights of hotel accommodation, and save lots of time. There are
two main ways to get to Uyuni from La Paz - bus or train. Only the buses
run at night, and that's what I am going to discuss here.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9SELwlHKa6oRryRebI66WjAvSKdLZeohU2RSyDjbspvtghPhu3fEFyKTcFRKFsmHUqQy7Ji9fKTSS5-vf05mTVTDScRXlFoF_03QZB8HO3btNihvgEX3Cqz3b7KyxfPWHocJvyFVvOCw/s1600/IMG_4998.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9SELwlHKa6oRryRebI66WjAvSKdLZeohU2RSyDjbspvtghPhu3fEFyKTcFRKFsmHUqQy7Ji9fKTSS5-vf05mTVTDScRXlFoF_03QZB8HO3btNihvgEX3Cqz3b7KyxfPWHocJvyFVvOCw/s400/IMG_4998.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>General Schedule</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><u>Day 1</u></span> <br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Be at bus terminal at 7:30 pm</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Get on bus at 8:00 pm</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Leave terminal between 8:30-9:00 pm</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><u>Day 2</u></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Arrive in Uyuni around 7:30 am</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Have breakfast/coffee</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Look for a tour company</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Leave for tour around 10:30 am</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Salar!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Arrive back in Uyuni around 6:30 or 7 pm</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Grab something to eat </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Get bus back to La Paz at 8:00 or 8:30 pm</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZYjI2BD9ezLWkloAONfFkRUYdGAnrajNpv7HgneajNkSdhelTho3iZPxVFsvc8oeOE3y59nXNiCQAMvpyIVf-oJ2fraPwHELwGJ0bLsWS09TPZl4YKF7kretBWcHlZ0yecWAPNjoct4k/s1600/IMG_4999.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZYjI2BD9ezLWkloAONfFkRUYdGAnrajNpv7HgneajNkSdhelTho3iZPxVFsvc8oeOE3y59nXNiCQAMvpyIVf-oJ2fraPwHELwGJ0bLsWS09TPZl4YKF7kretBWcHlZ0yecWAPNjoct4k/s320/IMG_4999.JPG" width="240" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Buying Bus Tickets</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I bought my tickets from <a href="http://www.ticketsbolivia.com/">www.ticketsbolivia.com</a>, and I was satisfied with the service, price, and options offered. If you're really looking to save a buck, you can go in person to the bus terminal (on Uruguay Ave, northwest corner of the city) and pick out a company, buying tickets directly. Most companies don't have a web presence apart from aggregators like Tickets Bolivia.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglc24j19gs3bQ1ZXR1Cc_rfPWI9mQ8zrQptDid84ckKGqdrsUhFqM4PuFUpNGwiOWqTxPfLsbPHiNzs_XSwl7SO1ZyrjJsd7CduSy5fbyw0Db_kzTpRrgQW8Fg1Z0j74Y7_dMu0B3LIdo/s1600/IMG_5001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglc24j19gs3bQ1ZXR1Cc_rfPWI9mQ8zrQptDid84ckKGqdrsUhFqM4PuFUpNGwiOWqTxPfLsbPHiNzs_XSwl7SO1ZyrjJsd7CduSy5fbyw0Db_kzTpRrgQW8Fg1Z0j74Y7_dMu0B3LIdo/s400/IMG_5001.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">There are two types of bus companies: 'publico' and 'turistico'. The public buses aren't municipal buses, but are aimed more for local people traveling between the cities, while the tourist buses are aimed at, well, tourists going to see the salt flats. Tourist buses are a bit more expensive but are generally newer, nicer, cleaner, have safety precautions so your bags don't get stolen from the hold, and maybe even offer water and a meal upon arrival in Uyuni. I tried two different companies out, here's what I thought:</span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOEjoHhSs3cKkUguK_3XxETnyYXRE6GIW-W3Fn486igwgUQwLG5mrTjTWCgmG4W_9ksk0rb47PYu6vxqHikVE7xmiZec_wHI_-0afytasjuGDLCakdk3BK48cC_yAJkdx5gdqFhQ3LnUg/s1600/IMG_5005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOEjoHhSs3cKkUguK_3XxETnyYXRE6GIW-W3Fn486igwgUQwLG5mrTjTWCgmG4W_9ksk0rb47PYu6vxqHikVE7xmiZec_wHI_-0afytasjuGDLCakdk3BK48cC_yAJkdx5gdqFhQ3LnUg/s400/IMG_5005.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Omar</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Trans Omar Turistico:</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I would recommend this bus service. It is not luxury, but is tourist oriented, and has full cama (lie flat beds). The buses are pretty new, they have nice seats, warm blankets, and a secure-feeling baggage check system. It also technically has wifi, although it wasn't working right on my bus. </span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL0rNG_5wbI-wjz39gOsXxWr3OTQ4gNxnbM__XUHASNwlb3I-eIXy2iyeDWgJ3t1B8xybWe4o9Ix2ZQUmXZtO0jChf1bwkPKBcm09Pl0HYtNp4jvp11OZNMb2tqQ0MpDFxjst1bQEw2s4/s1600/IMG_5006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL0rNG_5wbI-wjz39gOsXxWr3OTQ4gNxnbM__XUHASNwlb3I-eIXy2iyeDWgJ3t1B8xybWe4o9Ix2ZQUmXZtO0jChf1bwkPKBcm09Pl0HYtNp4jvp11OZNMb2tqQ0MpDFxjst1bQEw2s4/s400/IMG_5006.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Omar</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Panasur (publico):</i></span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvMu6-pjiTQIt44YNygqstPWWmEY2VvAFEI21R-txsmazAv6j4GLz7ZGTwC8NjXPF47m606wkeaa3y2eFiaQyyghyh5qhAaGd2dJlb5YFTuh35g5diWF1jI9PwOXiihN7vW1bfCiu8Ezo/s1600/IMG_5178.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvMu6-pjiTQIt44YNygqstPWWmEY2VvAFEI21R-txsmazAv6j4GLz7ZGTwC8NjXPF47m606wkeaa3y2eFiaQyyghyh5qhAaGd2dJlb5YFTuh35g5diWF1jI9PwOXiihN7vW1bfCiu8Ezo/s400/IMG_5178.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Panasur</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;">I wanted to take this bus because it left Uyuni at 8:30 pm, so I figured I would have more time to catch it and get dinner before - I did. If I had left at 8, I probably would have only had time to get something to-go (para llevar) before getting on the bus, since our tour ran a bit longer (we left a little late, plus some of the girls REALLY wanted to get pictures at every single location). It also had a later arrival time to La Paz, and I had heard the area around the bus station was really sketchy so I felt better about 8:30 am than 6:00 am (still dark in the winter). In the end, though, the bus arrived around 6:30 and it was still dark and I was nervous...but no one tried to jump me. I just quickly got in a radio (official) taxi and went to my hostel.</span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-9xZ_Awvyf1PPJdGydP0oAqhEeUmmpYJlm1FdRlu41wyf6DlsqUZNdfsMiLQgPTMAzFyBCTMrhJkZ6gaQ9-vb_Wg2ow5lZlk-g-eXD9LkcdBMpfGeYYAdRFsK3uNS6jxVm9RevOJLTp0/s1600/IMG_5179.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-9xZ_Awvyf1PPJdGydP0oAqhEeUmmpYJlm1FdRlu41wyf6DlsqUZNdfsMiLQgPTMAzFyBCTMrhJkZ6gaQ9-vb_Wg2ow5lZlk-g-eXD9LkcdBMpfGeYYAdRFsK3uNS6jxVm9RevOJLTp0/s400/IMG_5179.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Panasur</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">Panasur really sucks, though. The buses are dirty and look
old inside. The seats are that old gross cracked black leather. But I
guess it gets the job done - they also provide blankets which was my big
fear!</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Bonus</i>: there is no "terminal tax" or document check out of Uyuni</span></span> </span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">What is Uyuni like?</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">Uyuni is a pale, dusty town full of low, white washed buildings and parades of salt-encrusted 4x4s. You can really feel its history as an edge-of-the-world salt mining town that once had aspirations to be a big city, but instead plateaued mid-century. </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">There isn't much nightlife here, so don't expect to find a trendy bar to pass the time. </span></span>The residents of Uyuni rely on the 60,000 tourists that pass through each year to support local businesses (including the dozens of Salar tour companies), but don't completely embrace the unending influx of outsiders to the otherwise quiet town. Bolivians in general are not overly friendly, and especially in a place so oriented towards tourists, there is quite a bit of tension. I don't recommend spending too much time here, but a few hours of thoughtful exploration, with a dose of local history and cultural sensitivity, would be well worth your time. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq8pJcIfxlLAmREQzBemh3u40GEGYuJ2YlPaJYbM3TQQO0mcdDxvtUOlU1p5bydh-8UDvYszgh5DS7z1ZH4HNgxr4stKzFSqhJmm_di9-rs1EbrrGYKKHsRMb8JVOQDG-HOVqqDNhSa58/s1600/uyuni5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq8pJcIfxlLAmREQzBemh3u40GEGYuJ2YlPaJYbM3TQQO0mcdDxvtUOlU1p5bydh-8UDvYszgh5DS7z1ZH4HNgxr4stKzFSqhJmm_di9-rs1EbrrGYKKHsRMb8JVOQDG-HOVqqDNhSa58/s400/uyuni5.JPG" width="300" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipfry5HxGeNxty81qjIHfidNbuKKYNOyzY0-hvRRoIAJ3sI8acctgxn2ZReyR4iC_FDCp-0Wna_PczIbbw2olpIuKjKE2IsTyc74IY3p0lYNAs-viCUeL1KbqjV9y8rbyj7gAEqL_-ZvU/s1600/uyuni6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipfry5HxGeNxty81qjIHfidNbuKKYNOyzY0-hvRRoIAJ3sI8acctgxn2ZReyR4iC_FDCp-0Wna_PczIbbw2olpIuKjKE2IsTyc74IY3p0lYNAs-viCUeL1KbqjV9y8rbyj7gAEqL_-ZvU/s400/uyuni6.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Should I just spend the night in Uyuni?</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Unless you have lots of money to spend, no. The quality of available lodgings is only a notch higher than sleeping on the bus, and Uyuni doesn't have much to offer beyond a couple of hours of walking around in the morning. If you are looking to splurge, there are a couple of salt hotels just outside of town that are worth your consideration! Start by checking out <a href="http://www.lunasaladahotel.com.bo/">Luna Salada</a> or <a href="http://www.palaciodesal.com.bo/">Palacio del Sal</a>.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">How do I find a tour company?</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Two options: book in advance online or in La Paz, choose a company in Uyuni. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Booking online works well for a multi-day tour or if you have a big budget ($75-100 USD/person for a day tour), but the vast majority of companies don't really have an online presence. Booking in La Paz is a good option - you guarantee your spot on a tour (useful especially in the high season), and have a pretty good selection - also, most tourism companies in La Paz will be able to communicate with you in English. Booking in Uyuni is a good option if you want to really investigate all the options and be confident in what sort of product you are getting, but beware that most companies speak only Spanish and accept only cash. I have heard both that it's cheaper to buy in La Paz and cheaper in Uyuni...so I can't really say, but I ended up paying about $25 for my day tour, which included lunch. There are lots of options in Uyuni - you can either wait until someone (women at the bus stop, waitress at a cafe) asks if you have a tour booked and they will offer you some package, or you can go yourself door to door at the tour companies' offices and compare packages.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">What should I look for in a 1-day tour?</span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Newer cars</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Small group size (maximum 6, not 7!)</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Lunch (ask what's on the menu)</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Guide: mostly, the driver is also the guide but sometimes you get both - ask if they speak English, if that matters to you (you will pay more) and if it's a driver/guide, make sure they are really knowledgeable - and feel free to ask lots of questions on the tour if your driver isn't talkative! </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">All the key stops: train cemetery, Colchani town, the original salt hotel, Isla del Pescado or Isla Incahuasi</span></li>
</ul>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>How was your trip to the Salar de Uyuni, Samantha?</b></span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib_nQw8ymDG_Cr1WemvkrVEMPniKXF0IGw3492r-gcIcvPw23VKEzzVeiaajqtRIor-EcC5TQBS7K6aKafcclPdILCFV7-UlWNFIz2v2Lwga-KvbyC0Phix2TIseQ9h41QtxX6VTidzjM/s1600/breakfast.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib_nQw8ymDG_Cr1WemvkrVEMPniKXF0IGw3492r-gcIcvPw23VKEzzVeiaajqtRIor-EcC5TQBS7K6aKafcclPdILCFV7-UlWNFIz2v2Lwga-KvbyC0Phix2TIseQ9h41QtxX6VTidzjM/s320/breakfast.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">leche con cafe</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;">I had a really excellent time in Uyuni! Probably the best activity I did in Bolivia. I was, however, still suffering from altitude sickness and since Uyuni is a little bit higher than La Paz, I felt bad from the moment I arrived. Also, I felt dirty and gross the whole time after the night on the bus and nothing but a quick sink clean up in a cafe bathroom. I sat writing post cards in a small cafe for about 2.5 hours waiting for the tour to start at 10 am. I had a HUGE cup of milk, a small cup of coffee, and a sort of omelette. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">My tour group was, interestingly, all girls! Maria, the </span><span style="font-size: large;">driver/answerer of questions (not a guide, per say), who loves both traditional pan flute music and Backstreet Boys, was very nice but quite introverted. In addition to me, the passengers were a Colombian girl taking a field trip from her business trip to Uyuni, two German friends on vacation, and two Puerto Rican friends on vacation.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy5EelqvFDI6W23kDA2RSYHLrqiT4A-HF6vO-MEYn-LTTzf8pp04rLkQMqtr2oJfZRCvCH890aSjXN2fZKGn2x73PEGO6XEJnLJqAJ-kmtHoKEepsHPuWCg7alA56rAZ97556k08ULbK4/s1600/flats4x4s.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy5EelqvFDI6W23kDA2RSYHLrqiT4A-HF6vO-MEYn-LTTzf8pp04rLkQMqtr2oJfZRCvCH890aSjXN2fZKGn2x73PEGO6XEJnLJqAJ-kmtHoKEepsHPuWCg7alA56rAZ97556k08ULbK4/s400/flats4x4s.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The landscape is stunning and beautiful, but the sun was just killing me and I hadn't eaten much. My stomach was turning, I couldn't muster enough energy to lay in the salt and try to get a ton of dramatic photos. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJsAeFPlQyrLczQPtd1KsJOIgpF6vlgPg_9Xg00WOSP0Ftq-EYWO8y4LW6zsBk0g1bgCgXhOm_CYyjYK08tApoHhdAma7YBcyPilIKwzJKvSiXBlWlJQYx3iNG-adXfF3cVL2ZxPpJHes/s1600/ab.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJsAeFPlQyrLczQPtd1KsJOIgpF6vlgPg_9Xg00WOSP0Ftq-EYWO8y4LW6zsBk0g1bgCgXhOm_CYyjYK08tApoHhdAma7YBcyPilIKwzJKvSiXBlWlJQYx3iNG-adXfF3cVL2ZxPpJHes/s400/ab.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">lots of people</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span id="goog_1685246773"></span><span id="goog_1685246774"></span>At about the fourth stop of maybe ten, I started to feel dizzy and disoriented. I knew what was coming. While everyone got out of the car to take pictures of
the "ojos del agua" (bubbles of water coming up through the ground) I went behind the car, put my hair up in a bun, and
threw up all over the salar. Twice. It was mostly liquid since all I ate
today was warm milk, half a piece of toast, and a few bites of a cheese
omelet. I give you this detail to note that I didn't leave a
significant mark on the already white and tan desert landscape. If
anyone noticed it was our driver Maria, but she didn't say anything as I
rushed back to the car to grab a roll of toilet paper between heaves.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHyoOD2eXAa33q24ICiecaI_J14oYzxzjJB3yN1J5i1bKGo7xObkrEtvnW4rL2woa9710vDPvr6vqSBQ_KSonIQP_r4mZ8fXbZL3h0aXgcYU9okSlkiw_kic3OYZcqiDbVvvZLQlruOu8/s1600/aa.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHyoOD2eXAa33q24ICiecaI_J14oYzxzjJB3yN1J5i1bKGo7xObkrEtvnW4rL2woa9710vDPvr6vqSBQ_KSonIQP_r4mZ8fXbZL3h0aXgcYU9okSlkiw_kic3OYZcqiDbVvvZLQlruOu8/s400/aa.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">ojos del agua</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV_eQuz0mxHD91OxJrl_OrfUn8arlrY91BJZ7cEn337BkiSAvEwSuffKoWpn-aMMfMjM__VL-PcO5oBvO-N9eK8NldMC57m8-qlkd-LoNe8Oidiciia7GvBv6bNNsXaUyKLfOYWbNhpN4/s1600/a.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV_eQuz0mxHD91OxJrl_OrfUn8arlrY91BJZ7cEn337BkiSAvEwSuffKoWpn-aMMfMjM__VL-PcO5oBvO-N9eK8NldMC57m8-qlkd-LoNe8Oidiciia7GvBv6bNNsXaUyKLfOYWbNhpN4/s400/a.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">ojos del agua</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;">I felt varying degrees of nauseous since I arrived in Bolivia, and really wasn't able to force myself to eat. I worried I felt sick because
I wasn't eating, but the thought of every food made me sick - especially
what I saw on offer in Bolivia. It was a lot of cuts of meat
I'm not used to eating and fried bread. The night before I had my only full
meal since my arrival - a street cheeseburger which absolutely hit the
spot. Actually, I could only eat about
70% before it got cold (because I was eating so slow) and was no longer
so appetizing...</span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji32H9Sq9mU9v7UzgHenmsgYchdANtVP68zKHgQmf9pBI6v1mfY9JDMARhBqQm-qj6dkY49HAtNSSm4WDRbGZrrXkI5m-IjFyHB1THqgMhoV4Bx2d4G0bENRw5QVbTqwG5hIwlHysL5Ho/s1600/ae.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji32H9Sq9mU9v7UzgHenmsgYchdANtVP68zKHgQmf9pBI6v1mfY9JDMARhBqQm-qj6dkY49HAtNSSm4WDRbGZrrXkI5m-IjFyHB1THqgMhoV4Bx2d4G0bENRw5QVbTqwG5hIwlHysL5Ho/s320/ae.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lunch</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;">But after I puked on the world's largest salt flats, I actually felt a lot
better! I managed to put down some vegetables (finally!) and quinoa at
lunch, and the nausea mostly subsided for the rest of the day. There
were lots of reasons for me to be sick - the (near?) sun
poisoning I got in Playa del Carmen, the cold I got in Playa del Carmen,
the stress-induced weakened immune system from traveling, the altitude,
eating unusual food, not eating, using the water to brush my teeth once
or twice, dehydration...so who knows what really got me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">After watching the sun set, we raced a public bus (going from pueblitos
on the edge of the Salar) back to Uyuni. Behind us the clouds glowed
with pink and red fire, to the right the mountains and sky blended in a
blue brilliantly offset by the white salt. Ahead of us, town lights were
faint enough for me to wonder how the drivers don't get lost. Maria
assured me they can read the landscape, but many tourists get lost each year after attempting to navigate the flats alone, and it can be very dangerous.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfeSQF44RrWM_315iOsgtbbA1corR1h5BhpMz0XFmCtxFQui23e_GWvz1S1JExlvjT49HRtQYwZPuSk4uxWDWp2GInE2HXdbvR0rnQCQYauDQtXPlwURWhqVELQQ0T01asZ2L4FGE-9k8/s1600/ad.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" class="qjtsjrynzwekvrfscwxe" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfeSQF44RrWM_315iOsgtbbA1corR1h5BhpMz0XFmCtxFQui23e_GWvz1S1JExlvjT49HRtQYwZPuSk4uxWDWp2GInE2HXdbvR0rnQCQYauDQtXPlwURWhqVELQQ0T01asZ2L4FGE-9k8/s1600/ad.JPG" /></a></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvVG0nYQSxqwgJSO3v4aYozK4Bvy93GxEwIXqkXPRYZQT37Q8F70M6k4VLxv7WO9-kI9BVDG4lem5GeJNOqk-ZTzz0flB-UZANVf53TGa2BC8-xztRrrPbREAMx9ZFImnitrrPwosSk7Y/s1600/ag.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvVG0nYQSxqwgJSO3v4aYozK4Bvy93GxEwIXqkXPRYZQT37Q8F70M6k4VLxv7WO9-kI9BVDG4lem5GeJNOqk-ZTzz0flB-UZANVf53TGa2BC8-xztRrrPbREAMx9ZFImnitrrPwosSk7Y/s400/ag.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">sunset</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE8IE7OUZvqHtItMazE2JUcChUhzWwoObF24koUDUIA3k1KA1LTEyDeqAFwE2u5OmU1DWzwdpZ4UVQI5DlnW_o7I4FHbAUpxFx_1_DcFE2eXusWn1iWKPPYrDXrTvDBbsOzHplWuT9nIQ/s1600/af.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE8IE7OUZvqHtItMazE2JUcChUhzWwoObF24koUDUIA3k1KA1LTEyDeqAFwE2u5OmU1DWzwdpZ4UVQI5DlnW_o7I4FHbAUpxFx_1_DcFE2eXusWn1iWKPPYrDXrTvDBbsOzHplWuT9nIQ/s400/af.JPG" width="300" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Back in Uyuni I said farewell to my fellow passengers, and scarfed down a weird mushroom and cheese pizza before hopping on my bus back to La Paz!</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiWAkFXoeJ_NzAk4at9UylT3KDsk78PqpIgGRHWckra-YKqH6pUBUZwYXIxwXpyxiJNDxAIe_sbkKINdUOsnegEKxfC-BEqgOFW22rN6CoqRPrgcoC0sZLCbDoQhLsyVuNy8aahT9ksyg/s1600/apizza.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1484" data-original-width="834" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiWAkFXoeJ_NzAk4at9UylT3KDsk78PqpIgGRHWckra-YKqH6pUBUZwYXIxwXpyxiJNDxAIe_sbkKINdUOsnegEKxfC-BEqgOFW22rN6CoqRPrgcoC0sZLCbDoQhLsyVuNy8aahT9ksyg/s400/apizza.JPG" width="223" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Overall, I highly recommend Salar de Uyuni if you're in Bolivia! Stunning, unforgettable, and demonstrates the power of nature. It is definitely better with a partner - someone to take pictures of you and someone to talk to on the long open stretches of salt flats. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiijEK4O0cVTvpoA56HcBw8sbhRfqzFIvuDiv6Go1yKuvxkB5kdGYmIM8PPpx50dNUFovhZzkJLKNJt_44vO2J5BalCbO-nwVN643N7APhnMeoLRRytRNTjJeLeY86xIkxhhGrkGZ8mQeY/s1600/ac.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiijEK4O0cVTvpoA56HcBw8sbhRfqzFIvuDiv6Go1yKuvxkB5kdGYmIM8PPpx50dNUFovhZzkJLKNJt_44vO2J5BalCbO-nwVN643N7APhnMeoLRRytRNTjJeLeY86xIkxhhGrkGZ8mQeY/s320/ac.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03692438649665155641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2093208508879975920.post-82877027685610311172017-07-23T10:56:00.001-07:002017-07-27T05:36:22.409-07:00The 9 Types of People You Meet Backpacking South America<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_HvB6Iwdl7O2zZ-FI4kjpp7cUtcRw0kOFoXuKuThezfODoMIm6JzQziZVtKB88t17VQbpINES5pPpEPqDIW7t6xD95YW9yeZ2ZWuT3ciMpn2WK6A6nFj7zewMeJAIr9V1TlWubVv02lA/s1600/1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_HvB6Iwdl7O2zZ-FI4kjpp7cUtcRw0kOFoXuKuThezfODoMIm6JzQziZVtKB88t17VQbpINES5pPpEPqDIW7t6xD95YW9yeZ2ZWuT3ciMpn2WK6A6nFj7zewMeJAIr9V1TlWubVv02lA/s320/1.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Pringles can in hand</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>1. Pringles Girl:</b> she lives off of grocery store pringles and nutella because she is scared to get sick from the local food, all her gear is brand new, her parents call her every night to ask if she wants them to put more money in her bank account - she usually says no. She carries two backpacks (one on her back and one on her stomach).</span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVT5jCu9BBkedkC42aZnIN8O4AwGjZuN5Hw9wSCJlSt4LBcvontaEXW6O1fqywkAeq9VeGKT37BesaTVhDQuHLn_XcWLVDTon9ltsCEMG6tX4ZfiXev46bGUf6FPvP1Dx6KAzFEpfrQyM/s1600/2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVT5jCu9BBkedkC42aZnIN8O4AwGjZuN5Hw9wSCJlSt4LBcvontaEXW6O1fqywkAeq9VeGKT37BesaTVhDQuHLn_XcWLVDTon9ltsCEMG6tX4ZfiXev46bGUf6FPvP1Dx6KAzFEpfrQyM/s320/2.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Note the </i><a href="https://www.racked.com/2016/3/2/11139622/what-is-vetements">Vetements </a><i>hat<br />(this guy had a Singaporean passport)</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>2. Wealthy Asian Guy: </b>probably from China or Singapore, speaks perfect English but only a couple words of broken Spanish. Wears designer clothes, and clings to his cell phone and leather wallet like a life raft. Is usually eating at the restaurant that locals go to for weddings and <span class="st">quinceañeras. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>3. The big group of loud Americans:</b> their main focus is going out at night and taking good pics for Insta. They sleep until noon unless they're talking the free walking tour. They crowd into souvenir shops and ask about the prices in broken, heavily accented Spanish. There is usually one dehydrated straggler sitting on the curb fiddling with the straps of their too-big hiking backpack.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ3yh-wYO5mUWptw00FtiGmCPkpftc9FtlWHyRZnje57KyIdupL9ovzHKEuXk0epXy-tdG-MuhelTrTIBxvkiztiPSpO_9UipuB5AaKPNXUBAS3WQlOcDp-bAwdItltWpkMhkgobOgXrg/s1600/6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1552" data-original-width="1074" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ3yh-wYO5mUWptw00FtiGmCPkpftc9FtlWHyRZnje57KyIdupL9ovzHKEuXk0epXy-tdG-MuhelTrTIBxvkiztiPSpO_9UipuB5AaKPNXUBAS3WQlOcDp-bAwdItltWpkMhkgobOgXrg/s320/6.jpg" width="221" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">true to life model</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>4. The big group of loud Brazilians:</b> they speak in Portuguese to the waiter, and if he doesn't understand, they just say it again louder. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>5. Two blonde European girls:</b> traveling together for at least a month. They've been best friends since high school but by this point are really getting on each others nerves but are too polite (or too German) to say anything. Only one of them speaks Spanish, and one of them is constantly getting sick.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqQniufTuXrCCdtpud-RLhzyK3deTrtaAaHDtn9c4xNBfIWBEMQUDzMeTZeq3GQXxvvf8-yskuZz5C0GnrkMAzHp4ggWAga4YSXEwHiN9edLUHu8HYKuWCmS6t5qGuPUkh9YFZG-GiLJc/s1600/3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqQniufTuXrCCdtpud-RLhzyK3deTrtaAaHDtn9c4xNBfIWBEMQUDzMeTZeq3GQXxvvf8-yskuZz5C0GnrkMAzHp4ggWAga4YSXEwHiN9edLUHu8HYKuWCmS6t5qGuPUkh9YFZG-GiLJc/s320/3.JPG" width="240" /> </a></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>#6/#7 may resemble this creature</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>6. Recent graduates: </b>can be either the high school kid on their first solo trip (this is really cool, actually), or a post grad master's student (lol me) who is a bit cynical about everything but has never actually experienced the full time working world despite the fact that they are in their mid 20s. They either don't have a job lined up when they go back home and plans to work at a restaurant until something worth their time comes up, or they have a consulting job waiting for them and are trying to balance the soul sucking corporate job with something more organic.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>7. Guard-up solo traveler:</b> maybe gives a head nod as they pass another solo traveler but rarely makes contact. Keeps to themselves in the hostel, seeking a more authentic local experience. Is afraid to leave any of their stuff unattended, often has a pouch full of locks. Angles their passport away from people, as if their giant backpack and sunburned paper white skin doesn't give it away that they're a foreigner... </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA4T5a6fMNNzc_v5p3CwQGmzGiLcvq2NyirlTVhfDRBVdox-cUgY_XJSJBD9Q_CGWNGps3MPE0oQ4R4J6chmR4TMRAmZhWUxl785LxknPEvlO6zfyLTjZEibn_95OMUeCO0ujjNb5QmrY/s1600/seller.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA4T5a6fMNNzc_v5p3CwQGmzGiLcvq2NyirlTVhfDRBVdox-cUgY_XJSJBD9Q_CGWNGps3MPE0oQ4R4J6chmR4TMRAmZhWUxl785LxknPEvlO6zfyLTjZEibn_95OMUeCO0ujjNb5QmrY/s320/seller.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">This guy was selling some homemade<br />power balls or something </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>8. The permanent traveler:</b> at this point, he's out of money but not willing to call his parents, so he's stuck here. He usually has dreadlocks or half his head shaved. You can find him selling handmade jewelry off a sarong on the sidewalk next to local craftsmen, or juggling at stop lights. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkwumyPs0EWCC4Km_vN4PxpAcgmhnPIpmoOwXkLYhmrCRt9ECLFdQkLQyvrOjvSPA8gzXabLt9xXol58DUSX8_sWx82a0bWvqrSmNQI0g5LEn009IYkZBlWB1Nl_REomJQh554pae9JGc/s1600/4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkwumyPs0EWCC4Km_vN4PxpAcgmhnPIpmoOwXkLYhmrCRt9ECLFdQkLQyvrOjvSPA8gzXabLt9xXol58DUSX8_sWx82a0bWvqrSmNQI0g5LEn009IYkZBlWB1Nl_REomJQh554pae9JGc/s320/4.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>#9 crossing the Bolivia/Peru border -<br />their backpacks were on the bus</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>9. The couple:</b> their love sustains them through the challenges, they can huddle for warmth on Bolivian buses, split that weird chunk of meat, and look out for the other one's stuff if they have to go to the bathroom. They are both equally dirty, and don't care anymore, but are really sick of trying to sneak in sex on dorm room bunks while other hostelers are away. They carry two backpacks each.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Most backpackers on the Colombia-Ecuador-Peru-Bolivia circuit (they almost always go north to south) are from Canada, France, Germany, The Netherlands, or Australia. The rest are from other South American countries (Chile, Argentina), and a tiny handful from Asia. There are hardly any people from the Middle East, Africa, Eastern Europe, or South Asia.</span>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03692438649665155641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2093208508879975920.post-51439381493839753992017-07-23T10:06:00.002-07:002017-07-23T20:41:52.519-07:00The Perfect Latin American Country<span style="font-size: large;">After a month of traveling in Bolivia, Peru, Colombia, and Panama, I have decided to build the perfect Latin American country. I have written a couple of posts about my trip so far, with <b>lots </b>more coming!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://loveatfirstlayover.blogspot.com/2017/06/rough-introduction-to-la-paz-bolivia.html">Rough Introduction to La Paz</a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://loveatfirstlayover.blogspot.com/2017/07/la-paz-grows-on-you.html">La Paz Grows on You</a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://loveatfirstlayover.blogspot.com/2017/07/another-omg-horrible-day-jungle-edition.html">Jungle Horror Story </a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://loveatfirstlayover.blogspot.com/2017/07/always-carry-sunscreen-and-umbrella.html">Bogota Days </a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://loveatfirstlayover.blogspot.com/2017/07/the-9-types-of-people-you-meet.html">The 9 Types of Backpackers you Meet in South America </a></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So check those out for now if you haven't already, after this little wrap-up post.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>The perfect Latin American country would have...</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: purple;">the connection to, appreciation of, and social/political integration into the mainstream of indigenous culture and people of Bolivia*<br /> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: purple;">the food of Peru </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: purple;">the natural diversity of Peru (Andean highlands, wide deserts, coastline, and jungle)</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: purple;">the warm people of Colombia</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: purple;">the resilient spirit and <i>joie de vivre</i> of Colombia </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: purple;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: purple;">the ease of access and simplicity of Panama</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">*I know that was a really hard sentence to read...bear with me </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Should I explain a bit more...? Here are the best and worst of each country in my personal, very limited, experience:</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>(Below each section are the best pictures from my trip from each country - sorry my iPhone photography skills are so lacking) </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Bolivia</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Cold and cold. The record high in La Paz ever was 25.4 C/77.7 F...the mountains around La Paz are beautiful but the altitude really kicked my butt.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Bolivia was the least developed country on my trip, and I saw the most poverty here. The people were generally cold and unfriendly, unhelpful, and (perhaps understandably) quite unhappy to interact with or even see tourists.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Indigenous cultures are strong and visible, which is the best thing about the country other than perhaps the nature - Lake Titicaca, the Andes, and the Salar de Uyuni (salt flats) and territory south towards Chile (which I didn't see in person but pics and stories assure me it's incredible). </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">There is some food that is really unique, but almost everything you can get in Bolivia, is mirrored (and improved) in Peruvian Andean/Quechua cuisine. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">A month ago, I would have told you to skip Bolivia entirely and go to Ecuador instead, but really, as I moved north, the negatives of Bolivia have faded a bit from my memory, and I retain how awesome it was to experience a very isolated and unique culture, and it's hard to see that in other countries apart from maybe Amazonian peoples. So, maybe give Bolivia a few days, but steel yourself for the hardships - no English, horrible infrastructure, little organizational support for tourists, barely there wifi, and awful coffee. If you embrace the reality, though, I think you can have a really memorable trip.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />(much more on Bolivia, which was definitely the most interesting and different country of my trip,<span style="color: red;"> in the forthcoming post Goodbye Bolivia - this will be a link when the post is released!</span>) </span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidTiKwycjeO2NWK63BvFuaGW0dt0XF1-_5VMLuq7m7QtMPBdwXLflT6dFAEdqxzVfhnKlqF8luZooiIB9h22I6M1YiUcJV7xB9MvGX0Gr0k4Y46xbQVSZgpe_Sr5qUbhSS3c_pdpljjQo/s1600/fav+architecture+la+paz.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidTiKwycjeO2NWK63BvFuaGW0dt0XF1-_5VMLuq7m7QtMPBdwXLflT6dFAEdqxzVfhnKlqF8luZooiIB9h22I6M1YiUcJV7xB9MvGX0Gr0k4Y46xbQVSZgpe_Sr5qUbhSS3c_pdpljjQo/s400/fav+architecture+la+paz.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>A popular style of architecture in La Paz, Bolivia</i></span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtvsI5k9FFL6XLEba_O6HXIvoMK67Q-eWxkryiblbA8XeUZeOc_QoSLRr3OVtWvxfYE_eVeZLuLGIaUCOOZTJnAkZKKlXInOcKIwQoecPEaDPk-Xe6KmU15hbQYqw8ESqqzfuykOqrNJQ/s1600/la+paz.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtvsI5k9FFL6XLEba_O6HXIvoMK67Q-eWxkryiblbA8XeUZeOc_QoSLRr3OVtWvxfYE_eVeZLuLGIaUCOOZTJnAkZKKlXInOcKIwQoecPEaDPk-Xe6KmU15hbQYqw8ESqqzfuykOqrNJQ/s400/la+paz.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">La Paz, Bolivia</span></i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaEt66C-sB9q2hMI-3mkYGQe2c6-POTb6qIpvjmsJAtxY1dJa-F55eSk-SvgzrJ64dPN4OOmC6iI8hHzyKLT84hzH2L65ATw1y30tOlZh9cA0lhgFqxVYrdLVBFGlMU-X7jWP5-vWzXFc/s1600/terminal+lapaz.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaEt66C-sB9q2hMI-3mkYGQe2c6-POTb6qIpvjmsJAtxY1dJa-F55eSk-SvgzrJ64dPN4OOmC6iI8hHzyKLT84hzH2L65ATw1y30tOlZh9cA0lhgFqxVYrdLVBFGlMU-X7jWP5-vWzXFc/s400/terminal+lapaz.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Bus terminal, La Paz, Bolivia</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGjvlj1oisBRTrgh-KA37nE2bgVKY8iAMnE25LnkONxCxMvlk-5jy2tZIZlD7lm5hylsfArDu-AH_7lSs7VFQaUjCJht2NkIoYc9hKJc8QI7l5sQ1bHbqOe1iTNqDFiUARK3X43RaNdP8/s1600/tiahuanaku.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGjvlj1oisBRTrgh-KA37nE2bgVKY8iAMnE25LnkONxCxMvlk-5jy2tZIZlD7lm5hylsfArDu-AH_7lSs7VFQaUjCJht2NkIoYc9hKJc8QI7l5sQ1bHbqOe1iTNqDFiUARK3X43RaNdP8/s400/tiahuanaku.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Tiwanaku/Tiahuanaco/Tiahuanacu, Bolivia<br />(</span><span style="font-size: small;">at least 200 BCE - 200 CE)</span></i></td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw2cKumK6ev_mRi1uSVkwi7LGfQtSd1VB0LZ3lYkxh4GKsa9foromYrGWrmlCWDX3oRCjfDO6D0wG5wUnz3I_Q25DbIkmGS5H9PezgnZZlLsuDd92dy69Zu0-vYoWj2R0l7xOkoKCGRkY/s1600/salar+sunset.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw2cKumK6ev_mRi1uSVkwi7LGfQtSd1VB0LZ3lYkxh4GKsa9foromYrGWrmlCWDX3oRCjfDO6D0wG5wUnz3I_Q25DbIkmGS5H9PezgnZZlLsuDd92dy69Zu0-vYoWj2R0l7xOkoKCGRkY/s400/salar+sunset.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Sunset, Salar de Uyuni, Bolivia</span></i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYzrpMVCaCfmyJHABCEcC9b6iHuV-cNlDQ7E8zBzoLQoctg2izDLo1YBwLvb22bxIZua3WXbwh22I1rWTz5Ltf007qSsE3yRs5PFvE8ga0cYOTmwjgJ6QGUYZ4aSv2IH5KxHpw2ZlzZPk/s1600/touristgohome.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYzrpMVCaCfmyJHABCEcC9b6iHuV-cNlDQ7E8zBzoLQoctg2izDLo1YBwLvb22bxIZua3WXbwh22I1rWTz5Ltf007qSsE3yRs5PFvE8ga0cYOTmwjgJ6QGUYZ4aSv2IH5KxHpw2ZlzZPk/s400/touristgohome.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Train Cemetary, Salar de Uyuni, Bolivia</span></i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7h5cDUJchOSAB_CZ2wAErIYEgXXRy_joAuYhDy_T-LvmMF1HljBe3XNI8X-hMcbN3IGDzKBITst42hHdc3l1MYvkRK0fEsRrioPF05zZixOtnikb6sRPWIe0c7QQfsb7UF6ppncEEGGM/s1600/titicaca.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7h5cDUJchOSAB_CZ2wAErIYEgXXRy_joAuYhDy_T-LvmMF1HljBe3XNI8X-hMcbN3IGDzKBITst42hHdc3l1MYvkRK0fEsRrioPF05zZixOtnikb6sRPWIe0c7QQfsb7UF6ppncEEGGM/s400/titicaca.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">View of Lake Titicaca from Cerro Calvario, Copacabana, Bolivia</span></i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLzWN7_rRjMKTlEgpD91s8AwMDsWb-LJCOj-26Phn2NfIqEKzM4ppxPeusRFx0nHV9eo63nhiKc2Crg0tqjNJzY0HKq05n3nm6daYjMiCP99RVp_rPdZfsq_Lb6oYQtlmClS9S0yVy7G0/s1600/crossing+titicaca.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLzWN7_rRjMKTlEgpD91s8AwMDsWb-LJCOj-26Phn2NfIqEKzM4ppxPeusRFx0nHV9eo63nhiKc2Crg0tqjNJzY0HKq05n3nm6daYjMiCP99RVp_rPdZfsq_Lb6oYQtlmClS9S0yVy7G0/s400/crossing+titicaca.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Crossing Lake Titicaca, near Copacabana, Bolivia</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Peru</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Before coming I was already biased in Peru's favor, since I visited with two of the loves of my life (@elyse_atpeace, @rebeccajvogel) in 2015 to hike the Inka Trail to Machu Picchu. This time, I wanted to spend more time in Lima and to see the selva (jungle)- mission accomplished.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Peruvian food is indisputably the best in South America, mixing flavors and styles from highland, coastal, and selva regions.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Lima has terrible weather in the winter - grey skies, drizzly rain, too cold for the beach - but I still loved it (<span style="color: red;">blog coming on Lima!</span>). From ritzy Miraflores to hipster cool Barranco to working class La Victoria (lol don't go there, I was just lost), Lima has a ton to offer, is very walkable, and incredibly diverse. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Peru's history is fascinating too, as Cuzco was the "bellybutton of the world" as the capital of the Inca Empire, and Lima was the capital of the Spanish conquistadores. Maybe it's just me after reading <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B004XFYIDS/ref=dp-kindle-redirect?_encoding=UTF8&btkr=1">Turn Right at Machu Picchu</a> with the besties before our Peru trip, but I am obsessed with the Inca Empire and its history - on the Inca Trail, our guides knew I loved the history, so before letting me into our camp for lunch or the night, they would quiz me with an Inca history/Quechua culture trivia question. South America is loaded with the remains of pre-Spanish civilizations, but the Inca is one that we know a lot about, and the story of the last Incas has a very real and personal feel to it.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Peruvian people are not the hug you on the street type, and they don't shower you in sweet nicknames, but you can open them rather quickly with a smile and a greeting, and no one was really rude to me. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The selva of the Amazon basin (I was only at Iquitos, but there is also access at Puerto Maldonado where most organized tour groups go) is incredible. I had quite a few Indiana Jones/Lara Croft Tomb Raider moments, although I was not a fan of the food (I hate the plasticky taste of the <span class="st">bijao leaf that a lot of food is wrapped in</span>, and many of the rare Amazon fruits have a vomit and/or old socks flavor to them). I loved riding on moto taxis (as Iquitos is only reachable by air or sea, cars are fairly rare), even as their unfiltered exhaust stung my eyes and shriveled my lungs, and loud road noises is my number two most hated thing...It's really a must-visit, even if you don't see any sloths...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Peru is home to so many must-see-before-you-die places, from the Amazon rain forest, to Machu Picchu, to the oldest town in the Americas, Caral, to the Nazca lines. It's affordable, has tourist infrastructure, but doesn't feel like a fakey tourist trap. Go to Peru as soon as possible - and don't skip Lima! </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiktJ_xxbxSxHZJLQk6j71A7Cu0BsWChaBV8aDCYMT2DdioS9HM8DGjc0bb7oUdEpwOcpxao7AwOTqErU3P5cnoKbfAc_bvPVpPXhu_gtKgiUymo-hDI2oSYuzo9qQg94gaDFo08vDpaBU/s1600/chola+hats.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiktJ_xxbxSxHZJLQk6j71A7Cu0BsWChaBV8aDCYMT2DdioS9HM8DGjc0bb7oUdEpwOcpxao7AwOTqErU3P5cnoKbfAc_bvPVpPXhu_gtKgiUymo-hDI2oSYuzo9qQg94gaDFo08vDpaBU/s400/chola+hats.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Puno, Peru</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaThTYb2H9IhMQfqTPhd5gWiU9dUQZVD7nZ0s6tgfD5Nti5LNk5PioCGPYME5tTdB1Id3FfJNHhkOWPTKcp-Pbz1dn04sXRhga1Mn9ngqEXdcnv5XZvQeYg8vT4HRjTJ8am5N0A2UUQ-w/s1600/lima+cop.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaThTYb2H9IhMQfqTPhd5gWiU9dUQZVD7nZ0s6tgfD5Nti5LNk5PioCGPYME5tTdB1Id3FfJNHhkOWPTKcp-Pbz1dn04sXRhga1Mn9ngqEXdcnv5XZvQeYg8vT4HRjTJ8am5N0A2UUQ-w/s400/lima+cop.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">High alert during a protest in Lima, Peru</span></i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Arriving to Iquitos, Peru from the airport by motokar</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Raspadilla cart in Iquitos - machine is 40-50 years old</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Young woman prepare palm hearts at Belen Market in Iquitos</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Iquitos, Peru</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>A child helps us load our boat in an Amazon village near Iquitos</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Colombia</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The best things about Colombia are the landscape and the culture/people. While not as diverse as Peru, the country is filled with lush green hills growing coffee and bananas - it really is sort of the quintessential Caribbean South American destination, especially in places like Cartagena and Santa Marta on the Caribbean coast. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I loved being called sweet names, such as: princesa, reina, mi amor, amorcito, corazon, nena, </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="st">muñeca, </span> mami (this one just drove me wild). However, as much as people you interact with will be sweet to you, street harassment is intensely real and the worst I faced on my trip (also maybe compounded by the fact that I got my hair and nails done in Bogota and was looking the most clean and female like that I did on my trip...but check out <a href="http://loveatfirstlayover.blogspot.com/2017/07/always-carry-sunscreen-and-umbrella.html">the narco beauty section of this post</a>). I will admit that I couldn't help but smile when some guy called me Jennifer Lopez, though...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Colombianos use a lot of slang and unusual expressions in general, and it's great fun trying to decipher them! It also makes it pretty easy to spot a Colombian in other countries.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Colombia has the best music and (non-indigenous) cultural scene, from reggaeton and bachata to the more respectable vallenato and salsa, Colombianos love to shake their tail feathers (omg can't believe I just used that expression...), and it's great to explore the different musical styles throughout the country.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Leticia is a small jungle town at the "tres fronteras" (three borders) of Colombia, Brazil, and Peru - it's basically a smaller Iquitos, but you can sneak into (the least interesting town in) Brazil for a bit from here, so maybe worth a stop just for that! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Bogota is fabulous, despite the weather, and Medellin (which I didn't visit) has the perfect weather year round! Bogota is extremely walkable (really, like, too walkable - you'll just be strolling for hours through the urban jungle if you don't stop yourself), which you need because public transportation is pretty bad. Medellin has excellent public transportation, though! Bogota has an excellent nightlife scene, and in a city that size (maybe 10 million!) you will never run out of places to explore. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Parque Tayrona near Santa Marta is a veritable playground for adults, a natural theme park, and early on a weekday morning in shoulder season it feels quite secret. Cartagena is a magical fairytale and I hate that I was only there for one day. It's hopelessly sultry and romantic (there is a chance I only thought this because everything ever written on Cartagena describes it as 'sensual'), the history of conflict between the Spanish empire and pirates after its stolen treasure is palpable, and the people watching is fantastic as it a vacation destination for people from all over Colombia and Latin America.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I could definitely have spent the whole trip in Colombia, there is so much to see and do and the people are generally so laid back that you don't feel guilty just spending the day lounging on a beach or writing in a coffeeshop. The coffee here isn't what you might expect from one of the world's largest coffee producers (the traditionally have exported the choicest beans), but especially in cities, Colombianos are beginning to develop a taste for great coffee and as demand rises so does quality. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The biggest drawback to Colombia is probably the safety issue...while there isn't much reason to concern about guerillas anymore (and hasn't been for many years in the cities), FARC's disbanding is still being negotiated, and other small groups such as ELN still exist. Just double check the security situation before venturing somewhere remote, and in cities like Bogota armed robberies aren't as rare as I would have been led to believe through my own experience. I felt really safe overall, but in the 4 days I was in Bogota, a kid from my hostel was mugged at knife point and a hostel worker was threatened by a guy with a metal pipe. Homelessness is a big problem in Bogota, as well.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ffmQ7LIR2NcxURGCrhw9LGcc8ltoQ1h4PtGnt_fVMLV6v13enMdZb8oju5BpB58zyl0THPWvbzEHv52sgiWqsQ4foIR72LkSlrmwlZO4rRBHWE9-TJtIKiiOkLzFS8eEsQFsuKbHmPs/s1600/leticia+welcome.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ffmQ7LIR2NcxURGCrhw9LGcc8ltoQ1h4PtGnt_fVMLV6v13enMdZb8oju5BpB58zyl0THPWvbzEHv52sgiWqsQ4foIR72LkSlrmwlZO4rRBHWE9-TJtIKiiOkLzFS8eEsQFsuKbHmPs/s400/leticia+welcome.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Arrival in Leticia, Colombia (international border)</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Arrival in Leticia, Colombia (international border)</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Chapinero, Bogota, Colombia</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Bogota, Colombia</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>La Candelaria, Bogota, Colombia</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>View over Bogota from Monserrate</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmzCvuj1B_7nTxWuqSzmIMaK4MEn065REBXTKiJd3KTgo9076as4ZVTAS3J87EQCJI8qfMI_BdfJx7ereRRvr5bRrFvl-G0uAps7PmYUBaD4XGfo0xLuPvhqEWR4nGv2yxsc8I0zs6ksQ/s1600/foggygato.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmzCvuj1B_7nTxWuqSzmIMaK4MEn065REBXTKiJd3KTgo9076as4ZVTAS3J87EQCJI8qfMI_BdfJx7ereRRvr5bRrFvl-G0uAps7PmYUBaD4XGfo0xLuPvhqEWR4nGv2yxsc8I0zs6ksQ/s400/foggygato.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Foggy the cat, Santa Marta, Colombia</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy16w2Ccu_bPkhFt4VozKVQnhOPL0LF87Hrs2AAldZsHYqQ_IRJaNpjR3K5iH9UVqggeUE4u3dnXRaPAGerxKEzrUwXKi4yY5xysNtg9UYthDtnhpgPkCTO41bTBERyvMzMFTyhheX83E/s1600/gaira.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy16w2Ccu_bPkhFt4VozKVQnhOPL0LF87Hrs2AAldZsHYqQ_IRJaNpjR3K5iH9UVqggeUE4u3dnXRaPAGerxKEzrUwXKi4yY5xysNtg9UYthDtnhpgPkCTO41bTBERyvMzMFTyhheX83E/s400/gaira.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Gaira, Santa Marta, Colombia</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1x7m04ItL9EEQjIHfMLtPHscl33Eu88lBrXyQsgIetyER3_c_mcuDR3yn9OJJTsiR53l4HsvwXSCV625kWujaoFO-FAbIUumNgLZyaaZsQ70_O_YZcZjNtcCpFYJmkW8ZH8gnseVwbfk/s1600/tayrona.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1x7m04ItL9EEQjIHfMLtPHscl33Eu88lBrXyQsgIetyER3_c_mcuDR3yn9OJJTsiR53l4HsvwXSCV625kWujaoFO-FAbIUumNgLZyaaZsQ70_O_YZcZjNtcCpFYJmkW8ZH8gnseVwbfk/s400/tayrona.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Parque Tayrona, Colombia</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBWLxZiCd9OHpcKMppsffiF0Lun8VcLcdYHs_RAQq70qpchyn3_PjhCz38qtHJCoYWbczXFBLxGI1X4RPsXJhzQEeaG_licJCinQ5mRFXGGi8Hi8jniaJYyJ0Chb-99l6qAo13QMlElUg/s1600/tayrona2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBWLxZiCd9OHpcKMppsffiF0Lun8VcLcdYHs_RAQq70qpchyn3_PjhCz38qtHJCoYWbczXFBLxGI1X4RPsXJhzQEeaG_licJCinQ5mRFXGGi8Hi8jniaJYyJ0Chb-99l6qAo13QMlElUg/s400/tayrona2.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Parque Tayrona, Colombia</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkYmigvlYJ2PE9e0-V-czDIR4oaCeYEZx_QcMWcrwX8OulCX0FX_15Eyac4UnSIzIrmDwPJ31-ue_7U7EWIgs4S8DXI5OX9prkUe584so4GkydV15WpNWTvpm1tSV0S_NEXNiDdcLnB04/s1600/horseleg1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkYmigvlYJ2PE9e0-V-czDIR4oaCeYEZx_QcMWcrwX8OulCX0FX_15Eyac4UnSIzIrmDwPJ31-ue_7U7EWIgs4S8DXI5OX9prkUe584so4GkydV15WpNWTvpm1tSV0S_NEXNiDdcLnB04/s400/horseleg1.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">After riding a horse for 1.5 hours out of Parque Tayrona</span></i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo1IvPZgopcMWu_KHsMWnirsre-Nwr0D4dgA9UImv8SSnlgLIPL8LSTzdhqwxEcZKYaemie0EW3GZf6vdkv8W-axkKAAlYyc-MTRM8uNBTOHzOcVj21KuISU4QWYjsmC3uq49y42BSiJQ/s1600/roadsign.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo1IvPZgopcMWu_KHsMWnirsre-Nwr0D4dgA9UImv8SSnlgLIPL8LSTzdhqwxEcZKYaemie0EW3GZf6vdkv8W-axkKAAlYyc-MTRM8uNBTOHzOcVj21KuISU4QWYjsmC3uq49y42BSiJQ/s400/roadsign.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Heading back to Santa Marta from Parque Tayrona</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDKvo-pzuyTAjJ2M-3A8fIBncDKKVH_A4VV18roPHRELTw37zioYktsvgyQuctDHpg1lnMUPgtRnbBtK16PAi8Jj5QXL_hYBirOX2Z-qKwKz5Lz4EvKUWaG1K0UOhHdovueGeCqoLYEyY/s1600/cartagena.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDKvo-pzuyTAjJ2M-3A8fIBncDKKVH_A4VV18roPHRELTw37zioYktsvgyQuctDHpg1lnMUPgtRnbBtK16PAi8Jj5QXL_hYBirOX2Z-qKwKz5Lz4EvKUWaG1K0UOhHdovueGeCqoLYEyY/s400/cartagena.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Cartagena, Colombia</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGX4m2ywu15w-63msBF5KjnCThTDDvbfbwjM8WcZpO9fRRwD8wonmO7OWp4VmIOpgN0WEC04M_MpI-rbNhgZ9uZaI1lvSeaDfh4FdDJWB-6JJCxW4Eh5nWx1uCZEftn5kpMrr-tart3s8/s1600/cartagena2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGX4m2ywu15w-63msBF5KjnCThTDDvbfbwjM8WcZpO9fRRwD8wonmO7OWp4VmIOpgN0WEC04M_MpI-rbNhgZ9uZaI1lvSeaDfh4FdDJWB-6JJCxW4Eh5nWx1uCZEftn5kpMrr-tart3s8/s400/cartagena2.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Cartagena, Colombia</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Panama </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So, my experience here is quite skewed because a) I stayed only in the capital, and b) I spent a lot of time with my family and not so much sight seeing. So I can only speak to Panama City, but...it's not a great city for relaxing or exploring, and certainly not for backpacking/budget travel. There are some amazing things to see and do here - the Panama Canal being number one must see. Apart from the Canal, Cerro Ancon look out point (which comes with a pretty nice short hike), the historic and charming Casco Viejo, and the skyscrapers of Punta Paitilla, there isn't much. It is extremely car-focused, and walking is a challenge outside of Casco Viejo. If you lived here, I am sure you would love it. Although half the year you're inundated with frequent rain storms, the country is beautiful and the city's location surrounded by water and forest is excellent. There are many upscale bars and restaurants, with nearly any type of food you're looking for. There are also several nice cafes (though not as many as I would hope), lots of cheap beauty salons (a blow out starts at $5!). My biggest takeaway from Panama City is that it's really similar to an American beach town - it reminds me a lot of Virginia Beach if you added a cosmopolitan downtown. They use the US dollar, many people speak English (but not everyone, so brush up on your Spanish!), there are colossal malls with all the big US chains. Many parts of the city look like a mid sized US city, with infrastructure that hasn't been updated since the 70s or 80s, but there is also a major housing boom as both domestic migration to the city and immigration from countries like Venezuela (a huge topic of debate here) are on the rise. Street pavement is broken and cracked, traffic jams (<i>tranque</i>) clog the city during weekday rush hours, and frequent strikes with unhappy workers blocking main thoroughfares bring the city to its knees. Local food has its high points in a hearty plate of arroz con pollo, empanadas, chicheme (a creamy corn drink) fresh fruits, and raspado (shaved ice), but Panamanian food is generally fried and greasy. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The best of Panama is the people! Friendly and helpful, and diverse - I saw a <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=traditional+mola+blouse&safe=off&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwi39vev3p_VAhUCbSYKHcfoArkQ_AUICigB&biw=1536&bih=701#safe=off&tbm=isch&q=guna+woman+mola+blouse">Guna woman wearing a traditional mola blouse</a> shopping at the mall, and the San Francisco neighborhood where I was staying is full of expats and upper class locals. Panama has a lot of cool music, and local slang is worth getting to know. It's really fascinating how much the Spanish can change even just between Colombia and Panama, two countries that (as every Colombian would remind me) used to be one! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Casco Viejo (the old town) is really cute - it reminds me of a mini Cartagena - but it doesn't have as many sidewalk cafes or casual bars as I would expect. Even the nightlife (everyone claims this is the heart of it) is sort of lackluster from street view. There are a lot of shuttered buildings, maybe being renovated, and lots of scaffolding. It seems like a space in transition. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">You can have a really high quality of life in Panama City, but as a tourist, I suggest getting out of the city - it really doesn't have more than 2-3 days of traveler entertainment in it unless you're a high roller going to casinos every night and the Trump Tower spa every afternoon.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIzDWEQ-NbfiT8hVqu22CEXJpTupVhCT3Gy2EBWHAMMjWsKWPtxVUaaqAEcavgw2Q51T2c_FnuGuWkNjXF76jo_RAT0bznF3pTAQ1kbhKg20uY5E1dcJ5cA74pEofw31ZDri9lxuAUY5w/s1600/cascomonument.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIzDWEQ-NbfiT8hVqu22CEXJpTupVhCT3Gy2EBWHAMMjWsKWPtxVUaaqAEcavgw2Q51T2c_FnuGuWkNjXF76jo_RAT0bznF3pTAQ1kbhKg20uY5E1dcJ5cA74pEofw31ZDri9lxuAUY5w/s400/cascomonument.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Monument to history in Casco Viejo, Panama City, Panama</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMgUAq01AXKp8so27gzLq8JPcVIzzbNPr1FsYvTET_8aWVNYk-pTL8ZFKGGvq2gI8ld1jxh_WYzNrH3h1O6ErTLAlx8SH92CUBiJP4TuQk2kvC8lxA24haUKz8YXiykz7E1AynCw6vGik/s1600/cerro+ancon.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMgUAq01AXKp8so27gzLq8JPcVIzzbNPr1FsYvTET_8aWVNYk-pTL8ZFKGGvq2gI8ld1jxh_WYzNrH3h1O6ErTLAlx8SH92CUBiJP4TuQk2kvC8lxA24haUKz8YXiykz7E1AynCw6vGik/s400/cerro+ancon.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Hiking in Cerro Ancon, Panama City, Panama</i></span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLyPX6NFxheA0dSsiKS3YV2MH4ylj-sSbaUQtVYmC4i0LHfhuI2H6Vc-mSNCbOpXpt623G8i4AYOEfHwBIoEFm5OKyXQaPyLof10ZFIpogO5BLmMMFiqQnyb3SghmOdpwRWNepN1U6JlI/s1600/sloth.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLyPX6NFxheA0dSsiKS3YV2MH4ylj-sSbaUQtVYmC4i0LHfhuI2H6Vc-mSNCbOpXpt623G8i4AYOEfHwBIoEFm5OKyXQaPyLof10ZFIpogO5BLmMMFiqQnyb3SghmOdpwRWNepN1U6JlI/s400/sloth.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>SLOTH/MONO PEREZOSO, Cerro Ancon, Panama City, Panama</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYu2Wcw0Gi5zDl4q6I0VPRKHRkpUQb656pgFhv8XyYA-Pcl2SKJoJD_WKRiqH6pd1P9tCD74EW012_AR6AX2eYDxztswcSfdh5_mC6WXn-sao-LNgUphSOAW_U7_OtLrErceJgKAXf6Ag/s1600/templo+bahai.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYu2Wcw0Gi5zDl4q6I0VPRKHRkpUQb656pgFhv8XyYA-Pcl2SKJoJD_WKRiqH6pd1P9tCD74EW012_AR6AX2eYDxztswcSfdh5_mC6WXn-sao-LNgUphSOAW_U7_OtLrErceJgKAXf6Ag/s400/templo+bahai.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">View of outside Panama City from the Templo Bahai'i, Panama City, Panama</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So, that's it! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">More posts to come, but on my last day in Latin America for who knows how long (tickets from Tbilisi to Panama City start at $1,300!!), I wanted to share a wrap up overview of my thoughts.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">From being so sick and miserable and cold that I was in tears in a sketchy Bolivian hostel, to watching a breathtaking sunset over the Salar de Uyuni, to taking a boat 11 hours down the Amazon River, to dancing to my favorite reggaeton songs (I can never find in a Charlottesville bar) in Lima and Bogota, to eating three breakfasts because I keep finding better and better food, to spending the whole day on a locals-only beach outside Santa Marta or a secret hidden lagoon in Tayrona, to seeing TWO sloths on one hike and reconnecting with my extended family in Panama - this trip is something I will never forget. </span><br />
<br />Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03692438649665155641noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2093208508879975920.post-61919174581062260502017-07-18T19:14:00.000-07:002017-07-23T07:06:42.121-07:00Always Carry Sunscreen and an Umbrella: Bogota Days<span style="font-size: large;">I should definitely be writing about La Paz or Lima or the jungle, but I was struck with inspiration in Bogota on my favorite kind of warm overcast day, at a charming cafe, and I just wanted to write about the city!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Bogota, Colombia is wonderful.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I made the decision to spend four days there instead of trying to squeeze in 2 here and 2 in Medellin. I really loved my experience in the Colombian central mountainous region.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Weather</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The title of this post comes from something
my walking tour guide said - the weather here is so unpredictable and
fast changing that a good <i>Bogotano </i>always carries both sunscreen and an umbrella. You really do need to wear sunscreen everyday, though. The sun easily penetrates the clouds and I ended up looking like a totally unsophisticated n00b with a rosy sunburn after my first day in the city. There aren't really seasons in Bogota. The city is up in the mountains at 2,644 m (8,675 ft), and the weather is mostly defined by cycles of rain and dryness.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8CSjJhmyPhj0eDnzWW0RE0H9CqNrgkETnlh2MwQwR7qiLVSu6ibynirbmcllIZ6uArMxROPV-8karTjQStPItY9Ah4HkogF4ZkAJ58EApBoRQvtJhIiwHFNRzxHaIQxW3hkUdMH76Y4c/s1600/IMG_6089.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8CSjJhmyPhj0eDnzWW0RE0H9CqNrgkETnlh2MwQwR7qiLVSu6ibynirbmcllIZ6uArMxROPV-8karTjQStPItY9Ah4HkogF4ZkAJ58EApBoRQvtJhIiwHFNRzxHaIQxW3hkUdMH76Y4c/s320/IMG_6089.JPG" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">how to dress for Bogota (joking - <br />within 5 mins of being outside<br />scarf and jacket were off)</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"The driest
months are December, January, July and August. The warmest month is
March, bringing a maximum of 19.7 °C (67.5 °F). The coolest nights occur
in January, with an average of 7.6 °C (45.7 °F) in the city; fog is
very usual in early morning, 220 days per year, whilst clear sky sunny full days are quite unusual. The official highest temperature recorded within the city limits is 30.0 °C (86 °F),<sup> </sup>and the lowest temperature recorded is −7.1 °C (19 °F). The rainiest months are April, May, September, October and November, in which typical days are mostly overcast, with low clouds and some winds, bringing maximum temperatures of 18 °C (64 °F) and lows of 7 °C (45 °F)." - <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bogot%C3%A1">Wikipedia</a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Don't let this forecast scare you! Bring a jacket and closed toed shoes, and you can have a lovely time in Bogota. It's no Medellin, "city of eternal spring," but you can definitely work up some heat traipsing up and down the city's hills!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0muLsk_FJW9gVz9RjyiDPybqTt0iqSDqJ2xR01nBvedbGYP7tif7rkx4z7YYxq1bL-DmEa7T8R8IQC4eCFk3yDDlPemceZDm5dW7Dp5UamtQf3WQui9vLKrLMfoBerFpTeMUsG4EhzZE/s1600/IMG_6289.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0muLsk_FJW9gVz9RjyiDPybqTt0iqSDqJ2xR01nBvedbGYP7tif7rkx4z7YYxq1bL-DmEa7T8R8IQC4eCFk3yDDlPemceZDm5dW7Dp5UamtQf3WQui9vLKrLMfoBerFpTeMUsG4EhzZE/s400/IMG_6289.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>People</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The people of my South American journey just keep getting more open the further north I go! Bolivians, <a href="http://loveatfirstlayover.blogspot.com.co/2017/06/rough-introduction-to-la-paz-bolivia.html">as you may be aware,</a> were as cold to me as the weather. Peruvians in Lima were helpful and kind but not necessarily friendly en masse. Peruvians in the small jungle city of Iquitos were outgoing and warm but not aggressive. As soon as I crossed the border into Colombia, to the jungle town of Leticia, I noticed the difference. *Post comparing Iquitos and Leticia coming soon!* I got the up-down looks, the stares, the comments, and by the time I got to Bogota it was in full swing. Bogotanos are charming and friendly. Despite the often chilly and drizzly weather, you can open them up easily with a big smile and an "Hola, !buenos dias! ?Como estas?" If you look confused, people will explain you anything from the type of fruit they're selling to the seasons (or lack thereof) of Bogota. They use cutesy names like mi amor, amorcito, and <span class="st"><i>muñeca </i>(doll). They always say good morning/day/evening, and you should greet them back! Except when the person greeting you is a guy driving slowly by in his car, or a pair of constructions working who whistle at you before saying it, or a creepy guy standing in the shadow of a doorway who whispers <i>hermosa</i> (beautiful) as you pass...those guys you can ignore. I think perhaps the more aggressive attention from men comes from the idea (see <i>Narco Beauty</i> below) that women are objects, not only according to men but according to women themselves who commoditize themselves, seeking a better life or in accordance with heavily prevalent standards of beauty. </span></span><br />
<span class="st" style="font-size: large;">Bogotanos often get a reputation for being plain and boring compared to other parts of the country (and they may be relatively true), but compared to North Americans or western Europeans, they are full of energy, friendly to strangers, and most people are excited to strike up a conversation with a foreigner. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrsNYVKsOdtJpGlP-Cb7gebu4HjtGoiGhqsWvBKi_npIVrhcXozMUvIy-UoyaIOiaCpo0lCcf56My_cpPck9rdvjdmnSABlRnadBsAXjp2ZVcmfWRY_w7I6wO3O0n6zOn7s9YScaBGnPM/s1600/IMG_6081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrsNYVKsOdtJpGlP-Cb7gebu4HjtGoiGhqsWvBKi_npIVrhcXozMUvIy-UoyaIOiaCpo0lCcf56My_cpPck9rdvjdmnSABlRnadBsAXjp2ZVcmfWRY_w7I6wO3O0n6zOn7s9YScaBGnPM/s400/IMG_6081.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">A hot cup of aromatica is perfect on a cold Bogota night</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Narco Beauty </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We can't talk about Colombia without mentioning two of the most prevalent stereotypes: drugs and beautiful women. Colombian women are often characterized by their beauty - their voluptuous figures, their daring necklines, skin tight clothing, and the prevalence of plastic surgery. Stemming from the drug related violence of the 1970s and 1980s, a culture of <i>narco beauty</i> dominates the country's fashion and beauty industry. The drug lords who dominated the economy favored a certain kind of women - big boobs, fat booty, tiny waist, light skin. The women who gained the attention of traffickers were pampered and protected. At this time of violence and unpredictability and widespread poverty, this was a coveted prize. So women squeezed themselves into the standards of narco beauty in the hopes of achieving some degree of comfort or protection for themselves and their families.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>“Contemporary society has told the woman that everything lies in her
body. They themselves assume their role as an
object … They want to have the body that is desired, otherwise it won’t
have people providing them with economic prospects.”</i></span> <br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://colombiareports.com/narco-aesthetics-colombias-drug-trade-constructed-female-beauty/">The origins of narco beauty discussed more eloquently here.</a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Some examples of the influence of narco beauty standards:</span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Plastic surgery here is some of the cheapest in the world - a boob job can go for around $1000 - and it's both common among Colombians and for medical tourism.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">In some cities (markedly Cali and Medellin) girls are gifted plastic surgery (generally breast implants) for their 15th birthday.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">When a family has a beautiful daughter and "invests" in her beauty through surgeries and expensive clothing and makeup, they often expect a return by her marrying a wealthier man, raising the status of the family. In rural areas, it's still common that young brides have a bride price that is often paid in livestock.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Much more than in the US or other countries, "alternative" looking women are at a severe disadvantage when it comes to finding work. The definition of alternative is broader here, encompassing not only tattoos and piercings but also more natural looking women and women who don't take much interest in fashion or beauty.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">A style of jeans called "<a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=sin+bolsillos&safe=off&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiag5nhhonVAhWJZCYKHWk-AvcQ_AUICigB&biw=1536&bih=701">sin bolsilllos</a>" (without pockets) is very popular. These jeans don't have back pockets and often incorporate strategic shading to make the wearer's butt look as plump and perky as possible.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjheIBLR6vFQfvHCRBkBjO2Mj_kFhkX6ImrOwpHmbL7Y__vAnXvvS1CoW7WGNWpBY_w3WJbwrCNPGdgK0CWxmWOZBOGkuC3F3zRi5r40VaPTpWti8nPPCleUh27PxsX48226t8Xnwsv958/s1600/IMG_6073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjheIBLR6vFQfvHCRBkBjO2Mj_kFhkX6ImrOwpHmbL7Y__vAnXvvS1CoW7WGNWpBY_w3WJbwrCNPGdgK0CWxmWOZBOGkuC3F3zRi5r40VaPTpWti8nPPCleUh27PxsX48226t8Xnwsv958/s320/IMG_6073.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWR9vD3sev6_KYBFA8HZydXMX_JgvheD6hpBDb9QOslV0s7dPHPzsL7j4Czpnop_Y6y5Bh86vQgObu1-e-kXte1vEZPlYIIdtcKGj0Awd8rjy3m1b2i2AXp_xwX8gEYo63qQ6brEtH9rI/s1600/IMG_6255.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWR9vD3sev6_KYBFA8HZydXMX_JgvheD6hpBDb9QOslV0s7dPHPzsL7j4Czpnop_Y6y5Bh86vQgObu1-e-kXte1vEZPlYIIdtcKGj0Awd8rjy3m1b2i2AXp_xwX8gEYo63qQ6brEtH9rI/s320/IMG_6255.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">The commodotization of women and women's bodies makes many men feel like they have the right to common on women, to call out as they pass, and, in the extreme cases of actual drug traffickers, kidnap (or lure) women out of small towns and villages to be operated on and turned into their personal toy. </span></li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/manuela-henao/powerful-photos-capture-impact-of-narco-aesthetic-in-medellin-colombia_b_7623998.html">An interesting photo essay on narco beauty in Medellin.</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The women of Bogota are noticeably less influenced by these narco beauty standards than in other cities. As guerilla forces took over the jungles and farmland, many farmers were forced to either work for the guerillas or flee - and most who fled ended up in the capital. The outskirts of Bogota were soon choked with poor farmers and their families from all over the country, creating a more diverse and more practical city. A <i>Bogotana </i>friend of mine told me that women from the capital are often mocked for being too "simple" - not wearing enough makeup, not wearing fashionable enough clothing, not investing enough into their beauty. The excellent education (public and private) and greater number of professional and economic opportunities in this metropolis of 8-10 million people (number vary) also provides many women another option to prosperity than their bodies.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Barrios</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Bogota is a huge city and there are too many barrios (neighborhoods) to count, so I'll just mention a few here. The most popular barrios among tourists/ex-pats, and most accessible, are probably La Candelaria, Chapinero, and La Zona Rosa. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>La Candelaria</i> is basically the furthest south of the barrios (further south you have Tunjuelito, Usme, and San Cristobal - mostly poor residential neighborhoods). You can stroll up and down the hills of La Candelaria for hours. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI06aZK3m3aaStRGBgLHTZPz8ExoNBSwXGXuhA2wjKRTeKEQzk9-xF9sC_cu27NJ-UuI0f2HeGdJ4MBD9CYSJLzw3SojqalP29h4rajPKYOEsTHlrszLrkPZJLZKMUF8ip1RPQgD4bbk4/s1600/IMG_6102.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI06aZK3m3aaStRGBgLHTZPz8ExoNBSwXGXuhA2wjKRTeKEQzk9-xF9sC_cu27NJ-UuI0f2HeGdJ4MBD9CYSJLzw3SojqalP29h4rajPKYOEsTHlrszLrkPZJLZKMUF8ip1RPQgD4bbk4/s320/IMG_6102.JPG" width="240" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"> This is oldest part of the city, made obvious by its narrow cobblestone streets and colonial facades. The upper half of La Candelaria is stuffed with hostels, so this is where most backpackers stay. There are also several boutique hotels for the more discerning visitor. Here is where you'll find the Museo del Oro (the best gold museum in South America), several government buildings like the Palace of Justice that has been infamously blown up three times by guerillas, and the lively pedestrian section of Carrera 7 (or just la septima as the locals call it). <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGzRxnKZugh9fD59-lPnOPVwe9c28u_ugUuX3Sgip0YsIrQ9kynh_xsbxrpUT8GVEROEPEhVj8ij5pF0q70WKsR-PPrmMVnzsetBUpb9Oc1iGWUzphXlH-NGqB0oSB5VFrPSCEBi1vATA/s1600/IMG_6103.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGzRxnKZugh9fD59-lPnOPVwe9c28u_ugUuX3Sgip0YsIrQ9kynh_xsbxrpUT8GVEROEPEhVj8ij5pF0q70WKsR-PPrmMVnzsetBUpb9Oc1iGWUzphXlH-NGqB0oSB5VFrPSCEBi1vATA/s320/IMG_6103.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
There are seemingly endless bars, restaurants, lounges, and boutiques, most pretty modern and nice - I wondered how they all could simultaneously stay in business. The entire barrio is covered in beautiful street art (learn about it before the new mayor power washes it all away on <a href="http://bogotagraffiti.com/">the Graffiti Tour </a>if you can stomach being part of a 50 person tour with a microphoned guide - pics at the end of this post!). Even the amateur graffiti tags are usually a little bit artistic - nothing like the rough scrawls of, say, La Paz...</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYmc-YMrH1LNdjHw8MGB-DO6ts9MYHG1phawkBA_qreLv8-Trve3yAUtK4k_QKgnyu4R_dlod1k5u59oVtC3aDuyhoil4rga7L8rbUUfL6tuO38sE4q3UzSiOWhHlSuWJ9o7qzPnQnl40/s1600/IMG_6106.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYmc-YMrH1LNdjHw8MGB-DO6ts9MYHG1phawkBA_qreLv8-Trve3yAUtK4k_QKgnyu4R_dlod1k5u59oVtC3aDuyhoil4rga7L8rbUUfL6tuO38sE4q3UzSiOWhHlSuWJ9o7qzPnQnl40/s400/IMG_6106.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Plaza Bolivar in La Candelaria</i></span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFOlDIn851uIvjsdgZMi61lN9sslyc87Gt-TwxYg6v5kfArDLUc6VhaJYEaNu1zjFENvl3XgCFe6yISJnF563sQr9j45R95Zsg0jb7tlSOitDY6sdCr2srQtlqBccQU90dKh-64Ibilc4/s1600/IMG_6110.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFOlDIn851uIvjsdgZMi61lN9sslyc87Gt-TwxYg6v5kfArDLUc6VhaJYEaNu1zjFENvl3XgCFe6yISJnF563sQr9j45R95Zsg0jb7tlSOitDY6sdCr2srQtlqBccQU90dKh-64Ibilc4/s400/IMG_6110.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>A couple dancing the tango on Septima</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaSF5MPxNSq-YwomW_dyuwig2aPAZve4QsKd_53jYCqk2EWq7ueAof3InMUBvalgAY5ZL-0oai1omRcNFKI0XcPmp2QN_4BKoNxln_rTVqtn63tA18roNXfVscuG1vxy3GhL7tMGQioqM/s1600/IMG_6114.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaSF5MPxNSq-YwomW_dyuwig2aPAZve4QsKd_53jYCqk2EWq7ueAof3InMUBvalgAY5ZL-0oai1omRcNFKI0XcPmp2QN_4BKoNxln_rTVqtn63tA18roNXfVscuG1vxy3GhL7tMGQioqM/s400/IMG_6114.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Shoe shiners are the neighborhood gossips in Bogota</span></i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuGPx8ueB-tZjJSlRUljRyJksTmTf3HZ90SJtY1-CD-ZnUyQkBspDmSHXK6eVqKMjiRVA0e4_lkuAicEShNIc-0iIf7O-DJ0gysaQ6aOFHQ3CEuU-8WGexdMh7XsRvyzkVD1rh_q40Rzo/s1600/IMG_6116.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuGPx8ueB-tZjJSlRUljRyJksTmTf3HZ90SJtY1-CD-ZnUyQkBspDmSHXK6eVqKMjiRVA0e4_lkuAicEShNIc-0iIf7O-DJ0gysaQ6aOFHQ3CEuU-8WGexdMh7XsRvyzkVD1rh_q40Rzo/s400/IMG_6116.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Street performers on Septima</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXzRoESnaJktcl6oVYUQNQ-zlD-BL2bcnhtqEW2NuiujnbjQgmN3ddTTes1ROrQ266CXArkHMfohqe-dT7umsowlsgo_X_kEH3YvMvw712HDOkVboCIvlngg1rKQwQZ3dXTuh-U-rtn4M/s1600/IMG_6118.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXzRoESnaJktcl6oVYUQNQ-zlD-BL2bcnhtqEW2NuiujnbjQgmN3ddTTes1ROrQ266CXArkHMfohqe-dT7umsowlsgo_X_kEH3YvMvw712HDOkVboCIvlngg1rKQwQZ3dXTuh-U-rtn4M/s400/IMG_6118.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>View of Monserrate</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeY5ptL9xzaLELXS8tCAmqPS2IziyLghoWThfX5ZxyA5YvZM33ROnrHJAAnly6fpSNr7_BXWPYTYzxioDSXz6s-secy64Z-SmIMSLSXgUQyowq2mRYj_tdrrZ4ooR8OXFZe3h-PmIGptg/s1600/IMG_6121.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeY5ptL9xzaLELXS8tCAmqPS2IziyLghoWThfX5ZxyA5YvZM33ROnrHJAAnly6fpSNr7_BXWPYTYzxioDSXz6s-secy64Z-SmIMSLSXgUQyowq2mRYj_tdrrZ4ooR8OXFZe3h-PmIGptg/s400/IMG_6121.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">a quiet morning</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">From La Candelaria, you can walk north (about an hour and a half, sort of interesting if you slide around the side roads but if you're on Carrera 7, which is the most direct route, it's mostly just concrete buildings and bus exhaust apart from the large, green <a href="http://bogotaturismo.gov.co/parque-nacional-enrique-olaya-herrera">Parque Nacional Enrique Olaya Herrera</a> and the line of gorgeous European style houses right before it) to <i>Chapinero</i>. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZXoVHCZWaf_oDhsdoAKDCJk5tqFALXAgJqc43K4dozRmleR64eQQTgHibbVTnOmvLcVj2Zvx2NPaF70rTwUSlei3Y3PKLqgxCnG6Gtjzw31Zsu3n_lZWwP8_Bj28a909L8QlPXxKBlrM/s1600/IMG_6147.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZXoVHCZWaf_oDhsdoAKDCJk5tqFALXAgJqc43K4dozRmleR64eQQTgHibbVTnOmvLcVj2Zvx2NPaF70rTwUSlei3Y3PKLqgxCnG6Gtjzw31Zsu3n_lZWwP8_Bj28a909L8QlPXxKBlrM/s400/IMG_6147.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>those unexpected European style houses</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS-FwVdjRGGtR74btrs_XPd34cLVKjT-vurTTQDZCQRcMq2O1lQauml6KtcVrvfSbCVAVcQwmg_-5QMfD3nqlEAj9u4-tpBavhr_qBmmX-ToMoeyt2eUIy37U7xE7a0sodGiEwsRGKns8/s1600/IMG_6150.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS-FwVdjRGGtR74btrs_XPd34cLVKjT-vurTTQDZCQRcMq2O1lQauml6KtcVrvfSbCVAVcQwmg_-5QMfD3nqlEAj9u4-tpBavhr_qBmmX-ToMoeyt2eUIy37U7xE7a0sodGiEwsRGKns8/s400/IMG_6150.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Parque Herrera</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Chapinero is less about historical charm and more about trendy bars, impressive restaurants, and a hipster meets street kid vibe. If I lived in Bogota, I'd probably try to live here. It's really cool and definitely worth checking out. If you can go to one neighborhood outside La Candelaria, I recommend Chapinero.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjGmPdXAxnyQ2dNPgt1Ns3rofk7Q7et8QjEURrHgcb61smeLIi0GV8dT_skTUYPpB6BxAka2EN-kY2knPJCJMbDte8fuiMm106aPisRdZE_9ZuLQXpNT1hJt3NVfxU04ZNbJ7HEo82Y78/s1600/IMG_6180.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjGmPdXAxnyQ2dNPgt1Ns3rofk7Q7et8QjEURrHgcb61smeLIi0GV8dT_skTUYPpB6BxAka2EN-kY2knPJCJMbDte8fuiMm106aPisRdZE_9ZuLQXpNT1hJt3NVfxU04ZNbJ7HEo82Y78/s400/IMG_6180.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Chapinero at night</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKZ1mdIHqJfKXujQcFfsQNGxnUJWy_dihAIou7XRPippf9CBTEI6T1HaJeRCG0Z0Rii95o3eq60CJ1cWxXyBLmySwQdCo108GJo0D6jgV3Y1MVch2DJraph9lDy1q3GmP3LJN5F3LLbus/s1600/IMG_6162.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKZ1mdIHqJfKXujQcFfsQNGxnUJWy_dihAIou7XRPippf9CBTEI6T1HaJeRCG0Z0Rii95o3eq60CJ1cWxXyBLmySwQdCo108GJo0D6jgV3Y1MVch2DJraph9lDy1q3GmP3LJN5F3LLbus/s400/IMG_6162.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>A young guy selling his work on the street in Chapinero</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Continuing north a bit, there is <i>La Zona Rosa</i>. One of the hottest spots for Bogota nightlife, I went out here and had a blast. Make sure you look sharp, though, because most of the bars and clubs here are more on the preppy side. The nightlife people watching is also excellent. If you're in the mood to shop, there are two large malls here - Andino and Atlantis.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Even more north (yes, this city goes on forever) is <i>Usaquen</i>. Lots of expats live in swanky apartments up here. There is also apparently a cool market on Sundays that you should try to hit if you're in town. Usaquen used to be a separate village and it still has a quaint villagey feel.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://theculturetrip.com/south-america/colombia/articles/the-10-coolest-neighborhoods-in-bogota-colombia/">More on Neighborhoods of Bogota</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Bonus Points</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">You'll see everywhere written "<b>Bogotá, D.C.</b>" I came up with dozens of potential things that the D.C. could stand for - District of Columbia (hell, I don't know why Washington DC is called that, why couldn't another American city have the same moniker?), Bogota D(epartament), of C(olombia), something to do with colonial times, something to do with the civil war? The reality is that D.C. is Distrito Capital (capital district) which really makes plenty of sense.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b>
As with most countries, people here run on their own schedule. "Colombian time" is usually 10-15 mins late. I had a hair appointment at 11, my stylist arrived at 11:20. I was supposed to meet a Colombian friend at 7, and I was running late - I arrived at 7:10 and she hadn't even texted me to ask where I was. The free walking tours always start late as a courtesy to those running on Colombian time.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">A phrase you'll here a lot on the street is "<i>a la orden</i>" literally "to the order" and better translated as "at your command." It's used in the military and by vendors of all sorts. If you walk by anyone selling something, chances are they'll shout an <i>a la orden</i> to you as a way to invite you into their business and show that they are ready to assist you with fulfilling your gastronomical or material desires "<i>con gusto</i>." It's so common that people don't really consider their words when they say it, but as my walking tour guide explained, the roots of the phrase go back to the colonial masters of Colombia's indigenous and mestizo population. Another rather subservient phrase your might hear is "<i>para servirle</i>" - to serve you/at your service.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">and finally, some pics from the graffiti tour: </span><br />
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Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03692438649665155641noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2093208508879975920.post-27377021300666658782017-07-09T12:40:00.002-07:002017-07-23T07:06:26.579-07:00Another OMG Horrible Day - Jungle Edition<span style="font-size: large;">Friends, Romans, lend me your ears.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">What follows is a story of horror, fear, defeat, and triumph. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">This is a story of perseverance in the face of adversity.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">What follows is mostly me being overdramatic...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">but it really did suck at the time, so here's my story:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I love Lima. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Love</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Love</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Love</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Love </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Lima is a beautiful city, vibrant and diverse from the glitzy neighborhoods of Miraflores and San Isidro to the hip casual vibe of Barranco to the lovely and well preserved UNESCO heritage site of the historic center, to the gritty place-you-don't-want-to-get-lost-so-of-course-I-got-lost-there La Victoria. Since I visited Peru for the first time two years ago, I have had a special place in my heart for the country. The food is out of this world delicious. The people are friendly but not overly pushy. The diversity of ethnic groups, and blend of Spanish colonialism with pre-Colombian indigenous culture, is endlessly fascinating (I love the stories of the last years of the Inca Empire - check out <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Turn-Right-Machu-Picchu-Rediscovering/dp/0452297982">Turn Right at Machu Picchu</a>). The landscapes from the Andes mountains to the cliffs of the Pacific coast are stunning, matchless.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://usatunofficial.files.wordpress.com/2012/03/800px-ausangate-hillside-mt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="516" data-original-width="800" height="257" src="https://usatunofficial.files.wordpress.com/2012/03/800px-ausangate-hillside-mt.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Credit: Unofficial Networks</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://travelanders.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/lima-peru-1170x677-690x460.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="460" data-original-width="690" height="266" src="https://travelanders.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/lima-peru-1170x677-690x460.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Credit: Travelanders.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">When I came back to Peru this year, I entered through Bolivia, around Lake Titicaca. While the Lake is gorgeous and definitely worth a visit,<a href="http://loveatfirstlayover.blogspot.pe/2017/06/rough-introduction-to-la-paz-bolivia.html"> I really had a rough time in Bolivia</a>...so when I crossed the border and could immediately feel the difference (perhaps influenced by my preconceived biases), I felt as if Peru was my sanctuary. What I have come to realize, however, is that while I really do prefer Peru to Bolivia, and Lima is a little slice of South American heaven, I can run into some rough situations in Peru as well.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Case in point - my first night in Iquitos.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Iquitos is a really cool town. With a population of 400,000 people but no roads connecting it with the rest of the continent, it has been called one of <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/cities/2015/aug/19/where-worlds-most-remote-city">the world's most remote cities</a> and "<a href="http://www.amusingplanet.com/2014/08/iquitos-worlds-largest-city-that-cannot.html">the world's largest city than cannot be reached by road</a>." I flew in on a bumpy old commuter plane from Lima, landed at 5:40 pm, and was first struck by the heat. After the mildness of grey skied Lima (66 F/19 C), Iquitos felt downright steamy at 88 F/31 C. The humidity is, in fact much higher in Lima right now - 76% to Iquitos' 58% - but this is certainly a sticky, sweaty place. To compliment the weather, the airport is right of the edge of the jungle, and passengers disembark from their planes onto a tarmac neighboring a dense cluster of vine choked trees with a couple of jungle shanties thrown in. The sun was just starting to skim the treetops in a pink and gold sunset, and I was immediately overwhelmed with my excitement to be in this city on the edge of the Amazon!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil-dyO4G2OnPHS1iE0XV4UuCoR-5e3Z6Mk1IET50UZLhjVflr_oefzO5MyGx6LSwsWaELr-MRWlmp-_idtnE6yVwxmqlk9uGNeUpcEoMVi_Ql59m6LGC9GGeHzX1FHyL-5kg9TeOMd3Go/s1600/iq+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil-dyO4G2OnPHS1iE0XV4UuCoR-5e3Z6Mk1IET50UZLhjVflr_oefzO5MyGx6LSwsWaELr-MRWlmp-_idtnE6yVwxmqlk9uGNeUpcEoMVi_Ql59m6LGC9GGeHzX1FHyL-5kg9TeOMd3Go/s400/iq+1.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>sunset at Iquitos airport</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I was met at the airport by my host. Let's call him Jon. We met through Workaway, which is a website designed to connect travelers (generally long term backpackers) with people who need an extra hand at their farm/hostel/bar, etc. You generally give 4-5 hours of work a day in exchange for a place to sleep, and sometimes also food. I had never used the site before, and after paying the $30 membership fee I was frustrated to find that most hosts had a minimum stay of something like 2 weeks! My total trip is only a month, which I thought was pretty long, but is really nothing compared to some of these Europeans going through all of South America in 3 months, 6 months, a year. So, I found Jon's hostel, and he said they would take me! So I felt satisfied with my set up, and put it out of my mind for the next couple weeks until I actually arrived in Iquitos. Now, it's definitely my fault that I didn't independently investigate the hostel, and just went off the pictures and description on Workaway, but it was really not what I was expecting.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I had been imagining Iquitos to be full of the colonial romance of the rubber barons, straight from the pages of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Company-Swans-Eva-Ibbotson/dp/0142409405">my favorite young adult Amazon romance novel</a>, set in Manaus. The times, however, have definitely changed. The streets of Iquitos are crowded with loud mototaxis (a centaur-like combination of Motorcyle and rickshaw) that spew emissions with no filter and ignore any remnants of roadway paint that might still be clinging to the cracked and potholed pavement. The people are dressed much too casually for a romance novel - in cut off shorts and tube tops and foam platform heels. Couples ride on scooters with an infant wedged them, guys in jeans shorts and fanny packs swerve past each other, sometimes blaring the latest reggaeton track from the back of their motorbike. Every single building we passed on the way from the airport to the hostel was miserably run down except for one shiny, white-tiled, air-conditioned pharmacy.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPum8E_rybjCp3bV2DzmZiDqK18d302ODU8wzAmBvNITMWDDp5SqqTSaC6nJ9DZa0DFx_de5_amign_dCu04ww_0UUkKgtfk6fyeqWusI4930N2UkXfBKoCZ4JzqPoCcOwIMgnJUJss5k/s1600/iq+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPum8E_rybjCp3bV2DzmZiDqK18d302ODU8wzAmBvNITMWDDp5SqqTSaC6nJ9DZa0DFx_de5_amign_dCu04ww_0UUkKgtfk6fyeqWusI4930N2UkXfBKoCZ4JzqPoCcOwIMgnJUJss5k/s400/iq+2.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>from the back of a mototaxi</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We pulled up to the hostel, and the last shreds of illusion I was clinging to faded away. It was a typical building, maybe painted green at one point. The front room was rented out to a tour agency, and long narrow hallway stretched back through the building. The hallway was lined with doors - the guest rooms - and opened at the end to another room, where two hammocks hung in front of a bar and kitchenette. Behind that was an outdoor courtyard space with more hammocks. Spartan, dirty, full of cobwebs and insects, and deeply embedded with the unmistakable scent of hairy hippie armpit. Jon let me choose my bed from the two top bunks in room number 2. I pick the one with the least mysterious black pouches suspended in cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling. I dropped my bags and quickly returned to the common area, forcing myself to put out of my mind images of spiders crawling through my hair as I slept (if you don't know me - I'm super scared of spiders, and insects were my biggest fear coming to Iquitos).</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The hostel was nearly full - clearly it is livable! Long term travelers stay in places like this all time time. It's normal to smell bad and not shave your legs for a week and wear the same bathing suit top and sarong everyday. This is what real backpacking is all about! The community of travelers, the casualness of the common area, the spontaneity of everyone who comes and goes at their will instead of on the strict schedule of an office worker with 10 vacation days saved up. I've rarely and barely done this. I'm not the typical party hostel traveler. When I travel alone - I generally stay alone! I've never glommed onto a pair or group for a few days. I've never been part of the ebb and flow that the serious travel communities is made of. Yes, I travel a lot, but in a lot of ways I don't really fit into the mainstream young long term backpacker culture. This culture is particularly prevalent in South America, I've noticed, as the circuit is packed with wandering Europeans in their early/mid-twenties. I've grown really accustomed to hearing Spanish with a German accent.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Although it's not my scene, as established, I can be flexible! I can adapt! So I decided to embrace the lifestyle for the first time and enjoy the hostel culture. I took a seat at the bar, and Jon and I crushed 4 cans of Cristal (Peruvian beer) and talked about our families, careers, traveling, and Peru. Then we went and got awesome street hamburgers a few blocks away and I got my taste of Iquitos nightlife (dog fights, mototaxis, and more skin showing). Jon and I had good conversation, and I got to practice my Spanish. We got back to the hostel and that's when things started to go awry. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhreqQROgszICPjepy0xoSTAGdO0CxYDQuybOQJYEKHbe-CLJyEIh-31DYzpva8vVioghiKODoT1BVgUPhYHUxSO_lNM2BffXX7myJx9fE4c08tripXFngXaWjA8ofd1WLf8Ni_iqs6F3U/s1600/iq+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1484" data-original-width="834" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhreqQROgszICPjepy0xoSTAGdO0CxYDQuybOQJYEKHbe-CLJyEIh-31DYzpva8vVioghiKODoT1BVgUPhYHUxSO_lNM2BffXX7myJx9fE4c08tripXFngXaWjA8ofd1WLf8Ni_iqs6F3U/s400/iq+3.JPG" width="223" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Workaway hostel common area</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;">As soon as we walked in, the guy from the tour agency grabbed Jon and started telling him about some important issue. I only caught snippets of this whole drama, and it was in fast Spanish, but what seems to have been happening was 6 people were coming to stay at the hostel. But there were only 3 available beds by Jon's count. Then someone who I thought was a hostel guest (there with her husband and 5 year old daughter, but like I said, the hostel culture is really friendly and fluid) came up and started helping Jon rearrange some sleeping arrangements and showing how it could work out. One other guest offered to sleep in one of the hammocks in the common area. During this whole time no one is telling me anything. The woman keeps referring to "la senorita" (that's me) but I couldn't really tell what she was saying...Jon looks confused and overwhelmed. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Eventually the commotion dies down and the woman and tour agency man leave. I figured everything was sorted and if I needed to do anything, someone would have told me. It was almost 11 pm, and I was supposed to be at "reception" at 6 am, so I decided to head to bed. But Jon stopped me. He said they are still working out some logistics and if I want to sleep now, I can't sleep in that bunk, but I can sleep in his bed. In his room. I was really confused. We were speaking English at this point and Jon's is not good. He said he would be out at clubs, partying (aka not using his bed) so I could sleep in his bed. He didn't say where he would sleep...was he not planning on sleeping? A hammock? My original bunk once they got the logistics sorted? A friend's couch? </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My biggest concern was that he would roll into the hostel drunk at 3 am, forget I was using his bed, come into his room and we would just end up sharing his bed. Maybe under other circumstances I could have coped with this possibility - maybe if I was single and attracted to Jon (travel culture is well known for road hookups anyway), maybe if the room was clean and lovely, maybe if there was AC...but no. The room was messy and filthy. The bed was a thin mattress pad over a metal frame with a fitted sheet half stretched over it. The stench of armpit was stronger here. The light fixture was coated with two inches of dust and spiderwebs. A pair of boxers hung on the back of a chair. I couldn't do it. I was having flashbacks to the time in Armenia when I was couch surfing and my host somehow ended up in the same bed as me (after a night of heavy drinking) and I kept poking me all night and telling me my skin was softer than Armenian girls...I wasn't going to be polite and timid and let that happen again. I wanted to be tough and deal with an uncomfortable situation (the grossness of the hostel) in a mature, cool way. But it was just too much.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">There wasn't much objection when I suggested that maybe it would be best for me to find other accommodations. He said there was a hostel nearby that probably had a private room available. He walked me to the corner to point my way, and suddenly, like he just remembered it existed, offered me to stay in his other apartment in town (what?? there's another apartment??). I just shook my head no. I had firmly made up my mind. It wasn't going to work out.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I started walking the "about 6 blocks" towards this other hostel, scanning the signs above the doors for its name or the Chinese restaurant that was supposedly across the street. I don't know how many blocks I went, but it seemed like enough, and the street was totally dark - no businesses open. During this whole time I was texting Bacho (my boyfriend, who currently lives in Holland), telling him my saga. He quickly started sending me Booking.com links to affordable, clean looking hostels in Iquitos. I clicked the first one, and quickly decided to book it. Private room, private bathroom, decent price, didn't need a credit card to book. Within 5 mins I was in a mototaxi headed to the new hostel. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I must have looked as hot and tired and frustrated as I felt, because when I arrived a nice old lady gave me a bottle of cold water and had me sit down to wait for the owner to emerge (it was about 11 pm at this point). He informed me that they didn't have a record of my booking, and couldn't in fact because the hostel was full...turns out, Bacho had searched for "today" his time, which was already "tomorrow" my time, so I had made the booking for the next day! I stupidly hadn't checked the dates before booking...the owner helped me find another place nearish by on Booking.com, that had an available room for that night. I said hasta manana and trudged on to the OK Hostel (not a great name...). When I got there, however, they said they didn't have any rooms available, despite Booking.com showing several I could book! The 15 year old kid at the front desk just shook his head "sorry" with a weird sort of pity smile, and I walked out. I sat on the sidewalk outside with my pile of bags and collected myself. </span><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggHMOV0KT5nwP_J5kK43Bu-yAR-un15LfD8YR4fKYpCQREU2UDE5hgGbSXHOQ7_HLA3o4tVFfL7fUr59R-oJ-67G0W9qqO8daROQyJaX0GkgzTxL2hWsfX2pdF4a0ty2OMkwUFadHAYhk/s1600/iq+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggHMOV0KT5nwP_J5kK43Bu-yAR-un15LfD8YR4fKYpCQREU2UDE5hgGbSXHOQ7_HLA3o4tVFfL7fUr59R-oJ-67G0W9qqO8daROQyJaX0GkgzTxL2hWsfX2pdF4a0ty2OMkwUFadHAYhk/s320/iq+4.JPG" width="240" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>hallway pool</i></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Tired and fully out of patience, I did another search on Booking, this time in the $50-100 range (instead of just sorted with lowest price first). I ended up finding a hotel (an actual hotel!) with a twin bed for $30. I booked it. I arrived at Hotel Golden Star with low expectations, just hoping they actually had a room available. Although the floors were lined with huge dead horseflies and they weirdly had a pool in the second floor hallway...the place was clean, had AC, a TV, and wifi (that night, at least). I finally flopped into bed around 12:30 am and let the stress fade away.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Lessons learned:</span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Do your research (or probably just don't use Workaway)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Know your limits and stick to them</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">It's okay to say no </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">A phone with a data connection can save your butt</span></li>
</ul>
<br />
<br />Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03692438649665155641noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2093208508879975920.post-2484812716248715422017-07-05T11:53:00.001-07:002017-07-23T07:06:26.575-07:00La Paz Grows on You<span style="font-size: large;">Day 2 and the best of Day 1:<br />Starting to Acclimate Physically and Socially </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>I
have had no time to write! Well actually, more like I have had no
energy with the cold and my sickness, I have not had the patience to
deal with painfully slow Internet connections (seriously, no network in
this country can sustain fast speeds for more than like an hour). So,
now I'm on day 8, but here is a little retrospective on the positives of
my first few days in Bolivia.</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Waiting at the gate with me in the Bogota airport was a tiny old woman wearing
traditional indigenous clothing (layered mid-calf skirts, colorful
shawl, bowler hat). My first, ignorant, reaction was that she was
probably a poor villager...man, was I surprised when I boarded the plane
and saw her with her super wrinkly, adorable husband sitting in first
class!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So who are these women? In Bolivia, they're called <i>cholas </i>or <i>cholitas </i>- indigenous Aymara or Quecha women who, proud of their heritage, dress in a distinctive way. The outfit developed in colonial times, when Spanish invaders forced local women to dress in the popular Spanish styles of the time. Mestizo women also began adopting the dress in order to open doors to rise in social status. As Spanish and European continental styles changed throughout the centuries, the cholitas' style did not. Instead, it became more entrenched, more elaborate, and more competitive.</span><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9szpAe6IDFaNpBHKtYD4ocxG1roNaO1TUJsLROnTYCP6m-FybNKD5qDzPQcCssz0AuV_YY87nuQWTfWoAG3KXLgzbowpL7nbqTIQS0fwpMqTxzkpwGe3h_kU9IO3s7O8iMyj6iKfzuc8/s1600/chola+hats.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9szpAe6IDFaNpBHKtYD4ocxG1roNaO1TUJsLROnTYCP6m-FybNKD5qDzPQcCssz0AuV_YY87nuQWTfWoAG3KXLgzbowpL7nbqTIQS0fwpMqTxzkpwGe3h_kU9IO3s7O8iMyj6iKfzuc8/s400/chola+hats.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Puno, Peru (technically)</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;">From top to bottom: little bowler hats called <i>borsalinas</i>,
black hair usually in two long braids down the back, tied together at
the bottom (women often use hair extensions or other additions), gold
jewelry (for the wealthy ones, and really the cholita culture is all
about competition, one-upping each other, showing off wealth - many even
put gold in their teeth to show their status!), elaborate shawls with
fringe or lace detailing, sometimes a heavy knit cardigan or an full
apron for the working women, heavy multi-layered mid-calf skirts that
are often pleated, shiny, or patterned - the petticoats under the skirt
emphasize the wearer's womanly, child bearing hips, and finally a pair
of open toed flats or low pumps (even in the winter). Especially among
working women, the look is often finished with a bright blanket slung
across the back to carry everything from potatoes to babies. A note on
the borsalina - the color and height varies according to personal
styles, but in some regions its placement on the head signals that the
wearer is either married (straight on the head) or on the market (cocked
to one side).</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtND2iA7rcfLtEFKKhg1uhtqzu07Gr12Bdp73IpEUvuG3pQqvydctxdzTumFtt5cTixZwgHPiI3EonbWIyttnqFEXOQr-T5VV-bSTvcXkTzT4r3qXTRNT9Rguw3x4WcrNeGwZCh3RRrrs/s1600/bus+terminal+fam.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtND2iA7rcfLtEFKKhg1uhtqzu07Gr12Bdp73IpEUvuG3pQqvydctxdzTumFtt5cTixZwgHPiI3EonbWIyttnqFEXOQr-T5VV-bSTvcXkTzT4r3qXTRNT9Rguw3x4WcrNeGwZCh3RRrrs/s400/bus+terminal+fam.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>An indigenous family at the bus terminal in La Paz</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-26172313"><i>More about cholita culture, and the status of indigenous people in Bolivia</i></a></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">To
continue the thread of Bolivian women, let's talk about the Witches
Market (Mercado de Las Brujas) for a minute. First - the so called
Witches Market is a small area of a couple blocks of <span class="st">Calle
Jiminez and Linares, between Sagarnaga and Santa Cruz avenues. It's not
a big enclosed market like Lanza, it's just a string of stores run by
"witches" selling ingredients for ceremonies and traditional medicinal
remedies (which really means a lot of boxes of virility powders from
Asia) and also tons of souvenirs.</span> Second - the term "witches"
(brujas in Spanish) is neither accurate nor particularly well liked by
the practitioners of pre-Colombian indigenous spirituality themselves.
The preferred term is <i>Yatiri</i>.</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOzUqBNUs965Ult5hqmccsYRar1aWt9NDM9KNUoDbXhI1JT9uc4ONki45AGNI3zDowb00qeCjrRiRvpXFSP6yoLWNxmV58AYGgUKbRbuKG1_sBb-0W2BBQLWVHzFiGAw746TYMaDGENM4/s1600/witches.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOzUqBNUs965Ult5hqmccsYRar1aWt9NDM9KNUoDbXhI1JT9uc4ONki45AGNI3zDowb00qeCjrRiRvpXFSP6yoLWNxmV58AYGgUKbRbuKG1_sBb-0W2BBQLWVHzFiGAw746TYMaDGENM4/s400/witches.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoGhMvAdjZgD8R5resLD82Je7JBVc_lPgT69apsBjjwIGlsgNjAyt-TJ2cwSJvVUyV32a6cR4hmr1uS6xeznRUbKbX8pBWfBetjHnu3Mj28xPXYkenEScvjIXD7Nd4qNQFRU0uB5HIifg/s1600/witches2.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoGhMvAdjZgD8R5resLD82Je7JBVc_lPgT69apsBjjwIGlsgNjAyt-TJ2cwSJvVUyV32a6cR4hmr1uS6xeznRUbKbX8pBWfBetjHnu3Mj28xPXYkenEScvjIXD7Nd4qNQFRU0uB5HIifg/s400/witches2.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD_NFU4oDAiHewUL5JENfVhQ1n8XxeyKe2JSNRMKGupPTwvIJ0UdUrHQYme_t6hnilj1zIwSz8fWoagQRe2hKfBtxxfMXuXFBUvHaepRkXIF9jbHeuEX4qfW4tGpKMV2DE7eih0NQjLJo/s1600/witches3.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD_NFU4oDAiHewUL5JENfVhQ1n8XxeyKe2JSNRMKGupPTwvIJ0UdUrHQYme_t6hnilj1zIwSz8fWoagQRe2hKfBtxxfMXuXFBUvHaepRkXIF9jbHeuEX4qfW4tGpKMV2DE7eih0NQjLJo/s400/witches3.JPG" width="300" /></a></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzZojyOpjFT9FmUKaqWjLLQfn_mCjAnggcTyqxI-9IU974_jd7kk4wg8_TfkuibBf2m_dRZTbJznt1KGE60_Tnlf9Oe3ozXADKXW1wtG1rc2rro0qOGb893qFzsqS42k2HOvvpbPXIfqQ/s1600/witches4.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzZojyOpjFT9FmUKaqWjLLQfn_mCjAnggcTyqxI-9IU974_jd7kk4wg8_TfkuibBf2m_dRZTbJznt1KGE60_Tnlf9Oe3ozXADKXW1wtG1rc2rro0qOGb893qFzsqS42k2HOvvpbPXIfqQ/s400/witches4.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>llama fetus with a scarf</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Some facts: </span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Yatiris are ritual practitioners, healers, and spiritual leaders in the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aymara_people">Aymara </a>community. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">A yatiri can be a man or a woman, of any age.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">A
person cannot just decide they want to become a yatiri, they must be
chosen. Traditionally, the way a person knows they have been chosen by
the gods to be a yatiri is that that person is struck by lightning!
Which is actually not so rare in the Bolivian highlands with frequent
electrical storms and mineral rich soil. A child or grandchild of
someone struck by lightning may also become a yatiri. If you (okay, not
you, but a Bolivian/Aymara person...) ask a yatiri if they have been
struck, they will often show you their scars.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">The
most common ingredient in a yatiri ceremony/ritual is coca leaves. The
most shocking to foreigners is llama fetuses...these are buried under
the cornerstone of a new house being built. The idea is to ask the earth
(pachamama) for permission/forgiveness for destroying a piece of her in
order to build the house by giving a piece of nature back. And don't
worry, llama aren't given abortions in order to bless houses - as I was
told, llamas frequently have multiple pregnancies but can only carry one
baby to term, so the unlucky fetuses miscarry and just sort of fall
out...so when you're walking in a llama area, it's not that uncommon to
find a shriveled llama fetus, of varying age/size, and if you come
across one, you must bring it to the nearest yatiri.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Bolivians
are pretty superstitious people, with such a large portion of the
population indigenous or of indigenous descent, the blend of traditional
spirituality with colonial Catholicism creates a fascinating landscape
of rituals and beliefs.</span></li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/11/08/day-of-the-skulls-2011-bolivia_n_1082824.html">Ask about <span class="_Tgc">Dia de los Natitas (Day of the Skulls)</span></a></i></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIMM2-J10EImr-v1fMj8GBKabBOiggkXpMR2Na_D6AYaA8dF7yyBd43m8ce0lpcK4FphVW6_J5WSl17rbCeU7CztnhXGZVds_tGL6R0zvqjtDMrpJbMbpkbCqsu0EGQVmBdvNVh6GZQqM/s1600/te+amo+mucho.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIMM2-J10EImr-v1fMj8GBKabBOiggkXpMR2Na_D6AYaA8dF7yyBd43m8ce0lpcK4FphVW6_J5WSl17rbCeU7CztnhXGZVds_tGL6R0zvqjtDMrpJbMbpkbCqsu0EGQVmBdvNVh6GZQqM/s400/te+amo+mucho.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;">While
Bolivians are generally not very receptive to foreigners, and in my
experience, is not a culture with hospitality at its core, I saw a
touching personal moment at the airport. A Bolivian folk dance troupe
was leaving to go somewhere, probably to perform, dressed in matching
sweatsuits and scrunchies. One girl hugged her mother tightly at the
bottom of the escalator, reluctantly stepped backward onto the escalator
and as she floated upward, reached an arm out with tears in her eyes
and choked out "te amo mucho" (I love you very much).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1jLSGFYWiJYO8TneiMWjJBI56PFftW0AaTLW3OK8qBxdhGWF23_puxH7erJ6nah8niv9nRi5oZqUgVTh9TmiDPD2O0rnUTT6msauSPwFftsFguezmDCZCsGi6jdfPxqMVUp50FACHoqM/s1600/murrillo+ice+cream.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1jLSGFYWiJYO8TneiMWjJBI56PFftW0AaTLW3OK8qBxdhGWF23_puxH7erJ6nah8niv9nRi5oZqUgVTh9TmiDPD2O0rnUTT6msauSPwFftsFguezmDCZCsGi6jdfPxqMVUp50FACHoqM/s400/murrillo+ice+cream.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>ice cream in the sun in Plaza Murillo</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;">It
is still really cold...but not so bad in the sun. If I sleep in (which
is tough in sheets that feel grimy and with a headache that starts
pounding everyday around 4 am), and go to bed early, the winter bites
less. I sat outside on the steps in beautiful Plaza Murillo, around
which the main La Paz government buildings are clustered, eating an ice
cream cone and watching kids play with (and freak out about) the flocks
of pigeons in the plaza. During the walking tour I took (<a href="http://www.hanaqpachatravel.com/">absolutely fantastic, highly recommend Hanaq Pacha</a>!), we stopped in Plaza Murillo to talk about the country's political history and present. Some stand out facts:</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6pXmow_g1xODQgs3ReglTwg2Sgn2Zj8UWkwpuheS5LeqZO6pQZALEeb_1Rc9d9JLGHCs33BPJDfnxoUeF9NYsXNUGPtRwCYG4OkeHFRwcjJtmotol03qpRu_jaq2YKx52BY-movnarjc/s1600/hung+bust.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6pXmow_g1xODQgs3ReglTwg2Sgn2Zj8UWkwpuheS5LeqZO6pQZALEeb_1Rc9d9JLGHCs33BPJDfnxoUeF9NYsXNUGPtRwCYG4OkeHFRwcjJtmotol03qpRu_jaq2YKx52BY-movnarjc/s400/hung+bust.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Gualberto Villarroel's hanging post and bust</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Evo
Morales is the country's first indigenous president, and the indigenous
population (~55-60% of the country) and much of the mestizo (mixed
indigenous and European heritage) are thrilled. While Evo has done a lot
to develop the country and stabilize the economy, there is a large and
vocal opposition. A recent referendum asking whether Morales' party
should be allowed to run for an (unconstitutional) 4th term split the
country in half. Graffiti covers every spare surface in La Paz, and many
highway-side walls, and much of it is encouraging people to vote either
si (yes to stability) or no (Evo must go). Despite <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/world/2016/feb/22/bolivia-evo-morales-president-national-referendum-fourth-term">the results of the Feb 2016 referendum to amend the constitution just barely going against the president (51% to 49%)</a>, Morales has declared he will run again in 2019 anyway.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Bolivia's
last president to actually live in the presidential palace on Plaza
Murillo was Gualberto Villarroel. In 1946, the palace was attacked in
the middle of the night by a crowd of angry anti-government protestors.
Despite quickly resigning, Villarroel was assassinated by the mob, his
body thrown of the window into the square, and brutally hung by a light
pole just outside his home. The light pole is still there today, along
with a small bust of the president whose death is now considered to have
been a tragedy and whose political legacy mainly centers around his
attempts at reform.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Behind
the current regal, colonial style presidential palace (which today is
where the day to day business of ruling is done), a 29-story skyscraper
(skyreacher?) is under construction. It is to be the "Great House of the
People" - the new presidential palace which, along with government
offices, will "<a href="http://plans%20for%20the%20new%20palace%20include%20a%20heliport,%20a%20centre%20for%20indigenous%20ceremonies%20and%20a%201,000-seat%20auditorium/">include a heliport, a centre for indigenous ceremonies and a 1,000-seat auditorium</a>."
Many Bolivians see it as the quintessential example of socialist
government in name only, that has lost its focus on the people who live
largely in poverty and underdevelopment. </span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-size: large;">We
were also lucky enough to be there when an honor guard took down the
many flags flying in the square, accompanied by a shaky and off key
trumpeter... </span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYzOf2WNzK88ngbgUSJYnXhvYrrTzRUOSsYFftFNVLULUxpWy9D1HBrawG2u4o2ksyTEm9M4M4N_GrXf63P911XEOE0unXyXW-J0TyFtDtrKYCgqdC-8orkTMo5qyuKrZd6MF3fDZ7kGQ/s1600/mar+para+bolivia.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYzOf2WNzK88ngbgUSJYnXhvYrrTzRUOSsYFftFNVLULUxpWy9D1HBrawG2u4o2ksyTEm9M4M4N_GrXf63P911XEOE0unXyXW-J0TyFtDtrKYCgqdC-8orkTMo5qyuKrZd6MF3fDZ7kGQ/s320/mar+para+bolivia.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Bolivia is obsessed with getting it's sea coast back,<br />which it lost to Chile in the 1880s war - it has now<br />taken the case to the International Court of Justice in The Hague</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLe8ZqzqQgFQQXrrr4gDUN3-oGXX1pCLWSyaK8XkaCujZzgLEvm7CXH0RLwr9BnVXhawja7z-73rbVuLheGgwbB1FE-7KQaFN5be_iOiOsWCbIG7t7Sh9zFmCULYrIFdIEw6NDCYUnmBI/s1600/murillo.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLe8ZqzqQgFQQXrrr4gDUN3-oGXX1pCLWSyaK8XkaCujZzgLEvm7CXH0RLwr9BnVXhawja7z-73rbVuLheGgwbB1FE-7KQaFN5be_iOiOsWCbIG7t7Sh9zFmCULYrIFdIEw6NDCYUnmBI/s400/murillo.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Plaza Murillo</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWm3dhSUyO6NLm8XfZyGxAaerH_vOoSZfEuApCb7HK_Nixv-ChR32M4G_OtXAG2mQJTR3qa_2OtrNP1uuqKPiK7vlqf8e9J9Qa9zFeOYV6_clcyTGqN2OQQCbqSYEhQh8tZgVudkwFNHA/s1600/murrillo.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWm3dhSUyO6NLm8XfZyGxAaerH_vOoSZfEuApCb7HK_Nixv-ChR32M4G_OtXAG2mQJTR3qa_2OtrNP1uuqKPiK7vlqf8e9J9Qa9zFeOYV6_clcyTGqN2OQQCbqSYEhQh8tZgVudkwFNHA/s400/murrillo.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Plaza Murillo</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiULkXaq6Q81FWvctzlpJ8_P1lyBjY72CGMo7ijSmL0_BZILEO1xlHxdQAg5KbKkPiS7uMl9ECIGggJr13_h3_VZktygETXWuReACEHTBGELPcBG1xAUYFnZZT44ckIupN8oLSlkdvK1Co/s1600/plaza+murillo+kid.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiULkXaq6Q81FWvctzlpJ8_P1lyBjY72CGMo7ijSmL0_BZILEO1xlHxdQAg5KbKkPiS7uMl9ECIGggJr13_h3_VZktygETXWuReACEHTBGELPcBG1xAUYFnZZT44ckIupN8oLSlkdvK1Co/s400/plaza+murillo+kid.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>A chola and her kid (grandkid? super hard to tell how old these women are...)<br />selling snacks in Plaza Murillo</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I was super excited to find out that they have <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=%D0%BC%D0%B0%D1%80%D1%88%D1%80%D1%83%D1%82%D0%BA%D0%B8&safe=off&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiPx5SxvunUAhVE1CYKHfEeAKYQ_AUIDCgD&biw=1408&bih=642">marshrutki </a>here
too!! I'm well prepared for this mode of
transportation haha Really, there are two types - the "mini-bus" which
is just like an Eastern European marshrutka, and the "carry" which is
smaller. There are so many systems of public transport/ride sharing -
the mini-buses; carrys; bigger buses that resemble Panama's old diablo
rojo buses; official municipal buses - the old style which are shaky and
belch black smoke, and the new style which look nice but I rarely saw;
large, old, lumbering long distance buses; newer long distance buses
that are usually double-decker and, when aimed at tourists (the word <i>touristico </i>will generally be written somewhere on the side), can be pretty nice, and of course taxis.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf7OCBFTS_6JX7HmNo48lTRSEK96pcG1Lq2uUKMmi15cY3OxV5XGltaEQiuvNKk_eAEoAl_zGJH3snO-zWUld2eeNy3UpXj3V9k_H7fvcCcOwojKC4iIMDP8rd2zpKWt1FaarSnd3twtI/s1600/minibus2.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf7OCBFTS_6JX7HmNo48lTRSEK96pcG1Lq2uUKMmi15cY3OxV5XGltaEQiuvNKk_eAEoAl_zGJH3snO-zWUld2eeNy3UpXj3V9k_H7fvcCcOwojKC4iIMDP8rd2zpKWt1FaarSnd3twtI/s400/minibus2.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I
rode the mini-buses a couple times. They're slow and their routes are
confusing, but the system works the same as marshrutki. The biggest
differences are the constant honking - the horn is used to say hello to a
friend, to warn other cars the bus is about to stop, to ask a
pedestrian if he wants to get on, to tell pedestrians to get out of the
road - and the rider etiquette. When you get on, it's typical to greet
the other passengers with a "<i>buenas </i><u>time of day</u>". Also, it's okay to bring your dog if you want.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1R5_8BLZop0uu4qgXxM5hQufJlv9R1M_OClPObLTBwMfzaXytlgk4Q03NoWT3EGLDPfgR3nqoNo7TdnSCiIqqFXhnMuGfTrwC0Maf1JeChhq7bdccpoT9SUrcxxloi-LTGSneZOfggdA/s1600/minibus.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1R5_8BLZop0uu4qgXxM5hQufJlv9R1M_OClPObLTBwMfzaXytlgk4Q03NoWT3EGLDPfgR3nqoNo7TdnSCiIqqFXhnMuGfTrwC0Maf1JeChhq7bdccpoT9SUrcxxloi-LTGSneZOfggdA/s400/minibus.JPG" width="300" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">One
endearing aspect of Bolivian culture (and I haven't found many), is the
tendency to add 'ito' to everything. The Spanish diminutive ending is
given to everything - tabletita (medicine tablet), aguita (water),
bolsito (bag), amigita (friend), mesita (table). It lends an air of
sweetness to most conversations, but it also makes people's rudeness
sting a bit more when their speech is 'ito'-free... </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I've
been pleasantly surprised at the few people I have seen smoking on the
streets. There also aren't many (any?) ads for cigarettes. Indigenous
culture is strong here - maybe they reject smoking as not part of native
culture? Maybe people get their fix in other ways (coca leaves are
legal and popular here). Or maybe the high altitude and thin air of the
Bolivian highlands just make filling your lungs with tar pretty
impractical.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">There
are so many happy looking families. Cholitas playing with their small
children or grandchildren, parents strolling with kids (although
strollers themselves are really rare due to the sorry conditions of
roads/sidewalks). Infants are often nothing more than a bundle of cloth,
wrapped tightly to protect against the cold and probably air pollution,
held in the backpack-blankets of cholitas or in the arms of young
women. There are also lots of teenagers hugging and kissing on the
streets the way teenagers do, which I find really cute - a favorite move
is for a girl and guy to hug, and the guy walk the girl slowly backward
along the sidewalk while kissing and laughing - I only saw one couple
trip while doing this!</span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiFfCYDv14yAfBmX_2LMN1rIuYH_UBPu7nE7tx_7tuOvXeJ7ejRQ7P2o9OjskXQ4MxPit01aCpOEsX0UXABkpkSPuQfqkenhz_-UtBAgwUgWcrI016wm7QRLFk8ZeD95V_FO1HGKQmhok/s1600/kids+running.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiFfCYDv14yAfBmX_2LMN1rIuYH_UBPu7nE7tx_7tuOvXeJ7ejRQ7P2o9OjskXQ4MxPit01aCpOEsX0UXABkpkSPuQfqkenhz_-UtBAgwUgWcrI016wm7QRLFk8ZeD95V_FO1HGKQmhok/s400/kids+running.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>it's funny how kids are the same everywhere,<br />but adults can be so incredibly different...</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA56H9bQjNcZrvrW_oOqW-7riuMRX8g03OrfCeY2HkuCJnapXqiRrPqwJEuZauS2LgotQMqbh7adKf0JFuSQ63XKtVoIP2HKTsth7D05k4QdKO5PEU2Do9TRCyS44gWtOzxQskWkP_Kd8/s1600/kids.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA56H9bQjNcZrvrW_oOqW-7riuMRX8g03OrfCeY2HkuCJnapXqiRrPqwJEuZauS2LgotQMqbh7adKf0JFuSQ63XKtVoIP2HKTsth7D05k4QdKO5PEU2Do9TRCyS44gWtOzxQskWkP_Kd8/s400/kids.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">stunner</span></i></td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFTefaHntKen8NoBxYPZOse4JmGb0hTBlSdx52twxdLCPBQz1Ih43h2qAUQaw1RKMy5VYYdfm4u2CIOOAREkIuIav3o1h-FSJfNXEf7dcucSZF9ln75ASkXTAeGvdD847vdBdaiCfQDWI/s1600/zebras.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFTefaHntKen8NoBxYPZOse4JmGb0hTBlSdx52twxdLCPBQz1Ih43h2qAUQaw1RKMy5VYYdfm4u2CIOOAREkIuIav3o1h-FSJfNXEf7dcucSZF9ln75ASkXTAeGvdD847vdBdaiCfQDWI/s400/zebras.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">the most delightful thing about La Paz has to be the zebras</span></i> </td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In
a brilliant flash of public policy insight, the La Paz city council
runs a program where they hire students (usually in the last years of
high school or first year of university) part time to dress up in cute
zebra costumes and act as sort of traffic cops. The costumes remind
drivers to stop at zebra crossings (those white stripes on the road
marking pedestrian crossings - most of the world calls these 'zebras')
and remind pedestrians to cross at zebra crossings. They roam in little
packs, dancing and waving and helping older people cross - it's adorable
and fun and effective! Apparently many P<span class="st">aceño</span>s (residents of La Paz) respect these young people more than the actual police who are generally known to be corrupt.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03692438649665155641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2093208508879975920.post-22323769595819912872017-06-29T11:47:00.000-07:002017-07-23T07:06:26.572-07:00Rough Introduction to La Paz, Bolivia<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">Before I arrived in Bolivia, I read this review: </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Bolivia <em>did</em> prove one of the more challenging countries we’ve visited. Cold showers, uninspiring cuisine and high altitude were just some of
things we battled. Throw in the odd hostel reminiscent of a Soviet-era
gulag and you have a destination that lags well behind its more
well-traversed neighbours." - http://www.atlasandboots.com/17-interesting-facts-about-bolivia/ </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP5Au-TM8QIgDhuw2lCwOp5O_LFSNcUbT9cUquU6au_QHORpB6bS3ZgshwgiE-LK2EQ3LFtGdZFw5RpvN72PxVJ8PnVUs4_HkoMS7cOOuwE7XgptmANm-DWFT9AjiVbtY5eER1pBYFil0/s1600/escalator.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP5Au-TM8QIgDhuw2lCwOp5O_LFSNcUbT9cUquU6au_QHORpB6bS3ZgshwgiE-LK2EQ3LFtGdZFw5RpvN72PxVJ8PnVUs4_HkoMS7cOOuwE7XgptmANm-DWFT9AjiVbtY5eER1pBYFil0/s320/escalator.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">first sign of the country's<br />level of development...</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">Slightly nervous, but still confident in my travel abilities, I arrived to the La Paz Airport in the neighboring city of El Alto at 3 am. At 13,323 feet above sea level (4,061 m), I was immediately knocked off my feet. Already battling a nasty cold that I picked up in sunny Playa del Carmen, Mexico (ridiculous, right?), my sinuses were stuffed up all the way into my head, causing a splitting headache despite my commitment to adequate hydration. I was also suffering from the effects of high altitude - short of breath, dizzy. I didn't sleep much on the flights, and blearily drifted to the info desk at the airport. I had read El Alto at this time of night could be dangerous, so I wanted to make sure I got in an official taxi and paid a normal rate. Unfortunately, the airport info desk guy didn't speak English...welcome to Bolivia. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">When my taxi arrived at the hostel, I didn't want to get out...it was a dark street in a rough looking neighborhood (the word "skinheads" was graffitied onto the stone wall directly across from the hostel front door). The sign was faded and crooked, and the door had security bars. I asked my driver to wait, and he readily agreed, clearly as skeeved out by this place as I was. After a minute of leaning on the buzzer, an older woman shuffled to the door, clearly not happy to have been roused from her sleep. I waved the taxi driver goodbye and stepped inside. The woman grumbled constantly about the cold, rubbing her arms through two layers of sweaters. I soon understood her pain. The hostel is built like one of those old stone monasteries designed to stay cool in the summer, which I guess makes sense since there is no AC. But I am visiting in the heart of the Bolivian winter (end of June) and there is no heating...temperatures outside are about 9 C (49 F) in the daytime, but drop to freezing during the night. My fingers are going numb as I type, my hair doesn't dry, after about an hour fidgeting in the bed with no less than 4 wool blankets piled on top of me, my toes regain some feeling. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh89nCd51mAikgyr2RYLr8kTUML0dFIR503RneW98Hskjw1xyMfeWgHyUb2y1-JvkUBFY_iatEqkMc2VeJRCCRHI5owfQ0sGNtTOry6Uhw13Thk2wY38f_ojg7raooN0Ciyfx0gWuNPwJ8/s1600/locked+in.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh89nCd51mAikgyr2RYLr8kTUML0dFIR503RneW98Hskjw1xyMfeWgHyUb2y1-JvkUBFY_iatEqkMc2VeJRCCRHI5owfQ0sGNtTOry6Uhw13Thk2wY38f_ojg7raooN0Ciyfx0gWuNPwJ8/s320/locked+in.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Made sure the door was super locked</span></i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDP6lixyMRQjR1eJRgMWYZzRq3Dda6ai1V3eYvfkjExbnHWqW2V5jjkNA4OBscDrI3n6V5lAQIrY_9L86Vf1bMMJTgUm1kEHYETIOlQj6pd_XKIRJHGGXxJ_gBkmKZ0ZwxKsn8TxeVD1A/s1600/bed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDP6lixyMRQjR1eJRgMWYZzRq3Dda6ai1V3eYvfkjExbnHWqW2V5jjkNA4OBscDrI3n6V5lAQIrY_9L86Vf1bMMJTgUm1kEHYETIOlQj6pd_XKIRJHGGXxJ_gBkmKZ0ZwxKsn8TxeVD1A/s320/bed.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">My bed. Minus the rock pillow it was actually sort of comfy<br />(although after the first night there was a me-shaped dent in the mattress)</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcj_thy_nGZ_lh_Ns4k_mcanqoT-b5NkdXB8tD6G3_vkvjsrgEdrmM_IIkfHm9uE5DrdSK6T3w3wjtVMLhIflt8xqTMuStyZilESRxC-7AvANe2JUvzJFrqKM-D7SXti-vgzKoiDATo24/s1600/tv.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcj_thy_nGZ_lh_Ns4k_mcanqoT-b5NkdXB8tD6G3_vkvjsrgEdrmM_IIkfHm9uE5DrdSK6T3w3wjtVMLhIflt8xqTMuStyZilESRxC-7AvANe2JUvzJFrqKM-D7SXti-vgzKoiDATo24/s320/tv.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">My own TV. Such luxury.</span></i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQuMVwbEr-u_qiYjYAaRDswbt8xY45S4DzSHPDjli7NHx4XDr6HL9jbrKnGcekAa5yOlFgONJOKeSqCGwUrqRb5UFB8b0qj1JxC1myHLnvhniciLwRLzV8GJGSwFfnG7xbmtbI6mqTj-M/s1600/weird+mattress.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQuMVwbEr-u_qiYjYAaRDswbt8xY45S4DzSHPDjli7NHx4XDr6HL9jbrKnGcekAa5yOlFgONJOKeSqCGwUrqRb5UFB8b0qj1JxC1myHLnvhniciLwRLzV8GJGSwFfnG7xbmtbI6mqTj-M/s320/weird+mattress.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Why is this weird mattress in my room? Did it have bedbugs?<br />Cholera? Consumption? Did a kid pee on it? I'll never know</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIcLOqF3a7dAKPhEHF9tikXg-MuvsWbmuyATlcKrnW2hVm2LLcgi6asjyfZStSIER0T6Ya0OdizqiZBNXphcVSBYhmMBmwHgMzDpKCmtyLC4jXBPoS-qPNSywPG7K9VDo_iIQ7p9Unwio/s1600/calle+.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIcLOqF3a7dAKPhEHF9tikXg-MuvsWbmuyATlcKrnW2hVm2LLcgi6asjyfZStSIER0T6Ya0OdizqiZBNXphcVSBYhmMBmwHgMzDpKCmtyLC4jXBPoS-qPNSywPG7K9VDo_iIQ7p9Unwio/s320/calle+.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Mercado Rodriguez</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">The first night was torture. I couldn't sleep, my head pounded (not helped by the rock hard pillow), my stomach turned with nausea. My cold plus altitude sickness completely incapacitated me for about 8 hours. When I finally pulled myself out of bed around 10:30 am, I took a Sudafed and 2 Excedrin migraine pills and sat on the bed with my head in my hands and cried until the medicine started to kick in. Within about an hour, after a warm shower (the pursuit of which was a saga unto itself) and chugging a liter of ice cold water, I felt a lot better. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip-MUJ2UCBaiTkyz8_NGxlUPzKYY9wzdRPl5n1i_iTTttRhfhqIiv18HXU6GDH1ku5hm1urryZSLNF_ir_cbhRA6bhskBP6ZqA-1N4HytKQMisBxOgCSAwIZAhVexEqSCmW6HMsyZQSy4/s1600/huge+pacena.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip-MUJ2UCBaiTkyz8_NGxlUPzKYY9wzdRPl5n1i_iTTttRhfhqIiv18HXU6GDH1ku5hm1urryZSLNF_ir_cbhRA6bhskBP6ZqA-1N4HytKQMisBxOgCSAwIZAhVexEqSCmW6HMsyZQSy4/s320/huge+pacena.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>No one to share this huge beer with</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">By 1:30 pm, I managed to venture into the city, and even though the passengers on my minibus led me astray and I got off at the completely wrong plaza, I managed to get some "sopita de mani" (peanut soup which actually did not taste like peanuts) and an "empanadita con queso" at Mercado Lanza, join an excellent 3 hour walking tour, and have some <a href="https://www.google.com/search?safe=off&noj=1&biw=1408&bih=642&tbm=isch&sa=1&q=sajta+de+pollo&oq=sajta+&gs_l=img.3.1.0l3j0i30k1l7.1817.2576.0.4886.6.6.0.0.0.0.739.739.6-1.1.0....0...1.1.64.img..5.1.738.IVKCWsR_vjM">mysterious chicken dish</a>, choclo (huge kerneled corn), and fried cheese slices at a fast casual Bolivian place called Silpich's. I sipped my enormous (620 ml!) beer to myself, flashing back on my dad and I's time in Mexico last week where we spent countless hours on 5th Avenue people watching and sampling different beers, and clinked out bottles together with a "cheers" before every single drink. I suddenly felt extremely lonely...</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Mercado Lanza</span></i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBi39LUArnMusDoZ2s1m0fIkXyktm9zOzmTEIcp8hw2jqH76atfyVhLhyphenhyphenKfXNg4XQglRlUKKlPTRCPte6HyNxMFNgWQwZVTHQdB5fIo7FT6blG7vZ6W21bDiWbqDcGkEv5ckr3FHgzcoQ/s1600/m+lanza.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBi39LUArnMusDoZ2s1m0fIkXyktm9zOzmTEIcp8hw2jqH76atfyVhLhyphenhyphenKfXNg4XQglRlUKKlPTRCPte6HyNxMFNgWQwZVTHQdB5fIo7FT6blG7vZ6W21bDiWbqDcGkEv5ckr3FHgzcoQ/s320/m+lanza.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Mercado Lanza</span></i></td></tr>
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixK-Kqv4zXNK5u1mCuJHsj55Qlnq96FAVrvOQ1TnajknP7Ib7BaU4BzN6RMiyooym8cgPHem5_NjzzAlpJx5zolpuo7wOHCAbCX-hDFf33u5mxpFqCvkmy-IxpFuMsc-7qB_sqyNIDfn0/s1600/mercado+lanza.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixK-Kqv4zXNK5u1mCuJHsj55Qlnq96FAVrvOQ1TnajknP7Ib7BaU4BzN6RMiyooym8cgPHem5_NjzzAlpJx5zolpuo7wOHCAbCX-hDFf33u5mxpFqCvkmy-IxpFuMsc-7qB_sqyNIDfn0/s320/mercado+lanza.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Mercado Lanza</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrnrT29uvB0E_Qy8TIagw___HJjPStiepNu8hKDwxhULuWrUQhNSeqUOlWcZzck5sPkeEcnWB-Ng9ZYfJcpAqiHXyZuNqqhmbCM-DABKWY0TrEaIJ-CqOyXheprhlcu9r8ABF9LKW2Bwc/s1600/sopita+de+mani.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrnrT29uvB0E_Qy8TIagw___HJjPStiepNu8hKDwxhULuWrUQhNSeqUOlWcZzck5sPkeEcnWB-Ng9ZYfJcpAqiHXyZuNqqhmbCM-DABKWY0TrEaIJ-CqOyXheprhlcu9r8ABF9LKW2Bwc/s320/sopita+de+mani.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Sopita de Mani</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzB5oi8YAck-TZSatpd8aqEAo2ueiq9A1vklVQAtLXSmSe3aRAwFQ_eTZMu07LxQyJdN_AHgoASWWUuISsFONFjXqaP-Dx3FA0ZGA2l3EPO07xOJxLatvKfr8xY52eUKL2KayOBsPguMg/s1600/silpachs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzB5oi8YAck-TZSatpd8aqEAo2ueiq9A1vklVQAtLXSmSe3aRAwFQ_eTZMu07LxQyJdN_AHgoASWWUuISsFONFjXqaP-Dx3FA0ZGA2l3EPO07xOJxLatvKfr8xY52eUKL2KayOBsPguMg/s320/silpachs.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Silpich's</span></i></td></tr>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaw8PdvES6eR3CNdpm7mVvD3fo-FBHKO3wcFn9brY49NJwapN8bfefzfSEJLtf6boJAD7YQbf__3EGUcg79AxaQUakuMkhU9PiZuhUWbc5FtZCADuKFAAIe3SBGl9ijNLaf8B01iIImYE/s1600/hostel+breakfast.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaw8PdvES6eR3CNdpm7mVvD3fo-FBHKO3wcFn9brY49NJwapN8bfefzfSEJLtf6boJAD7YQbf__3EGUcg79AxaQUakuMkhU9PiZuhUWbc5FtZCADuKFAAIe3SBGl9ijNLaf8B01iIImYE/s320/hostel+breakfast.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Note there is no fork...and the milk can?<br />Not milk. Just more burnt coffee...</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">I woke up this morning to another headache...but I steeled myself, popped some Excedrin, and went downstairs to breakfast. Although the hostel advertised breakfast included, I in fact paid an extra $2 for it (what a scandal). When I came down, the woman at the front desk took me to a room marked "cafeteria" that was locked with the lights off. She opened the door, took a chair down from on top of a table for me, and turned on the TV to a loud Catholic preacher yelling about how God wants me to quit smoking (don't worry, God, I don't smoke). My breakfast was delivered about 30 mins later - one fried egg with a hair in it, a piece of cold bread, and a cup of burned coffee with a bowl of sugar. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">Although I am starting at the highest altitude I'll reach on this trip, I hope it's uphill from here...</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">Since I'm already complaining, here are some other things that have frustrated me in the last day and a half:</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">1. I had to (unexpectedly) transfer in Bogota, and the waiting area after the gate before the shuttle bus smelled like Peruvian chicken...I would soon learn that a lot of South America smells like this chicken</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">2. Every single wifi network I have thus far connected to has been painfully slow</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">3. I got a sunburn on my nose in Playa, and now it's red and peeling and painful and I'm blowing my nose constantly which hurts every time and now it's all scaly and I look like a toddler whose parents need to wipe their nose...</span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
4. Toiletries not only explode because of the high pressure, but also are sort of half frozen because of the cold...</span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
5. That feeling when stuff you don't expect to have meat in it has meat in it... (looking at you, street </span></span><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<![endif]--><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">salteña</span>)<br />
<br />
6. La Paz should be called the city of pigeons. Seriously, they are everywhere. You can walk through a flock of them hopping around and they'll barely flinch. Occasionally something will spook them and an entire hoard of like 50-100 birds will take flight, circle over the square they were in, and land back down...when this happens everyone ducks and covers their food and kids scream...</span></span><br />
Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03692438649665155641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2093208508879975920.post-77775216006353952862017-06-26T17:58:00.000-07:002017-07-09T14:53:56.405-07:00Reykjavik: 24 hours, 24 notes<span style="font-size: large;">I did the thing. You know, the thing that's all the millennial rage where you can get a "free" layover in Iceland for up to 7 days when you fly transatlantic with WOW or Icelandair?</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTgYNSP5z252YrFExcO9tdOjve7bpvYrCFISYMLiBg1l5CQhaoVUa699MfBNo4k7zJ4xs-5vIaSywIgAtLhrbBiYOjyaKZ5zJs3BnDiflsAgI1y5h7Ma1XaT0WkAIbSoFIT8t5ZA1R8nM/s1600/wow+air.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTgYNSP5z252YrFExcO9tdOjve7bpvYrCFISYMLiBg1l5CQhaoVUa699MfBNo4k7zJ4xs-5vIaSywIgAtLhrbBiYOjyaKZ5zJs3BnDiflsAgI1y5h7Ma1XaT0WkAIbSoFIT8t5ZA1R8nM/s400/wow+air.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">[First, a warning: it's nothing new, but <i>budget airlines are not as cheap as they seem</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Every time I fly budget, I tell myself "never again" because of all the extra fees and the added inconveniences, but then when it comes time to book, those sweet sweet low fares always reel me back in...there are many times when flying budget is a good idea - if you are going on a short trip without much luggage, if you're a person who doesn't need much leg room, if you don't care about the frills of regular air travel (which are sparse enough as it is). Don't just compare airfares; before you book, make sure you factor in the additional fees that generally come with flying budget, such as:</span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">transportation to/from the secondary airports budget airlines often use (WOW flies out of Baltimore, not Dulles; Ryan Air often uses Stansted or Luton instead of Heathrow)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">the food and snacks you'll buy (at airport prices?) since the airlines generally don't have free meals on board</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">high fees to check a bag - and sometimes even to carry on more than a "personal item"</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">sometimes you must print your own boarding pass before check-in or pay a fee - will you be able to find a printer while traveling? </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">having to buy stuff in-country that you couldn't fit into your carry on</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-size: large;">Anyway, that's my warning, now on to Iceland!]</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I was in Reykjavik from 3:30 pm on a Wednesday, until 3:30 pm on a Thursday, here are 13 things I learned, saw, or noticed in my 24 hours. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">1. It's windy...as we taxied on the runway after landing, my first glimpse of the landscape was the wind whipping up twisting coils of red dust across a low bumpy field of volcanic rock.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwhodqkadwplDeDbyfwPlU8PMf2cflswUjuLkZlfr6zQjZtDgqWu0yOeAea8EyCVn1UAlAEMXaCwxl2gz4EPwlKbQWdbuKJT7-wsHoNb3WWtJIaaEE_dRjshjl2G7pnrjH00Jju6cYqTg/s1600/land2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwhodqkadwplDeDbyfwPlU8PMf2cflswUjuLkZlfr6zQjZtDgqWu0yOeAea8EyCVn1UAlAEMXaCwxl2gz4EPwlKbQWdbuKJT7-wsHoNb3WWtJIaaEE_dRjshjl2G7pnrjH00Jju6cYqTg/s400/land2.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">2. It's COLD! Late May, and I was wishing I had gloves and a hat. I only had a light, thigh length coat, and a scarf, and I was getting pretty creative with layering and wrapping so I didn't freeze! Especially with the whipping wind - worse near the port (although that's where you get the best views from the city). </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjonfhzpNMe6Uh5Ty8fh5XFPmGG1cO66QJZK4SxT6BXkiTeMIREUtcSJ4quN0M0_-7CPqJIilfpXAlXT2KAcfogcPjW7itoGQ5NtICo9IJCjO3yj-1H6a4J9VYDttTKzivQO1HhoUrsei4/s1600/land.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjonfhzpNMe6Uh5Ty8fh5XFPmGG1cO66QJZK4SxT6BXkiTeMIREUtcSJ4quN0M0_-7CPqJIilfpXAlXT2KAcfogcPjW7itoGQ5NtICo9IJCjO3yj-1H6a4J9VYDttTKzivQO1HhoUrsei4/s400/land.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">3. Many shops don't have set hours - they either open "upon request" or, for some bakeries and small cafes, just whenever the owner arrives; this is particularly true in the winter when there are less tourists in Reykjavik and locals tend to stay inside more.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">4. The city seems to me a sort of Alaskan fishing town in the Swiss Alps. It has a definite European/Nordic feel, but mixed with the wild nature of the vast, empty North American expanses. When you walk down the center of the city, with <span class="st">Hallgrímskirkja Church at your back, the streets are laid out so you can see all the way down to the harbor, and the mountains* across the water - that is an amazing view, flanked by small colored houses, that really creates the fishing town feel. On the other side, with the harbor behind you, looking past </span><span class="st">Hallgrímskirkja, you see mountains rising up in the distance along with church steeples that have a strong Alpine feel.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="st"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicvjPCCwI1tsnvCClNn1wtQveTElvi0ShOFgODX9iWNRa-RZHfcD8S5UXR4AHDWo3wnPGDc11xzJDramMlKK2zH_z5pPLD7u2EYVEdQXXAf-Uk7NyeCvaFOi5xWQpf-vZAIEYy8BUtGbw/s1600/cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="246" data-original-width="640" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicvjPCCwI1tsnvCClNn1wtQveTElvi0ShOFgODX9iWNRa-RZHfcD8S5UXR4AHDWo3wnPGDc11xzJDramMlKK2zH_z5pPLD7u2EYVEdQXXAf-Uk7NyeCvaFOi5xWQpf-vZAIEYy8BUtGbw/s640/cover.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">5. I knew Iceland was expensive, but hot damn! In 24 hours I spent $132: airport transfer, dinner, a magnet souvenir, coffee and pastry dessert, breakfast (skyr, coffee, pastry), coffee. Prices at the airport are actually less than outside, because they avoid some tax - I recommend stocking up on basics there. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHCJBVDGM_FZUescetEhkxbEiZSlCliguyPRz7FcmPon7tRCHmJIOaaesfcU7XwLAXTgd9cQRSrN5Q1NfeBp4cfvGYzXIXHQVRqHAOyPI4RM0wPjV_C_j0tz_YHzfM9ideteUvqrPyYgw/s1600/prices.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHCJBVDGM_FZUescetEhkxbEiZSlCliguyPRz7FcmPon7tRCHmJIOaaesfcU7XwLAXTgd9cQRSrN5Q1NfeBp4cfvGYzXIXHQVRqHAOyPI4RM0wPjV_C_j0tz_YHzfM9ideteUvqrPyYgw/s400/prices.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">$13 for a Ben and Jerry's pint!!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">6. I spent $43 just on the airport transfer. It was soooo easy and convenient, though, I would recommend it - I purchased it on the plane from the flight attendant (available on WOW and Icelandair, just ask), and it was a door to door, round trip service, no hassle, minimal wait </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">7. The famed Icelandic yogurt, called skyr, is great!! As I consider myself a yogurt connoisseur, I was so excited to try skyr in its homeland, but while it is delicious and smooth and rich, it's not really miles above Greek or other 'traditional' yogurt products...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">8. Icelandic people are broad shouldered and tall. Lots of blondes, but lots of brunettes too. Lots of beards...</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU-bmtaK14ZD7IlrrOhMvbrclEgWg4CHBojgs7bMyHbKrdzFE-uQzegByGW1w05pjbjBQbEE-L9UnPSUtL_oY27iJci4GyCiRYTXPqiUwF0dz5ZWU5JWErfV2tVz5DN_Nn1WEXcGWn_P4/s1600/feed+the+ducks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU-bmtaK14ZD7IlrrOhMvbrclEgWg4CHBojgs7bMyHbKrdzFE-uQzegByGW1w05pjbjBQbEE-L9UnPSUtL_oY27iJci4GyCiRYTXPqiUwF0dz5ZWU5JWErfV2tVz5DN_Nn1WEXcGWn_P4/s400/feed+the+ducks.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">9. Icelandic people (by the admission of three locals who I accosted with my cultural questions) are not particularly romantic. I was told that people rarely do big proposals or grand gestures. More of a snuggle up fireside bunch. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">10. Icelandic people have a wicked sense of humor. From the sarcastic, self deprecating comments of my waiter and the tourism officer workers, to the bawdy comics of Hugleikur Dagsson (and others) that are popular amongst locals and tourists alike, Icelandic "<span class="st">gálgahúmor" (black humor) is </span>itself worth a visit!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidsIp9krjFqXCpWUScWuq5NzFyyhO0wKB7tkH8l1o_WnQ5UXkzcTPJUAS9kCUTsRPDL_rO8RigtKZPxuczEHIqPMTL5lOBwdsyLgkhENryGHQy3yy0et7GpAIOgu2B03cowtzirz79Dno/s1600/dark+humor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidsIp9krjFqXCpWUScWuq5NzFyyhO0wKB7tkH8l1o_WnQ5UXkzcTPJUAS9kCUTsRPDL_rO8RigtKZPxuczEHIqPMTL5lOBwdsyLgkhENryGHQy3yy0et7GpAIOgu2B03cowtzirz79Dno/s400/dark+humor.jpg" width="300" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">11. Icelanders are more religious than I would expect for a northern European country. <a href="https://wowair.us/magazine/religion-in-iceland/">94.8% of people are registered in some religious group</a>...but actually, nowhere near that many people regularly attend church. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1vlosz_qJleYsv9QoYEG_T6I99FU89rC35xYIvnxiPAySAffsNKrYwAC71imXi_2Jh-KALkN3yyLeTHBaOx8WkXDMPfhmhSeLCYO-dntpqCv0xI_xNZ9xxHDCGBZgXnQX5Jx9U5YsFqc/s1600/Hallgrimskirkja.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="542" data-original-width="666" height="325" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1vlosz_qJleYsv9QoYEG_T6I99FU89rC35xYIvnxiPAySAffsNKrYwAC71imXi_2Jh-KALkN3yyLeTHBaOx8WkXDMPfhmhSeLCYO-dntpqCv0xI_xNZ9xxHDCGBZgXnQX5Jx9U5YsFqc/s400/Hallgrimskirkja.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">pic courtesy of Moore Travel Tips</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">12. As every article about Iceland is obligated to mention, more than half the population believes in elves! Interesting historical folk and traditional roots - <a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2013/10/why-so-many-icelanders-still-believe-in-invisible-elves/280783/">worth a read. </a></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoQVprWkQghB5TDXQQOej4qhyphenhyphenbfiYtoW2KuVk2pt62rRn9iXTbp-lhsMY21fzGPmssEZr_x3cc_jRcV3HcMRhPU2ItZn90uxNv9C453-lIcsnDe-xkT_jdJIFOj5DW8YI5Bbo87moeZb0/s1600/elves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoQVprWkQghB5TDXQQOej4qhyphenhyphenbfiYtoW2KuVk2pt62rRn9iXTbp-lhsMY21fzGPmssEZr_x3cc_jRcV3HcMRhPU2ItZn90uxNv9C453-lIcsnDe-xkT_jdJIFOj5DW8YI5Bbo87moeZb0/s400/elves.jpg" width="300" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">13. They have some great pastries in Iceland! Many are borrowed from Denmark, but there are a few originals as well. And THIS is the correct way to eat a <i>kleina</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFRpjrxoEQ2zcx_34i8C7GOIbo9Z5EmRBHkBmbozJeWefmxoBiCBN5FAlrFj9Ebu2_cU5e8ExafnpgAtiaoiGWr_ylyx9Tdp0-l8r7wBaceOkLMBJR6v6dZ5pYuFMAvruWZPJHfc2K_rY/s1600/kleina.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="608" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFRpjrxoEQ2zcx_34i8C7GOIbo9Z5EmRBHkBmbozJeWefmxoBiCBN5FAlrFj9Ebu2_cU5e8ExafnpgAtiaoiGWr_ylyx9Tdp0-l8r7wBaceOkLMBJR6v6dZ5pYuFMAvruWZPJHfc2K_rY/s400/kleina.jpg" width="380" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">*<a href="http://www.dangerous-business.com/2012/03/14-fun-facts-about-iceland/">I read here</a> that, in fact, Iceland has no mountains - it's just rocky ground punctuated by deep glacial valleys that make it <i>look </i>like mountains...but I find that quite hard to believe - regardless of the geological classification, it certainly looks like Reykjavik is ringed by mountains!</span></span>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03692438649665155641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2093208508879975920.post-74405799069915779922017-05-18T04:37:00.003-07:002017-07-09T14:53:56.402-07:00Grey Skies Over the Autobahn<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">One cool, rainy day in early May I took a bus from Frankfurt, Germany to Eindhoven, Netherlands. The sky was so full of clouds and fog that it was just a dense grey ceiling. We drove through forested hills and crowded truck stops. It had been raining a lot the few weeks prior (April showers), and the highway is lined with bright green trees, thick fields of tiny yellow flowers, and occasional patches of enormous white windmills. </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLwmsclp_AyOjlE5AXmVmIPCjzedQ5BY36nNMfvhl9avqCD9qjaL20sM56mZ6N38WJsUMXa6LBQY1noPlowomYbjNqm1q7fNRYLIDYnvWOfyQuk4Wcs_28FOXWl4ZQVscc_bBwL4YbXxo/s1600/fraport.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLwmsclp_AyOjlE5AXmVmIPCjzedQ5BY36nNMfvhl9avqCD9qjaL20sM56mZ6N38WJsUMXa6LBQY1noPlowomYbjNqm1q7fNRYLIDYnvWOfyQuk4Wcs_28FOXWl4ZQVscc_bBwL4YbXxo/s400/fraport.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">We drove through serious, functional Frankfurt with its Sunday afternoon shop windows shuttered.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">I went to use the on board bathroom and bounced against the walls, trying to touch as little as possible but feeling like a single tic tac being shaken around in the box.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">We skirted the graffiti scrawled edges of Bonn.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">I tried to stretch out my tired legs and got stabbed by some little metal rods sticking out from the bottom of the seat in front of me.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIQgtb4VpDWIXmg3XDZ8nHq7HpRM9jPPSFT02JQrr-NmJkwNSm1NNQ_i1i0L51u6l4beIvogZ0nJ0EB6UUTQhSXj1_e-8k72roVVToBXL270TgXgqIW2YKCRXVmBlYaX-xkQhYoJxkH_M/s1600/bus+people.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIQgtb4VpDWIXmg3XDZ8nHq7HpRM9jPPSFT02JQrr-NmJkwNSm1NNQ_i1i0L51u6l4beIvogZ0nJ0EB6UUTQhSXj1_e-8k72roVVToBXL270TgXgqIW2YKCRXVmBlYaX-xkQhYoJxkH_M/s400/bus+people.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">We made a quick stop in the little town of Leverkusen which included the pub "Uncle Sam's Food, Drinks, and Fun."</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">I made t-rex arms while I tried to type this blog post in the tiny, cramped bus seat.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">We rumbled past Koln, along the Rhine River, looking slow and muddy and underwhelming. A sliver of sunlight poked out of the clouds and glinted off a set of long flat barges loaded with mounds of black something...coal? Silt? Central European licorice? </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">probably licorice</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">We drove slowly through the crush of Turkish shops and restaurants in the southeastern edge of Dusseldorf, turned off the engine and sat for 20 minutes with cold air seeping in through open doors pooling at my ankles.When we got going again, the wide open river front downtown of the city was finally the charming, attractive scene I'd been missing - even under grey clouds yellowed by factory smoke.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">I used two full blotting sheets on my face...18 hours on the road down, 2 to go...</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">Have to pee again but trying to keep it together for the next hour so I don't have to battle the cubbyhole again.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">I need to buy germ x immediately.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">The small city of </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">Mönchengladbach is best know for its football/soccer team, and as the home of Joseph Pilates, founder of pilates (lol seriously), but I noticed the plethora of </span></span>large, beautiful, 3 and 4 story homes...I wonder how people here make their living.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />Just over the Dutch border, in Roermond, horses graze along the river, then cows!<br /><br />I broke down and went to the bathroom again. Someone broke the plastic faucet off the sink...<br /><br />This part of Holland is more agricultural (and sooooo flat) than the part of Germany we went through.It's a wide rural area dotted by livestock pens, small barns and homes, and country pubs<br /><br />The suburban streets of Eindhoven are lined with beautiful ivy-covered all brick duplexes and triplexes</span></span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">okay I'm here, time to meet Bacho, bye!!!!! :* </span></span></i></div>
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<br />Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03692438649665155641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2093208508879975920.post-53809579034092828822017-05-03T16:36:00.001-07:002017-05-03T16:36:40.778-07:009 Songs (you've never heard) that are Getting me to Graduation<span style="font-size: large;">By "getting me to graduation" I actually mean distracting me from work I need to do in order to graduate...but at this point, it's all the same, right?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Anyway, you probably need a break too, so check out these sweet Europop tunes and do a little shoulder shimmying while you work ;)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">ALSO - added benefit - this will prep your auditory receptors for the Europop extravaganza that is <a href="http://eurovisionworld.com/?eurovision=calendar">Eurovision Song Contest</a>, finals this year on May 13th, 2017!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">(and yes, a few of these are kind of old, but I never said they would be new songs! Just probably new to you...) </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">1. "Uh Baby" - Kida ft. Xhensila</span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/0UjHDYppsjU/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/0UjHDYppsjU?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Country: Albania</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Year: 2016</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Popularity: 24 mil YouTube views</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://lyricstranslate.com/en/uh-baby-uh-baby.html-0">English Lyrics </a></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">2. "Bow Down" - Enca ft. Noizy</span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/c4Vmjyjst4U/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/c4Vmjyjst4U?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Country: Albania</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Year: 2016</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Popularity: 70 mil YouTube views</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://lyricstranslate.com/en/bow-down-bow-down.html-1">English Lyrics</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">3. "</span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="watch-title" dir="ltr" id="eow-title" title="Maître Gims - Sapés comme jamais (Clip Officiel) ft. Niska">Sapés comme jamais" -</span></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="watch-title" dir="ltr" id="eow-title" title="Maître Gims - Sapés comme jamais (Clip Officiel) ft. Niska"> Maître Gims ft. Niska </span></span></span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/4bPGxLxogvw/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/4bPGxLxogvw?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Country: France</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Year: 2015</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Popularity: 268 mil YouTube views</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://lyricstranslate.com/en/sap%C3%A9s-comme-jamais-pilule-bleue-never-undermined.html">English Lyrics</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">4. "In bucati" - Glance ft. Elena Gheorghe and Naguale</span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/1v2ZBK_nrfs/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/1v2ZBK_nrfs?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Country: Romania</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Year: 2014</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Popularity: 30.5 mil YouTube views</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://lyricstranslate.com/en/bucati-pieces.html-0">English Lyrics</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">5. "Marre" - Ronela Hajati</span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/s5AhIGPbcY4/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/s5AhIGPbcY4?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Country: Albania<br />Year: 2016</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Popularity: 8 mil YouTube views</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://lyricstranslate.com/en/marre-lies.html">English Lyrics </a></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">6. "Pey Sartse" - </span><span style="font-size: large;">Galena and Tsvetelina Yaneva ft. Azis /</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> "</span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="watch-title" dir="ltr" id="eow-title" title="GALENA & TS. YANEVA ft. AZIS - PEY SARTSE / Галена и Цветелина Янева ft. Азис - Пей, сърце, 2016">Пей, сърце" - </span></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="watch-title" dir="ltr" id="eow-title" title="GALENA & TS. YANEVA ft. AZIS - PEY SARTSE / Галена и Цветелина Янева ft. Азис - Пей, сърце, 2016">Галена и Цветелина Янева ft. Азис </span></span></span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/_bAPg1YYLsE/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/_bAPg1YYLsE?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Country: Bulgaria </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Year: 2016</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Popularity: 20 mil YouTube views</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://lyricstranslate.com/en/pey-sartse-%D0%BF%D0%B5%D0%B9-%D1%81%D1%8A%D1%80%D1%86%D0%B5-sing-heart.html">English Lyrics </a></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">7. "Gna Gna" - Mihran Tsarukyan</span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/RJEtEJCvN2E/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/RJEtEJCvN2E?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Country: Armenia </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Year: 2017</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Popularity: 13 mil YouTube views</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://lyricstranslate.com/en/%D5%A3%D5%B6%D5%A1-%D5%A3%D5%B6%D5%A1-gna-gna-go-go.html">English Lyrics </a></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">8. "Feel" - Mahmut Orhan ft. Sena Sener</span><br />
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<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/rQ7tMWOCQlM/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/rQ7tMWOCQlM?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Country: Turkey </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Year: 2016</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Popularity: 177 mil YouTube views</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">9. "Time Won't Wait" - Filatov & Karas</span><br />
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<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/Zj_hXV_o8Fo/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Zj_hXV_o8Fo?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Country: Russia</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Year: 2017</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Popularity: 1.4 mil YouTube views </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03692438649665155641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2093208508879975920.post-77920001136482380102017-01-07T06:41:00.001-08:002017-01-07T06:52:00.614-08:00Amateur Traveler Podcast Feature!!<span style="font-size: large;">I was interviewed on this podcast talking about Georgia!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://amateurtraveler.com/" target="_blank">Amateur Traveler</a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://amateurtraveler.com/articles-about-amateur-traveler/" target="_blank">Press about Amateur Traveler</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Click below to listen, or you can listen on iTunes, Stitcher, or wherever you get your podcasts and it will come with <i>pictures</i>, ooh</span><br />
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<a href="http://europe.amateurtraveler.com/travel-to-republic-of-georgia/">Amateur Traveler Episode 541 - Travel to Republic of Georgia</a><br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" height="90" mozallowfullscreen="" msallowfullscreen="" oallowfullscreen="" scrolling="no" src="//html5-player.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/4921110/height/90/width/640/theme/custom/autonext/no/thumbnail/yes/autoplay/no/preload/no/no_addthis/no/direction/backward/no-cache/true/render-playlist/no/custom-color/87A93A/" style="border: none;" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="640"></iframe>
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<a href="http://europe.amateurtraveler.com/travel-to-republic-of-georgia/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;">Or listen and find a transcript on the Amateur Traveler website</span></a><br />
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Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03692438649665155641noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2093208508879975920.post-24857127314700543942017-01-01T20:40:00.006-08:002017-01-07T06:51:55.723-08:00Today I Miss Virginia...<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666;">I fear I have made some bad decisions.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666;">I am feeling anxious and trapped and social-media-fueled jealousy. I am antsy and restless and angry. At times spending my days immobile on the couch reading Peace Corps blogs and political books and watching wedding-themed reality shows and eating cake for breakfast went from cherished holiday relaxation to feelings of uselessness and depression.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666;">Why do I feel like this? Well, I have been at home in Yorktown with my family for exactly 20 days now.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666;">The first week I was finishing school work - not so bad.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666;">The second week I was catching up with my sister and preparing for Christmas - not so bad.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666;">Then Christmas (all four iterations) came and went, and now the New Year has come as well. I tried to maintain some holiday cheer until New Year's in the post-Soviet style, but compared to New Year in St. Petersburg, my feeble attempts at making Russian food and forcing my family to watch Soviet New Year's classic movies (<span class="st">Ирония судьбы, или <em>С легким паром</em>! for those who know it - it was subtitled!!) were pretty pathetic. </span></span></span> <br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666;"><br />For most of this semester, I was planning a winter break trip to Cuba with my sister. At the semi-last minute that trip fell apart. Then, for the past month or so, I tried to salvage my winter travel plans by finding scores of cheap flights to Caribbean beaches that were surprisingly poorly received by my family. Then, I held out hope for a road trip through some southern states, anchored on New Orleans, with my sister. That ended up not working out either.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666;">So here I am. On the couch. 20 days into my self-inflicted cloistering with another 2 weeks to go. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666;">I haven't spent this much time with nothing to do and nowhere to go in 5 years.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666;">I'm starting to go crazy.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666;">I can blame many people and many circumstances, but in the end I made choices.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666;">And there are some really good things that have come from staying here - quality time with my family (although Riyana has spent most of this time in her room), lots of great food, learning a lot from reading constantly, making a little progress on some projects I've been trying to get at for a while, and discovering some new podcasts on my daily dog walks. Generally, though, I am quite uncomfortable at this point. Jittery and snappy and having my "trapped" dreams again. Eating too much, sitting too much, staring too much...I am unproductive.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666;">Anyway, as I mentioned, I have been reading a lot of Peace Corps blogs which made me want to write again myself. But, as you now know, I have nothing to write about...but plenty of drafts I never finished/published! So, here is a throwback to a day that I was actually craving Virginia. Helps me get a little perspective, I suppose...</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Originally written June 26th</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This weekend, I got the startling and emotionally confusing news that my security clearance has been approved, and I can begin my internship with the US embassy here in Tbilisi, Georgia.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I miss country music</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I miss the wide open spaces, knowing that you can drive for hours on half empty rural roads</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I miss having a car and being able to drive whenever I want, wherever I want</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I miss pickup trucks</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwNT4fLbVarqYW0ntBtJ5rPS0R0kB8hWRePA09jTFYQXRky0VkvLFOM0UYZBjjYIoW_bqnmDZ_KecIJWhesOlmecAKBFhC6XZ2jRJtiU2o1YgjBdTU__k0w7zwZZN0EnL6e9QneqXl_XQ/s1600/blue+ridge+mntn+skyline.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwNT4fLbVarqYW0ntBtJ5rPS0R0kB8hWRePA09jTFYQXRky0VkvLFOM0UYZBjjYIoW_bqnmDZ_KecIJWhesOlmecAKBFhC6XZ2jRJtiU2o1YgjBdTU__k0w7zwZZN0EnL6e9QneqXl_XQ/s400/blue+ridge+mntn+skyline.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">(wow this list is very focused on cars...)</span></td></tr>
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</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I miss the Blue Ridge Mountains</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I miss comfortable coffee shops with drip coffee</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I miss Alderman library</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I miss grits and good bagels and the farmer's market</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I miss having a familiar list of places to go</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I miss speaking English without thought or effort</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I miss clean air, unmarred by the scent of cigarette smoke or car exhaust</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I miss being able to go somewhere in public and be invisible</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I miss central air conditioning</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I miss being able to listen to Morning Edition when I wake up instead of at 2 pm</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">NOW, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">to those who would say:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"no one forced you to be in Georgia"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"you choose to leave the US"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"stop complaining, many people would love to be able to travel like you"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">HOWEVER</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">When I am in the US, I usually feel (well, the way I actually feel in real time - Jan 1, 2017)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">bored, unchallenged, overly safe, trapped, relatively useless and unproductive. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So, while there are many negative aspects to living abroad, and <a href="http://loveatfirstlayover.blogspot.com/2016/05/second-world-problems.html" target="_blank">many challenges particular to the "second world,"</a> no life anywhere is perfect <a href="http://loveatfirstlayover.blogspot.com/2015/06/5-worst-things-about-tbilisi.html" target="_blank">or undeserving of criticism</a>. For me, though, spending last summer in Georgia was the best life I could work out for myself.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">In June I missed Virginia. In January I miss movement and not-Virginia. The grass is always greener...</span>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03692438649665155641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2093208508879975920.post-54331479127771984432016-12-17T10:37:00.000-08:002017-07-04T08:43:50.673-07:008 Things I Learned in the Netherlands (in November)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5WNz17Cd2GdVCYDjaubjg_KEtOi9itoXGpl2sagSwkjuk7_2u04jc9dihZACTWyUzGn_BCeQvYIFSFxYTgVP3OGJjo8JEecRQT9rBSM42DhqByD6lZUF-k2tIUjzwTW_j5LLrWul7ojo/s1600/stereotypical+dutch+women.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5WNz17Cd2GdVCYDjaubjg_KEtOi9itoXGpl2sagSwkjuk7_2u04jc9dihZACTWyUzGn_BCeQvYIFSFxYTgVP3OGJjo8JEecRQT9rBSM42DhqByD6lZUF-k2tIUjzwTW_j5LLrWul7ojo/s400/stereotypical+dutch+women.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">1. Dutch people are huge. Tall and broad shouldered and big-footed. Statistically the tallest people in the world, Dutch men and women average out at around 6' and 5'7" respectively. I went into an H&M to see if they sized clothing differently here because it just wouldn't even make sense to have little feather light mini dresses in size 0 - literally no Dutch people would fit into that. Turns out they do have small sizes, but the designs are a bit different, more flattering to the sturdy Northern European figure.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/apr/08/scientists-try-to-answer-why-dutch-people-are-so-tall" target="_blank"><span id="goog_1926319954"></span><b>Why are they so tall? Some scientists tried to find out...</b><span id="goog_1926319955"></span></a> </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">2. You might as well not even wear makeup on the bottom half of your face because 9/10 times the scarf you have tourniqueted around your neck is going to rub it off.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">3. It's dark. So dark! I can't put my finger on why it seems darker...maybe the street lamps are different, or maybe since it's been constantly cloudy the starless, moonless night feels darker. It certainly doesn't help that sunset is around 5 pm.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">4. It's so diverse. I thought the Starbucks workers at Amsterdam Centraal Train Station were a great example of this: one tall blonde Dutch girl with <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Delftware" target="_blank">Delft blue</a> eyes and a near perfect American English accent, one dark skinned girl, one girl with olive skin and hazel eyes wearing a hijab, and a tall boy with the most hipster mustache and trendy half-shaved head.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXskMe9yPfiIdkgGfjDxSOUe0fJf1oRlbZW0FFkVgnmQ6rDfzzNHePdvuziyevMONOh-epLOZxl70chJZAt_09b0jlh4XjGSzRo0r7sPpt-US24MRkjk1ZYI6LtUCszA3qwNkAxE58lHE/s1600/amsterdam+diversity.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXskMe9yPfiIdkgGfjDxSOUe0fJf1oRlbZW0FFkVgnmQ6rDfzzNHePdvuziyevMONOh-epLOZxl70chJZAt_09b0jlh4XjGSzRo0r7sPpt-US24MRkjk1ZYI6LtUCszA3qwNkAxE58lHE/s400/amsterdam+diversity.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">5. Spinning off of that last point - everyone speaks perfect English. Some older Dutch people stumble a bit with grammar, maneuvering around the bulky accent you imagine of an idyllic country milkmaid in wooden shoes. For the most part, however, anyone you meet working in a cafe or a bike shop or on public transportation, anyone you stop to ask directions on the street, or any back-house cook stuffing your Dutch fries (fritjes) into a paper cone will speak excellent English. Even more surprising was how many non-ethnically Dutch (either immigrants or children of immigrants, many from former Dutch colonies such as Suriname or Indonesia and others refugees from conflict in the Middle East or African economic migrants) people spoke beautiful lilting Dutch comfortably alongside English.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">6. The Netherlands is the 28th most densely populated country in the world (406 people per sq km), and the most densely populated "real" country in Europe (Monaco 2nd, Vatican City 7th, Malta 10th, Guernsey 14th, Jersey 15th, San Marino 22nd). It's even denser than India!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyumdYh4PCxmZR5w0mgnw67HozlHMAoM-i3kvv3gCJKrYNX-WLjRSBePh_uOyB_fEuMi2Xtak0pfx4tF826QtEEXpDLBraurcO07KrW_sUi7aTYgUi0jFrcAWugND3lGROZKtZ_lTfYdw/s1600/vismarkt+gron+snow+bikes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyumdYh4PCxmZR5w0mgnw67HozlHMAoM-i3kvv3gCJKrYNX-WLjRSBePh_uOyB_fEuMi2Xtak0pfx4tF826QtEEXpDLBraurcO07KrW_sUi7aTYgUi0jFrcAWugND3lGROZKtZ_lTfYdw/s400/vismarkt+gron+snow+bikes.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">7. The bike thing is real. So real. More real than you are actually imagining if you have never been to the Netherlands. In Amsterdam, there are more bikes than people! I met a girl who owns three bikes. They dredge 15,000 lost bikes out of Amsterdam's canals a year. Across the country, people expect to have their bike stolen about once a year - but I find this quite surprising, as I'm not sure what kind of bike resell market there is seeing as everyone already has a bike!!!</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://cf.eip.telegraph.co.uk/embeds/graphics/travel_10things_amsterdam/index.html?ref=http://www.telegraph.co.uk/travel/destinations/europe/netherlands/amsterdam/articles/things-you-probably-didnt-know-about-amsterdam/&title=10%20amazing%20things%20you%20probably%20didn%27t%20know%20about%20Amsterdam" target="_blank">Click here for a super cool bike infographic!</a> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">8. Holland is a little country. Amsterdam only has a population of about 850,000 yet sees more than 5 million tourists a year! 14 million tourists visit The Netherlands annually! </span> Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03692438649665155641noreply@blogger.com0