The Nanny Gig

I was on the fence about whether to include my journals from the nanny gig in Swaziland. I am going to include them all (though some are incomplete- it's time to move on), but under just one blog entry. That way, those of you who want to skip reading this part can carry on.

So read on or carry on.

BUT THIS IS NORMAL
April 19, 2013

I took a job as a short term nanny with someone of high academic standards. I believe that children having the opportunity to live and learn in another culture is worth far more in experience than a possibility of being behind in math by a year. You can catch a kid up (whatever that means) in math skills. You can't recreate the patience, flexibility, and new cultural experiences of a host country.

Part of my job is to make mom's work easier. She chose to come without her husband for a Fulbright scholarship, because in our economy at the moment, one can't say, "oh hey, I have an opportunity to accompany my wife and kids to Africa for 12-18 months. Can you hold my job?" It's unfortunate, really. Because I also believe that grown ups bring back incredible skills in adapting, working with people holding different views, and, alas, perspective.

Another part of my job is to do lessons with the kids. Both are relatively good students, but in truth, everyone can benefit from some one on one attention, right?

I've been teaching for 11 years, working with kids of all ages, races, socio-economic statuses, in both traditional and alternative settings. I have experience (of course, I, too, could always benefit from some one on one attention), with well behaved kids, angry kids, sad kids, hungry kids- in their bellies or in their hearts. But I have never had an experience like this.

In the last 48 hours, I've heard more child screams than on the playground of elementary school for the entire semester. I've had doors slammed in my face, been told I was hated and to go away. Once, while the mom was home, as I walked by a room, I noticed the five year old drawing a picture. I told her how nice it was. Her response? She chased after me into my bedroom to stomp on my toes. Not out of the ordinary behavior, but the lack of response was alarming. Mom came after her and lifted her off of me, but no words were exchanged. When I came back into the living room she told me, "she's really sensitive about her art." But no corrective to her daughter that its inappropriate to stomp on people. Not even, "use your words."

An hour later, as we sat to dinner, me and the kids, the same child told me to go away, which I ignored. I went to take a bite of my dinner, and she threw food at me. I told her to stop, firmly. Mom came in the room, and I told her what happened. She motioned for me to come outside and said, "maybe you shouldn't be so severe. This is new for them." We spoke a few minutes more, as I felt I had to defend myself after she said maybe it was because I didn't have experience with this age group. I assured her that I had, and this was not ok behavior.

The following day, mom asked me to do a lesson with said five year old. Kicking, screaming, yelling insults all ensued. I looked at mom, waiting for an intervention,to which I was met with "I'm sure you've worked with resistant students before" and she walked away.

Later, she approached me, asking if I had ever had experience with kindergartners before. I said yes, though not much, but that I had spent a lot of time with many children this age, and literally just came from nannying two boys 4 and 6 for ten hours a day. Again, defending myself. I said this isn't resistance, this is a behavior issue. To this, I was told "this is normal," followed by, "of the sixty kids at her school In kindergarten there are a lot of kids like this." I am wondering who told her this. I am wondering if this is true, how these classrooms are functioning.

I am not a parent. I know there are things that come with being an actual parent that change your views on child-rearing, education, behavior management, whatever. But in my many years of successful interaction with students, I have never seen this.

I spoke to my friend, a kindergarten teacher with a psychology background, and a single parent of two. One is special needs, and often has her own behavioral idiosyncrasies. I relayed the events of the last two days, not even including the way they treated the maids. I was swallowing anger, surprise, and my pride. I was second guessing myself. Was I over reacting? Was I not being understanding?

My friend's response was not only supportive, but included some psychological background; things I'd been thinking but had no words to support. That is a sign of children either having been abused at a young age, or not being given boundaries by their parents. I really don't think abuse is even worthy a thought with this family. But the lack of boundaries is apparent and obviously affecting the kids. Duh.

But what to do now? I've been told not to reprimand, basically, and have had very little support in redirecting and correcting their behavior. I refuse to be abused for two months, even by children.

After witnessing the lack of boundaries and limits for the first day, I decided my approach would be to start with my own. Our first day alone together, I sat with the boy, and asked him what the rules of the house were. My intent was to find out what moms rules were, what the schools rules were, and then look at the similarities. My intent then was to make sure they had a clear idea what my rules and boundaries were. We couldn't get that far. The only rule was to eat food at the table. Now of course, I know there are others. The child is 8. But the lack of structure was apparent. In fact, later that evening, something happened where he was told to do something. He didn't follow directions, and was told to go do something else or he would get the kindle taken away. He looked at his mom and said, "I don't know what you want me to do. You just said two completely different things."

Again, I know we get tired, I know we mis-speak. But this was telling of a bigger picture.

THE DOOR
April 20, 2013


I got somewhere with the older child today. We played Monopoly. And he laughed. Mom left with the youngest to do an errand that I desperately wanted to join, but alas, I stayed with the oldest. He started to listen to me and respect me a little. I even got this reluctant writer to write something. It was a simple haiku about the new cat. Tearing him away from books is almost painful, as he probably reads a book a day, and when he isn't reading, he's listening to his kindle while playing video games on his ipad.

I'm hoping to use this cat, this poor cat, for writing and art projects this week.

The power went out today. It was a beautiful winter storm, the kind you can almost see greening up the trees. It was pretty cold and foggy, so we spent the day inside. I'm still inside 12 hours later.

The little one, who's behavior is almost pschitzophrenic, even came over to ask if I would play Monopoly with her. We had fun. She is only five, so every roll of the dice was a great way to practice counting. She did well with the money.

The power was out for a while before the mom noticed that the neighbor had light. She wanted to go next door and find out what was going on. The youngest was still wet from her bath, including her hair. She was asked to please stay inside. Rather than stay inside, she started screaming, and running to the front door, grabbing her shoes on the way. I asked her to stop. Her mother, already outside almost to the perimeter gate, yelled for her to go inside. She pushed me aside and went running after mom, so I called moms name. Mom was visibly angry at this defiance, especially in a possibly unsafe situation.The child continued to scream, "NO!" which in three days I have already heard more times than I can count, and she was met with a spanking on the behind, and a carrying of her towards me, but not inside.

I was standing on the top of the steps, in the small space between the front gate and the front door. I tried verbally to coax her inside. Se screamed again, and gripped her fingers tightly around the metal bars on the gate. I tried to lift her body off the gate, but her fingers were too tightly attached. She was fighting and not going anywhere, and screaming at the top of her lungs. Her screaming caught again the attention of her mother who directed me to take her inside and lock the door.

I'm trying.

I went against my better judgement, and tried to force her fingers off the bars. I was finally able to get her inside and the door closed, and she stood in front of me kicking me and yelling at me. I told her she was on time out and needed to go to her room.
"NO!!!" she screamed. I tried the counting to 3 that seems to work with all kids. I was just met with another NO and some more kicks. She went for the front door again, and I just grabbed her so she couldn't get out, and her mother came in right afterwards.

The child was picked up and taken to the back bedroom, where for the next thirty minutes I heard screaming and yelling from the child, including how much she hated me and wanted me to leave, and more tantrum. No, this was not a tantrum. I am not sure what you call this.

I went to the dining room and sat on the chair, trying to force back tears.

As a teacher, and 'auntie' to many children in my lifetime, I have seen my share of melt downs and tantrums. This was so incredible, I felt like I was in a dream. She almost made Veruca Salt seem manageable. The insults from a five year old?Not ok, but I can deal with. The kicking and the NO! doesn't compute. Nor does forcefully putting my hand on a child. I wasn't sure what to do with the door incident. But the second I tried to grab that child off the bars, I engaged in the battle. She called my bluff when she kicked me repeatedly once inside the door. And again when she said NO and defiantly didn't go to her room. Had this been my own child, I would have picked her up and put her in her room. But she is not my child. And I am not comfortable doing that. This episode was years in the making.

Later on, she continued her rudeness to me at the table. They bought treats today as a bargaining tool for her to be polite. she's a pretty smart five year old, and already told me once, in the middle of telling me she wanted me to leave, that she only did good things to get sweets.

She had a cookie after dinner.

I stayed up in the dining room writing this, hoping to talk to the mother after she put the kids to bed. I had to first get past the guilt, then the mad, and move into the I statements. I practiced saying to myself, "I am really uncomfortable with what happened with the door today." Not quite right. "I am uncomfortable with the part I played with the door incident tonight." Better.

But when mom came out, the first thing out of her mouth was that she was going to bed. She was exhausted. Yes, I would imagine she is.

I'm trying to have compassion for both her and the kids. They seem to have dug themselves a big hole here, and I am not convinced, after the two other conversations we have had about the behavior of the children, that mom is convinced that there is a problem.

So I guess I will be waking up tomorrow for the fifth time, in hopes that it will be the day that things change. Of course, I know that even if they do, the moments are fleeting. I have to talk with mom tomorrow. I have to tell her I am uncomfortable, and that putting them on time out doesn't work, even after counting and chances, even after positive attention for being polite and asking how they feel when they follow directions, which inevitably they say feels good.

I'm at that school in Gretna again, when I walked out after four days of disobedient violent children. I bargained with myself; first that I could do it for the semester. Then, that I could give my two weeks. Finally, I realized the cost was too great for me, personally, to stay.

I'm feeling that now. But need to have a strategy and be clear in my communication.

And I want never to witness again the intense power of the episode that this child had. Let's see what tomorrow brings.

HORSEBACK RIDING

April 21, 2013

It finally cleared up today so we went on an adventure including horseback riding. We drove to some place near the South African border. The landscape is beautiful, though nothing I haven't seen before. If I had to put my finger on it I would say Montana or Colorado high desert. Green, rocky, hilly, houses good and spread out, golden grasses along the road. Big Sky for sure.

We turned off the two lane highway onto the dirt road. We are in a high clearance vehicle, but not 4WD , and we sank in the mud pretty quickly. So far the kids are doing pretty well. I've only heard once how unhappy the youngest one is that I've joined the journey. I hear something about pants, but ignore it.

The decision is made to hold off a bit on the horseback riding, as the road is just too unsafe. We venture to a nice little area with small gallery style shops on the side of the road, much like the "Indian Trading Posts" of the American Southwest. The kids and mom run off on their own. I'm happy for the time, and I wonder if she notices how silent I have been. I'm not trying to be, I just am so sad, I am afraid if I say too much I will start crying. I run into them not more than ten minutes later, and they are laden with sugar, the wages for these children. Do this for a cookie, be nice for a candy.

Next, we head to the oldest mine in the world, where we have to stop at a gate, and a guide jumps in the back between the booster seats. The older child is still listening to his Kindle. He starts to complain. Again.

"Remember, if I hear one more complaint, there will be no more .... " I've forgotten already and wonder how the kids keep it straight. Doesn't matter, though. Whatever it is will still arrive after dinner. Sometimes before.

The mine is somewhat interesting, though I must admit I have a difficult time understanding the guide's English. Along with the conversation about how to remedy this situation that has been taking over my head, I am also having a hard time concentrating. They do have some artifacts and a display representing the origin of man, and I remember to remember that I am in Africa, the Mother Land! I take a deep breath and choose to enjoy it.

The older child has had enough at this point. He misses his iPad. Oh yeah, that's what that empty threat was- a moratorium on electronic devices. Back into the car we go. We are parked on a hill, and the younger child has to get in the uphill side, so I hold the door so it doesn't close on her face. She gives me the look of death, and tells me to go away and not to touch her door. I tell her that it is going to close on her while she's trying to get into her seat. She glares at me and says she wants to see. I'm tempted. Trust me. "Get in the car, or you can't wear those pants!" Not only a threat that won't be followed through, but one that pretty much can't be.

Next we drive to another place that supposedly has horseback riding to inquire about a lesson. Immediately there is fighting and complaining.
"Why does SHE have to come?" Who? "Rebecca. It's embarrassing," says the five year old, who's behavior would have embarrassed me if I were her mother. Or teacher. There's a semblance of an answer but no come-to-Jesus conversation. Instead, it's, "Remember? If you want to keep those pants, you have to be polite." FINE!
The older child won't get out of the car, so there's another threat about the ipad. It takes twice, and he is beside us now, too.

We get information about the horseback riding. It will be another hour or so before they can ride. We tell them we will be back at 1:30. I already know we won't. I have picked up on the follow-through with this family already. I wonder how old I was when I figured out the pace of my own family.

Back in the car we go, and it's another battle. This time, as I put my backpack on the floor underneath the smaller child, she stretches her legs out to squish it. I tell her to stop, and she nods her head no at me. Currently, the older child is also not paying attention. He jumps in the car and turns on his kindle, without closing his door, and without buckling his belt. They have a battle of words.
"Remember what I told you about complaining? One more time and no more iPad" OK OK!

One more time?

I choose to move my backpack. I am not bargaining cookies or pants or ipads. And after one nice, and two firm directives from me, she still nods her head no, and stomps her feet harder on my backpack. If anyone is wondering, no, mom says nothing.

Off we drive to lunch. There's whining in the car, of course, which mom continuously listens to, and engages in. We arrive at a lovely place amidst bougainvillea and stunning views of the rocky peaks, a nice sandy red colored road, and a grass area with swings. There are tons of cats, dogs, and monkeys roaming around. We sit down for lunch and look at the menu. The kids are up and about, and I do my best to ignore them. I am starting to feel like I am kidnapped and looking for some way to send out clues that I need out.

In the menu, in large print, there is a popular motto- Unattended Children will get espresso and a free kitten!

I snicker to myself because that probably wouldn't phase this mother, even as her children are currently unattended in the gallery. In fact, this is the very place they got their new cat. I also snicker, because I imagine the mother reading it the same way teenagers read the sign "Teenagers, leave home now while you still know everything!"

After lunch, the youngest actually asks me to come play with her on the swings. Well, to push her on the swing. I am feeling like a child with a bipolar addictive parent, walking on eggshells. Is this going to end in a hug or a kick?Alas, I am told I am the best pusher ever, and I am almost pleased. Until she tells me not to ever put her blanket on the ground.

Back in the car again we go, and head to a Swazi cultural village for a 15 minute tour, followed by a 100 m walk to beautiful waterfalls. The drive to the falls is on a dirt road, and the youngest wants to open the windows. She's yelling UNLOCK UNLOCK UNLOCK UNLOCK. OK, yells mom.

More complaints come from the oldest, who really doesn't like being outside. And in his defense, he really has been out for a while. Mom reminds him of his promise, or he will have the device moratorium. He has already taken his shoes off, and when he emerges from the car, he still has the kindle in his hand, and he is given another reminder. This time, mom actually reaches out to grab it. I almost exclaim DO IT! But back in the car it goes.

The walk is nice, the falls are beautiful, pictures are taken and the youngest says its the best day ever. Until it isn't, because we are back in the car, passing the horseback riding place, and from then on it is 20 minutes of screaming and whining. Some of it is actually ignored, and I am impressed.

Once home, the youngest gets engrossed in washing the car with the gardener. Everything is right in the world. Until mom says that she wants them to write postcards to their friends with me while she goes on a run. She tells her angels what needs to happen. They say yes mom. Once mom leaves, and the tv show she promised them is over, I ask them to come to the table. NO. I send them on time out. NO. I try three other ways, but see, I don't have the fake bargaining chip. I don't have the pants or the iPad.

The youngest tries to run outside. I tell her to stay inside. She unlocks the door and runs outside. She doesn't obey when I tell her to get back inside, so I step out onto the stoop and watch her. What else am I supposed to do? I don't want to lift her and be kicked again. Mom happens to run by and sees her and freaks out.

Why are you outside!?
I say she isn't listening to me.
She looks at me surprised, angry even. I almost cry.
Struggle ensues. "You have to lock the gate AND the door," she tells me. Mom and child engage in a tantrum. She brings the child inside, and closes the door behind her. 

She still gets her cookie. And after telling me to make sure the outside gate is locked because its safer, she leaves again and says not to bother with it. The lock that supposedly will keep her daughter safe.

Older son is in the back bedroom and I am asked to fetch him for dinner. I am yelled at- don't come in my room. I refuse to listen to you. Get out!

So day five isn't a whole lot better than days 1-4, though there was no spanking or major screaming and kicking fit. But I don't know if I would call it progress.


MORGAN FREEMAN
April 2013

I've seen a lot of movies, and read a lot of books about lots of kinds of struggles. I think sometimes it's what makes us all feel a little more normal, and gives us the opportunity to have empathy from our sofas. That's the American way.

I have been in one of these movies for the last week. I've been nannying for an american family in southern Africa. I've never had an official live-in nanny gig until this year, but I have had my share of trips and weekends and visits with families for as long as I can remember. I'm a kid person. I'm reminding myself of this right now because I have just fled the scene of being in charge of children.

I'm not a parent. I'm a teacher. And I was hired as a nanny, not as an interventionist. But this family needs one of those. Quickly.

It's 2002 and I am teaching in Watsonville, ca. My school has just been ranked 6th lowest school in the state. Again. I want to scream. I want to throw away the test scores for a minute and listen to the stories my fourth graders have written during writers workshop. In English. They're superb. Yes, they still mix up b and v, but they're reading and writing and I think they are brilliant.

My principal is all administration, no personality. There are rules. And slips. Some are pink and some are blue, and I think there's one for not wearing a uniform, too, but I never remember to hand those out. I kind of avoid the pink and blue ones, too, unless there's an actual fight. But that doesn't happen very often.

Every day when the bell rings at 7:15, the children line up in front of their assigned numbers. The vice principal really likes rules, too. He's trying to be creative, but I think he forgets what the big picture is. Every day, he carries a trophy in his hand. He gets on the loudspeaker and announces the class that has the straightest line. My students want this trophy. They all do. Another week has passed and they still haven't gotten it.

I assure them in the classroom that they are good at so many things that there is no trophy for. Honesty. Respect. Being kind and polite. Working hard. Doing their best. Sharing. Some days they hear me. Some days, they really want that trophy, the same way some of the teachers have the orange slip out and ready for uniform infraction.

A group of us gets together after a staff meeting to discuss the pink slip, blue slip, line trophy dilemma. For us, it doesn't sit right. What are we trying to do here as role models? Teach children not to hit so they don't get a pink slip, not to forget their homework so they don't get a blue slip, stand in a straight line so they get the trophy? We start to meet regularly after school. We may be the only committee that actually does so. We have a name, even. The discipline committee. But behind closed doors we refer to ourselves as the children's liberation party. We discuss the differences between rewards and punishments models, and intrinsic motivation. We read articles and review behavioral psychologists. We do action research projects within our classrooms.

We know, intrinsically that rewards and punishments don't work. It takes time, but slowly we work more towards an intrinsic model. There's still a trophy- we can't yet seem to get past a physical reward- but now it's awarded for different positive character traits. we feel like this is a success. Changing the culture of a school is difficult.

I'm not sure how to do this for a family that's not my own.

My head is back in swaziland and I'm wondering how it got this bad. I am wondering how this family makes it from day to day with all the screaming and whining. She doesn't seem to notice anymore.

Get your shoes on and I will give you a cookie.

Stop that yelling or you aren't going to get your ice cream.

For six days, these are almost the only words I hear from the mom. Bribes. Even after they throw food at me, don't listen to any directions, say mean things. I talk with the mom, but she's living in a world where this is normal. Towards me, the children show no mercy. Doors are slammed in my face, I'm locked out of the house. There is no connection, and I don't know what to do. This has never happened to me before; children who refuse to listen, refuse to follow directions over time. Children who aren't even curious about the other person living in their house, children who have no interest in getting attention from anyone other than their mother. Children who don't even try to build a relationship. It doesn't seem real. It makes me feel heavy and sad.

I email grandma, the woman who hired me, for reinforcement. First for suggestions on how to get close to the kids, next for discipline ideas. I don't have the cookies, ice cream, and ipad to use as currency. If I did, i still don't imagine I could bring myself to use them.

The woman who was named educator of the year relatively recently, responded back to me saying that I should spank the child. Included in the email are directions on how to do it. This is the precise moment that I know there is no way I can stay in this house for two months.

This is a movie, I tell myself. I feel like I have been kidnapped, and I start to plan my escape in my head. I simply cannot take another day of the yelling, the screaming and whining. The children paw at their mother like feral cats who haven't been fed enough. They need attention and parenting, not cookies. But I don't know how or when to tell her that. So I quit. I say I will stay throughout the week if she needs me. They leave for tennis and I get a phone call asking me to leave the following day, and simultaneously an email from grandma saying I should leave immediately. I should have talked to her about it, grandma says. When? While she wasn't sitting at dinner? While she wasn't redirecting her children to behave appropriately? While she went to bed at 6:30 without saying goodnight?

I'm in swaziland, in a suburb. Thank goodness for the maids who finish my laundry and call me a taxi. They hug me and tell me I have a good heart, and that the children are difficult. I'm sweating, hoping the taxi driver will come before the family comes home from tennis. I'm throwing things in my backpack, and putting things in a bag to give to the maids. The taxi arrives before the mom and kids return, and my heart is thumping so loudly, I wonder if he can hear it as I get into the car. He has no idea what has happened, and is chatting me up, trying to convince me to go for a drink with him, while I am frantically emailing my family from my cell phone. The entire last few hours have been absurd!

Thankfully, I had already connected with someone regarding future travel plans, and he graciously arranges two nights for me at two different lodges. The first night, I hang out on a deck in the beautiful mountains with beer and some interesting volunteers. It's still too soon to take my mind off of it, but these volunteers remind me that there are ways to have empathy without sitting on your sofa, and that there are more worthy causes of my time. They're working with kids in the public schools, and their stories are lovely. There are more important things than worrying about fleeing the scene of two children who have enough adult supervision, just not enough parenting.

I am still in Africa, still feel like I'm in a story that is not my own, and desperately waiting for Morgan Freeman's voice to interrupt the ridiculous noise in my head, to tell me what I just haven't learned yet. To tell me how this may shape my future in a way I had never imagined. I hope so, in all good ways. 

I'm sure there are things I didn't handle well in this situation, and trust me, I've muddled around having the opportunity to speak to the mom. But in the end, I took care of me.

Life is too short to stay in a situation that makes you miserable. If this is the only lesson I got out of this experience, then thank you, Morgan Freeman. I hear you, and I will move forward accordingly.

The Land of Not Quite Right

After over a year in the idea phase, I'm finally in Bahrain. One of my best friends whom I have known since we competed for first chair clarinet in 5th grade band, has been stationed here with her husband and children. Before I got sick last winter, I toyed with the idea of quitting my job in New Orleans, and coming out here to teach on base, and was then invited to come for the summer and nanny for her kids. Sounded like a good plan, but it wasn't able to come to fruition.

It was, however, the impetus for this last six months of adventure.

My ten week trip to Central America was the practice run for hemisphere-hopping. It was a success, so I finally planned a trip there. I flew from Bangkok after a month long trip in Southeast Asia with my friend Chris. Culture shock began in the Bangkok airport as thoebes and burkas replaced sarongs.

The flight to Dubai was pleasant, as was going through customs at the Dubai airport. The flight from Dubai to Bahrain however, was something else entirely. There were many children on the flight, none of them being parented. Children were climbing on the tops of the airplane seats, had all video games going, were running up and down the aisles. Going through customs was somewhat complicated as they wanted a direct address in Bahrain, which I didn't have. An hour later, I was through, and Jillene was there to pick me up.

Not far from the airport, Amwaj island is on the northeast coast of Bahrain. It's built on reclaimed land, sand from the gulf. It's a gated community of expats, wealthy Bahrainis, and Saudis with weekend homes (they come to the island over the bridge to drink). Jillene's villa is a spacious two level house with more bathrooms and couches than I could ever imagine using. The backyard overlooks a small swimming pool, which is steps away from the Persian gulf. The color of the gulf is milky blue, and set against the white sand and the white buildings, is absolutely stunning. 

Yet apart from the beautiful water and the white sand, there's not much else. It's so hot, and so dusty, that most activities take place indoors, in elaborate malls. It's no matter, though, as I came more for the company, and getting to know Noah, 6, and Mitchell, 4 was absolutely wonderful. 

Jillene and Kris refer to Bahrain as the land of not quite right, and it's apparent why. Burka-clad women shopping at Victoria's Secret, devout Saudi Muslims driving like mad to get to the island to drink like fish. And the beautiful homes all have little...quirks, even though most are almost brand new. European dish-drain cabinets located over the stove instead of the sink, open floor plans with loft-style staircases waiting for forehead impact, classes that 'start in April' but haven't. 

Jillene will be leaving the country in January, so I've lost interest in teaching here. But I'm really glad I was able to come out to visit before they left! 

From Sabai Dee to Sawasdee. Same same.

Sawasdee kaaaaaaaa...
Same same. Those of you who have traveled to this region of the world know exactly what I'm talking about. But how to explain to someone with no context? I'm going to give it a shot...
Me: How much is that sarong?
Local person: 350 baht
Me: ok, what about that purse?
Local Person: same same


Or

Me: are these the fresh spring rolls, or the fried ones?
LP: same same (hmm...)

Or
Me: I'm trying to get to _______. Should I take the bus, or a boat taxi?
LP: same same (or "yes", which is always helpful)

That's just a start. But you get the idea. It's used for anything to placate you so you think all deals are equal, but better if purchased from the person you're speaking to.

This was my third time to visit Thailand, so I was ready for the same same, ready for the always wet feet, ready for the squatty potties, ready for good food (which unfortunately didn't happen), and ready for the beauty of Krabi province. I was even ready for the crowds and oppressive humid heat that is the high season. What I wasn't prepared for were the inflated prices, and the growth, and the amount of Russian tourists, language, and food that was not present in my last trips.

Railay beach, aesthetically, is the most beautiful beach I have ever been to in my life. Limestone karsts climb out of turquoise waters that seem an unreal color and earthly combination. My first experience was ten years ago, staying in a tree house with no AC, and so many holes it seemed more like we were just staying in the tree itself. Food was spicy and good beach side, and everything except the more than five star resort of Rayavadee was simple, rustic, and relatively inexpensive. Well, as in Vietnam, now that the visa requirement has been lifted for Russian citizens, and direct flights have been established from Moscow to saigon and Bangkok, the tourist population has doubled in these parts. This is great for everyone, except those of us who wanted to stay in simple, rustic, relatively inexpensive digs. Now, simple and rustic costs 50$ a night, and our tree house has been converted to a 'resort' with ac cabanas for over 100$ a night. And all day, the small peninsula, only reachable by boat, is awash with the sound of jackhammers, as new hotels are being built on every possible piece of land available. It is still possible to get those cheap simple rustic places, but instead of being a short jaunt to the magnificent beaches, they are a hike away in the middle of the jungle. Equally awesome if you're a nature person, but quite a hike to the beaches and restaurants.

To be fair, my last trip to Thailand, 8 years ago, was not only during the slow summer season, but also six months after the tsunami. The trip was planned around a volunteer opportunity in Ranong province and on Phi Phi island (which is when this blog was started. If you'd like to read about that experience, go back to the first several entries in 2005). At that time, as well as two years prior, the exchange rate was 39-43 Thai baht to the dollar. On this trip, it was 27-30. I hope this means that Thailand has improved financially, and that this has trickled down to the people. A week wasn't enough time to investigate that. I did have a moment of wanting to go to Phi Phi, just to see the improvement and changes. And then I started perusing TripAdvisor, remembered my first experience there, and thought better of it. The beauty is astounding, maybe even more so than Railay, but the parties and overcrowding of young people, and buckets of booze, and inflated prices for crap shacks deterred me. After seeing the growth and crowds in Krabi and Phuket, I can only imagine what it's like there now.

In Railay, we stayed on the east side of the peninsula, where the mangroves reach the sea wall. During high tide, a step off the cement walkway and you're in the Andaman sea. During low tide, a step off is onto rocks and sand, for a good ways- maybe 750 feet- to the water's edge. This is the more populated side of the peninsula, and where most of the ferries arrive. There is no pier, and it's clearly too shallow to bring the ferries close to shore. So they stop a good way out, and a long tail boat comes beside it. People climb from the bigger to smaller boat, luggage is handed down, and the long tail takes you as far as they can. Then everyone hops out, into the water, grabs their luggage and walks to shore. This is always an entertaining thing to watch as some people have traditional suitcases rather than backpacks, and end up carrying them over their heads.

Chris and I found a place with a room for 2 nights, relatively far from 'the action' of east Railay. We had a cabana, overlooking jungle and mangrove, fan cooled with mosquito nets. We had a deck out the back where we were greeted with wildlife, and...ahem...gifts from wildlife, and we loved it. One of the special things about both Railay and Phi Phi, is the absence of cars and motorbikes. Sounds divine, and peaceful. And in many ways it is. But no cars means transport is long tail boats, with very loud motors, for at least 18 hours a day. This was, by far, my favorite place we slept in our short time in Thailand,

The next afternoon, Chris accompanied me to nearby Ao Nang, another beach resort area closer to the airport for my upcoming journey to Bahrain. I flew business class, which turned out to be the same as first class, from Bangkok to Dubai. It was fabulous! A new experience for me, and I think if I can swing it with my miles, I will fly back to the states in the same manner. Whenever that is.

Same Same but Different

Luang Prabang, Laos

Sabai Dee! Yes, I'm back in the land of same same.

We flew to Luang Prabang Saturday morning from Hanoi. With the inhabitants of this city being only 30,00 it was surprising that there was an airport at all. But alas, it is a tourist destination. Has been on the backpacker "banana pancake trail" for some time. And with the convenience of vegetarian food, tuktuks, and the jaw dropping night market, it looks as if it's been that way for a long time.

The UNESCO city of Luang Prabang boasts over 40 gilded wats, and although touristy, has an authentic community of monks. One of the highlights of any stay in the town is to wake at dawn to watch them making alms from a myriad of mindblowing religious sites. This is not something you have to look for, as the color of saffron flows through many streets, in a silence that is so beautiful. Yes, it's true, it is strange to be sitting silently on the sidewalk across the street from a gorgeous wat, at dawn, pre-caffeinated, and see busloads of tourists jump out at the last minute, and get super close to take videos. But even with them, it's an amazing experience.

Luang Prabang lies alongside the Mekong river, at the base of many mountains. No trip would be complete without a trip to one of the many waterfalls. I was skeptical at first, having been sold trips to falls that were just a trickle in the past. But Laos put on a spectacle for us this day. There were not only several different falls, but there were several different ways to get to the falls. One way took us past a bear sanctuary, where bears who have been held in captivity in tiny cages for their bile, used in some Eastern medicines, were rescued. They can no longer survive in the wild, but the people at the bear sanctuary make the rest of the bears' lives free of such treatment. We were there during feeding time, where bear handlers hide meals inside bamboo or under leaves, to keep their foraging skills up. The pool at the bottom of the falls is quite close to the sanctuary. The milky blue was so inviting after hiking in the heat. Inside, there were little fish that nibbled at the skin on your feet, which has now been marketed all over Southeast Asia as a "fish spa" where people Simon benches beside a fish tank, and leave their feet in the tank to be nibbled on.


Five days slowly slipped by between fabulous French inspired food, smoky mountains (we were there during crop burning), and wandering around the town and across rickety bamboo bridges over the river. This was in such sharp contrast to Vietnam, where motorbike horns were part of every minute of every day.

This was our only stop in Laos, and I know the country has more to offer. Time was a constraint, and I do hope to return.

How to Cross the Street in Vietnam

1. Look both ways
2. Stay calm
3. Disregard everything your mother told you, wait for a big bus or car (they're rare) to pass
4. Walk
5. Resist the urge to flinch, run, step backwards, or scream. Keep moving forward with consistent pace.
6. Ignore every motorbike that looks as if it's going to hit you. If it does, you ignored number 5 above.
7. Do not put your guard down when you get to the other side. Motorbikes are also common on sidewalks.
8. Go back to your regular heartbeat

Monkey Island, Halong Bay, Vietnam
March 14, 2013

Chris and I just marked week two in Vietnam. It is both nothing and everything I expected it to be. It's incredibly crowded, fast,and signs of growth are all around. Quite frankly, I have been surprised as what was described to me as a "third world country" seems nothing like that at all. Ho Chi Minh (saigon) and Hanoi are bustling, extremely modernized gigantic cities, with everything any foreigner could ever want available. Language barriers prevent me from asking locals if they feel the same. Hanoi, the more international of the two, is covered with parks and lakes and tree lined boulevards. Tourism infrastructure is plentiful, in all budget classes.

We began our journey in Saigon, taking in the vibrant bustle of this Asian megalopolis. Impossible to see even a tiny fraction, we focused on what was nearby. Chris, who has never really been anywhere, was stymied by the traffic, and that we could be staying in a hotel in a small alley, a stones throw away from what we were told is the busiest intersection in Ho Chi Minh, and couldn't hear a thing. A highlight of visiting Saigon was watching the sunset from the Saigon Skydeck, 49 floors high, with windows around the entire floor. Once the sun went down, the city lights were on display. No ordinary city lights, but bridges with light shows, tall buildings with floating messages up the side. Truly remarkable.

After four nights in the bustle, we headed for a two day tour of the Mekong delta. We lucked out by booking a tour that left on a Sunday. We expected a giant tour bus to be picking us up. Instead, it was our guide, Thien, and our driver, in a small sedan. A personalized tour, on accident. Here, we visited craft makers villages, tropical fruit gardens, and a traditional floating market- one that actually wasn't designed for tourists. We saw how different foods were made, and stopped for tea about five times. The people of the Mekong were very hardworking, many living and working on their boats and rarely coming to land. So many things were reminiscent of the Mississippi. Down to some of the houses we saw along the riverside, where French influence is apparent, both in new and old architecture.

We then flew to Hue for a few days, taking another river trip to see the old citadel, similar in design and purpose of the forbidden city in Beijing, the tombs, complete with a motorbike ride, something I swore I would never do. From here we took a four hour bus rise to the tourist mecca and UNESCO heritage site of Hoi An, where we treated ourselves like kings. The ancient city of Hoi An is so atmospheric, especially by night. The city is along a small river, and a beautifully lit bridge connects different parts of town. The entire town is covered with glowing lanterns, and in the evenings, adorable children sell candles in colored paper bowls to float down the river, where you can take a small canoe through the beauty. Hoi An is also a place to have clothing custom made for you. Tailors dot every street, from handmade leather shoes, to wedding gowns and everything in between. We both ended up buying more than we thought, and left extremely satisfied. From here, we booked a flight to Hanoi but were delayed by one day so we decided to check out Danang, home to the famous China Beach.
A large city without a true town center, we weren't particularly impressed. But the city is definitely progressing. Two gorgeous bridges are being built, and beachfront hotels are up and running at a rapid pace. In ten years, maybe this will be a place to be. But not yet.

Hanoi is busy like its southern city, but far older, cooler, and more international. At the moment, we are sitting on the beach at monkey island, in halong bay. We took an overnight cruise on a boat, with an extra night here on the island. Halong bay is beautiful, though crowded. This morning when the sum rose, I looked outside and saw about 25 ships, almost exactly like ours, docked in the bay with sleeping passengers. It was kind of like our own floating city.

We are getting ready to leave Vietnam, to spend a week in Luang Prabang, Laos, and I look forward to seeing something different and being in a Buddhist area. Vietnam is a surprising mix if religions, and it's cultural heritage being influenced by so many different places. We have found people here very kind and warm. They seem over eager to please, and methinks its because of TripAdvisor. It becomes so important to be on the top of that list. When we check out hotels, we are immediately asked to post a review. Move over, Lonely Planet, there's a new kid in town!

There's no place like home

Especially when home is New Orleans.

Old, rickety yet decadent, history and booze laced, New Orleans can be overstimulating. Intoxicating. Utterly exhausting.

My obsession with the city waxes and wanes, but my love never wavers. I love her most when I can't decide if I'm ready to be here forever, or if I think I should leave tomorrow. Or next week. Or maybe after jazz fest.

That's the thing. New Orleans gives and gives, a series of events strung together, beckoning people to be part of the festivities. It doesn't matter who you bring or don't bring, as the entire city is at the same great party. Even when they don't know it. It's not uncommon for people to visit New Orleans for an event like Mardi Gras, and cancel their flights and stay through Jazz Fest. Or move to the city indefinitely.

I fell in love with New Orleans during my second visit from California. The slower pace, and social ease resonated well with me, as did the incredible music scene. I was there for my spring break, and contemplated staying an extra week for French Quarter Fest. As a teacher, of course I couldn't. But when I returned to work that first Monday, hearts still floating out of my eyes, I had a speech prepared for the following year's Jazz Fest.

The speech went like this:
Me: How was your trip to Paris?

Principal: It was so fantastic (insert romantic details about a lovely symphony here). How was your trip to New Orleans?

Me, in exactly one breath: It was amazing and I want to go to jazz fest next year, the whole 12 days and I know it's right before testing so it's a bad week to take off but I will make sure the kids are prepared and the sub knows exactly what to do, what do you think?

Principal: I think we can make that work
**note- most principals aren't this cool, and it helps to ask when said principal is on a romantic vacation high!

Unfortunately, Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans five months later. This changed my plans.

It changed everyone's plans.

When Jazz Fest rolled around again during the spring of 2006, I wasn't sure if it was appropriate to go. I asked my friend, an evacuee who I had housed for a while in the fall through moveon.org, what he thought. And he told me exactly what I already knew after the horrible Asian tsunami the year prior to Katrina.

Go. Spend money. Spread it around. Enjoy it.

I did. We did. It was an extremely difficult time for the city, and signs of the storm were still everywhere.

But those little cartoon hearts were still flying out of my eyes. That was the last weekend of April. I was back in June. Twice in July. Once in August, and back again in September signing the papers on a note for a condo just outside the French quarter. In hindsight, I probably should have sublet an apartment for the summer. But committing to this sultry city didn't seem plausible then.

Six months later, I came to New Orleans for two months. It's been five and a half years since then.

You can see how that worked out.

The city has changed a lot since I moved here. NOLA's greatest supporters will complain about the change, while simultaneously encouraging friends from different places to come and be part of it. Locals sometimes naysay the out-of-towners moving in. Locals who mainly came from somewhere else, at some other time, when others were complaining about them moving in from far away places changing what was then New Orleans. Though change is a bit slower in these parts, it is inevitable, and I believe New Orleans will always be different than the rest of the USA's cities. Tennessee Williams wrote years ago "America has only three cities: New York, San Francisco, and New Orleans. Everywhere else is Cleveland."

Both Caribbean and European aesthetically, linguistically, and culturally, one often feels it is not a part of the United States at all. We still have fruit peddlers driving down the dilapidated one way streets, bellowing through a megaphone out the window, "I've got watermelon. I've got corn. I've got eatin' pears. I've got the mango." A woman walks down the roads with a rolling crate full of pies, singing, "pie lady pie lady pie lady!" Social Aid and Pleasure clubs, a remnant from the benevolent societies in the 1800's, have second line parades every Sunday from Labor Day through Memorial Day with brass bands and people dancing in their finest fines, for miles and miles. If that isn't enough, twice a year we are blessed with Super Sunday, devoted to the Mardi Gras Indians parading themselves in their beautifully handcrafted and intricate beaded suits.

New Orleans is a feast for all senses, and the first place I've lived where I feel a sense of loss when I leave. I never tire of the colorful architecture, the incredible culture, the creative people. Every year I learn more and more, and unravel yet another layer of this mysterious and fascinating place.

I quit my job this year and rented out my condo to go have some epic adventures around the globe. They've been delayed and organized a bit differently than I imagined, but amazing nonetheless. For about three weeks I was certain I would be leaving for a job in Africa, so I booked a few days back home in Nola just as the more local Mardi Gras events were starting. Both the travel abroad and the visit home gave me such pleasure in knowing I had chosen the right city to call home. I think I cried at least five times, knowing I was, indeed, leaving again. When I used to deal with homesick children at sleep away camp I would tell them that it was ok to miss their moms and still have fun at the same time. And that their moms loved them and missed them, too, but were so happy they were enjoying themselves at camp. I'm operating on my own advice. It's ok to miss New Orleans and enjoy some time away from it at the same time. She knows I love her, and I know she loves me. After all, home is where the heart is, and I'm lucky enough to have heart in many many places. So until I return it's ok to miss her and continue on my adventure.

Carry on.

Fronteras

When I was a child, my parents took me and my brother to Lake Tahoe a couple times a year. Only a four hour drive from the San Francisco Bay Area suburb we lived in, it was worlds away. We had (still have) a time share in Incline Village, Nevada, about 15 minutes north of the stateline at Crystal Bay.

Crossing state lines was a huge adventure for us. Like holding our breath through tunnels, it had its traditions also. We lifted our feet and held our breath and made a wish- all at the same time. The five-year-old's version of multitasking. Sometimes we would stop at the CalNeva hotel and go for a swim in their pool, which had a thick black line painted at the bottom of it, indicating the border of the two states. We would stand in the pool with one foot on each side, confused at how this was possible.

One of these road trips to Tahoe was taken in a pretty big rainstorm. I was about 8 years old. Weather reports said it would rain for three days in California- that's what my dad told us. I pictured the shape of the state that I had drawn in school, and imagined a giant raincloud hovering over it. Over the Bay Bridge it rained. Through the foothills of the east bay, it rained. Across the Central Valley? Rain. When we started climbing up the Sierra foothills it was still raining. As kids, we didn't necessarily have a concept of four hours, but because of the terrain, we knew when we were getting close. Those gigantic silver rocks and the immediate quiet that comes with them told us we were almost there. So did the popping of our ears and dad telling us the story of the Donner Party for the umpteenth time. Over the summit, it was still raining.

"I can't wait to get to Nevada so it will stop raining," I said.

I'm not sure if anyone heard me. If they did, they didn't answer.

Taking the turn from Truckee to the Lake, it was still raining and I wondered if it would ever stop. We were getting awfully close to the border, it had to at least lighten up. I imagined how it would look crossing the state line- pouring rain in California, dry and sunny in Nevada. Would it be like driving through a waterfall?

I got really excited when I saw the CalNeva in the distance. Surely there would be a V-shaped line where the sun would shine, like the V-shaped border on the east side of California where the lake is -the one I drew in class. We saw the gold miner on the sign saying Welcome to Nevada- The Silver State (which confused me even then). My brother, Devin, and I held our breaths, lifted our feet, made a wish. I even closed my eyes hoping when I opened them and we were in Nevada it would be warm and sunny. Of course, when I opened them in Crystal Bay, in Nevada, it was still pouring.

I was so confused.

Crossing the frontera between Nicaragua and Costa Rica was sort of like that. Terry from Canada drove me to the Nicaraguan side. I had to first walk to the exit counter and pay the exit tax, then to the stamp counter and pay another tax, and then there was a hot dusty mile of No Man's Land between the exit of Nicaragua and the entrance to Costa Rica. Usually there is some sort of a tuk tuk or a guy with a bike or a wheelbarrow to shuttle you or at least your luggage across No Man's Land. Not on this day. I walked it with my stupid bag I purchased without wheels or a back strap and I daydreamed about the Mecca that would greet me when I got to the border, knowing that Costa Rica was much much wealthier and more stable than it's northern neighbor. Clean bathrooms, clean food, would I see vegetables? Green ones? I remembered my first visit 15 years prior, and the lush lush jungle. Nicaragua was so dry and brown, I imagined walking into Eden.

20 minutes later I arrived at the Costa Rican entry. There were bathrooms and boy were they clean! There was a soda (cafeteria) inside the waiting area with what looked like delicious food. There was even a luggage X-ray machine! But, of course, the landscape was exactly the same as it had been a mile north. It wasn't Eden.

It wasn't even Modesto.


With the amount of time I spend pouring over maps, you'd think I would have figured out that political borders often have nothing to do with physical ones. But sometimes, I'm still 8, with the imagination and excitement that comes with it. I think I'm ok with that.