The new ordinary

My windows have shutters.  Not the ornamental kinds I'm used to on American houses, but real, functioning wooden shutters.  I open them each morning, shuffling out in slippers stuck into sandals, or, on wet and cold days, just reaching out the window as far as I can, trying to push the shutter flat against the wall.  When I do go outside, the latches still make me smile, diminutive soldiers who hold our shutters open all day long.

A different kind of culture shock

With almost six years of living abroad under my belt, I sometimes think I have this living in different countries thing down.  I have this rather broad mental category called "Latin America" that helps me navigate my way around here.  I expect to ask for what I need from the person behind the counter at little stores, instead of finding the item myself.  Flagging down whatever public transport I'm using wherever instead of waiting at a stop is normal.  Not worrying about the time too much (except for getting to work) because it probably won't start on time anyway is the status quo. I know to look for contact lens solution at the pharmacy instead of the grocery store, that dish soap isn't liquid, that mayonnaise comes in a bag, that yogurt is drinkable, that eggs don't go in the refrigerator and that it's best to have a good supply of bills worth less than the US equivalent of $10 if you want to be sure the person you're buying from will have change.

But sometimes, my expectations fail me.  Take, for example, my bag of milk.  Now, that milk comes in a bag does not surprise me; I always bought bags of milk in Colombia.  But, the problem with a bag of milk is that it does not sit upright, which is a bit of problem when it's opened.  So, the first few times I bought milk here, I bought milk in a box, but I decided I didn't want to spend the extra 50 cents every time I bought milk just for the box, so I bought the bag and figured I'd get the container that you put it in, like I had in Colombia.

Milk in a bag (also, it doesn't need to be refrigerated before opening)

I was mildly surprised they didn't have the container in the section with assorted kitchen stuff at the grocery store, but it's pretty small, so I figured I'd try at the plastic store on my way home.  The plastic store, in case you don't happen to have one where you live, is a store where they sell everything made of plastic- hangers, tupperware containers, plastic buckets, office organizers, garbage cans, fly swatters- if it's made of plastic, it's there.

I asked the girl working there if they had boxes to keep a bag of milk in once it was opened.  She looked at me as if she had no idea what I was talking about.  I explained a little more, "you know, so it doesn't spill when it's in the fridge after you open is".  "Oh!  Liquid milk!" she answered (I think powdered milk is most common here), but she still looked a bit confused.  She led me over and pointed to what looked like a child's sand bucket.  "How about this?"  Somehow it seemed like we still weren't communicating.  "No" I explained. "It's rectangular, and it fits in the door of the fridge, and the bag of milk stands up in it and you can pour it."

She looked at me blankly.  "No, sorry.  We don't sell those." Now, surely I can not be the only person who doesn't use an entire bag of milk at one sitting.  There has to be a solution to the bagged milk problem.  So I asked what people here do. "Oh, they fold over the opening a few times and clip it shut" she told me.  

Mind blown.  Just when I thought I had things figured out, turns out they go and use bagged milk here in a completely different way.  

(I bought a one liter plastic pitcher with a lid.  That seemed like a better solution to me)

( THIS is what I was looking for.  Oh well, my pitcher will work just fine I suppose)

Vignettes from My First Weeks on the Job

I stand, swaying in the back of a pick-up, as we swerve around hairpin mountain turns.  It’s chilly this early in the mornings, and the wind blows my hair in my face.  The view of the volcanoes and the lake on this road is spectacular.  My fellow passengers, mostly indigenous Mayan wearing their traditional clothing, seem un-phased by the view.  I wonder how long until it’s just common place to me as well, and appreciating the beauty takes conscious effort. I’ve done this trip several times now, headed to meetings and school observations, and workshops, so now I recognize where I need to get off.  I knock on the window and the driver pulls to a halt.  Climbing off the back, I reach through his window and pay him 3 quetzales (about 45 cents) and then cross the road to the building where our meeting is held.

 ***************

The room is crowded with 30 teachers, all sitting on small student chairs, hunched over low tables.  There’s a buzz in the air, as they all work intently on their news articles.  Two of our facilitators are leading a workshop on teaching writing in the elementary classroom, and now teachers are practicing a technique they’ll be encouraged to use in the classroom.  As they finish their articles, they step to the front of the room.  Someone grabs a box that was sitting on a table and uses it as a fake video camera. “Lights, camera, action” we all shout and the first reporter steps up. “And now, from Naranjo school, a recent classroom soccer championship was held. . . this is María reporting live for Gossip News.”

 ***************

Small children giggle as they look at me.  They’re probably not too used to seeing foreigners this far off the beaten track.  It took me two hours to get here this morning, first a bus, then a mini-van, then a pick-up, all forms of public transportation here in Guatemala.  Their teacher launches into the lesson she’s prepared based on one of our workshops she’s attended.  After reading aloud to the students, they are broken into small groups to create their own version of the story.  “Take a picture of ours!” one group begs me, as they carefully add in illustrations to go with their story.  The facilitator who’s in charge of follow ups with the school takes notes to go over with the teacher at the end of class.  After some general observations, recommendations, and praise for a job well done, we head off to the next classroom where another teacher is ready for his follow-up.

***************

The staff sit around the table discussing plans for the next workshop.  They’re in disagreement about which order they should present two of the points on the agenda, and the opposing sides are giving their pedagogical reasoning.  I’m enjoying the opportunity to see them think aloud and reach consensus.  I’m still sitting back, observing, taking notes, assimilating myself to my new work culture before I stick in my oar, as it were, but I smile to myself as they finally decide on the order I would have recommended, if I’d made a recommendation. 

House hunting- Pana style

"So, you ready to go look at houses?" my coworker asked me, unlocking his motorcycle after our meeting last Friday.  House hunting I was sure about, riding a motorcycle not quite as much so, but I clambered on the back and off we went.  As we reached the road along the lake I caught my breath.  The volcanoes were rising up on the far side of the lake, their triangular peaks cutting the sky.  I hadn’t gotten a chance to see them when I arrived the day before since clouds and mist obscured the view.  I wished I had my camera with me, but taking photos while riding on the back of a motorcycle probably isn’t recommended anyway.

Things didn’t look so great at first- a phone call to confirm a place to look at that we found out was no longer available, a decent studio apartment but they wouldn’t let me have my cat, 3 real estate offices with nothing worth looking at. . . I was beginning to think this might be impossible.

That same evening though, after giving up for the night, I was talking to a friend.  She was also house-hunting and had found the perfect place her first try on a tip from a friend.  There happened to be a 2^nd house available in the same complex, so she gave me the contact info.

The next morning, sitting over breakfast, I made a couple phone calls and set up 2 more apartment visits.  Then, in the afternoon, I walked around until I found “for rent” signs and made a couple more spontaneous visits.  Three of the places were a bit bleak and depressing- cement block walls, dark, claustrophobic.  Not really options in my book.  But the first one I looked at, the one my friend recommended, had potential.

So, I decided to move in.  I just took it for a month for now, in case I find something I love in the next few weeks.  But if I don’t this is fine.  It’s furnished, centrally located, decent rent, a good size for just me, bright and sunny, seems safe, and has a patio and yard. It’s also rather noisy at night, I miss having kitchen cupboards, the internet has been really bad, they’re doing construction next door so I hear hammers and saws all afternoon, and I have trouble getting the hot water heater for the shower started, so I might still keep looking.  But at least for now, here’s my house in Pana.

My tiny house, porch and yard. The rainy season is just now starting, so the grass will be green soon.

My bedroom- on the small side, but then, I'm a small person.

My favorite room in the house- the living room is quite cozy

My very non-US kitchen

The Joy of Cooking Substitution

If you've spent any length of time outside the US and enjoy baking, you've probably mastered the fine art of substitution.  While I generally try to avoid recipes that call for too many substitutions, my height may have been this Thanksgiving when I made a pumpkin pie in a graham cracker crust.  Except, I didn't have any pumpkin.  Or graham crackers for that matter. . .

Yesterday was a beautiful, sunny day.  The sky was blue, the sun shining through the glass heated my room so much I opened the window, and I had friends coming over in the evening.  It seemed like the perfect day for a spring-time dessert.  I started dreaming about yogurt pie- simple, yummy, and perfect for a warm weather day. And so easy- all I needed was cool whip, yogurt, and a graham cracker crust.  Which is when reality hit.  I have never yet seen cool whip for sale outside the US and as I already mentioned- no graham crackers, let alone pre-made crusts.  But I was determined, and where there's a will there's a way.

Google is basically my best friend when it comes to navigating recipes meant for one country in another.

• Google search:  adding gelatin to home-made whipped cream makes it hold its consistency and it can be substituted for cool-whip.  
• Google translate: gelatin= liivate  
• Google image search: gelatin comes packaged in a container that looks like this (oh, thanks Swedish, I could have identified this without the google translate step.  You never know until you try.)

So, armed and ready, I headed to the grocery store to pick up my gelatin, cream, and yogurt.  Also, some "digestive biscuits" since previous experimenting had lead to the conclusion that this is the best graham cracker substitute. 

Of course, the cooking fun doesn't end there.  Butter here, instead of coming in 4 sticks conveniently marked in tablespoons comes in 500 gram blocks, not so conveniently marked in 50 gram increments.  I was feeling too lazy to pull up the butter conversion website, so I eyeballed it.  The graham cracker crust recipe called for 1/3 cup sugar, which is inconvenient too since I only have a 1/2 cup measuring cup here (randomly included in my set of metric system cups)  More eyeballing, and the crust was good to go.  Then I was on to the cream, which was straight forward, but took ages since a whisk is nowhere near as easy as an electric mixer.

What takes five minutes with a pre-made crust probably took almost an hour to put together here. But it was worth the time, almost too pretty to cut, and rather tasty too.   And I get to add another weapon to my arsenal of secret substitution tricks.

Longing for the sun

My "winter blues" treatment plan

I haven't seen the sun in days.  Weeks, maybe.  It's not that the sun doesn't rise; I'm not that far north. We've just had 100% cloud cover for almost the entire month of November.  Sure, there was one sunny day 2 weeks ago.  I admired the blue behind the clouds as I rode the bus to church, and then, peeking out the window during the service I saw as the sky gradually cleared.  By the time I left church around 1:30, the sky was completely blue.  As I walked to meet a friend for coffee, I stopped in the park to turn my face to the sun and marvel at how warm it felt, even on a cold wintery day.  We sat near the window to enjoy the blue sky, but by the time we left, 2 hours later, it was already dusk, the sun setting for the day.  


But since then, I've only caught a glimpse of the sun 3 or 4 times, peeking out from behind the clouds.  I may or may not have squealed, "my shadow!" out loud a week or so ago, when the sun peeked out long enough for me to cast one.  It might help if there were snow, and we have had a couple of days of white loveliness everywhere, but then it warms up to just above freezing, and there's nothing but mud and dead brown and grey everywhere.  Every day.  Except when it's dark (which is about 18 hours a day) Every morning, when the sun finally "comes up" around 9, I open my curtains, hoping for a glimpse of blue.  It's usually the same view:

(In case you're fooled by that glowing, lighter area in the clouds, that's not the sun.
That's the reflection of my lamp through the window)

It's hard to deal with that kind of weather, day after day, week after week and wonder if it will stay this way til March.  I've been feeling extremely tired, lethargic, drained of energy, of hope, of ambition.  I was starting to feel like maybe there was something wrong with me, til I got together with friends the other night.  Turns out we all feel the same way.  Going out at night (which right now means anytime after about 4 pm) takes a sort of battle of the will.  Getting out of bed in the morning requires another (if it's the weekend and I have to turn on the light in my bedroom to read, it's not really light enough to get up, right?  Oh, wait, that means I have to stay in bed all day) I'm fantasizing of moving to somewhere warm and sunny.  I've heard the weather is great year round in Guatemala. . . But since I have a pesky matter of a thesis to finish I guess I'll just have to deal with it.  And take my vitamin D supplement and eat chocolate, and drink a glass of wine now and then.

And hostess of the year award goes to. . .

The banana bread had about 5 minutes left to bake when my phone rang.  My first guest had arrived a bit early and the front door of the apartment building was locked.  I ran down to let him in and it wasn't until we got back upstairs that I realized I'd shut the door behind me.  I was standing on the landing in stocking feet, no one was home, more guests were going to show up any moment, and we were locked out.  Oh, and the banana bread was close to burning in the oven.

I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and looked at it hopelessly.  Somehow I keep neglecting to ask my roommates for their numbers, so I couldn't even call and see if one of them was nearby.  As I was laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation, and contemplating entertaining my guests on the landing, the automatic timer on the hall light went out, leaving us in the dark.

Li flicked it back on as I kept trying to come up with some solution, any solution that was better than the stairs in the dark.  And then, I thought of something... when my flatmate left, she had the bag she takes with her when she's headed to sauna.  Maybe, just maybe, she was at the sauna.  And maybe, just maybe, if I knocked on the door she'd hear me and lend me her key.  So,  I left my guest, shoeless and coatless, stranded on the landing, as I ran off through the dark in his much-too-big-for-me shoes and jacket to knock on another friend's door. With her keys in hand (so I could get into the locked building where the sauna is) I headed to the other side of the complex.

I pounded on the door, calling my flatmate's name.  If it really was her in there, I  hoped she'd hear me. And if it wasn't her in there, I really hoped no one would answer.  No response.  But my banana bread was burning and more guests were on their way, so I tried again, and then, wonder of wonders, the door opened.  And it wasn't an angry stranger, but a confused flatmate.  A quick explanation later she handed me her keys, and I dashed off again to let my guest into my apartment.

"Make yourself at home" I said, and then immediately ignored him as I flew to the oven to take out the banana bread.  "Sorry to be rude" I said, and then headed back into the night (this time with 3 sets of keys), leaving him sitting alone in my apartment (hey, at least this time the lights didn't keep turning out on him).  Keys returned to both lenders, I made it back before any other guests arrived, and guess what?  The banana bread didn't even burn.

Full disclosure

I have the tendency to look at other people's facebook and blog lives, and admire, and sometimes long for, what I see.  My Mom reminds me that we only see one side of the story online and not to get jealous of perfect lives that aren't any more perfect than mine anyway.  My mom is a wise woman.

She also mentions how people are following my adventures and think my life is so perfect.  So, in the interest of full disclosure, if you're living through me vicariously, home in the US and thinking my life is exotic, or somewhere else abroad but still admiring my freedom, or safety, or picturesque surroundings, or whatever; it's not all perfect here either.  (I still think the good outweighs the bad most of the time, in this life I've chosen, so this isn't a "feel bad for me" post, just a post to share the honest-to-goodness hard parts about the way I live so people won't feel too envious ;) and also, if you're the praying kind, if you could pray that God would give me discernment as I'm choosing what to do after grad school so that the 2nd and 3rd things on my list aren't such challenges, I would really appreciate that.)

Here are the things I see in friends' lives that I long for.

Home
I'm living in student housing right now.  My kitchen (which I share with a flatmate and probably has less floorspace than my parents' walk-in closet) has a two burner stove and a mini fridge.  No oven.  My home decorating consists of a 20 euro area rug from Ikea and 2 potted plants.  Somedays, I think how nice it would be to have a living room.  To go furniture shopping.  To buy things to decorate my house, not expecting to leave the country in 6 months or a year.  I remind myself that this is only a season, but I'm glad that (hopefully) this season of country hopping and student housing won't last too much longer.

Family
My family lives on another continent.  I see them at Christmas.  That's hard.  I don't think it ever stops being hard.  The majority of my college friends are married now, settled down with a kid, or 2, or 3.  All I wanted growing up was to have a family.  This whole career thing only happened because waiting around for Prince Charming to show up would have been boring.  But I still long for marriage and children, and somehow flitting from country to country makes that desire seem even farther away.

Lasting Community
I have friends here, and in Finland, and in Colombia, and for that I am thankful.  I couldn't be so far from everything I know without friends to keep me sane.  But YWAM and international students are transient groups.  We come, we stay for awhile, we move on.  It's really hard to say good bye to people you love over and over and over again, and then invest in new relationships, knowing that they're doomed to be short-term at least as face to face friendships too.

Financial Security
God's provision, parents who let me stay at home while I was in the States, and some good financial decisions when I had a paying job mean I've never had to worry about where my next meal was coming from.  But still, I wouldn't mind having a pay check again.  I wanted a DSLR camera for years, and finally bought myself one this year at Christmas, using baby sitting money I earned in Finland.  I am super thankful I had that job and was able to save up for my camera, but there's something about saving baby-sitting money that makes me feel like I'm 12 years old.  :)

So you want to be a teacher?

There's the regular chit-chat: where I'm from, how long I've been here, what I'm studying.  Then I cringe, knowing the question that inevitably follows, "so you want to be a teacher?"

Coming from the US, where almost everyone who is a teacher starts teaching with a Bachelors, and then, if they continue with their Masters, work on it after already gaining some classroom experience, I wasn't expecting that question at first.  I was expecting the professional atmosphere, of colleagues sharing  their experiences, that I had during my grad classes for my ESL certification in the states and I expected those around me to have the same expectation of a Masters level program in education.  

But here, things are different.  In Finland, you can't teach without a Master's degree, and in Germany it seems to be similar, so people assume since I'm working on my Master's degree in education that I want to be a teacher.

"So, you want to be a teacher?" It's a question that makes me feel threatened. The past 9 years of my life, discredited with one blow.  Do I really seem so young, so inexperienced, so unprofessional, that I'm automatically mistaken for a student who's never had a career?

And I know it's never meant to make me feel uncomfortable.  After all, they're just strangers, making small talk.  It's the logical next question for them.

But just once, it would be nice for someone to simply say, "and what do you plan to do once you graduate?" or "what made you decide to do your masters in education?" 

Then I could tell my story in my own words.  

"I love teaching.  But I got a taste of administration when I was the academic director at a school in Colombia, and I really want to continue my professional development so I can be more effective in a leadership role. I'd love to work with a non-profit focused on family literacy when I graduate."

(Of course, now that I've thought out how to say it, I can use that same response to, "so you want to be a teacher?" too.  Perfect.  Here's to me feeling less uncomfortable the next time I'm asked that question.)

This Beautiful Adventure

I'm so happy to see Anna's smiling face at the airport, that I almost re-enact the scene from Spanglish when Flor runs into the sliding glass door.  Her words as she greets us, "I did manage to get a car after all" make 2 travelers, overladen with bags, more than happy.  She hands us "Welcome to Germany" snack bags she made for us, anticipating we'd be hungry after our long day of travel.  When I see a soft pretzel inside, I'm sure of it, I've come to the right place.

After a 2 hour drive from Munich,  the thought on our minds as we open the door to our rooms is "I wonder if we won the lottery, or we lost it?" 1 person apartment, 2 person apartment, or dorm room with shared bathroom and kitchen facilities for 10?  Those are the possibilities in this building.  As the door swings open I glance quickly around: bed, bookshelf, desk, wardrobe, and YES! another door next to the wardrobe.  I think I've won the lottery.  The 2nd door leads to a tiny little kitchen with a bathroom off of it, and a 2nd bedroom on the other side, and I'm lucky enough that Liza, one of my classmates, got the key to it.

The next day, as we hurry from one errand to the next, we can't help but stop and admire.  From one bank of the Danube river, the cathedral and houses reflect into the water below.  The perfect blue sky is such a relief after nearly a month of grey skies in Turku.  I stop in delight- there are snowdrops and crocuses growing in a garden.  Not only have we arrived in a fairy tale, we've arrived here in spring.

Today, orientation over, I head off to try and open a bank account.  I'm not successful in the attempt (the bank closes at 12:30 on Wednesdays. . .), but I do manage to find the German equivalent of a dollar store (a euro store).  Nothing is cheap in Finland, so finding rolls of tape in a 5 pack for a euro, and notebooks for .55 here made me excited.  Now I know where to go if I need toothpicks or batteries or random party supplies.  On my way back, a double church steeple catches my eye.  I make a detour, hoping for a closer view, delighted at such a pretty church, right here in my neighborhood.

I'm here, starting a new adventure, studying a new map, meeting new people, stumbling through words in a new language.  It's lovely and challenging, and exhausting and thrilling.

Winter is Coming!

When I first arrived in Finland, almost every conversation I had with a Finn went something like this,

Finn: "How do you like Finland"

Me: "Oh, I love it here!  I've been having such a great time, and everything is beautiful, and the weather has been so nice"

Finn: (In a foreboding voice, the kind of voice one uses to talk about Mordor, and Sauron and other Very Horrible Evil Things) "Winter is coming"


So, needless to say, I was a bit apprehensive about my first Finnish winter.  I was expecting snow in October, sub-zero temperatures, skating down the river.  Instead, we eased through October, November, and into December with only a couple of days dipping below freezing.  I kept bike riding and didn't get a bus pass for much longer than expected.  It was colder, and snowier back home than it was here.  I was beginning to think that Finnish winter really wasn't going to be anything to contend with (and that maybe we weren't even going to get any snow)

I did my best to bring the winter back with me after my trip home to the States for Christmas.  After all, several friends in Finland requested it.  And I must have done something right, because I got in on Friday, and woke up Saturday morning to snow falling outside my window.


Ever since, we haven't had temperatures above 20, and low teens seems to be the norm (by the way, extreme temperatures sound even more extreme when given in celsius.  Today, a chilly 10 degrees, was -12 in celsius.)  The river is freezing, the skating rinks are open (I skated this weekend!), and there's snow on the ground.  I think it's safe to say that winter has arrived.

When tears come

Most of the time, I love this adventure: making new friends, learning a new city, communicating anything in a new language, enjoying beauty all around.

But then, there are the moments when the novelty wears thin, where the frustration of never being quite certain rubs through.

Wednesday, I was supposed to catch a bus to the neighboring town where I watch 2 little boys and help them with their English skills.  When the bus arrived, it looked completely different than I remembered, so I asked the driver as I got on if it went to the town I was going to.  No, she told me. And then mentioned a different destination.  I got off, feeling a bit confused.  If that wasn't the right bus, then which bus was?  As the right bus didn't magically appear, I realized I should have taken the other bus.  But, it was too late now, and I didn't have any credit left on my cellphone to call and tell the family I would be late.

I headed off in search of an R-Kioski, a store where I could add additional time to my cell phone, and almost there, passed another bus with the same number.  Thinking I had a chance to fix my mistake, I got on, and again, asked if they went to the town I was going to.  Again, the answer was no.  The driver, who didn't speak English, started giving me a detailed explanation of his route.  A kind passenger translated for me, though it didn't keep me from feeling lost.  I didn't recognize a single place they said, and although it seemed that it's final destination was somewhere in the vicinity of where I wanted to go, they thought it would take 40 minutes to get there and I was still without credit to call to say I was going to be late.  Undecided for a moment, I froze on the bus, then thanked them for their time, got off, and walked towards the R-kioski.

Crossing the bridge over the river, tears rolled down my cheeks.  I felt powerless- unable to communicate fully what I wanted to in Finnish, unsure of which bus to take, unfamiliar with so many place names, and without the ability to make a simple phone call.  And, not only powerless, irresponsible- I had somewhere I was supposed to be, and at the moment, had no idea how to get there.  "If I were home, it wouldn't be like this" was my thought.  I'd have a car.  I speak the language.  I can add credit to my phone with a phone call and my credit card.  And if I were lost, all the local place names would at least sound familiar.

Fortunately for me, when I finally was able to make a call, the boys' mom was understanding, I was directly across from another bus stop, and the next bus came in 10 minutes.  I ended up being an hour late, but it was ok.  And I think, that's one thing I've been learning on this international journey of mine- it's okay to make mistakes, failure is not the end of the universe.  I try my best, give what's in front of me everything I can.  But sometimes, it might not work out.  I might miss the bus, or completely miscommunicate, or end up missing a rescheduled class.  But it's ok.  Life goes on.  I learn.

Adventures with my bike

I was in the forest, following the 7 year old on the bike path.  The hill was steep and his little brother struggled up it.  I was tagging behind, ostensibly not to lose the kids- after all, watching them was my responsibility- but the honest truth was that this hill was about as hard for me as it was for the four year old.  He stood up on the pedals, leaning in to keep going.  

When I was a kid, we lived at the top of a steep, gravel drive way.  It wasn't ideal for riding bikes.  So I never really progressed to the "look Mom!  No hands!" stage of bike riding.  I'm getting there now, but balancing while standing is a feat I still haven't mastered.  

Despite that, my bike has become one of my new best friends.  The fog creeps over the river in the morning, and frost paints the bushes white.  My ears freeze, especially since I misplaced my hat.  I steer to avoid the potholes, and smile as I pick up speed on the hill right before I reach campus.  My half hour walk has been shortened to a just over 10 minute bike ride.  

On a drizzly day, when I finally arrive I'm slightly damp, my hair frizzy.  Riding in the rain is hard.  I blink, trying to keep the raindrops out of my eyes.  I momentarily consider wearing swimming goggles when biking in the rain, and then wonder if maybe a hat with a visor might work just as well and not look quite as strange.

We laughingly call ourselves a "bike gang" when there's a group of us together.  We ride through the town square in the dark.  It's empty this late at night, and the group of us all headed home in the same direction call back and forth to each other as we ride through the silent streets.  There's something magical about riding at night.  When everything around you is obscured, you feel like you're gliding, almost flying in the dark.

Unfortunately, with the cold comes ice and snow, and I think I'm still too new to the world of cycling to brave those conditions on the way to school each morning.  The bus might just replace my bike for a season.  But for now, in these last few days of fall, I'm still enjoying this new bicycle life style. 

Not all those who wander are lost

Today was a perfect day, too beautiful to spend all of it indoors.  I decided to wander downtown and see what I could find.  Maybe I would stop by Kupittaa park for the concert that was going on.  Or buy a cell phone.  Or see if I could find the church that said it "usually" translated services into English on its website.

Turku is a beautiful city for walking in.  Beautiful pedestrian and bike paths follow the curves of the Aura river.

From the walking path along the river

This view of the cathedral comes from a wooden boardwalk bordering the river.

After a long walk along the river, I finally made it downtown.  Good thing my main goal was just to enjoy the day, since all the shops were closed once I finally made it downtown.  I suppose the cell phone will have to wait for another day.

Such a quiet city

Riverboat restaurants and bars are popular in the downtown section.

Feeling tired after all my walking, I decided to head back to my apartment.  I sat in front of the Cathedral and looked at the map.  I knew how to get from the Cathedral to the university, and I know how to get from the university to my apartment, but surely there was a direct route back to my apartment without detouring to the university.  It didn't help that my apartment is farther north than the map goes.  I thought I knew the way though, and set off.  I passed 3 or 4 second hand shops in a row and made a mental note, then noticed a grocery store that was still open and ran in for some things I'd forgotten.  When I came out, I realized that if I really had chosen the right direction, I should be arriving at something familiar by now.  Instead, a large park was just in front of me.  Crossing the street to get to it, I stopped in shock.  I was at Kupittaa park, the exact opposite direction of where I wanted to be.  I was tired and needed some water, but I was so far from home at this point, I decided I might as well at least check the park out.  One live band was playing at the main stage, while another was setting up on a side stage.  I laid out my blanket and enjoyed the atmosphere for awhile, before my headache from not drinking enough got the best of me and I went in search of water.  

Mostly, I haven't really used Finnish outside of Finnish class.  Other than the perfunctory "hei" (hi) and "kiitos" (thanks), the honest truth is that taking a bus or buying groceries doesn't really require talking.  But here I was, in a park, no grocery store, only vendors.  So, I practiced once or twice for good measure and then walked up to the girl "Paljonko vesi maaksa?" (How much does the water cost?") I asked. . . And glorious day!  She answered me!  In Finnish!  And I understood!  It's really the first time that I've attempted something other than "hello" or "thank you" outside of class and been understood the first time around.  And, usually, as soon as anyone realizes Finnish is not my first language, they switch to English immediately (It's kind of annoying, actually).  So for me, this was big.  Of course, then she proceeded to ask me in Finnish if I wanted it with or without bubbles, and my vocab isn't nearly that good yet, so I had to abashedly tell her I didn't understand, at which point the conversation did switch to English, but hey, at least I did the first part in Finnish.  

By this point it was after 7:30 and I was a good hour's walk away from my apartment if I walked straight there and didn't get lost along the way, so I decided to take the bus.  The good thing about buses in Turku is that they all (I think) go through the market square at some point, so all I had to do was get a bus headed the right direction, get off at market square, and grab my bus home.  The bad thing about buses in Turku is that they don't run frequently.  I must have just missed my bus by minutes when I got to the square, because the next one wasn't scheduled for another 20 minutes.  But, another plus for Turku is that it is safe and quiet, so I pulled out my kindle to read (something I never would have done in downtown Bogota) and before I knew it, I was home and cooking dinner for one.

Weekends

I've been loving weekends lately.  Last weekend we had two perfect days.  The sky was cloudless, which is rare in Bogotá.  On Sunday we headed to Parque Simón Bolívar after church.  I couldn't have asked for a better day.  It was sunny and breezy.  I lazed around and took pictures and enjoyed the sun on my face- exactly what I needed.  

We ate a picnic lunch and bought ice cream from vendors in the park.

 It was so nice we stayed until sunset and didn't even get cold (again, unusual in Bogotá- 4 layers a day is my average)

This weekend the weather hasn't been great, but I've been wanting to make an apron for ages and my friend brought back a sewing machine after her last trip to the States and we went to a fabric outlet on Tuesday, so I had everything I needed, other than matching thread.  So, Saturday after getting housecleaning out of the way, I headed across town to buy thread and then came home and made this apron.  Pretty cute, if I do say so myself.  I found a picture on the internet that I liked and, better yet, a partial photo of the pattern, so with that I figured out how to put it together.

Of course, a new apron means I had to do something with it.  We have an 8 year old staying at our house this weekend, and I had some peanut butter chips that friends from church sent in a package, so chocolate peanut butter chip cookies seemed like the best option.

He was excited to use the mixer, and I was excited to eat amazing cookies and wear my fun new apron.  Win-win situation.  

If you're in the neighborhood and stop by within the next 24 hours, I just may have some cookies to share.  ;)

What they don't teach you in Spanish class

Ingrid was locking up Luz y Vida while I sat on the stoop waiting for her.  "Annie, the alarm won't set" she called out.  I wasn't worried, it had happened before, usually shutting the door again took care of it. But no, we both tried, multiple times, and we couldn't activate the alarm.  

I called the customer service number and was told to make sure all the motion sensors on the third floor were working.  Check.  Back to the phone.  "Push the following buttons on the alarm panel".  I couldn't quite reach from the phone, so I told Ingrid what to push.  All was going well until I leaned over to see which lights were lit up on the panel, and disconnected the phone from the wall.  

The other phone in the kitchen started ringing, the technician calling me back.  I ran over to answer and proceeded to shout commands to Ingrid. "Push asterisks twice.  Ok, now the pound sign"  Nothing seemed to be working.  "Maybe you're entering your activation code wrong." the tech suggested.  I've only been entering the same code at least 5 times a week since February first.  "It's not wrong" I told him.  "Ok, then press and hold P" he responded.  The alarm went off.  Loud.  "All right, now put in the activation code" he told me.  "Ingrid!  The activation code!" I shouted.  The alarm kept going off.  "See, you are using the wrong code" he sounded smug.  Becka peeked around the door.  "what did you say?  Ingrid couldn't hear you over the alarm".  A blessed silence descended again.  "It was right." I told him (see, I told you, I thought).  

Finally, he realized the reason he wasn't getting any results to the tests he'd run was that the landline we were using was the same line tests should be run through.  He got my cell number, and I could stand right in front of the panel.  Push these buttons.  Check.  Run up to the 3rd floor and look at the sensors again.  Check. Push some more buttons.  Check.  All right, 3rd floor is deactivated, the rest of the alarms should be working, we'll send out someone to see what the problem is tomorrow.  Name please?  I sighed.  I already knew what was going to happen. I spelled my last name.  Slowly.  Then I spelled it again.  Yes, it has a k in it.  Yes, s then l.  S, yes.  S, like sun.  Yes, two e's in a row.  (I think to myself, Yes, I am a foreigner.  That is why you have no idea what to do with my name.  I KNOW it's not normal, but please, work with me on this one.  Just write the letters as I tell you.  I do know how to spell my last name.   Why have I not married a Colombian and changed my last name already?  It would save me a lot of trouble. . .)  My last name finally confirmed, I walked towards the door to lock it and close it behind me.  One second too late.  The alarm began to sound.  It took me too long confirming my name on the phone and the alarm was already active when I walked past it.  

I sighed, unlocked the door, walked back inside, dialed the number again.  With barely disguised impatience, the technician said, "I told you if the alarm "dispare" again, you could just ignore it, it would go off by itself."  Wearily, I realize that the word disparar, that I'm familiar with meaning to shoot a gun, means to go off, in this context.  Oh yes, he had mentioned that.  I overlooked it.  Oh well.  We walked through the code process again, at which point I somehow managed to unplug the phone from the wall again.  He, fortunately, called my cell.  I finally set the alarm, walked out of the building and locked the door and both gates behind us.

Forty five minutes later, problem solved.

The Bogotá that doesn't make the news

Generally, the stereotype of Colombia isn't very positive.  The things that make the news- drugs, violence,  the US president's secret service hiring prostitutes- don't help.  So, I wanted to share a few stories of the other side of Bogotá.

The other week we were making dinner to celebrate a friend's birthday, and I stopped at Palo Quemao (the market) on my way to pick up the produce.  I bought 8 pounds of potatoes, 7 pounds of tomatoes, and some garlic and then headed to where they sell herbs to buy basil.  I got a little bit lost, wandered around a bit, found my basil, paid, and left.  As I was headed across the parking lot, I heard someone rather urgently calling, "Mona! Mona!" (It's the word for blonde here- I hear it a lot, and usually ignore it.)  The urgency in the voice made me turn around and I saw the vendor from the first stand I was at.  "You forgot your tomatoes!" he told me.  I was so grateful that they actually came looking for me.  Our gnocchi with spaghetti sauce would have been a failure without tomatoes.

One weekend walking downtown with friends, two costumed interpreters stopped us to share the history of 2 historic buildings.  We chatted for awhile afterwards as they shared about the organization they were involved in and asked us what we were doing in Bogotá.  When I told them about Luz y Vida, the costumed Simon Bolivar gave me his business card. He runs an organization that connects magicians, clowns, jugglers and such with organizations working with children and the elderly to donate their talents for events.  I emailed him this week and he says he'll help us organize an event at Luz y Vida for the kids.  

After work last week, I stopped to talk to the man who runs the snack shop just up the street from me.  He's a Jehovah's witness, and we always have some interesting theological discussions.  I told him all about the book I had just finished reading, The Spirit of the Rainforest, and its interesting perspective on spirituality.  He offered me a hot pan de bono con bocadillo (a soft bread with a sweet guava filling) while we were chatting and sent me home with a little bag of bite sized cookies. 

After talking to him, I ran across the street to the hardware store because I needed some twine to hang my really awesome new wall hanging.  The shopkeeper there always asks me about English classes, and I always tell him I'm too tired to think about starting a class, but I'll let him know if anyone I know starts one. I asked for 3 meters of twine, and then asked what I owed him.  "Cómo se dice gratis en inglés?" (How do you say free in English) he asked me.  "Free" he told me with a smile, after I helped him with the pronunciation.   

Not really newsworthy moments, but they are part of the reality of life here.  Well I do see way more of the dark side of life living where I do than when I was in middle-of-nowhere Pennsylvania, there are so many beautiful things as well.

Life is not a chick flick

The street artist I’d passed just a few minutes before caught up to me a block later.  “What do I have to do for you to let me draw your portrait?” he asked.  He invited me out for a drink.  I declined.  “Do you like ice cream?” he asked.  I countered with a question of my own, “Why are you asking me out?”  “I’m in love with you!” he declared, “You’re the princess of my life”.

But, unfortunately, life is not a chick flick.  He was not young and devastatingly handsome.   I didn’t find myself  swept away in some romantic fairy tale. Instead, I laughed, and walked away.  

(not so) Ordinary chaos

As they always seem to whenever I walk in the door, a million things greeted me at once.  When I finally managed to slip upstairs to print out tests for Julian, it seemed like things were going smoothly- the computer was on, the printer connected, pages even started to print.  I breathed a sigh of relief, went to open the last document and tell it to print when there was a sudden pop and hiss sound.  The computer went dead.  The printer stopped working.  And then, I looked down.  The cord connecting the surge protector to the outlet was on fire.  Sparks were spitting everywhere.  I looked at it, frozen in indecision.  The flame looked too large to just stomp out, besides, stomping on a sparking electrical cord didn't seem like the brightest decision.  I looked around- I think you're supposed to smother electrical fires, right? I thought to myself.  There was nothing around that seemed too helpful- newspapers, Fabian's sweatshirt (ok, as a last resort, but the fire wasn't spreading yet).  I looked anxiously at the wood floor.  I better figure out something, and soon.  I ran downstairs and burst into a classroom, "You're not supposed to put out an electrical fire with water, right?" I asked breathlessly.  Ana Yivi and Julian looked up, concerned.  "There's a fire upstairs!  Will you help Julian?" I asked.  "Use the yellow fire extinguisher" suggested Ana Yivi.  I dashed downstairs, grabbed the fire extinguisher, and headed back upstairs.  It must have almost burnt itself out in the meantime, because Julian told me he blew it out.  It was definitely bigger than blowing out size when I ran downstairs.

**********

The internet had been on again off again, so we called the internet provider.  They came and fiddled around, supposedly "fixed" things, but I soon realized that while the wireless network was working better, the internet was now completely non-functioning on my office computer.  It was Wednesday, Juan, who helps with all our tech problems, was already on the way out the door.  He only comes once a week.  The next Wednesday rolled around.  Juan fiddled with my computer between classes.  He got the internet back up and running, and then decided to upgrade my CPU, switching it for a better one in the computer room.  He finished up as I was leaving for the day.  Thursday, my computer wouldn't turn on.  It still won't start a week later, and he isn't able to come tomorrow.  No computer, no internet... it's hard to get my work done when I can't even access my documents.

**********

I've been trying to get one of my student's parents to come in for weeks.  She never came back after she enrolled him to finish filling out paperwork, and we've been having disciplinary issues, so we really needed to meet.  I finally did what I hate to do- set an ultimatum: Come to school on Tuesday or your son will not be able to come to school on Wednesday.  Her appointment at 10 came and went and she never showed up.  I was busy and lost track of time, and then had to sub a class.  I called when the class was over.  No answer.  Finally, sometime after lunch, she called me back.  "You had an appointment at the school", I reminded her.  "I'm just wondering what happened".  "Oh, I'm on my way," she told me.  Two hours passed and she still hadn't shown up.  I rang the bell to dismiss students and tried calling her one last time.  "I'll be right there!" She told me.  "You need to be here in 10 minutes, or I may have already left", I told her.  Finally, 5 hours after her scheduled appointment, she appeared.  At least we got to talk, and I can let her son come to school tomorrow.  

**********

"Katrina's on the phone for you, Annie", Lilia told me.  She was calling to let me know that the Former Colombian Interior Minister was targeted in a car bomb attack and that I should let the staff know that they should take extra precautions and make sure they told someone where they were going and when they expected to be back.  Around the same time Ana Yivi came in to let me know pretty much the same thing.  I called the school where our continuing ed students go and asked them to please tell the children to take a bus on the septima, and not the transmilenio, since the car bomb had gone off on the Caracas, the same route the transmilenio takes.  When everyone was together for lunch, I let all the staff know they should take extra precautions and encouraged the children to go straight home after school and stay away from the Caracas.

**********

These past few weeks have been a bit crazier than usual, though there's always something going on. Maybe it does help to explain why I've been overwhelmed and stressed lately though.  Fires, bombings,   not being able to get my work done when I am at work.  Hmm, I guess that might explain it.