Return Ticket

I started writing this blog post a month ago and then forgot about it. So here are my thoughts about why I've decided to stay in Honduras from the day after I made that decision and from a month later.

12 November, 2014
Yesterday I bought a plane ticket home for Christmas, with a return trip. If I've spoken to you at all since I moved to Honduras, you know that this hasn't been the easiest experience for me. I've been frustrated, angry, and physically unhealthy. If you had offered me a Get Out of Honduras Free card at any point in the last 2 months, I would have taken it with very little hesitation. The food situation was bad, yes, but it was more than that. I didn't want to try to make it work, so my efforts to improve my diet were half-hearted at best.


But then something started to change. About two weeks ago, the student's antics stopped bothering me so much. It's not that their behavior actually improved much, but I was better able to deal with it. I accepted the kids for who they were instead of who I wanted them to be. And they're awesome kids, even if they're not awesome students. That alone made a huge difference.

I started working on my plans for next quarter and realized I wanted to be here. I want to be here for the 9^th grade “Romeo and Juliet” unit, to do “The Raven” with grade 10. We had a parade last Friday, and I want to be here for all these other ridiculous events.


I realized I want to be here. I don't want to leave these kids. They're frustrating and annoying and make me want to tear my hair out. But they're also funny, unbelievably caring, and heartbreakingly sweet. I've built relationships with them that I'm proud of, and I'm not willing to give them up.


So I'm staying. After two weeks at home for the holidays and returning loaded down with multi-vitamins, iron supplements, and protein bars, I'm coming back to Honduras, hopefully to finish out the year. There are no guarantees in life, so I cannot promise I will actually make it through June. But this time, I know I want to. I know what I'm getting into, I know what will be asked of me, and I know I have the desire to do everything in my power to make it work.


11 December, 2014
In the month since I decided to stay, I have only felt better about my decision. Leaving for good would be the hardest thing in the world right now. I'm more than ready for a break, to have two weeks at home to refresh myself and feel really healthy, but I'm not ready to say goodbye. Here's why.


One of the biggest frustrations I've faced here is the complete apathy most students have to their school work. Those who know they're smart and can squeak by with minimum effort do so. Those who feel like they're falling behind or are confused about the material give up. If something is hard, they just don't do it. They do this because they know they will get moved up to the next grade regardless of their actual abilities; that's how things work here. These attitudes obviously make them hard to teach. If they don't want to listen, they won't. If they don't want to do the work, they won't. They just give up.


I came here to teach English. And English is important. But what's more important than English is teaching these kids how to be good, responsible people. Since I'm in the high school, I'm preparing them for university in the relatively near future. And if I gave up, what kind of message would that send to them? If I said “This is too hard, I don't like it. I'm leaving.” I would be doing exactly the same thing that frustrates me so much about them. I've been telling them for months to try harder, to ask for help, to just do the work even when they don't like it, trusting that eventually good habits will be built and the work will become easier. In some ways, the students are to me what their homework is to them.


I don't want to be the kind of person who has to say “Do what I say, not what I do.” I'm a walk the walk kind of person, so I'm staying to do just that. I'm staying because these kids deserve more than a teacher who gives up, they deserve a teacher who is willing to fight for them, with them, and yes, against them sometimes, in order to get them to be their best.



And ultimately, I'm staying because I have grown to love them.

No Words

     As you all may have noticed, I've been struggling with keeping up this blog. Whenever I would sit down to write something, the words just wouldn't come, and I hate forcing myself to write something I don't feel. And since I'm not in school anymore, I don't have to.
     But I was thinking about this the other day, as I was randomly looking through my photos of the past year, in Prague, Bratislava, Italy, and the other random places I ended up while living in Europe. I have massive numbers of pictures from all those places. I have very few pictures of Honduras, even fewer of Pena Blanca. That, combined with my reluctance to write about my experiences led to a revelation of sorts:

I feel no desire to document my life here. For whatever reason, the impulse I've always had to write things down, to share experiences, to record memories for myself, has left me since getting to Honduras. It just doesn't exist.

     Partially, this comes from my constant discomfort in any public location in town. On our weekend trip to Tela, a beach town full (or at least, more full) of tourists, I didn't have any reservations about taking out my camera. But here in Pena, where I already stand out like a sore thumb, I try to avoid drawing any more attention to myself than absolutely necessary.
     But it's more than that. Something is holding me back from fully allowing myself to let go and commit to this country. I've now been here almost two months, and all my clothes are still in a pile in my suitcase. My earrings are strewn around my top shelf instead of in the earring picture frame Sonja made me. Whenever I've tried to fix one of these problems, I've given up after about a minute because it just didn't feel right.
     I was so excited to come here before I left. I was excited to experience a new culture, a new part of the world. But with all the complications of school, bugs, social life, and primarily diet, I'm being pulled under, away from excitement and towards exhaustion.
     I do want to be here. I want to follow through on my commitment to the kids, I don't want to feel like I'm giving up again, and leaving another opportunity because I couldn't make it work. However, if all of that is going to come at the expense of my physical, mental, and emotional health, it's not going to be worth it.
     It's not over yet. Nothing has been decided. But it is on my mind. This place just doesn't feel like a home in the way Prague or even Bratislava did. I don't feel a connection to the people, the history, the culture like I did in Europe. On top of it all, I'm basically living off veggies and pasta and whatever beans I can manage to force myself to eat. I haven't felt healthy since getting here. For all these reasons, and others which will remain unpublished, the possibility of leaving before June has been discussed.
     I have so much to give, so much to offer the world. In my current situation, I don't have the physical or emotional energy required to make this venture a success. If things don't get better (and I'm still hoping they will), I think it would be better for everyone involved if I found a different opportunity.

Apologies

I have been remiss in posting about my new life in Honduras, and for this I apologize. I will attempt to provide justification for my absence here.

After the initial novelty and nervousness of living in a third world country dissipated, once school had started, I found it really hard to put my feelings into words. My experiences have been so foreign to me, how could I even begin to convey them to others? But other than that, I was trying to live by the maxim "if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all". This is not an entirely fair representation of my life here, by any means. There are some wonderful things about Honduras. But recently, they have been mostly overshadowed by the intense frustrations I've encountered. I debated about writing about my struggles, not wanting to seem ungrateful for this wonderful opportunity I've been given. But this is meant to be about my real life, not life how I would choose it to be. So here it is: my real life in Honduras.

The weather: It is always hot here. Hot and humid, beyond anything I've experienced in the States. Yes, Minneapolis can be hot and sticky. So can Tennessee, where we went this summer. But it's relentless here; the sun seems so much stronger, even the wind is hot. The only relief we get is at night when it pours down rain and turns the gravel roads into streams of dirt. It wasn't so bad at the beginning when I knew the weather wasn't so different back at home, but now, when the leaves are beginning to change and the days are cooling off and instead of going thinking about drinking apple cider wrapped in a sweater, all I want is ice cold water, it's getting harder to appreciate the tropical climate. The green is lovely, but I'm missing the variety of colors autumn at home offers.

The house: Our house is, by Honduran standards, quite luxurious. We have internet, a fully-functioning kitchen, a sort of yard in front and a patio out back with a hammock and washing machine. But the bugs. There are so many bugs. We've sprayed for cockroaches and wood-eating ants. We've had ants in our beds and food, spiders and roaches in the showers, and the flies come in droves. For the first several weeks I woke up every morning with bites from what I hoped were mosquitoes, but had no way of knowing that was the case. I've gotten used to it for the most part, but they still have their moments. Today for instance, I opened a box of macaroni that had been on the shelf for several weeks; when I pulled out the cheese packet it was covered in tiny little ants. Literally covered. I stuck my hand into the noodles and it came out with more swarming insects. Needless to say, that box went into the garbage.

The school: I'm going to try to step carefully here. Some of my frustrations with the school are not the fault of the administration. Some of it comes from the government, some from Honduran culture. But whatever the causes, there has been very little about the school I have really appreciated. The administration is resistant to change, discipline seems lax where it sorely needs to be enforced, bureaucracy and micro-managing are the order of the day, and they expect nearly impossible things considering the resources they provide us with. How, for example, is one meant to teach a two hour chemistry lab every week when the only lab equipment provided is 8 microscopes (and one outlet) and a box of slides? Many of the teachers had to wait several weeks for textbooks to teach from and some of the students still don't have the books they need. The students themselves have proved to be sometimes absolute delights but mostly difficult and resistant to our efforts. Some of the younger ones barely speak or understand English. My students at least know what I'm saying. Whether they choose to listen is another story.

The food: This is a biggie. Even bigger than the school. I knew before I left that I would have to at least try and like beans because of their prevalence in Latin American cuisine. This has proved true, but the larger problem is how much more of their diet revolves around chicken. The first night in town we all went to a restaurant and I had to ask for a salad without chicken because that seemed like the only item on the menu that could be easily adapted to a vegetarian palate. Things have gotten slightly but not significantly better. While I can find peanut butter, which has been a life-saver, there is very little good dairy here. Fruit and vegetables can be found both in the grocery store and from stalls along the street, but they are not always good and the variety is incredibly limited. I cannot count on finding spinach or any leafy green that's not iceberg lettuce. My eyes are never going to have trouble because the carrots here are numerous and gigantic, but my iron levels are another story.      On top of my individual concerns with not eating meat, I have trouble accepting the Honduran diet in general. Everything is overly processed and full of artificial flavoring and sweeteners. Coke bottles are more numerous and just as cheap as water. The candy aisle is twice as big as the produce section in the grocery store. There are restaurants selling fried chicken everywhere you look. The level of obesity here is quite high, especially in kids, because that kind of food is cheap. Coming from a city like Minneapolis, with it's co-ops and farmer's markets, and reams of veggie and vegan friendly options, this is quite a change. I didn't even have this much trouble in Slovakia, because it didn't cost nearly as much to import things. In order to find spinach, oatmeal, and (hallelujah!) veggie burgers last weekend, I had to take a four hour round trip bus ride into San Pedro Sula, then fork over $45 for three plastic bags of groceries. I'm really struggling and am beginning to notice the effects, I think.

Other random things that bother me: None of us, but especially the girls, can go out without being stared or whistled at. It's not considered rude, like it is in the States, but it's still uncomfortable, and makes walking alone through town unappealing. There are chickens and roosters wandering around the streets, the roosters crowing at all hours. We frequently have canine (hopefully) visitors who knock over our trash cans and spread garbage around our yard. This goes along with the heat, but I am always sticky, always dirty. I feel like so much more of an outsider here than anywhere else I've ever been.

Please do not get the wrong impression. I've spent time here complaining about everything I'm frustrated with. This is not my whole life. My hope in writing this is that I will no longer feel like I have to pretend that I absolutely love it here and that everything is perfect, because it's not. Now that I've gotten all this off of my chest hopefully I'll be able to spend more time focusing on the joys of living here, which do exist, as few and far between as they seem sometimes.

La Cascada Pulhapanzak

 On our first weekend after starting school Nick, knowing we sorely needed some stress relief, brought us to the Pulhapanzak waterfall, one of the 30 natural wonders of Honduras, at least according to the sign. He had told us to wear bathing suits and good walking shoes, and asked if everyone was all right jumping into the river from a ledge, but not much else about what we were going to be doing. After we had all clambered out of the back of his pick-up truck, we walked along the river above the falls and watched some zip liners soar over our heads. We waded across a shallow dam, killing time before the guide for our waterfall tour showed up. It was a perfectly idyllic place, with campsites and cabins for rent, smack dab in the middle of the jungle. We didn't have any idea what was in store for us, but I at least was excited.


We slowly made our way down to the falls themselves, and once there it was absolutely stupendous. The falls are about 140 meters high and because we're in the middle of the rainy season right now, they were thundering over the rocks and spraying water high into the air. I basked in the mist; despite living near a lake, the amount of water I encounter on a daily basis is not enough for my taste. Soon, out guide came to get us. He unlocked a gate at the end of the observation platform and we filed through.
      Edging along the bank, with the river rushing by about 10 feet below us, anticipation was running high. Soon we had to jump into a pool. I had expected to be at least a little nervous, but when it came time for me to take the leap, I was completely fine. Not a nerve in sight. The pool was deep and the current stronger than I was expecting, but everyone made it across ok. Slowly, in single file, we made our way to the foot of the waterfall, ducking under ledges and paddling across pools.
     Our final destination was a cave a little ways up the waterfall itself. Lord knows how anyone found this hollowed out rock under the rushing water, but they did, and getting there was an exhilarating experience. The last little leg involved a relatively steep slope, a single cable with a rubber grip, and lots and lots of water. Climbing up this incline, you could literally see nothing but water, and it was so hard to keep your eyes open that it was even hard to see that. With pounds of water crashing down on your head, and your only hand hold the narrow cable on the left, you had to put blind faith in your feet and trust that they were going to find solid places to stand.
     I have no idea how far up the waterfall we went. It probably wasn't that high. We rested in an alcove before shimmying down one last ledge then squirming through a narrow opening into the cave. Honestly, it was a little underwhelming. It was just a cave, and a small one at that. The attraction of this tour is definitely the journey, not the destination.
     Climbing back down the waterfall was only slightly easier for knowing what was in store. The inability to see was more nerve-wracking going down than up, and the leap into the pool even higher. It was so much fun. No company in the entire United States would allow you to do what we did that day, but it was absolutely incredible.

First Impressions: Honduras

     Honduras is a country unlike any I have ever been in. This was initially made clear to me before we had even landed. As we began our descent, there was bright blue ocean water on one side of the plane and tree-covered mountains on the other. As we came closer to the ground, shacks with tin roofs and large plantations started coming into view. The airport was small, but equipped with a dearth of armed guards and full customs inspections upon both entry and departure. We (the two other girls who had flown from Minneapolis with me) spent our first few hours in the country sitting next to a Wendy's in the San Pedro Airport waiting for the rest of the group to arrive. Once they had, we loaded our huge amount of luggage into a truck and piled into two vans for the hour and a half long drive up to Pena Blanca.
     Along the way we passed banana, sugar, and coffee plantations, all green and growing. But as the van careened around corners without regard for lane lines and narrowly avoided head on collisions while trying to pass a slow(er) moving vehicle on a two lane road we also saw innumerable shacks, stocked with a random assortments of items, sold desperately by people who have no other source of income.
     We passed the lake, the only lake in Honduras, with it's glistening water and drove further up into the mountains wreathed with low floating clouds before coming to the town itself. We received differing population estimates from the driver and assistant principal, but there seems to be about 10.000 people living in this community. Half the streets are paved, the rest are what could diplomatically be called gravel. The buildings are nearly hidden behind signs and more kiosks, but what you can see of them is ramshackled and crumbling. Most of the houses are basically open to the world with only a fence between the street and the living room. But all of this, the gravel, the shacks, the tacky Coca-Cola signs, are surrounded by some of the most beautiful scenery I've ever seen. The mountains rise up on all sides, cloaked in clouds. The view from our patio is spectacular.
     Our house is luxurious compared to the average Honduran's. The girls live in a duplex with a shared backyard, four in one side, 6 in the other. We have a small patio with a hammock out back, a washing machine, 5 bathrooms, and 2 kitchens (although one is currently infested with cockroaches) with basic small appliances. The floors are tiled, and the walls all painted bright yellow and green. We've killed loads of roaches so far which was initially accompanied by loud shrieks, although I suppose we'll get used to them fairly quickly.
     We went up to the school today for the first time, but there's enough to say about that to warrant it's own post, so this is all I'll say on the topic: I got exactly the teaching assignment I was hoping for.
     Here's my first impression of Honduras: it's a country that needs a lot of love. There were piles of trash along the road, some of them taller than me. There are men lying alongside the road, passed out drunk at 5pm. We can't drink the water, and need to buy it in water cooler size jugs across the alleyway from our front door. With all the misery in the world, Honduras is a country that is often overlooked because it's problems perhaps aren't as dramatic as an Ebola outbreak. But it also seems to be a country that has so much to give, and seeing the potential wasted in the way it is now is heartbreaking.
     In all honestly, my initial reaction to our way of life for the next 10 months was apprehension; it's going to be far from the easiness of living in the States. But learning to appreciate a different way of life is part of the reason I wanted to come in the first place. I'm still nervous, but eager to learn.

Dovidenia

     I am at the Vienna airport where I arrived at midnight last night. With part of the night spent strategically arranged across two waiting room chairs and my giant suitcase, and the other part on a rock hard sleeping platform at the gate, I am probably not going to make much sense. That is however apropos for my state of mind right now. I honestly have no idea what is going on. I left Bratislava last night at 11. I will be boarding my flight to Frankfort in half an hour. After a brief layover, and a nearly 10 hour flight directly to Minneapolis, I'll be home, for the first time in over 5 months. It simply doesn't seem real.

    
     Making the decision to leave Bratislava and Bilgym was one of the hardest choices I've ever had to make in my life. I've really enjoyed my time here, despite the obvious challenges. All the same, I've been really looking forward to being home. At least, I was, until a few days ago. Ever since I made the decision to leave, and especially since accepting the position in Honduras, I've been chomping at the bit. With my departure in the near future, the things which had been only minor annoyances previously were really grating on me. My lack of Slovak was especially frustrating, my occasional impatience with the students and bureaucracy of the school grew more pronounced.
    
     But then something changed. I started living with graduation goggles, at least as far as school went. I was reminded that there were times when staying didn't seem impossible, when I could see myself here for another year. Saying goodbye to my students, hearing their appreciation of the work I had put in to their classes, needing to realize that I won't see them every day anymore, was hard. Walking around Old Town, trying to burn the images into my memory because I have no idea when I'll be back to see them again, was hard.
     I thought it was going to be easier. It wasn't until I started counting lasts (last Friday in Bratislava, last day with the students, etc) that I realized just how much I was going to miss this place. I hadn't known just how attached I had grown to the people, sights, and life in Bratislava. So ever since then, thinking about leaving has been bittersweet, where before it was, honestly, just sweet.
    
     I'm not second guessing my decision. I know that I belong first at home, and then in Honduras next year. I'm confident in that. But now, for the first time, I'm realizing how profoundly I've been affected by my time here. I've known since the moment I was offered the job back in December that this was going to offer an incredible learning experience. I learned how to teach by teaching, an experience that has been both terrifying and marvelous. I expected that, and have not been disappointed.
     But there is so much else that has happened, things that wouldn't make sense to you even if I had the words to describe them. I am so blessed to have met the people I did, and to have taught the students I taught. If they have learned half as much from me as I have from them, I would consider myself successful.
   
So dakujeme, Bratislava, for everything you were and everything you will continue to be.

Next Steps

     Well, I officially have a plan for next year. After countless applications, several interviews, and long weeks of waiting, I have a job! What's more, it's a job I feel so good about that I cannot wait to get started. I'll be teaching at Lake Yojoa Bilingual School in Pena Blanca, Honduras. Pena Blanca is a little town in the mountains of central Honduras, the school a private non-denominational Christian school with around 400 students from kindergarten to 10th grade.
     I am well aware that this is going to be something completely different from anything else I've ever experienced, but that's kind of the point. I don't know exactly what I'm going to be teaching, but it will probably be upper-elementary or middle/high schoolers. The situation of the town will be as different from Petrzalka as it is possible to be, almost. It's a small town in a rural area, in the mountains, near a lake. There's lots of hiking, not a lot of clubs, and I will certainly not be anonymous; I was told the American teachers stand out quite a bit from the rest of the population. While the children who go to the school will be well off as far as Hondurans are concerned, I will be living in one of the poorest countries in the Western Hemisphere.
     I will once again be living in a different language, an inevitable part of being an English as a Foreign Language teacher. However, unlike Slovak, Spanish is a language which I feel reasonably confident of being able to pick up quickly. I'll be able to dredge the remains of middle school from the depths of my brain, and put my hibernating French grammar to use again. I'm excited about actually being able to communicate with people, and not feel lost in a sea of sounds.
     Other than that, I don't know a whole lot about what my situation will be. But this feels right. Talking to my family about it last week, I literally could not stop smiling.
     I'm excited about the teaching I'll be doing, the students, teachers, and other locals I'll meet. I'm excited about no longer living in the concrete jungle of Petrzalka. At the same time, I'm going to miss the people here so much. Saying goodbye to my kids was the hardest part; they were really the main reason my time here was so good. If there was a way I could teach them in a vacuum, without any of the other complications of Bilgym or Slovakia, I would do it in a heartbeat. They are such sweethearts. When I leave, part of my heart will be staying behind with them.
    
     Part of what comes with living such a nomadic lifestyle is that you get attached to people, and create connections that you are reluctant to let go, in the fear that they will disappear. But that's part of life. Pieces of my heart live all over the world, with my family and friends in Minneapolis, in various locations across the US, in Scotland, Prague, and now, in Bratislava. And while it may seem like I'm running out of heart to leave places, I think exactly the opposite is true. As humans, I believe we have an infinite capacity to love. The more love we spread into the world, the more we receive in return, and the more we have to give back.
     I have been incredibly lucky in having found people in every place I've been who have made an impact on my life, and who I am proud to call my friends. Bratislava is no exception, and for that reason, I'm sorry to be leaving. But I'm sure the same will be true of Honduras, and I cannot wait to head out on this new adventure.
     But first, I have almost two months at home to look forward to. Two months of sisters, friends, bike rides, road trips, and English. I absolutely cannot wait. 

Life Less Ordinary

     Once again, I am on the verge of a major life change. I don't know where I'll be going next, but thinking about moving away from Bratislava as well as the general trajectory of my life over the past couple years has brought up some thoughts that I've been quietly mulling over for months, but didn't really know how to express.
     But then, I was reading this article earlier today, and it helped solidify some of the language I've been wanting to use concerning these ideas. It also gave me something concrete to respond to which resulted in a (rather tenuous) conclusion, or at least a viable foundation for further exploration. In the article, after coming across an urging to live an extraordinary life, the author asks his wife if she thinks they do.
     Her response is no. They, like many modern parents, spend most of their days at work. They run errands, watch TV, and try and squeeze as much time in together with their son as they can on evenings and weekends. There is nothing remarkable or unusual about their lives, nothing extraordinary. But, and this is the important part, they are extraordinarily lucky to be living the lives they are. She also acknowledges that this 'luck' does not mean they should not be striving for a more extraordinary life.
   
     This is my response: all our lives are extraordinary. Like many young people living abroad, I fled the country as soon as I could, not because I don't love it, but because I didn't want to get stuck. I didn't want to get stuck in a job I didn't like, or find myself back in school because I didn't know what else to do with myself. I wanted adventure, to try new things, to meet new people. I wanted to be able to say that I had lived abroad. And in all honesty, I felt sorry for the people who didn't. I felt sorry for the people who got married right out of college, settled down somewhere with jobs, bought a house, maybe even started a family.
     How sad, I thought. I would hate being tied down like that so early in life. Yes, someday I want to get married and create a life for myself and my family someplace I love, but not at 22. Or 23. Or probably 24 or 25 either. At that point in my life, that wasn't something that appealed to me, so I judged other people's decisions through my own restless lens. As pompous as this sounds, I thought they were missing out on the kind of extraordinary life I was living.
   
     But here's the thing. Those people, who married their high school/college sweetheart, who have steady jobs; they are living their own adventure. Just because they never left the country, state, or even city where they were raised, doesn't mean they're not living an extraordinary life. Their adventures building careers, continuing their education, raising a family, surrounding themselves with comfort and familiarity, none of that is less important than my globe-trotting. In many ways, it may be even more important.
     It is undeniable that I am having experiences and facing challenges living and working abroad that none of my friends at home can fully understand. But it is equally undeniable that their lives are just as foreign to me as mine is to them. I may recognize where they are living their lives, but that doesn't mean I know everything about them, or that they're less exciting than my own.
   
     I've chosen to live the kind of life everyone says you should live in your 20's. I'm making decisions for myself, I left the US to go work abroad, basically all of my essential belongings fit into a suitcase and a backpack, and I don't have strings tying me down. But as wonderful as it is to have that freedom, it's an incredibly hard life to live, especially for someone as introverted as I am. Constantly having to make new friends, get used to new cities, learn new languages, facing trial by fire at a new job every six months, it's exhausting, and I've found myself envying the people I pitied two years ago.
     Yet even now, knowing the challenges of living abroad, I still have this fear of living what I saw as an ordinary life. I'm afraid of going home. I'm afraid that, finding myself back in Minneapolis, surrounded by my wonderful childhood friends, and the sights, sounds, and smells of home, I will never want to leave. I'm afraid that I will grow content with what is there, and no longer have the desire to adventure out into the unknown. As much as constant transitioning and culture shock have lost their novelty, the idea of losing the desire to do more with my life is even more debilitating.
     But here's what the article forced me to admit: routine and familiarity are not the enemies of adventure. If you don't have those things, the adventures don't stand out. Choosing to get married early doesn't limit your options, it gives you another set of dreams to live out together. My way is no better than anyone else's, no matter what the internet or my own impulses might say.
   
     An extraordinary life does not come from what you do, but rather how you do it. Extraordinary moments can be found in the simplest joys, the ones that take your breath away with astonishment, laughter, or love.
   
     So here is my promise to myself: as long as I'm home, however long that ends up being, I am going to find the extraordinary moments in the familiarity of life in Minneapolis. Instead of constantly longing to be elsewhere, of searching for some elusive 'other', I am going to savor the things I know and have loved for years. All our lives are extraordinary, because life itself is extraordinary. The simple fact of our existence, of us being us and not some other combination of DNA, is mind-bogglingly unlikely. So even though it may not seem like our lives are anything special, it's absurd to think of them as anything but.
     By no means am I saying I want to grow complacent with living at home, I certainly will be looking forward to once again setting off into the wild blue yonder. But instead of treating it as a time that somehow doesn't matter because I'm not off doing anything especially interesting or exciting, I want to treat it as a time of appreciation, of rediscovery. I want to find the extraordinary in the everyday, and strive to create more extraordinary moments through my own thoughts and actions.
     
     Extraordinary lives don't come from wandering around the world or wild adventures, they come from a desire to appreciate the moments that really matter, whether that's the pride that comes with a job well done, spending time with your family and friends, or taking treks to places no one you know has ever heard of.
   
     For those of us blessed to have the assurance of safety, shelter, and sustenance on a daily basis, there is no reason not to value the life we are living, regardless of the life we would ideally be living. So while you should never stop striving to live a life you love to live, be sure to pause every now and then and find the joys in the life you're living now.

Verona: All Deliciously Italian

Padua, while beautiful, does not offer a wide range of entertainment options for those who are neither university students or residents of the city. Much like Aberdeen, Padua is a lovely town to live in, not quite as nice a town to visit, at least that's the impression I got. With this in mind, we opted to spend our full day in Padua about an hour away in Verona instead. I'm not sure what I was expecting Verona to be like, but it wasn't.
     I certainly didn't anticipate it being as large as it was. When I pictured Verona, I saw it as more of a smaller city, maybe the size of Padua. Definitely not as a city seemingly larger than Florence. But it was. The first hint was that Verona has more than one train station, one of them being a terminus, a not insignificant clue to it's size. We embarked from the main train station, and walked the short distance into town, passing an old moat along the way. The main drag leading to the old city gates was lined with modern shops in slightly-less-modern buildings. There were wide sidewalks, with occasional tree-lined boulevards. The effect was lovely. I liked Verona already.


     But it's not until you get to Piazza Bra that you really are struck by the vast importance of this city. Standing smack in the middle of the square is a giant Roman arena, one of the largest, most well-preserved arenas in the
world. It's very nearly complete; most of the outer section was destroyed by an earthquake, but the rest is still standing, a remarkable testament to it's builders. What were they thinking, these Roman, as they built all these aqueducts, temples, arenas, and forums? They had to think they were going to last forever, because they thought the Empire was going to last forever. Did they know these stones they laid on top of each other were going to last longer than almost anything else they left behind? I stood on the plaza, my hand resting on the cold stones, trying to soak up everything they could tell me. Can you imagine what stories they could tell? What intrigues, what mundane details, what scandals and governments have risen and fallen as they watched silently? How many millions of people have walked past them and marvelled at their grace and power, exactly as we were that day? It absolutely boggles my mind.


We continued exploring the city, wandering down the streets, stumbling upon churches, more Roman ruins, and the house of a famous girl who never actually existed. Yes, I'm talking about you, Juliet. The house is lovely, despite the balcony which was added on in the 1930's as a ploy to attract more tourists (it worked. People pay money to stand on Juliet's balcony. I don't understand.), and if this is what has to happen to maintain sights like this in a world so intent on modernity, I guess I can live with it. The falsity of it seems to mock the entire atmosphere of the city in a way it wouldn't in Venice, say. But honestly, there's only so much one can expect. I'm willing to give Verona a pass on that. It makes me sad, but not as sad as the alternative would.

   
The contrast between Florence and Verona is subtle, but definite. For one thing, Verona doesn't exist in the bottom of a bowl. Consequently, it had more room to grow. This makes it seem like a much more livable city. The streets are wider, perhaps a tad bit cleaner and the river is given more freedom to roam. Although the actual old center of town isn't actually that big, the sights are perhaps more spread out which maybe dilutes the crowds of tourists a bit. And with the wider streets, and more open riverfront, the stifling heat of summer could maybe not hit quite as hard.
      While eating lunch (the most delicious gnocchi I've ever had) on a sun-drenched piazza, we pondered the storyline of the another Shakespeare play set there: Two Gentlemen of Verona. Neither of us could remember much about it, unsurprising, since according to Wikipedia, it's generally considered one of his weaker plays. (I read it when I got home. It doesn't even take place in Verona.) But, it did inspire a great travel itinerary.
     What if you created a tour that went to all the sites mentioned in Shakespeare's plays? Think about how great that would be: all over England, Scotland, and France, numerous cities in Italy and Greece, Denmark, Egypt, and possibly more I'm unable to bring to mind right now. Who wants to come with me?  I'm dedicated to this idea. It's going to happen at some point.


Eventually, we found steps to a terrace overlooking the city. On the way up we passed the ruins of a Roman theater currently undergoing excavation, some absurdly picturesque homes, and a mini-park half-way up that gave us a teasing glimpse of the city from above. When we did finally make it to the top, we stood silently, drinking it all in. Florence was a city of domes. Verona is a city of spires. The sun was shining in bursts through the clouds, lessening the menace of the dark grey hanging over the city. We paid absolutely no attention to whatever castle or palace was behind us, because we were so taken with the city laid at our feet.

      Reluctantly, we retraced our steps, somehow managing to end up at a different point along the river than where we had found the path. We passed a crowd of seagulls surrounding a pile of spaghetti someone had dumped on a concrete post. Spellbound and slightly uneasily, we watched as they devoured the pasta, pushing each other in order to get to the food.


Seagulls aside, Verona was the perfect antidote to whatever travel weariness I had experienced the day before. I don't know what it was: the lack of rain, having slept, being in a different city than the one which had made me such an inexplicably grouchy human being, or just the simple fact that I got over myself. But I'm certainly willing to give Verona some of the credit. So far on our trip, we'd immersed ourselves in the old, even ancient worlds of Italy. Disregarding Milan (which I am perfectly happy to do), Verona was the first truly cosmopolitan city we visited. It had charm and history, but also sensibility and forward motion. It recognized it's past, while acknowledging there is more to a city than the number of tourists it can attract. In Verona you could sense both the old and new civilizations living in harmony with each other. The contrast of ancient ruins and modern idlers on cell phones nowhere seemed more natural. Florence and Sienna were museums, Padua, a dream. Verona was real life.

     As we passed back through the gates on our way back to the train station, we discovered another Shakespeare artefact. Right next to the gate, on the inside wall of the city, there was a plaque quoting Romeo: "There is no world without Verona walls/ but purgatory, torture, hell itself. / Hence banished is banished from the world/ and world's exile is death..." I might not go that far. But Verona definitely captured my heart.

Padova: Link in a Golden Chain

However lovely Florence and Tuscany were, we could not stay there forever. We had hotel reservations back up north, and so we said goodbye to the warmth of Tuscany and boarded a train to take us to Veneto. Breaking our journey in Bologna allowed us to spend a considerably smaller amount of money on our tickets. Several people we crossed paths with planned on stopping in Bologna for the next leg of their own trips from Florence, and both of us were a little bewildered by their decision to do so. What attractions does Bologna have? Had we made a mistake in leaving it off our own itinerary?

The view from our hotel balcony.

Regardless, it was too late to change it now, and our time in Bologna was spent eating the last of our food from the supermarket in Sienna: apples and peanut butter, a perfect snack. Back on the train, I fell asleep. After embarking in Padua, we successfully navigated the public transportation system and found our way to our hotel, which was remarkably literally a stone's throw away from St Anthony's Cathedral. We spent our first hour in Padua marveling at the differences between a hotel and a hostel. Our accommodation in Florence had been perfectly adequate, but this hotel provided a free map, we had our own room, with our own bathroom, and a balcony which looked out over the Cathedral. Sometimes it pays to pay.

Because of it's proximity, our first stop in exploring the city of Padua was the Cathedral, a famous pilgrimage destination for people petitioning Anthony, the patron saint of an endless list of professions, hobbies, and events. Stepping into the cathedral, my breath caught in my throat. Every inch of the interior was carved or painted or adorned in someway. It was overwhelming. Surrounding the main nave of the church were a number of smaller chapels, some with paintings and altars, some with statues, one with relics, and one, the largest of them all, the tomb of Anthony himself, with a file of people walking by. As we passed, a group of preschool-age children were being ushered out by their ragged looking teachers, a job I did not envy them.

We stayed inside for long minutes, trying to see everything, to understand the amount of work that went into such a building, to appreciate the devotion that motivated the innumerable carpenters, sculptors, painters, and other artists to build such a resting place for one holy man. Finally, we vowed to return, and made our way back out onto the square and towards Piazza Bar, the largest Roman piazza in Italy.


It too was lovely, in a very different way. The borders of the square were buildings with the ubiquitous arches of Padua, all graceful, all providing a covered walkway around nearly the entirety of the square. The center of the square was an artificial island, surrounded by a moat and reached by one of several bridges. On either side of the moat were statues of presumably famous Italians, although the only name we recognized was Galileo.
     Unlike any of the other cities we had visited or were planning to visit, Padua doesn't really have any blockbuster sites. The charm of Padova is it's atmosphere, the city itself. We spent the rest of the day wandering around the city, not really having a destination in mind, but wanting to get a feel for this city. If Sienna was like a museum, walking through Padova was like walking onto a very large movie or theater set. The columns and arches were impossibly real, improbably recognizable from Kiss Me Kate.

The only other specific sites we saw were more churches: a beautiful little chapel in the middle of construction, and another cathedral which although it didn't have the splendor of St. Anthony's, I think I ended up liking better for it's simplicity. We saw some market squares, and stopped for hot chocolate and coffee in an adorable cafe to get out of the rain where we were mistaken for Dutch girls.

For whatever reason, whether it was the rain which caught us off guard, without our umbrellas, the fact that our trip was now halfway over, or the simple action of having moved that day, I was in an unreasonably bad mood. I stuck it out as long as I could, and tried to enjoy the city, even in the rain, but when the simple plans we were making about where we were going to eat continued to be foiled by odd opening hours, I was over it, and fairly begged Abbie to go back to the hotel.

We solved our food problem by asking at the hotel for the nearest supermarket. We trudged down the street, and peered into storefronts, wondering if this was it, and nearly gave up. But then we found it, and discovered that it was called Meta! This simple fact made the finding of food even more exciting. We purchased a random selection of food, took a picture with my namesake, and returned to the hotel, ready to spend the rest of the night in our pajamas watching TV on Abbie's phone.


After that first day, our time in Padua was limited to the walk back from the train station after our trip to Verona, and the hour we spent back in Piazza Bar our last morning there, reprising our roles as statue imitators, a most amusing pastime. We certainly enjoyed ourselves, and probably entertained the people around us as well.

Though, as I said earlier, Padua doesn't have any sites on par with Florence, or Venice, or even Verona, it is quite a nice town. The arcades and arches, the pedestrian cobblestone streets, the restaurants and shops geared towards university student budgets, one of the laziest rivers I have ever seen in my entire life, the beautiful buildings tucked surprisingly down tiny alleyways, the arches which open into piazzas, they all add up to one of the most natural cities I've seen. Because most of the tourists coming into town are there for St. Anthony, it doesn't have to put on a show for the gawkers who wander the streets of other Italian cities. The students permeating the city give it a youthful atmosphere which completely belies it's considerable history.


By the time we left, with three nights left before I'd be back in Bratislava, I found I had reconciled myself with the city and wanted to stay and make amends for my earlier unreasonableness. Instead, we boarded a train for the 20 minute ride to Venice, our final destination.

Decisions, Decisions

     As those of you who know me well are quite aware of, I am a champion of indecision. I dither, and dather, look at every possible angle, stress out, and generally make myself miserable. I've come to realize that most often, there isn't a right or wrong answer to my problem. Usually, I'm trying to decide whether to follow the lead of my head or my heart, which almost always want different things.
     Recently, my dilemma has been about staying in Bratislava; whether to commit to the school, the kids, Petrzalka, and Slovak for another whole year. My original commitment was to come for the semester, while leaving the possibility for next year open on both sides. Within days of my official visa coming through, I was signing my contract, and the principal told me they would love for me to return. There was absolutely no hesitation on their part, which was encouraging, but not a sentiment I could match. It felt good knowing that I had done a strong enough job for them that they would unreservedly ask me back, but I asked for time to think about it, and was given a month.
     In typical Meta fashion, I went back and forth. Just like when I was trying to decide between Istanbul and home, I had moments where each option seemed inevitable, and I couldn't imagine doing anything else. But then something would happen, or I would have a conversation with someone, or I would do nothing but wake up, and my mind would have changed. My thoughts percolated in my brain, filtering into my consciousness without much drama. I was proud of myself that I was handling this decision-making process so well.
     And then, the day before our new flatmate was due to arrive, after a conversation with my supervisor, I nearly had a panic attack on the bus ride home. The decision that I thought I had made was turned on it's head, and I was no longer sure. She hadn't even said anything to try and sway me either way. Like the incident with the Czech postal system, it just created a storm inside my brain which made me question everything both my head and my heart had been telling me.
     My head, the logical part of me, had been saying that staying in Bratislava made so much more sense than leaving. My visa was taken care of, I had a job, a place to live, friends. I wouldn't need to readjust to a new foreign language, and would maybe even be able to pick up a decent amount of Slovak. I'd be in Europe, convenient to possible grad schools, as well as some of the most beautiful places on the planet. Teaching could only get easier; I would know most of the kids, I'd be teaching the classes right from the very beginning, and I'd have an entire semester of experience under my belt. Perhaps most importantly after all the teacher turn over this past year, they would have a consistent faculty, good for both the kids and the school itself. Staying here would make sense, in many important ways.
     My heart, on the other hand, reminded me that there was so much more in the world than Europe, that I had looked at jobs in Latin America and Asia before hearing about C.S. Lewis. It told me that the challenges of Bilgym would not go away just because I was an 'old' teacher. It tugged me towards another new adventure, a fresh start, and some time at home.
     The conflict had come to a head that day on the bus, and I knew I needed to make a decision as soon as I could, because otherwise, I was going to lose my mind. So that whole first weekend with Sierra here, as I was showing her around the school, around Bratislava, there was always a voice in the back of my head asking if I could stay here. Her newness, her optimism and excitement, threw my indecision into greater relief.
     Finally, finally, on Sunday after almost a week, I made my decision. Or rather, I made my peace with the decision that I had been fighting for weeks.
     I am, once again, choosing to come home, at least for a while. I decided that the possibilities the world was offering me were worth more than all the security Bratislava could. I decided that no matter how much I wanted to give the kids a sense of continuity, I wouldn't be as valuable a teacher if I didn't want to be there myself. I decided that I could use the experience I gained and lessons I learned here (and for which no words can sufficiently express my gratitude) more effectively somewhere else.
     So now I am once again job hunting. I've sent out some resumes, received some positive responses, and scheduled a couple interviews, all in South and Central America. I'm confident that I will end up where I'm meant to be, as that clearly is no longer Bratislava.
     Ideally, this means I will get home early in July, and spend my first week in the States not in Minnesota, but in Tennessee with KY Reunion. Then, after several weeks of relaxing, seeing people I love, and enjoying the city that will always be home, I would head back out. Not east this time, not across an ocean to Europe, but south, possibly across the equator, to explore a new part of the world. I don't know exactly what's in store for me, a state which I am rather reluctantly getting used to, but I'm excited to find out.

Back to Prague

Once I was going to be spending this spring in Bratislava, I knew I was going to go back to Prague at some point. What I didn't know was how I was going to feel about it. My time in Prague was hard, and it ended "not with a bang, but a whimper". An abrupt whimper, but a whimper nonetheless. I wasn't sure how I was going to reconcile my admittedly mixed memories of life in Prague with the reality of actually being there again. So when I boarded the bus in Bratislava on Friday afternoon, I was excited, but also a little apprehensive of the possible range of emotions the next several days were going to throw at me.

But when I emerged from the Metro out onto Namesti Miru, it was like I had never left. Everything was exactly as I remembered it. The only thing different was the layout of the street crossing, a project they had been in the middle of 5 months ago. As I walked up the street towards both my current hostel and my former flat, I was living in deja vu. It felt so right, but completely wrong at the same time.


After checking in and finding a bed, I reorganized my bags and fairly ran out the door. I wanted, maybe needed, to go back to Havlickovy Sady, back to my park, in order to reset myself in this city. Once there, I reveled in it's separate-ness. When you're there, it's like the rest of the city doesn't exist. This is something that Bratislava doesn't have, in really any form. There's nowhere you can go, and just forget where you are. The parks are lovely, but are lined with buildings and fences. The canal through Petrzalka is nice, and the lake is a pleasant surprise, but there's no escaping the fact that you are in the middle of Petrzalka. There's no way to break out of the pattern of the city. It was rejuvenating, and exactly what I needed.


Following my sojourn into the forest wonderland, I went over to a friend's flat for dinner. My Prague friends were always the best part of living here, and seeing them again was wonderful. We caught each other up on our lives, ate delicious soup, and I laughed more than I have in a long time.
   
On Saturday I went for a wander around the city, beginning with breakfast in Namesti Miru, watching the spires of the church gradually come into focus as the morning fog burned off. One of the many advantages of visiting a city you're already quite familiar with is that the level of guesswork as to which route to take in order to see everything you want to see is greatly reduced. Wanting to start at the castle, and work my way back to Vinohrady, I took the Metro to Malostranska, and climbed the stairs up to the level of the castle, shedding my cardigan, jacket, and scarf along the way. The sun was bright and hot, but had not yet reached the lower, more crowded parts of the city, so the distant landmarks were shrouded in mist. After wandering around the castle grounds and discovering some spectacular gardens, I made my way back down the hill and back to the Charles Bridge, with a detour to the Lennon Wall. Crossing the river, I made my way to Old Town Square, inadvertently arriving on the penultimate day of the Easter markets. I walked through Namesti Republiky, past the Powder Gate, and up Wenceslas Square back to Vinohrady, where I spent a blissful hour laying out in the sun in yet another city-defying park. Throughout the day, as I revisited these places that I once was able to call part of my home, my heart ached, and I found myself thinking: "I wish I could have been happy here."


That, I think, sums up my feelings about Prague. It is a beautiful city, with myriads of opportunities, a rich history, deep cultural significance, and a future full of possibilities. I would have loved to have been able to stay. To watch the city change from fall to winter, and from winter to spring. I would have loved getting to know her more, to recognize and appreciate her quirks, but it wasn't in the cards for me. For many reasons, Prague was not going to make me happy last fall, and forcing the point would not have been wise. It's possible that we'll get a second chance at some point, but I don't see that happening in the near future.


This visit to Prague was bittersweet. I love this city. It has vibrance, and color, life, history, pride, and some pretty great people. Being back on the familiar streets was wonderful, but it also made me sad because it no longer belongs to me. Or rather, I no longer belong to it. I'm the one with the backpack going to a hostel, not unlocking the door to a flat. I'm the one who has to buy Metro tickets because I don't have a pass. Obviously, I've done my fair share of tourist-ing, but I've never been a tourist somewhere I've lived. I suspect I'll have a similar reaction when I go back to Olaf. With so many memories tied up in these places, it's hard to be just another visitor.

The only language that seems appropriate to describe my feelings about my visit are relationship-centric, which I guess is appropriate. You can't live somewhere and not have a relationship with it, even if it's not the same as having a relationship with an actual person.

Prague is my one that got away. We tried, it didn't work, and we parted on relatively good terms. We both moved on. But there will always be a question mark surrounding the possibility of what could have been. What if we had tried harder? Could things have been different?

Whatever ends up happening, I am so blessed to have had the time that I did there. I met some wonderful people, grew a tremendous amount, and learned things about myself I could not have anywhere else. I once called Prague home. And even if I never do again, that will be enough.

Days Off

I passed up on an opportunity to go to Vienna today with my flatmate. It's absolutely gorgeous out, and I spent the day in leggings, a sweatshirt, and fuzzy socks eating leftovers and watching How I Met Your Mother. Even my attempts at productivity-taking a stab at grading some essays, starting to create lesson plans for next week-inevitably returned to my staring at the screen, my eyes starting to ache a little because I have almost literally done nothing else today.
   
Guess what? I'm homesick.

This is what I want right now.

I miss Minneapolis. I miss the river, my backyard, Lake Street. I miss the dog. I miss my bookshelves, and my teddy bear, and my handmade quilt. I miss being able to read signs, and knowing I won't have to wander around a grocery store looking for an obscure item, because I could always ask someone and they would understand me. I miss church, and playing with the babies every Sunday morning. I miss the newspaper and the crosswords that came with it. I miss the Riverview. I miss my bike. I even miss the absurd weather. But most of all, I miss the people. I miss my friends. I miss my family. I miss watching football with my dad, and cooking with my mom. I miss curling up with my sisters on the couch. I miss feeling like I belong somewhere.

As much as I've grown to appreciate Bratislava, it doesn't feel like home. I've hit the point in my time overseas that the cultural quirks have ceased to be simply baffling or endearing, but annoying. When I was at this point of my time in Prague, I had decided to go home after the death of my grandfather, and was counting down the days until I could get on the plane. But that's not an option now. And even if it was, it's not one I would want to take advantage of.

Being away from home is hard. Starting a new job is hard. Living in a new country, with new people and a new language is hard. Doing all those things at once? It's really, really freaking hard.

And this.

But life should be hard. If you never challenge yourself, you're never going to grow. I've been following the blogs of some of my fellow expats, and watching their journey from being exactly where I am right now, to loving their lives and not wanting to leave is incredibly inspiring. If I gave up and went home I would never forgive myself. Because yes, being homesick sucks. But regret, I think, would suck more. Those what ifs, those giant question marks, they'd never go away.

I don't regret going home last October. It's what I needed, it's what my family needed. I am absolutely certain I made the right decision there. I'm equally sure that right now I'm where I'm supposed to be, and not only because I'm finally living and working here legally. No matter what else happens, whether I decide to stay next year or not, I definitely won't be leaving Slovakia the same person I was when I arrived.

So, no. I'm not going to beat myself up about not going to Vienna today, or even about not leaving the house. I'm in the middle of an adventure, but even adventurers need days off.

Playing Catch Up

     I realized recently that I've been neglecting writing about my real life here in Bratislava because I'm so behind on my Italy posts, and that's not really fair. However beautiful Italy was, Bratislava is so much more my life that not writing about it because it's not as exciting is stupid. I will continue to post about my Italian adventures as time allows, but I'm not going to put everything else on hold because of it. So here goes. An update on my life in Slovakia.

City center from the walls of the castle.

School: It's hard to believe that I've been teaching for almost two months. The time has absolutely flown by. I've learned so much in these past two months it would be impossible to describe all of it, and it would probably bore you all to death anyway. So I'll summarize. The first several weeks, even up until spring break, I was primarily trying not to drown beneath everything I was doing: planning classes, grading assignments, figuring out the various systems for grades, attendance, and substituting. It was rough. There were times I'd go into class not really having a clue what I was going to teach these kids for the next 45 minutes, and need to think on my feet to fill up the time, sometimes more successfully than others. Also, I just didn't (and still don't) feel old enough to have authority over these kids. Yes, I'm 24, and I have a college degree, I know that. But I don't feel that old, and it took a while before I was able to convince myself that I could, in fact, tell these kids what to do, and grade their essays, and ask them to behave in class. There were absolutely moments where I wanted to break into tears, and there were moments when I did. I was overwhelmed, unsure, and self-conscious of the fact that I didn't have the faintest clue what I was doing. As a die-hard perfectionist, and my own worst critic, I was tearing myself apart. I had good days, but I was concentrating on the bad ones. There was no middle ground for me; I was either a really good teacher, or someone who couldn't accomplish anything in the classroom. It sucked.
     But I don't feel that way anymore. Or rather, I feel that way significantly less often than I did before. Don't get me wrong, it's still really difficult, and I still feel like I want to pull my hair out sometimes, but I'm learning how to cope. I've started planning lessons out more than a day at a time. I'm able to cut myself some slack and not grade papers the day they're handed in to me. I've gotten more comfortable with my students and am able to relax more in front of the classes. I've realized I don't have to be a "teacher". I have to be me, as a teacher, and that's probably what has helped the most.

UFO Bridge and Petrzalka from the Castle.

    Though much about teaching has gotten easier in the last couple months, there are things that have gotten harder. I started teaching, as many people do, with thoughts of inspiring young minds, of eager students with good questions, wanting to be taught. While those things may exist in some places, they don't here. I know my classes better than that, and am able to recognize that, with a few exceptions, no matter what I do, no matter how well I plan out my lessons or how thoughtfully I grade their papers, they're still not going to appreciate it. It's discouraging, to say the least. My naivete, while mostly a burden, was also a little bit of a blessing.  I'm still on the fence about whether I want to keep teaching or not but at least now I know that when I do have to answer that question sometime in the relatively near future, I'll have an answer based neither on fear nor optimism. I'll have an answer based on real life.

Bratislava: You may recall that my first impression of Bratislava was not the greatest. I thought the city was, for the most part, ugly, dirty, inconvenient, and frustrating. That opinion has definitely changed. Spring came early to Slovakia this year, and it has been very kind to us. While my family in Minnesota was buried under drifts of snow, the trees were starting to turn green, the sky was consistently blue, and I was able to go outside with bare limbs. The last month has been absolutely gorgeous, even during the cold snap we had the temperature barely got down to freezing even at night. The city has come alive. Walking around downtown and seeing all the cafes and restaurants with their tables out along the sidewalk instead of jumbled all together inside, being able to have an ice cream cone (for significantly less than a euro) and not worry about shivering, wandering through the city center at night in a light jacket comfortably, all these things have greatly increased my appreciation for Bratislava. It really is quite a nice little city.

Along the canal in Petrzalka.

     Even Petrzalka is growing on me. Last week I went for a walk along the canal and discovered a lake! A little lake, but a lake nonetheless. With the grass turning green and the trees starting to blossom, even the concrete blocks start to look less foreboding.
     At some point I'm going to have to force myself to sit down and write about Bratislava. The problem is that now that I've lived here, I'm recognizing things that a visitor wouldn't. I can't be as flighty as I can be with other cities. Bratislava is more than a place I've visited, it's become a place I've lived, and that makes it infinitely more difficult to document. It's more than the buildings, more than the atmosphere, even more than the contrasting elements of it's history. It's complicated, and what's more, I understand that it's complicated. Florence, for all of it's loveliness, has to have some complications, but I can go there and not see them, because they're well hidden from the eyes of casual tourists. Day-trippers don't want complicated, they want the Duomo and the Uffizi, so that's what they get. Even if Abbie and I did stray from the tourist track, we were still only in Florence for two and a half days, not nearly enough time to become more than acquaintances.
     But that's not real life. Bratislava is real life. It's a real city, with real problems, problems that I have experienced, problems that, even if I can never understand them, I can recognize. At the same time, it has more joy hidden in it than I've seen so far, more to offer that I have yet to take advantage of. There's so much more, of everything. That's why it's so hard for me to write about Bratislava, and maybe that's part of the reason I've been putting this off. I know too much about the city to write from a tourist's perspective and not enough to write from a resident's perspective.
     So I guess that's where I have to leave it. That's my life, in the smallest of nutshells. I'm going to try my darndest to write more frequently, about Italy, about the impromptu day trip we took to Budapest, about what I'm doing here as a Bratislavan, about what I'm thinking as I move forward into the future and about the decisions that are, once again, going to have to be made about my life and how I want to live it.

Siena: Vague Historic Dust

     On our last day in Florence we decided to venture out into the Tuscan countryside and spend the day in Siena, a medieval hill-town about two hours away by train. We stopped by the Duomo again to take another stab at acquiring a trash can on which to place Charlie for a picture, and finally we were successful and turned towards the train station with unburdened consciences. The train ride was beautiful, and we disembarked at the Siena station eager to explore this town we knew almost nothing about. We were initially frustrated by the lack of information about how to get from the station into the centre of town because though the sun was shining bright and warm, it was still February and solidly in low tourist season. Eventually we did manage to purchase bus tickets without having to ask for help and made an educated guess as to which bus to take. We were right, as it turned out, and we followed the crowds from the broad modern streets into the narrow passageways of the medieval centre and were lost to the world.

     Our first, and only real goal for the day was to find the Piazza del Campo, so we followed the signs along the winding streets, gaping at how well-preserved, how alive this city seemed. Despite the narrow-ness of the streets, people, cars and bikes all carefully made their way up and down the hills, sometimes with calls too close for comfort. Having spirited some uneaten croissants away from the hostel that morning, we somehow needed to find some other food before doing much exploring. Stumbling upon a supermarket, we ventured inside and successfully purchased two blocks of cheese, and several apples which we crammed into our bags, unwilling to eat them until we had found somewhere other than a street corner to sit down. Giddy with excitement about having food and being in this remarkable town, we walked down the street arm in arm. Not long after that, I started to notice passageways heading off to the left, and down. They were small, so I ignored them, but then there was one I couldn't ignore. This one was wider, lined with tacky souvenirs, and the light at the bottom of the staircase shone brightly. Our arms came unlinked as we carefully made our way down the stairs, and my eyes got bigger as more of the square gradually came into view.

     And there it was, the famous Piazza del Campo. We stood on the very rim of a giant shell, our eyes blinking in the sudden sunlight. Anchoring the square was the Palazzo Pubblico at the bottom and dozens of buildings all around the rim as if without them the entire square would crumble into the volcano over which it's built. We found a place on the square amidst the other small groups gathered there and ate our lunch, astounded by what we had discovered almost entirely by accident.
     Although the town claims to have been founded by Senius, the nephew of Romulus, the founder of Rome, it did not thrive under Roman rule, being located far from any major roads. It wasn't until the Lombard occupation sometime around the 6th century that it gained importance as a trading post, with the necessity of rerouting trade routes to avoid the Byzantine raids along the old Roman roads. After the Lombards surrendered to Charlemagne in 774 it was passed between various rulers, until the unification of Italy during the 19th century. Since then, the city has thrived as a tourist destination, a centre for humanist studies, and as an agricultural producer.
     After finishing our lunch we headed back out into the city, ready for whatever we happened to find. We passed through several beautiful courtyards, lovely in their fading beauty, clearly cherished by the population. We soon found ourselves searching for the Cathedral, which we found, and which took our breath away with it's beauty, and sheer size. Though smaller than the Duomo in Florence, it seemed larger, being surrounded by such a warren of streets. It was unexpected, this massive building situated in such a small city on top of a hill. We discovered with regret that in order to go inside you need to purchase a ticket, so we resigned ourselves to admiring the exterior, a very respectable consolation prize.
     After leaving the cathedral square, we spent the rest of the day exploring the city. We found it is nearly impossible to get lost in Siena, as long as you stay within the confines of the old city walls. Though you may never know exactly where you will end up when turning a particular corner, you can be sure that eventually the labyrinth of streets will guide you back to the Campo. I suppose that's one of the benefits of living at the top of a hill with such clearly defined boundaries, whatever other drawbacks such a situation may possess.

     At one point during our ramblings we noticed a sign that pointed to the Porto San Marco, the Gate of Saint Mark. Without a real intention of doing so, we began wandering downhill and came upon an old gate, which was beautiful in itself, but even more spectacular for what lay beyond. As we passed under the pedestrian archway, my jaw dropped. Immediately in front of us was a small plateau with a playground, and the the ground dropped away to reveal the Tuscan hillside under the party sunny sky. I sped my pace up, anxious to get a closer look, and I was not disappointed. Both of us tried to capture the rolling hills and distant villas on our cameras, knowing the whole time that no picture could do it justice. We stood in silence, much as we had done on the Piazzelle Michelangelo, trying to sear the image into our memories. My admiration of Siena turned to vague disbelief at what the walls and tall buildings were shutting out and how casually it was reintroduced.
     We gradually made our way back to the Campo where we got more gelato, which was both cheaper and better than the gelato in Florence. Go figure. As we made our way back to catch the bus we amused ourselves by deciding which dentist's office we would frequent as Siena residents, which stores we would shop at. Part of the charm of Siena was how seamlessly the past wove itself into the lives of people in the present. Florence gave the impression that although it would always protect it's treasures, it was willing to evolve with its people. Siena did not. Yes, there have been several concessions made to the demands of modernity, but overall the city seems to have changed very little over the centuries. Florence is a city with beautiful buildings housing great works of art and hundreds of years of historical importance. Siena is a museum in which people live out their daily lives casually, without pretense. Siena would come to provide a stark contrast to Venice, another Italian city that has become a museum, with much different results.
     We found ourselves back at the bus stop after several detours, including one to a beautiful church and it's parking lot which provided us with yet another stunning Tuscan panorama, with a little time to spare. So we walked along the ramparts of the old Medici fortress, now connected to the rest of the city by recent growth, and which has been turned into a park providing stunning views of the city from above. I couldn't stop smiling. It had been such a perfect day, in such an unexpectedly perfect city.
     Thinking back on it, Siena is no more perfect than any other city. There is a distinct lack of green space, the only glimpses of nature we found were those hidden from sight by the walls of the city. And although we were not the only tourists, the number of people was manageable, which would not be the case at the height of the tourist season. It would be miserable then, crowded against the unyielding stone buildings, trying to navigate the streets with hundreds of people lost in their guidebooks. Summer would also bring unbearable heat to the maze of streets, and breezes would be almost non-existent. No wonder the city felt the need to build such a beautiful Piazza. And in winter, if there was any snow or ice at all, the streets would become impassable. No, Siena is not perfect. But for us, for that one day, it was. And that's enough.