J is for Join the Peace Corps

When I was in high school, I was voted most likely to join the Peace Corp.  It made sense. At the time, it seemed like a very good way to see the world.  What eventually turned me off back then was the two year time commitment.  Even after college, two years seemed like too long to commit to anything. Then I moved to Chile to teach. I had no return flight. I ended up returning nearly two years later. It didn’t seem that long after all.

What I like most about the Peace Corps is their intensive language program. I would hope to go somewhere Spanish speaking so as to continue my language learning, though it’s not exactly the volunteer’s choice. The two year commitment still seems a bit overwhelming at times, but now I envision going when I older, perhaps retired and with a partner to join me. I hear they prefer couples because they’re much more likely to stay the full two years.  Perhaps one day I will fulfill my high school destiny and join the Peace Corps.

Moments From the Sky

 

1. Intipunku, the sun gate. The fourth and final day. Up at 4:30 to hike in the dark to this particular spot. Where gods once watched Machu Picchu awaken. Our group of travelers, once strangers, turned friends from days on the trail, stops suddenly.  We have arrived. Backpacks slip from shoulders, spots are staked, a quiet falls on the otherwise boisterous crowd.  I lean against my pack, ready.  The first flicker of light, then the next.  The city I’ve waited a lifetime to see appears before me as the sun climbs into the sky.  This is why you hike four days. Vale la pena.

 

 

2. Sitting on the dock of the bar, legs dangling over the water, surrounded by strangers I’ve never loved more, friends I’d never met till now. Music floating to me on the gentle waves disturbing the reflection of the harvest moon hanging so low above me. Breathtaking brightness in the Panama night. I sip my rum and coke and smile up. She sees me tonight.

 

 

3. On the ship just as the first drops of rain began to fall.  Gentle, soft, warm rain.  The kind of rain you dance in, and we did.  As the ship pulled away from the port, we said goodbye to Malaysia in a series and twists and turns to the music of the rain as if fell upon us in the hot, hot evening.

 

 

4. I said, these are sun setting chairs.  We turned them to face the ocean. Just in time to watch the sun dip her rays into the water, testing it.  A cold Toña beer in each of our hands.  I found an easiness in San Jaun Del Sur, I’d never found before or since.  As the sun slipped into the sea to rest for the night, I settled in. There are some places you cannot leave.

 

 

5. Each flash of lightning longer than the last.  I take the moment to stare at you and find your eyes on me. I blush, avert my eyes.  The raindrops come stronger, harder, but we are protected beneath the awning in a moment ours alone. Staring out into the dark of the storm, each burst of light, a chance to know you.

Moments From the Sky

 

1. Intipunku, the sun gate. The fourth and final day. Up at 4:30 to hike in the dark to this particular spot. Where gods once watched Machu Picchu awaken. Our group of travelers, once strangers, turned friends from days on the trail, stops suddenly.  We have arrived. Backpacks slip from shoulders, spots are staked, a quiet falls on the otherwise boisterous crowd.  I lean against my pack, ready.  The first flicker of light, then the next.  The city I’ve waited a lifetime to see appears before me as the sun climbs into the sky.  This is why you hike four days. Vale la pena.

 

 

2. Sitting on the dock of the bar, legs dangling over the water, surrounded by strangers I’ve never loved more, friends I’d never met till now. Music floating to me on the gentle waves disturbing the reflection of the harvest moon hanging so low above me. Breathtaking brightness in the Panama night. I sip my rum and coke and smile up. She sees me tonight.

 

 

3. On the ship just as the first drops of rain began to fall.  Gentle, soft, warm rain.  The kind of rain you dance in, and we did.  As the ship pulled away from the port, we said goodbye to Malaysia in a series and twists and turns to the music of the rain as if fell upon us in the hot, hot evening.

 

 

4. I said, these are sun setting chairs.  We turned them to face the ocean. Just in time to watch the sun dip her rays into the water, testing it.  A cold Toña beer in each of our hands.  I found an easiness in San Jaun Del Sur, I’d never found before or since.  As the sun slipped into the sea to rest for the night, I settled in. There are some places you cannot leave.

 

 

5. Each flash of lightning longer than the last.  I take the moment to stare at you and find your eyes on me. I blush, avert my eyes.  The raindrops come stronger, harder, but we are protected beneath the awning in a moment ours alone. Staring out into the dark of the storm, each burst of light, a chance to know you.

Never-neverland

There's a reason that people who live abroad, live abroad. Instead of living in whatever country it is, you are really living in a place more aptly named Never-Neverland. There is a sense while abroad in which you do not age, you do not suffer consequences and until you return to the aptly named “real world,” you can be whoever you want to be, because no one is around to know the difference.

I never really took advantage of the latter in either of my living abroad experiences. I always found it harder to be someone other than me. As Mark Twain once said, “If you tell the truth you don't have to remember anything,” I guess I have a bad memory.

I did however reap the other benefits of Never-Neverland. Though I'm not sure reap is the right word. I turned 30 in Honduras. I remember thinking, before I was certain I was leaving, when I still thought I'd be stuck in the US of A, how horrible it would be to turn 30 in the states. Somehow, I had this feeling that it would be so much more significant, perhaps worthwhile, to grow older in another country. The idea of staying in one place was completely unappealing to me and my birthday seemed to amplify that notion.

At nearly 30 years old, I was the oldest in our endearingly named row of houses, The Compound, the fellow teachers and I lived. I took solace in the fact that the really old teachers lived by themselves and so I, was therefore, not the oldest of all the teachers, just those in the compound. I suppose it was little solace.

Perhaps it was their youth that I reveled in, perhaps it was simply being around those who did not know from where I came. If I wanted to, I could have very easily lied about my age, told everyone I was a ripe, young, 25 -year -old, exploring the world. I could have let my other two friends, only months my junior take my place in seniority. But simply being there was enough for me to be ok with turning 30. If one has to turn 30, they should surely do it in another country.

Lets talk about consequences. There are certain rules in the states that do not apply in most of the rest of the world.... yet. I used to tell people when they would ask me why on earth I was moving to Honduras, that I was moving so that I could smoke where ever the hell I damn well pleased. My departure date aligned with the start date of the no smoking ban in Colorado Springs. I had, before than, somehow avoided the law in the states. I continued this avoidance through my arrival back in the states in Chicago a year later, a welcome, welcome, till I arrived in Colorado the next day. A right I had managed to keep all my life, was finally taken from me. I found that reason enough to live abroad at the time.

When you're abroad it is easy to think of it as a very long vacation. We all know, on vacation we do things we might not normally do at home. It is, after all, supposed to be a break, is it not? It is hard to lose that mentality while living abroad. You have very little sense of permanency, especially in the first year or so, and so you live as though you are permanently on vacation. I must admit, not exactly a bad way to live.

Abroad, I smoked when I wanted to, drank too much and often, stayed out too late and ate whatever I wanted to, or could. Not having a car, and, therefore, having to walk nearly everywhere, made up for the latter. I was always amazed when I would put on a pair of jeans, and they still fit. I was even more amazed, whenever I might find a scale, to find that I had not gained any weight.

My other vices were more of a problem. The party aspect of living abroad was always appealing to me. I somehow found a way to rationalize all the things I could not have rationalized in the states. You can't get cancer in Chile right? You can't get fired, or piss off a best friend in a foreign country. Drinking too much isn't a problem when you've got no one holding you accountable. My jobs never suffered from my late night shenanigans because it was often me who treated them as more important than my employers. Another fact to add to the Never-neverland effect. Yes, I had a job, but no, it was not exactly a priority. My jobs were simply a means of getting me to the next country. And it seemed, most employers knew this. They'd take what they could get. Especially if the resume said I was good at what I do. And I was. I was good enough to do it half assed day in and day out and still impress the bosses.

In the states my job was career, in Honduras and Chile my jobs were a joke. My jobs were a way to a pay check, which I saved month to month so I could eventually quit and travel some more. And I did. In Chile I traveled south through Argentina and Chile, zig zagging my way to El Fin Del Mundo, Ushuaia Argentina and eventually making it all the way to Antarctica. I traveled north to Peru and east to Uruguay. In Honduras I traveled first north to Guatemala and then south, to El Salvador, Nicaragua, Costa Rica and Panama. I knocked out all of Central America except for Belize. Another time I told myself.

I suppose this Never-neverland is what I still dream of now. Here in the states, where my job is a career, my boyfriend is the same guy I go to sleep with every night and my cats need feeding every day, it is easy to get comfortable. In fact I think I have, and this scares me a bit. Ok, a lot. I think there is nothing in this world more frightening than being complacent. So I dream, I find places to go and travel and see and I plan. And while I may not ever live abroad again, unless I can figure out a way to get my cats and my boyfriend there, I will most certainly continue to travel; and travel, even more so than living abroad, feels a lot like Never -neverland.

Never-neverland

There's a reason that people who live abroad, live abroad. Instead of living in whatever country it is, you are really living in a place more aptly named Never-Neverland. There is a sense while abroad in which you do not age, you do not suffer consequences and until you return to the aptly named “real world,” you can be whoever you want to be, because no one is around to know the difference.

I never really took advantage of the latter in either of my living abroad experiences. I always found it harder to be someone other than me. As Mark Twain once said, “If you tell the truth you don't have to remember anything,” I guess I have a bad memory.

I did however reap the other benefits of Never-Neverland. Though I'm not sure reap is the right word. I turned 30 in Honduras. I remember thinking, before I was certain I was leaving, when I still thought I'd be stuck in the US of A, how horrible it would be to turn 30 in the states. Somehow, I had this feeling that it would be so much more significant, perhaps worthwhile, to grow older in another country. The idea of staying in one place was completely unappealing to me and my birthday seemed to amplify that notion.

At nearly 30 years old, I was the oldest in our endearingly named row of houses, The Compound, the fellow teachers and I lived. I took solace in the fact that the really old teachers lived by themselves and so I, was therefore, not the oldest of all the teachers, just those in the compound. I suppose it was little solace.

Perhaps it was their youth that I reveled in, perhaps it was simply being around those who did not know from where I came. If I wanted to, I could have very easily lied about my age, told everyone I was a ripe, young, 25 -year -old, exploring the world. I could have let my other two friends, only months my junior take my place in seniority. But simply being there was enough for me to be ok with turning 30. If one has to turn 30, they should surely do it in another country.

Lets talk about consequences. There are certain rules in the states that do not apply in most of the rest of the world.... yet. I used to tell people when they would ask me why on earth I was moving to Honduras, that I was moving so that I could smoke where ever the hell I damn well pleased. My departure date aligned with the start date of the no smoking ban in Colorado Springs. I had, before than, somehow avoided the law in the states. I continued this avoidance through my arrival back in the states in Chicago a year later, a welcome, welcome, till I arrived in Colorado the next day. A right I had managed to keep all my life, was finally taken from me. I found that reason enough to live abroad at the time.

When you're abroad it is easy to think of it as a very long vacation. We all know, on vacation we do things we might not normally do at home. It is, after all, supposed to be a break, is it not? It is hard to lose that mentality while living abroad. You have very little sense of permanency, especially in the first year or so, and so you live as though you are permanently on vacation. I must admit, not exactly a bad way to live.

Abroad, I smoked when I wanted to, drank too much and often, stayed out too late and ate whatever I wanted to, or could. Not having a car, and, therefore, having to walk nearly everywhere, made up for the latter. I was always amazed when I would put on a pair of jeans, and they still fit. I was even more amazed, whenever I might find a scale, to find that I had not gained any weight.

My other vices were more of a problem. The party aspect of living abroad was always appealing to me. I somehow found a way to rationalize all the things I could not have rationalized in the states. You can't get cancer in Chile right? You can't get fired, or piss off a best friend in a foreign country. Drinking too much isn't a problem when you've got no one holding you accountable. My jobs never suffered from my late night shenanigans because it was often me who treated them as more important than my employers. Another fact to add to the Never-neverland effect. Yes, I had a job, but no, it was not exactly a priority. My jobs were simply a means of getting me to the next country. And it seemed, most employers knew this. They'd take what they could get. Especially if the resume said I was good at what I do. And I was. I was good enough to do it half assed day in and day out and still impress the bosses.

In the states my job was career, in Honduras and Chile my jobs were a joke. My jobs were a way to a pay check, which I saved month to month so I could eventually quit and travel some more. And I did. In Chile I traveled south through Argentina and Chile, zig zagging my way to El Fin Del Mundo, Ushuaia Argentina and eventually making it all the way to Antarctica. I traveled north to Peru and east to Uruguay. In Honduras I traveled first north to Guatemala and then south, to El Salvador, Nicaragua, Costa Rica and Panama. I knocked out all of Central America except for Belize. Another time I told myself.

I suppose this Never-neverland is what I still dream of now. Here in the states, where my job is a career, my boyfriend is the same guy I go to sleep with every night and my cats need feeding every day, it is easy to get comfortable. In fact I think I have, and this scares me a bit. Ok, a lot. I think there is nothing in this world more frightening than being complacent. So I dream, I find places to go and travel and see and I plan. And while I may not ever live abroad again, unless I can figure out a way to get my cats and my boyfriend there, I will most certainly continue to travel; and travel, even more so than living abroad, feels a lot like Never -neverland.