Still here- Day 9

I met an angel today.  She showed me her apartment, fed me and, most importantly, gave me hope.  I have been struggling with feeling isolated and lonely since I've gotten here.  My "free accommodation" is, indeed, free but is quite far from the city center (Stone Town), where almost everything happens.  It takes quite a bit of effort and money to get to Stone Town when I want to be connected to civilization.  So today I decided to put on my Big Girl Panties and look for an apartment in town.  Everything is so informal in Zanzibar, barely any information or advertising is online- finding a place to live is almost purely by word of mouth.  You need to know someone who knows someone who knows someone who might still be looking for someone to rent an apartment.  Tricky when you don't know anyone.

So, long story short, I was given a phone number of an American named Amanda.  She is my angel.  I called her to see her apartment to possibly rent it.  Then, as I shared my pitiful story of the loneliness and isolation, she began to connect me to this community.  She signed me up to listservs and gave me phone numbers.  She even took me to her boyfriend's cousin's place to see an available apartment and translated and negotiated in Swahili on my behalf.  We ended up spending close to 7 hours together today.

We ended this whirlwind-of-a-day at a seaside garden watching a breathtaking sunset with about 20 different street venders selling food on set up tables.  As the sun went down. each table put up their own gas lamp which created this magical feel across the garden.  I ate octopus, freshly caught shrimp and whitefish.  Super delicious.  Super cheap.  And this is the best part- this event happens every night.  We chatted for over an hour, and sat amongst the Zanzibar community watching the sunset and the boats come in to dock.

This story may seem quite trivial to you, but it has shifted the direction my Zanzibar Experience is going in.  I was very bored, lonely and frustrated this past week.  This was my daily schedule:

6:30:  Start talking myself into waking up because, frankly, I hadn't slept well AGAIN.
6:45-7:15:  Choose from 3 available outfits that are weather appropriate (Ever hear of Africa hot?  Exactly...) and respectful to the prominent Islamic culture (covers my shoulders and knees) and pound coffee and a peanutbutter sandwich.
7:15-7:45:  Wait for the phone call telling us that the school bus is ready to pick us up.
7:45-8:30:  Ride to school with 20 children smushed into a 7 passenger van.
Side note:  When one of the teachers told me I would be riding to and from school in a bus crammed full of children, I wanted to cry.  American children are little hellions on buses.  They yell, they fight, they curse and yell some more.  However, these beautiful little African children are actually quite pleasant on the bus.  Every morning, I hoist myself onto that bus and find a place to sit by grabbing a small child and putting them on my lap.  They lay against me and, with the same glazed morning-eyes I have, we wake up quietly the rest of the ride.

8:30-2:00:  An average school day
2:00-2:30:  Bus ride home (a little more lively, but still quite enjoyable)

Then... I spent the rest of the day SITTING with my roommates in my living room until I go to sleep.  I wanted to claw my eyes out.  Unfortunately, living in a free accommodation far from the city and living a frugal lifestyle means a lot of cereal and sandwiches and A LOT of sitting on your computer or reading a book.  Doing this 5 days a week for 7-8 hours an evening makes me think water torture might look like fun.

So meeting my angel today has given me hope that I can find a place in this little island community.

Karibu Zanzibar (Welcome to Zanzibar)

Arrived in Zanzibar yesterday.  I am currently sittin gin the Africa Hotel because 1- I needed to get out of the hotel after a long nap and 2- after being toted around a city full of a foreign language, I am ready to be around some English.  It is interesting- the people of Zanzibar are not very friendly to meeting people who do not speak Swahili.  I am sure it is partly because they do not speak any Englisah (or very little), but I remember in Mendoza that they would a tleast make the attempt to comunicate because everyone was seen as family and possib lty because they are expecting you to know some Spanish.  As I live here, I will see if I become more accepted and spoken to.

Since my departure from Mendoza, I have felt a relative calmness and assurance that everythign will work out just fine.  I think this is, in part, from my extensive experience with the back packers coming through Monkey Hostel showing me that they have journied around the world and so can I.

I had a tearful goodbye with my family from the hostel, still missing their constant presence in my daily life.  Their constant harassment on Facbeook shows me the feel the same.  I find it takes a little while to truly let go of the previous place I lived and to conpletely be present in the place I live now.  I even talk about both Cusco and Mendoza to people I meet here.  I am sure the mental comparisons and memories will fade as I have new experiences, new memories and form new connections.  I think there is a natural process that bridges someone from old to new experiences, similar to a DJ blending from one song seemlessly to the next without the abrupt jolt of silence.  I guess that would be the equivalent of culture shock.

I spent the next two days with my friend Cameron in Buenos Aires exploring the city, getting last-minute essentials and nursing a terrible hangover after a.bit.too.festive first night in BA.  I blame it on the Tango.  Cameron was a great host and the perfect person to see me off.  This was my first journey I was to complete ALL ON MY OWN.

I spent the next 20 hours on planes, eating large meals on airplanes and waiting in airports.  When I arrived in Dar Es Salaam, I realized that I had NO cash on me!  I quickly found that all TWO cash machines at the airport were broken and was instructed to pay my visa tax when I landed in Zanzibar.  Well, to my luck, the ONE cash machine in Zanzibar was also broken.  A note was written on my visa and my pássport was confiscated until I was able to pay the fee.  As I gathered my cumbersome backpack, I was praying to the Good Kharma Gods that my ride (the Headmaster of my new school) has arrived or will arrive.  I had not had any communication with her for quite a few days.  Well, to my good fortune she and her husband were there waiting for me and were gracious enough to lend me the money to retrieve my visa.  Phew.  Crisis averted.

I was wisked away to their hotel ( yes, the one they owned) I was to be staying at for the next few nights because my room-to-be was not clean yet.  On the ride there, I found they striggled  bit with English and didn't have the benefit of having similar between our two languages, like English and Spanish.
I need to interupt this to meantion that I am fully apprecitaing sitting on a gracefully decorated balcony sipping tasteful wine.  As Cameron said, the one thing we can count on taking away from Argentina is that fact that we will be wine snobs from now on.  I am listing to dark, invisible waves crash to the shore and nondescript, but perfect for the environment, instrumental music in the background.  My table is only lit by candlelight.  Am I in heaven?

To continue, when we stopped the hotel, I dropped my stuff, took a shower to wash off the Travel Grime and went to dinner at their suggested restaurant- chinese food.  Pretty good, might I add.  Towards the end of dinner, as I became increasingly delirious, I was brought back to the hotel and fell into a deep sleep.  I was woken up by beautiful singing at 4 AM.  A nearby mosk was chanting their morning prayers.  Being amongst such a beautifully religious culture is, honestly, refreshing. Traditions that a population so whole-heartedly believe in, they are willing to cover up almost their entire bodies (which, might I add, is a mysteriously seductive way to dress) amd get up at the godawful time of 4 AM to show their devotion to their faith.  If I am woken up every morning by a population giving thanks and  having faith, I think I can get used to this.

After much difficulty getting back to sleep (not fun), I woke up tired once more.  I was made breakfast by the receptionist.  Might I add, I haven't gone hungry since I left Buenos Aires.  I was fed 3 full meals on my flights and fed consistantly since I have arrived on this island.  At breakfast, the receptionist attempted (at my request) to teach me some Swahili.  Nothing stuck after 5 seconds of learning it.  Literally nothing.  After breakfast, I was, once again, wisked away to do paperwork for my work visa.  While waiting in the tour agency office that my boss and her husband also own (yes- they own a school, hotel and tour agency), I found the internet was down... over the entire island.  Apparently, electricity and internet can occassionally go down over the entire island.  Keep the candles handy!

Next, I needed to take my photo for the visa.  I was taken to a very local and very busy market.  On the way, I realized that it will take me a little while to get used to being driven on the left side of the road.  Every ounce of navigation intuition that I own is being challenged as danger signals flash in my brain every 5 seconds.
At the market, I found that I felt a little uncomfortable.  The culture on Zanzibar Island is the first culture that is truly foreign to me.  It is not the dress or the language that brings in the feeling (even though it does frustrate me that I have NO idea what people are saying to me or about me), it is the manner men call out to me.  Will responding warrant further harassment?  Is ignorning them rude?  I usually know the appropriate response...   Also, as I am toted around from the photo studio to a booth selling sheets, people address my new boss but never me.  I am treated as if I am not even there except for my new boss.  I am hoping this is somehow cultural and not a sign of rudeness.  Keeping an open mind.

I am then driven to the school.  This is what I always envisioned a school to be.  No flourescent lights and sterile hallways.  Everything's a little dirty and a bit imperfect. Students' artwork and projects are displayed everywhere as well as important learning information.  The faded construction paper most things are created with is crudely taped to walls but clearly a symbol that someone was proud of this work, not because someone required that a certain amount of work e put up at certain times.  I come in when lunch is ending, which apprently, was the most hectic part of the day.  With about 15 children eating at a long, plastic-covered picnic table, I wouldn't quite call it hectic, but the cleaning up procedure could use a little improvement.  I was later told about an idea that would pull one of the teachers away from lunch duty and there was concern about there not being enough teachers on duty for lunch.  ind you, there arer 47 children TOTAL in the school and about 7 teachers.  I think I can handle covering that teacher's duties.  I am used to handling over 40 students alone, half of which are considered "handfuls."  My new boss agreed with me.  Oh, how I've missed working with children.

After meeting some of my students I will be teaching for the summer, and possibly the next school year if I choose to stay on, I was taken to eat a traditional Zanzibar lunch.  An informal order-at-the-counter-at-your-own-risk kind of place.  The food, I found, was quite similar to Indian food.  Score.  I was then dropped at the hostel where I, once again, feel into a deep sleep and guiltily slept the day away.

Awaking at night, I had no idea if this town was safe to navigate at night, especially being a woman.  I asked the receptionist, but something got lost in translation and I was left as clueless as before.  He offered to take me to a garden a bit of a walk away which I initially accepted.  After going back to my room, and weighing my options of getting esorted by a local, yet being alone with the stranger, I opted to venture out on my own to this hotel/bar which was noted on multiple websites.  The benefit of going to a known tourist bar is that i know it is relatively safe and there is even a possibility of meeting someone who speaks my language.
I have some questions that I would desparately lke answered.  Right now, all I need is patience to wait to move into this apartment with another teacher to get my questions answered by someone who is in my situation, and not a local.

This place is absolutely magical.  It is feels like the love child of Aladdin and a tropical paradise.  The dirty run-down buildings and small alleyways are part of the charm.  People ride bikes, walk slow and laze around here because, well, life is good.  Hakuna Matata.

Perspective on Problems

A friend recently opened my eyes to the concept of FWPs (First World Problems).  Some of these include a store not having your brand of ketchup, a waitress having to be asked for the bill for it actually to be given over, having to put on your own sheets at a hostel, throwing away your toilet paper instead of flushing it because the sewage system can´t handle anything besides what has exitted your body.  And sometimes, if too much has exitted, it can´t even handle that.  Living in a first world country, it´s easy to forget a much wider perspective of what we have and what we consider "a problem" like a smoking habit, panic attacks and Starbucks closing for a holiday. 

These problems are very real in a first world country, many times being caused by the very dominant work culture of not only identifying with our profession but basing a lot of our self worth on our performance in that profession.  We stress over unimportant things like paperwork and what our boss thinks of us and forget that doing our best and having good intentions should be amongst the highest on our priority list. 

Teaching appears to have such clear priorities, but when you´re in the school environment, for survival your priorities change.  Paperwork, grades, pareent conferences, deadline, deadline, deadline.  How does my principal feel about my performance?  Will my students´parents work with me or against me?  Will I be able to have a work-free weekend or will I, yet again, need to bring work home?  I would find the most enjoyable thing about my weekend is that I can sit outside while grading papers and planning for the next week.  Phew.  Atleast I´ll get a little Vitamin D.  I was worried!  No matter how it´s masked, it´s still work.  I don´t care if another teacher-friend is doing work with me.  It´s still work.  No boundaries and definitely no prioritizing my mental and physical health. 

I am finally able to see the absurdity of my priorities while teaching.  Taking care of everyone and everything over my own health.  Because of this newfound physical and mental health, I have decided to continue along this beautiful path and solely work at my not-so-difficult job at the hostel.  I will not be teaching Engliush in the magical city of Mendoza.  This was quite a big decision: choosing to work a job with very little challenge and very little income.  Up until now, I have always held jobs that were related to my passions.  While sitting at a reception desk isn´t quite a passion of mine, meeting new people and hearing their stories and being changed by their perspectives and cultures certainly is.  Since college, I have preached living by your beliefs.  I have figured out many beliefs to live by but I forgot to include the part about taking care of myself before taking care of others.  I envision the flight attendant miming securing your own mask before assisting another.  So, I am riding the Selfish Train for a while, allowing myself to simply be happy, healthy and to LIVE those beliefs I forgot for so long.

On a lighter note, there is a 3 day wine festival directly in front of my hostel.  God Bless Wine Country.

Men

Our hostel attracts more men than women.  I'm not sure if this is a pattern seen across all backpackers or if it's Mendoza or if it's just our hostel.  All I know, is I am exposed to a wide variety of those from the Male Species: from 19 years old to 40 years old, from married to single, from reserved to wild dancers, from The Nice Guy to The Douchebag.  It's easy to get used to these considerate and genuine dudes.  They are engaging in conversation, open minded and easy to let you guard down around.  So, as the Guest Tides come and go, I find that I am guarded with these different groups of men-boys not according to their own merit or my specific intuition with these individuals, but according to the previous Tide.  This has caused me to have some rude surprises- both positive and negative.

They was an amusing mix of 5 guys with 5 quirky personalities from Australia.  The one common trait they all held was 100% genuineness.  They owned who they were and what they did.  They were fantastic at conversation and were curious about everyone they met.  Each one of them.  People wanted to share their stories with every one of the guys.  Somehow, the most important questions were asked to each person they sparked a conversation with.  The guys somehow intuitively knew what each person found most important.  They also made the most comedic comments without even realizing how amusingly quirky they were.  They really made up quite a traveling family.

              Carl partied the hardest.  He would consume almost everything put in front of him and consequently got in the most trouble.  He was a crazy dancer and quick to smile and laugh.  He put everyone around him at ease with his humor and positive look at life.  He would playfully make fun of people, putting down their guard and, consequently, easily making friends.  It was easy to be yourself around him.  Even with all of these friends and attention, he was still willing to get me a blanket when I needed.
              Mark meant everything he said.  He was usually the tallest in a crowd, but you would never know by his confident stature and altruistic smile. He related very well to people.  Sitting next to him, you know he was listening and watching you and quick to comment and relate.  You knew you mattered when you were with him. 
              Mike was the most inquisitive one.  He made sure his stories related to the people around him. He doesn't realize it, but his unadulterated social and caring personality will allow him to develop into an incredible teacher.  All he needs to do is put as much thought, effort and love into his work as he does to everyone around him.
              Joe saved my life.  He discovered that I was taking an anti-inflammatory instead of birthcontrol (a pharmacist in Cusco fucked up the medication).  I had been taking it for 8 days when he found out.  One of the most selfless individuals I have ever met, he walked with me to the pharmacy and listened to my honest story of why I moved abroad without judgement or interuption.  He made sure I got the correct prescription and we had a quite eventful grocery shopping experience.  I think he was the unintentially funniest out the group.  It seemed his perspective on life was just quite funny.
             And last, Jack who, after moving to Australia from China, was allowed to choose any "normal" name and chose Jack for Jackie Chen.  Hilarious.  He was so full of information (both useful and useless), it was as if it leaked out of him when given the chance.  He would debate with Joe for what seemed for hours, or simplify theories for the more simple-minded in the group (a.k.a. me).  He, like the others, was quick to smile and you really felt the pure warmth from it.  He wasn't the most touchy guy out the group, but when he hugged you, you knew it meant something very real.

These guys were quite a bunch.  From each one, I was told about some big blowout they had recently had with each other.  They all mentioned in some way that they probably wouldn't travel in that specific group again for various reasons.  I came to see them as a family that just spent a bit too much time together.  Without one, the group just wouldn't seem complete.  I'm not sure if I will ever experience such a group again.  I loved living amongst these noisy and messy guys for a fun few days.

Only a couple of days after these guys left, a group of Irish dudes I like to refer to as The Douchebags (as referenced earlier) arrived.  I welcomed them with the same enthusiasm I had for the previous group.  Nevertheless, they were snobby, rude and entirely incapable of having any kind of interesting conversation.  Let down.

The day The Douches left, an animated couple from the US came in.  I got along with them very easily and ended up chatting with the guy into the night, after everyone went to sleep.  We both really opened up and talked about things almost-perfect strangers don't talk about.  It was refreshing to connect with someone on such a level.  I left that conversation with that good empty feeling, like something I've been holding onto for a while was finally allowed to escape. Throughout their 3 days stay here, we spent a good amount of time together.  It's rare to find such people that "click" so easily.  I feel lucky each time this happens.

I am learning to really listen to my intuition and step back a bit when meeting new people.  It can get exhausting, the build up and let down that comes with the Tides.

Impressions

Men in Argentina kiss on the cheek to greet and leave each other, just as men and women would do.  I believe it´s a beautiful thing to see men okay with touching and showing love for each other.  Occassionally, I see a foreigner get kissed on the cheek by another man and it´s obvious that it makes them feel quite uncomfortable.  It´s okay.  It´s one of those good uncomfortable moments that challenges men´s understanding of what it means to be a man.

All of my life, I have prided myself in being able to "get" people.  Watching, analyzing.  I am typically right on my assessment during the first 5 minutes of meeting these people.  But I have come to find that this sixth sense has become inaccurate.  Travelling can really bring out the best and the worst in people.  And I see the change within hours sometimes.  It´s defintely an interesting character study working in such a transiant place.

I am also experiencing being part of this community.  Every morning, I wake up deliciously late and wonder over to my favorite coffee shop.  As I make my way there, the waiters standing outside of the restaurant next door all say hi because they now know my face (and probably my boobs too).  At the cafe, I practice my Spanish with my favorite coffee girl and I make her practice her English. It´s the best $3 I spend on a daily basis.  While sitting outside, drinking my coffee, I now say hi to the waiter that works NEXT DOOR to the coffee shop as he stands outside of his restaurant, waiting to help customers.  I don´t know these pèople besides their faces and place of work, but it would be strange, at this point, to not exchange greetings and smiles.  I love this town.

The Most Difficult Part

In my last post, I said the most difficult part of working at the hostel was washing dishes.  I take it back.  The hardest part of my job is saying goodbye.

Waking Up

We have an influx of women over 50 in the hostel.  The age groups fluctuate from large groups of 19 year olds to certified senior citizens.  With each wave of different age groups comes a different culture and feel in the hostel.  Waking up this morning for my first morning shift, I come down to breakfast and find three of our "more mature" guests already eating.  Two are German, one of which speaks very good English, and a French woman that speaks no other language besides French.  I have been communicating with her purely through miming and pointing. 
I have now been in Mendoza for 16 days and have been working at the hostel for the last 6 days of that.  I am consistently waking up in a great mood and full of energy.  My coffee is ACTUALLY working (sometimes too much).    The most difficult part of my job is washing dishes.  I work with friendly people who constantly remind me that I need to be practicing my Spanish and are happy to practice with me.  My favorite part of the job is getting to know the guests' stories.  They quite quickly blow in through our doors and and just as quickly blow right out to their next adventure.  I especially enjoy the relationships I build.  They change me in little ways.  I have participated in more impromptu dance parties and eaten more meat in one sitting than I ever have in my life.  In other words, life is carefree and easy right now.

About a week ago, I realized that I have struggled with my energy level for years.  Sometimes, you don't realize something's wrong until it becomes right.  I think there are multiple contributors, one of which is the schedule I was required to have with teaching- early mornings and late nights.  I would spend the day constantly trying to elevate my energy level and keep it up.  I would have short spurts of exercising but could never be consistent with it, partly, because of my lack of energy.  It has always been a viscous cycle.  Now, I find I have more than enough energy to be in a great mood all day and exercise.  Honestly, I'm still getting to this new me.  I have been putting up with the energy ups and downs and the subsequent mood swings for, as I said, years.

I named this entry Waking Up for multiple reasons.   Right now, I am waking up to a serene and pleasantly cool Mendoza.  It reminds me of the summers I worked in Maine and woke up early to make beds and vacuum as housekeeping for a resort.  The mornings are crisp and quite magical as the sun and city rises, just as I am.
 I also feel an awakening to new energy and stability.  I am also experiencing a new level of connection with people and a city I haven't felt in a long time.  This is the first time I am living in a foreign country independantly- the only people I know are people I've met here. And it feels pretty damn good.