I've decided to move my blog to another site: http://jpackard.wordpress.com/
please continue to follow my story as I take on my au pair position in France.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Saying goodbye to my sister, Laura, a short 48 hours after she picked me up from the airport was depressing.
She will spend a semester in Fiji, studying marine biology, but I probably won’t see her until after my year in France, which means we will have spent two days together during the past two years.
Laura and I have grown close, as we’ve been apart.
Enemies for 17 years, we began to appreciate one another after I left home to attend Ohio University, 2.5 hours south of our hometown, Mt. Vernon. I rarely came home and the distance made us grow a fondness for one another that could easily be upset by spending too much time together again during holidays or summer vacations. Fortunately for the health of our relationship I was eager to set out and explore and spent few holidays in Ohio, and I then embarked on my year of travel abroad immediately after graduating. During the past four years Laura’s and my time has rarely overlapped.
Two days out of two years is a bit extreme, even for two girls who tortured one another, by stealing the bigger bedroom, taking the biggest piece of cake and telling mom that the other called her ‘stupid’. She vowed to hate me forever, and I promised that when I grew up I would never speak to her again. Now we still rarely talk, but I recognize her worth and she respects me. We convey a lot of love and understanding through the few words, and short amount of time, we share.
No one will ever grow up under the same circumstances I did and she is the only witness to my entire life (minus the first 16 months before she was born).
I guess our bond is bigger than the oceans and continents that keep us apart (cheesy, but true).
She will do great things abroad and I’m happy to support her, just as I know she is proud of the things I’ve done with my life.
Good luck in Fiji sis!
Home, Ohio
A month ago I decided to cease writing for my blog because I thought I wouldn’t have anything interesting to share until I landed in France and started my job as an au pair in Marseille. I’ve changed my mind. There are funny, disappointing, frustrating and exciting things happening daily -- even in my sleepy hometown in the state of Ohio – and you may be entertained by them.
After landing on the Columbus International runway on July 8, my life has transitioned seamlessly back into household chores, parental disagreements and rendezvous to Columbus, mainly around OSU's campus where a half dozen of my friends now have apartments and rental homes. These days I make more trips to the Short North and fraternize with "fellow professionals" who, like me, are graduated from college, entering the world of adulthood and upgrading from cheap, unpalatable beers and wines that taste like vinegar to martinis. We socialize in bars wearing skirts and slacks instead of slumming it in a frat houses wearing heels and flip flops that stick to the floor. Yes, my standards are improving. I’m surrounded by people in transitional phases of their lives and my moving and shaking around the world doesn’t seem to differentiate me from this crowd.
Sometimes I have to remind myself that just a few weeks ago I was on the other side of the world- fodder I fling shamelessly at my parents whenever they forget what if feels like to miss me. (Just joking, we actually get along well.) But really a month ago I was squatting over toilets that made the most basic plumbing seem luxurious and eating soup with whole chicken feet floating among rice noodles.
The first few days back in Mount Vernon, OH, were busy preparing my sister for her semester abroad in Fiji. Because of jet-lag I didn’t sleep for almost 48 straight hours. I stayed up past midnight helping her pack for her July 11 flight and attending last minute farewell parties her friends hosted, while my internal clock that was still set to Indonesian time woke me by 3 a.m. I was up doing yoga, cleaning the kitchen, reading, and baking chocolate, walnut biscotti before the sun came up.
Adrenaline allowed me to keep pace with everyone around me and enthusiastically recount tales from the road to family and friends, but I knew a crash would be inevitable because when I’m tired I don’t cope well with emotions, especially anything that is slightly frustrating.
Three days after my arrival the waves of exhaustion were hitting me like a psunami and I felt everyone wanted more of me than I had to give. I collapsed in tears in the shower, yearning for the freedom and seclusion of being alone on the road, where no one asked me to come visit or call or wake or sleep at hours that suited them.
The most frustrating thing was few made an effort to accommodate my needs, everyone was eager to have me pay them a visit without considering all the other people who were making the same request. I was driving between aunts and uncles, mom and dad, grandparents and friends on a tank that was close to empty.
I began being more assertive, setting boundaries and requesting people meet me half-way. My body adjusted to the time difference and soon I was sleeping through the night- according to the Eastern Standard Time zone.
Now that I feel balanced again, it has been wonderful to reconnect with so many loved one and sleep in a bed that isn’t infested with bugs. I’m making up for every cold shower I took over the past six months by taking daily hot baths, and I’ve enjoyed driving on the right side of the road again.
I change my clothes a few times a day relishing in the variety of a wardrobe -- I refuse to wear the handful of items I wore, hand-washed, and maintained for nearly a year, I’m sure I’ll warm up to them again someday.
My mom has take me to eat ice cream (dairy isn’t popular in Asia), and I haven’t eaten a single grain of rice or chili.
The transition back to Ohio was mostly smooth, and not at all effortless, but I’m happy to be home.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Temporary Pause on Blog Activity
At 11 p.m. on July 8 after four long days on buses, trains and planes I walked off an American Airlines jet and into the arms of my sister, Laura. She came running at me down the vacant terminal corridor, both of us laughed and cried during a long embrace. It was eleven months since I boarded a plane taking me away from the same airport in Columbus, Ohio, and it felt good to be back.
For about one month I will be home enjoying time with my family and friends and working on getting my French visa, so I won't be updating me blog. I will resume writing in the beginning of September when I commence my job as an au pair in Marseille, France.
Please return to hear about my European adventures and the challenges of living, learning and working with the French.
For about one month I will be home enjoying time with my family and friends and working on getting my French visa, so I won't be updating me blog. I will resume writing in the beginning of September when I commence my job as an au pair in Marseille, France.
Please return to hear about my European adventures and the challenges of living, learning and working with the French.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Making my way to Munduk
The air is pregnant with the smell of incense burnt by locals making the daily offering to the Hindu gods. Women and men dressed in long sarongs and belts shuffle along the side of the road bearing their gifts of flowers, fruits, biscuits and cigarettes held in green banana leaf baskets the size of two adult hands cupped together. The women carry the offerings on trays atop their heads. Their stable necks bear the burden effortlessly after years of practice. Men place the gifts on alters, temples and idols on every street corner.
The ceremonial offering is conducted daily and as I’m driving by ritual I wonder who is giving to appease a deity and who is giving to worship. Or is it an automated activity with much of it’s meaning lost, like brushing your teeth or getting dressed in the morning?
Regardless of motivation, the fragrant ritual is beautiful to behold. It seems wrong that motorbikes and feet will squash many of the scattered offerings by evening. Ants will carry away bits of biscuits and the flowers will wilt on the hot pavement. The woven baskets will be flattened and look like litter tossed aside.
Good thing they are replaced every morning.
The smells and thoughts accompany me this morning on my drive north toward Munduk, an area with rolling mountains and lakes. The temperature is shockingly cool as my bike climbs higher altitudes and the crisp mountain air reminds me of autumn in Ohio when the sun is shining but the chilled air gives me goose bumps and raises the hair on my arms.
I left Seminyak, an area in the south of Bali where I’m staying with Diana, a local girl I met through couchsurfing, at 9 a.m. to make the two hour drive before noon. I intend to spend the afternoon driving around and exploring the rolling hills, lakes, villages and rice paddies before dark, which would make the return trip more challenging because road signs are sporadic and not very informative. Often they fail to mention some upcoming towns and most of the existing signs are conveniently tucked behind trees and none are lit at night. I find that asking locals is the surest way of getting around.
Looking for somewhere to stop and eat and local drives next to me (locals don’t find it bothersome to drive side-by-side on the roads and have conversations).
“Hello Miss where are you going?”
“I’m just here to explore Munduk, no plans really, but I could use some lunch.”
“you want to see a giant tree near my village?”
“Sure.”
The conversation doesn’t make much sense, but that’s how it goes when I know a whopping ten words of Bahasa Indoneisan and he speaks a bit of English.
Acutally, Gede’s English is pretty good and he tells me – over a plate of noodles – that he works for a cruise that leaves from Miami, which he doesn’t really like and is shocked by American prices.
“I bought noodles that cost me $8!, “ he explained as I enjoyed by food that cost 80 cents.
Next we drove toward his village, 4 km outside of Munduk, and met his family who were in the midst of a five-day cremation ceremony. They gave me tea and traditional sweets – pastries filled with sugar and coconut and sweet sticky rice that was black and caramel colored -- and we all smiled at one another in lieu of words.
Four families were participating in the ceremony (four people had died around the same time so the families join together to share the ceremony and costs), and like most family gatherings everyone was dressed up, circling the food tables and passing around small children.
I met Gede’s wife, Madi, and their six-year-old son. Madi’s younger brother had been killed four months earlier in a motorbike accident and this was a celebration for him (and the three other deceased who were all elderly). I also met Gede’s younger brother who drove me up to see the giant tree while Gede changed into his ceremonial wardrobe- a long sarong, shirt with belt and a head scarf.
Two hours later I left the gathering with promises to return. In two days they would conclude the ceremony by taking the bodies and the boxes that housed their spirits up a hill to be released. I was honored to be included, but hesitant about making the long commute again. Gede and Madi offered to house me, but I didn’t want to impose during their time with family and friends.
On the drive back I stopped to photograph some of the lakes and hills that I’d passed on my way into Munduk and decided this is definitely a place I could revisit, so why not see some spirits set free?
The ceremonial offering is conducted daily and as I’m driving by ritual I wonder who is giving to appease a deity and who is giving to worship. Or is it an automated activity with much of it’s meaning lost, like brushing your teeth or getting dressed in the morning?
Regardless of motivation, the fragrant ritual is beautiful to behold. It seems wrong that motorbikes and feet will squash many of the scattered offerings by evening. Ants will carry away bits of biscuits and the flowers will wilt on the hot pavement. The woven baskets will be flattened and look like litter tossed aside.
Good thing they are replaced every morning.
The smells and thoughts accompany me this morning on my drive north toward Munduk, an area with rolling mountains and lakes. The temperature is shockingly cool as my bike climbs higher altitudes and the crisp mountain air reminds me of autumn in Ohio when the sun is shining but the chilled air gives me goose bumps and raises the hair on my arms.
I left Seminyak, an area in the south of Bali where I’m staying with Diana, a local girl I met through couchsurfing, at 9 a.m. to make the two hour drive before noon. I intend to spend the afternoon driving around and exploring the rolling hills, lakes, villages and rice paddies before dark, which would make the return trip more challenging because road signs are sporadic and not very informative. Often they fail to mention some upcoming towns and most of the existing signs are conveniently tucked behind trees and none are lit at night. I find that asking locals is the surest way of getting around.
Looking for somewhere to stop and eat and local drives next to me (locals don’t find it bothersome to drive side-by-side on the roads and have conversations).
“Hello Miss where are you going?”
“I’m just here to explore Munduk, no plans really, but I could use some lunch.”
“you want to see a giant tree near my village?”
“Sure.”
The conversation doesn’t make much sense, but that’s how it goes when I know a whopping ten words of Bahasa Indoneisan and he speaks a bit of English.
Acutally, Gede’s English is pretty good and he tells me – over a plate of noodles – that he works for a cruise that leaves from Miami, which he doesn’t really like and is shocked by American prices.
“I bought noodles that cost me $8!, “ he explained as I enjoyed by food that cost 80 cents.
Next we drove toward his village, 4 km outside of Munduk, and met his family who were in the midst of a five-day cremation ceremony. They gave me tea and traditional sweets – pastries filled with sugar and coconut and sweet sticky rice that was black and caramel colored -- and we all smiled at one another in lieu of words.
Four families were participating in the ceremony (four people had died around the same time so the families join together to share the ceremony and costs), and like most family gatherings everyone was dressed up, circling the food tables and passing around small children.
I met Gede’s wife, Madi, and their six-year-old son. Madi’s younger brother had been killed four months earlier in a motorbike accident and this was a celebration for him (and the three other deceased who were all elderly). I also met Gede’s younger brother who drove me up to see the giant tree while Gede changed into his ceremonial wardrobe- a long sarong, shirt with belt and a head scarf.
Two hours later I left the gathering with promises to return. In two days they would conclude the ceremony by taking the bodies and the boxes that housed their spirits up a hill to be released. I was honored to be included, but hesitant about making the long commute again. Gede and Madi offered to house me, but I didn’t want to impose during their time with family and friends.
On the drive back I stopped to photograph some of the lakes and hills that I’d passed on my way into Munduk and decided this is definitely a place I could revisit, so why not see some spirits set free?
Monday, June 7, 2010
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Life's a party in Kuta
In need of change from the solitude and quiet of Bingin Beach, I moved to the noisy, dirty, tourism capital of Bali: Kuta, where shops line every inch of the windy roads and drunken 20 year olds can be found at any hour of day or night. Kuta is chaos
wearing a bikini and a party hat. But I didn’t feel my trip to Bali would be complete without experiencing the epicenter of Bali tourism.
Something about the place is appealing, for a short while at least.
Here I can find Gado-Gado, one of my favorite dishes that is sautéed
veggies with a creamy peanut sauce, tofu and tempe (fermented and
fried soy beans) for less than one dollar, knock-offs of every brand
and gadget and more foreigners than locals.
The crowded beach, endless streets of vendors and the buffets of parties was entertaining for a few days, and while I was in town I made some local friends through the Indonesian couchsurfing network. They showed me some local spots including a salsa club and introduced me to arrack- local liquor that is similar to vodka and made out of coconut.
I shared accommodation in a swanky resort with a pool and free breakfast with Maxi, my friend from Bingin and his two friends from the Basque country (northern Spain) and together we took on the town.
Now for me the party is over and I’m taking the ferry to Lombok – the island below Bali.
I will take my motorbike, surf board and backpack and hit the road in search of the island’s beautiful beaches, local culture and maybe a hike up a volcano.
wearing a bikini and a party hat. But I didn’t feel my trip to Bali would be complete without experiencing the epicenter of Bali tourism.
Something about the place is appealing, for a short while at least.
Here I can find Gado-Gado, one of my favorite dishes that is sautéed
veggies with a creamy peanut sauce, tofu and tempe (fermented and
fried soy beans) for less than one dollar, knock-offs of every brand
and gadget and more foreigners than locals.
The crowded beach, endless streets of vendors and the buffets of parties was entertaining for a few days, and while I was in town I made some local friends through the Indonesian couchsurfing network. They showed me some local spots including a salsa club and introduced me to arrack- local liquor that is similar to vodka and made out of coconut.
I shared accommodation in a swanky resort with a pool and free breakfast with Maxi, my friend from Bingin and his two friends from the Basque country (northern Spain) and together we took on the town.
Now for me the party is over and I’m taking the ferry to Lombok – the island below Bali.
I will take my motorbike, surf board and backpack and hit the road in search of the island’s beautiful beaches, local culture and maybe a hike up a volcano.
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