Reentry

Reentry home. How does one do it? There is always some level of reentry adjustment with any vacation, any time away from home. Not just out of the country but visiting another state or even camping. It feels similar to the first move out of your parents home. When you come home after your first stretch away, you realize you have changed and you have a choice. You can slip back into acting as you always had within your family unit or you can be as you are now with whatever level of change you have made. Sometimes the "new" parts of you slip into the dynamics and interaction seamlessly and other times it creates waves. Waves of ease, or waves of discomfort.

I have multiple friends who have lived abroad, from months, to years, to staying permanently. During my own longer periods of travel I began to understand how they felt an increase of tension as they tried to straddle the two (or more) countries and cultures. You miss things and dislike things in both, you can start to not feel really settled or at home in either. Do you leave your feelings and experiences in separate, compartmentalized boxes? Sometimes parts go together easily and then there are some that do not. You almost smash them together, like forcing the pieces of a puzzle. Or like trying to glue two parts of broken smooth plastic; they look like they meet, but as soon as you stop holding them together, they fall apart.

My first trip to the grocery store after we returned was hard. I almost had a panic attack, I almost started crying and hyperventilating. I had to stop and talk myself through it. I didn't want to see anyone or talk to anyone. It was Christmastime and I didn't even want to make any holiday cookies or treats or engage in many of our family traditions. It seemed like a complete waste of food. The third time I went to the grocery store was my first night in my new house and I didn't understand how to get whole bean coffee and stood staring at the choices for 3 minutes. It was confusing because I normally am social and enjoy grocery shopping.

I hadn't realized that I had been on various stages of alert for so long. After about a week back, I was driving through Portland while looking for a rental house, and I saw a backpack on a corner. With in the distance of a block I thought: "Why is that there? How odd someone left it, it might be a bomb." Some part of me wondered if someone should be alerted, then I realized it was a folded piece of tar paper. That reaction was from being in Kampala specifically. That was a bit of a reality check for me. It gave me the smallest sliver of insight into how those coming back from war and conflict must feel.

I know how I feel, I know how I react and what I see that I have missed or what now bothers me more than ever about the US. I wonder what the boys have felt in themselves that has changed. They say things now and then. When we first moved up to the city I needed to go clothes shopping for one of them, they both intensely dislike shopping. I was going to go alone to get things for him and was reviewing what to look for and avoid in a t-shirt, to be sure I still had it "right." He said "I don't care what my shirts are like. I have seen people wearing shirts made from scraps of old pants." He is the same child who responded with something along the lines of, "I can't be sad about where I live because I have seen what other people live in and know it can be worse," during a conversation the three of us were having about missing our old farm and house. One day, on the morning ride to school, traffic was backed up and they both said they wished we were in Africa on a bota bota because we could just hop up over the curb and zip through traffic. They have talked a little about their trip at their new school. Yesterday, one told me his classmates didn't believe him that he'd been to Dubai and Taiwan.

When we first arrived in Africa, I had a hard time. I shared with Paul about it and he said, "if you think this is hard, just wait, this is Africa 'lite'." He was right. Moshi was a good starter place, compared to Kampala. Of course, if I went back now it would be so much easier. I know what to expect. The first day, dragging the boys back and forth the main road in the noisy, dusty, broken down sidewalks, exhaust blowing in our faces, not yet knowing the meaning of the different stares or people approaching us (selling, practicing English or trying to take advantage?) was so much to handle. I wanted to just cry by the end of the day. It was so much, so different and so in-your-face. Even once I got the hang of navigating our days, teaching the boys new things; cultural awareness; finding new enrichment; getting us to and from places (on foot or arranging rides); making new friends, it still could feel like wading through water that was waist deep. In Kampala we really couldn't walk to very many places. Getting to and from took such time due to traffic and was an expense because I had to take a car not the fast and cheap bota bota (too dangerous).

A big part of the time, I felt very alone. I had written to a few of my friends, hoping the ones who had lived internationally could help me understand my feelings. I told them that Africa was leaving me feeling like I had been sandblasted, turned inside out and left to dangle in the wind. I had realized a large part of how I defined who I was, was by my hobbies and daily actives. When those were gone and the material belongings that reflected those parts of me were gone, I felt lost. I didn't like that part of me defined myself with material good, not one tiny part of me liked that at all. One friend wrote back an email which I found so incredibly soothing and helpful.

This is a part:

"Sandblasted. Yes, I totally get it. Great visual I am getting - not quite a deer in headlights look, but similar. I have so had it. Being an expatriate for a while is such an odd occupation, but it really is in itself. So much turn of century literature alludes to it and you will see it in all sort of cultural and art movies...that you may have not seen prior to this. You'll get such a new clarity when you read/see some. I think it is just getting used it being OK that this is what you are doing. Not so easy for those of us who accomplish stuff and produce stuff and process our lives by speaking to friends. It seems a bit aimless - but I think you have to really allow the bombardment of visual, audio and cultural input and it sort of metabolizes in you. The intensity is exhausting and I understand most of Africa makes even 2nd world Europe seem easy. My Albania time so formed this underused part of my brain and I think whenever I read about any thing happening over the ponds I can see it better and really feel it. I really miss that 'difference' that things are new and require a 2nd look."

She hit it all right on the head. Now, I appreciate what she wrote even more so.

You have to feel alone if you are to forge any new relationships or connections. By being without, you seek the help and comfort of others. We had so many incredibly kind and caring people cross our paths. You can feel a deep, sweet connection with a stranger when neither of you speak the same language and you can also feel very, very alone within a sea of people. You appreciate these connections even more because of the work they take to make or because it's like someone throwing you a lifeline at sea.

When I don't speak the language and I hear people all around talking, they seem to be conversing about important things. To my ears, other languages sound musical, beautiful and like important thoughts are being shared. It's exhausting to try to navigate your way through things at times, looking for something you can translate, looking for a clue to be sure you are doing or understanding correctly. Believe me I have made PLENTY of errors, some worse than others. When I come home, at first, I am surprised at how easy it is and you can hear all the trivial things people actually talk about. It doesn't take long for you to forget that feeling of ease. The boys commented on it too.

When we first returned, I went to a coffee shop here in Portland and they asked me what kind of milk I wanted for my coffee. I responded, "cow, what are the other choices?" There was hemp, cashew, soy or cow. I felt bemused and annoyed, but at the same time thought how nice it is for those who like or need those choices to have them.  It's hard not to feel like people should feel more gratitude for how easily they can get things and not feel so entitled when things aren't exactly how they want them and exactly when they want them. Or not to feel impatient when people freak out just because the power goes out for a window of more than a few hours and now they have missed a TV show. But people here are friendly and helpful, it is a beautiful country we live in.

I miss the rustic nature of Europe and the way that foods are found closer to the ground they come from. They have processed foods, but are easy to avoid. I miss the warmth of Africa and how the people there appreciate everything.  I miss the seamless organization of Taiwan. Of course, I miss our friends.

All of that isn't to say I don't appreciate it here. We have now left our beautiful farm, and I miss the tranquility there. Living in the city, things can be so easy that you become complacent. I can easily get all of the things I had to make myself if I wanted them. I appreciate all my amazing friends I have here. I have made it a point now to show appreciation to those I come across daily, even strangers who I will never see again. While traveling, those who showed me kindness will never know the impact they had. Maybe I can be fortunate enough to alter the path of a stranger, just as my path was altered by the kindness of a stranger.

This Post is Not for Everyone

Those who know me well may have been asking themselves when I would bust out a blog post on this topic. I told Paul (early on in Tanzania) that I was going to start writing a post like this and he pointed out that I had already been talking about it... so maybe I have less restraint than I thought!

So HERE IS YOUR FAIR WARNING. This is about the messy side of travel: toilets, intestinal upset and the challenges of a fertile women traveling in other places.

Those with a weak stomach or sensitive gag reflex (RK in Canada you know who you are- stop reading now.)

I am not kidding.

... Really

Before we left, I knew that squatty potties were the norm in Africa and Asia. I was thus surprised to meet our first one in Italy, that introduction went off without a hitch. I wasn't so sure at first which way you were supposed to point yourself but got there in the end.

The one in Italy

Most restrooms with plumbing in Tanzania offer you a choice of the "throne" or the "squatty."  Of course, not all squatty are flush toilets, some are just pipes that go off in some direction that you pour a scoop of water down. The ones that are flush really seem to have a quite vigorous and powerful flush that creates a bit of overspray. The first time I felt the (not so very fine) mist of water over spraying on my ankles, I was quite disturbed. I eventually learned how to open the door partway, stand behind it, reach round to flush and make a rapid retreat thus avoiding the overspray. After that, I told myself that if the floor was wet, it was over spray.

In the first week or so in Moshi, I arranged the Tinga Tinga outing for me and the boys. L got to use a non-flush squatty available to the community of artists. Later that night, this is how part of the conversation went with him and Paul (or how I remember it going at this point):

L- I had the most disturbing toilet experience. I couldn't tell if the moisture all around the toilet was coming in or going out.
P- Squatty potties tend to be a moist affair.
L- If I stood all the way up I could see over the walls.
P- You had walls? That must have been a treat.
L- The door was a crooked plank of wood.
P- And a door? That must have been nice.
Me- Someone brought in a bucket of water for rinsing, I think.
P- You actually had water there?. The one we used had no water, you had to plan ahead.* This meant finding the bucket, which sometimes was in the kitchen, and filling it.
Me- Why would it be in the kitchen? (I was and am grossed out by that.)
P- Yeah, I just try not to think about it. Once we were in a rural village that had one squatty for the whole village that was open on the top and there was one pair of shoes in there - I think the whole village used them. Not everyone had the best aim and the splatter was baked on (wave hand in large circular motion).

The conversation went on from there. I think L also added something about how the smell was billowing out the hole.

*P is referencing a trip to Kenya and Somalia.


Early in our time in Tanzania, I found this particular picture intriguing, I posted it already in the Moshi photos, but it is really on topic here:

At first, I found it funny then I realized it was perhaps to illustrate the type of toilet they had within. Or also how to use it since many people are used to squatting and many restrooms have signs asking you to NOT stand on the toilet.

The boys and I took two different overnight safari tours. The first place we camped had a choice of squatty or throne. The door on the toilets didn't stay shut. Actually, it seemed to stay shut, only to swing open ONCE you were sitting down and midstream. The other unpleasant deal in that situation was that it was a long distance to the door, several feet, so you couldn't just reach out and shut it.

On the last night of the first overnight safari, I developed an upset in the intestines. I seriously thought I was going to be in big trouble. We had a safari drive the next morning (our only real chance to see the rhino!) and a long drive home after, but I managed to just feel bad and hold it all in. After several days back, my stomach was still upset, I asked the advice of the expat who owned the B&B where we were staying. She told me to take a stool sample into a local clinic. She said to just take a match, scoop some up, then take it in, in the matchbox. I am an unfortunate veteran of the American medical system's stool sampling methods (various issues from returning from foreign travels, the worst was Campylobacter which is similar to E.coli). There are several logistical and contamination issues (if you feel the need to hold yourself to a Western sampling standard) with just using a match and a matchbox. First and foremost, you realize how very, very small a matchbox is for a target and how it really seems quite water soluble and flimsy. I ended up being very proud of my ingenuity and ability to keep my sample sterile. It involved trimming a piece of thin plastic from a pantyliner wrapper to make a barrier. I could go on but I'll exercise some restraint.

So- once I had my nice sample, I put in in a clear plastic bag, because really, who wants to risk any seepage? I called a taxi. As I was leaving ,Grace stopped me and said, "Putie* that (points to bag) in your purse. Because if the Africans see it, they know it has the toilet in it and they will laugh, even Kelivin (taxi driver) will laugh. They will be so surprise to see a Muzungu has that!"

*I say putie instead of put since that was the cute accent they had. I appreciated her telling me that so much. I totally visualized myself walking around with the bag no big deal, maybe I'd just gone shopping? Who knew? Well, really they would know and all too well.

Once I got to the clinic, it was another learning curve. Which building to go to? How long it would take? Oh, they do not call you with results, you must go back?

They handed back my results (a small white "intake" lab sheet was  handed over with matchbox). It had a three letter stamp: NAD. You must wait to see a doctor (WITH the proper card. To get the proper card, you have proper paperwork, which involves two side-by-side windows with the same counter behind them but you have to go to both). After all that, you learn that NAD just means: No Abnormality Detected. In short, nothing was found. It did resolve itself in a matter of time. However, I just don't understand why they didn't tell me that was what it meant when the extent of the change to my paperwork was that tiny stamp of 3 letters. Of course the moment I told Paul that the paperwork was stamped NAD, he knew what it meant. So, if you are in the medical field, you wouldn't need to go to a different building, check in with two people, wait to be called back, then sit while the doctor looks over your file for a few minutes and asks you some questions before finally (when you point blank ask) tells you what NAD means anyway. Later, I told the story to a couple of his classmates who said they could have checked the sample for me. Apparently, they had all been doing that type of poo smear and would have been happy to take it.

On the bushman tour we, drove for an hour into the middle of who knows where. When we arrived in the village, the boys and I just thought we parked randomly in some trees and brush and then were surprised when people popped out! Before we left on our hunt, I had to urinate and asked the guide where to go and he just gestured to the brush. I said "Yes, but where exactly? How far?" He wasn't, in this instance, helpful. I didn't want to go and then be pissing in someone's house and not know it! There must be some sort of genetic pull we have as humans for approximate distance to go from a living quarter since I guessed a bush area and aimed for it and once I squatted and looked around it was CLEARLY the place they all used, and let's just say that there was no toilet paper to guide me to that conclusion. It was also clear that the seeds of the baobab tree (what they eat when hunting is thin) aren't really digested very much, or really at all, and puts the idea of undigested corn and peanuts to shame.

In Uganda, the boys and I went with two of Paul's classmates on a birding swamp tour and they had a sort of community pit/vault toilet set up that was just multiple doors (most had doors that actually closed some were sort of just set there). Inside each was a rectangular hole in a slab of thick concrete. Someone had put in a branch of leaves in most. At least the town had a place to go and no one was stepping in each others' business. I went and so did L. After we were both done he asked about my experience. I told him it was fine. He wrinkled his nose and said, "someone left behind a quarter size creamy behemoth on the edge of mine!" You have to admit, aim can be a challenge at times.

As a female traveler who feels that OB tampons are God's gift to the menstruating woman, I planned ahead with my preferred sizes and all. At some point, I foresaw a needed to replenish tampons and began to plan ahead and was told they don't really sell tampons in Tanzania. What? I mean- what? Really in the whole- what? This was an expat and she said "I forgot about that, I just use pads now." My heart sank. She was right, I couldn't find them. FINALLY when we were in Kampala in the biggest Nakumatt I'd seen (large chain from Kenya), I found 3 lonely small boxes, 10 count each, I bought them all. Also, they don't seem to be as easy to find in some parts of Asia either.

It's tricky when you are menstruating and on safari-- or say, a single engine boat snorkeling tour. You just have to be creative and congratulate yourself later on not having any major staining or getting caught or chumming for sharks and getting attacked by lions or what-have-you. If you really want to know how I managed those situations, then you can send me a message and I will tell you!

At one point in Uganda, I went to get a bikini wax- thinking that we'd be swimming in Thailand and Sri Lanka. The woman I saw was from India and spoke English. However.... She was really only bent on one thing, and that is if you wax then you should wax it ALL. She touched my arm and with the typical head bobble said 'Why you don't want it all? You think it will hurt? No. I am good, it will not hurt, you see. Everyone says I do not hurt.'. I told her what I wanted and we went back and forth. In the end, I gave in. I can, say her non-gloved hand placements were slightly different than I am used to. Also, following the very complete waxing, I was surprised when she did a thorough oil. Followed by an ice rub down, both front and back. No spots missed, again let me say- everywhere. I kept thinking okay she will just be finished soon. I think the awkward of it made it seem to last longer than it really did.

After the appointment, I texted Paul basically saying I had an unexpected oil then ice rub down. Everywhere and I meant everywhere, after the wax. I then sent a second one adding that it was awkward. Later that day, he told me how two of his female classmates had thought that my text was funny. Surprised and horrified, I said "yes, but you read them the other part about it being awkward, right?" No, of course he didn't! Totally embarrassing, but I can the humor in it.

That night, we went to a dinner with his entire class. One of his classmates, Sam, was behind me in line and he said, "So, I heard you got waxed today." I said, "Paul read that to you, too. He said it was only the two women!" Sam replied, "There weren't that many of us on the bus." I clarified that the first text wasn't meant to be read as it being pleasurable with a happy ending (apparently it did sound that way) but that it was awkward, so I had sent a second text saying so. I think at that point he was ready to not talk about it anymore.

Later that story came up again and one of the other women classmates told me about a real fiasco in China involving someone not really knowing (add in language barrier and cultural differences) what they were doing and the spending the next hour trying to trim out a giant glob of hardened wax from her crotch, as well as getting wax off her skin.

It could always be more awkward I suppose.

Taiwan

We stopped in Taiwan to visit our friend, Eddy, and his family. Paul and Eddy met at U of O in their P-chem lab. Eddy visited us at our former home in Scio, with his beautiful wife, Rosa, when they were on their honeymoon about 6 years (was it really 6 now?) back.

They had a 4 1/2 year old daughter we'd never met, Janet. Somehow Janet thought I was Wonder Woman before we came and I felt like that was a lot of pressure to live up to. When we arrived in Taiwan, we learned a very special surprise. Rosa was 35 1/2 weeks pregnant. Eddy had found us a hotel very near to their home. It was really nice. They had a hot spring (pumped in) on the top floor! What a luxurious spa! Extra treat for me after all that travel time. It was divided by men and women and the few times I went I had it ALONE to myself.

The evening we got in, Eddy took us to get dumplings to eat, which we LOVE (anyone who's had homemade dumplings with us- it's Eddy who taught us). Earlier that day we'd been in a market and they had eggs, then also eggs wrapped in paper. I asked what they were. Eddy said they are 1,000 year eggs. Not really 1,000 years old, but eggs that are a month old and have undergone a "process" to turn them this way. They are typically eaten with tofu. Okay, so he actually said a " A 'process' but I don't really want to know what they do to them since I like to eat them". That made me laugh.

Here Eddy had cut the egg for us. He told us BEFORE we ate it that it was considered one of the world's top most disgusting foods by CNN. I think they hadn't eaten stinky tofu. This egg sounds and looks gross (that green goo is the yolk) but tastes good.

Delicious feast. I think Paul and I were most pleased and surprised by the bean leaves and sprouts, and sweet potato leaves as cooked greens. They were amazing. They also have this delicious cooked spinach that is different than our spinach we have here.

This is the Buddha head fruit opened. You take those white parts and suck on them and there is a shiny black seed inside you don't eat. Why it's called Buddha's head, I don't know, but I love that it is. 

I super loved, of course, going to this market (the one that had the wrapped 1,000 year old eggs), lots of cool veggies and fruits. These carrots were bigger  in real life than they seemed in this picture.

These are the reading glasses that are just out at the post office for anyone to use. Love that.

The next day, Eddy took us to Taipei and we toured around the city. He took us to Taipei 101, the 3rd tallest building in the world. The kids were excited about that and how fun is it that just 2 countries prior, in Dubai, they'd seen the world's tallest building? Before we went up we had the great honor of meeting Eddy's father for lunch for more dumplings. Many of you, over the years since 1995, have tasted or heard us talking about 'Eddy's dumplings'. Paul, Eddy, Mike (friend and roommate of Paul's and mine at U of O) used to make a GIANT bowl of these dumplings (under Eddy's supervision) and eat them ALL. They are really Raymond's, Eddy's father, dumplings. We had another AMAZING feast at this place.

NOT from the lunch, but after the tour at the top of the Taipei 101 we got the boys bubble tea. This wasn't at the bubble tea place but I had to take a photo. There is a mall area in the bottom of Taipei 101 and a food court area, this was in the food court. 

A shot from the top of Taipei 101. Pretty high up, pretty cool system that stabilize the whole building too. There was a post office, we used it, at the top as well. I guess this is out of order since it should be before the beautiful chickens.

That night, Eddy took us to a market to eat street food. This was one place we didn't eat. They had brain and other organs. 

I really, really liked these omelets. The shiny stuff is sweet potato flour they mix with water and cook on a grill a little before adding eggs, etc. In our case we had an oyster and shrimp one with veggies. We always went with what Eddy suggested and it was never wrong (except stinky tofu, but I am still glad I tried it). The sweet potato flour cooks into a rice noodle texture that is very pleasing to eat.

This seemed really elaborate to me. The guy in the red shirt is making wrappers. The guy it the front uses a half wrapper per order. They put the brown things you see in front in each wrapper. The brown things are something with many crispy layers (almost like filo) with a type filling most of them with black sesame seed. You choose what type of crispy thing you want with a few variations of additions (most have an slightly sweetened ground peanut powder, the bag to his left open). After blue shirt in front wraps them up in the wrapper then smashes the crispy bit all to bits within the wrapper with a meat tenderize like thing and wraps it in a bag then you eat it.

Yes, you can choose which live snakes to eat. We didn't. We didn't eat the snake or turtle or drink the liquid from the bottles with various snake bits/organs soaking in them.

A common selection of items that we didn't eat it either. Duck or chicken feet, various organs (on sticks), neck, curls of skin, pig ears, duck tongue and so on. We did taste the salted tofu, the blocks of tan looking substance. Speaking of pig. It was interesting to go from Africa where there were many Muslims who wouldn't eat pork to Asia (not just Taiwan) where there was LOTS of pork.

We did eat this. Look how really really proud he is! I asked what is this? He said 'Taste it then I'll tell you'. We did but Paul figured it out and vocalized it right as I was biting it. It was rice cooked in pigs blood (notice the DARK color, cooked blood) and it's covered by ground peanuts and on a stick. It actually was psychologically revolting but tasted fine. I tried 3 bites. The boys ate it too. 

This might have been the 'king' snack of the market, in terms of taste. We LOVED these wraps. A REAL and original spring roll. This guy keeps this white mass of something (sweet potato or rice flour with water?) rolling on his hand and makes these ultra thin wrapper by rolling it around quickly on the grill. I would make a disaster of a mess (on myself, the floor, the stove and burned myself) doing this, it was somewhat mesmerizing to watch.

Eddy and Rosa took us on a road trip. Here we stopped on a CUTE street to eat the NOT so cute stinky tofu. Everyone in Taiwan seems to love stinky tofu and it's not just stinky, it's revolting in smell and taste. It smells like when you cut open the stomach of a freshly butchered ruminating animal and mix the contents of that with fermented dung. It is like someone farted in your mouth. I feel okay writing that since we told Eddy and Rosa we didn't like it. I even ate my whole piece and another to be sure it tasted like I thought and it did. It's really a taste that keeps going since you smell it in the air and keep smelling that taste. Oso is the LEAST picky eater I know and he ate one bite and refused the rest. Janet took a liking to Oso, in particular, and stuck close to him. That was really precious.

Eddy also took us to a cool little hot spring and a Japanese style restaurant where you can soak your feet in a hot spring while you eat. I love the cultural idea they that you cannot relax and go to bed if your feet are cold. The town we were in had a community hot spring just outside the train station for the purpose of the workers heating their feet after work and before heading home.

We spent the night in Arcadia and were surprised when Janice, the unborn 35 1/2 week old thought she might come early. Eddy and Rosa went to the hospital to see if her arrival could be postponed (it was but only by a day) and we went with Janet to the cultural center for a day. It was a very nicely done place and I can't believe how super mellow Janet was to hang out with us all day, having only meet us the day before. Culturally it is not polite or accepted to openly stare but people I think were noticing that we clearly were not able to communicate with Janet. She did get most all her needs meet though and we did well. Plus I was impressed when she did bust out, in English, 'Want Cha-co-la-te' when we saw a chocolate cake. I seriously think if we were with her for 2 weeks she would be picking up English like nobody's business, she is a smart little firecracker. That evening we returned home so Rosa could rest

The next morning Eddy called and Rosa had gone into labor. I went over to the hospital to sit with Janet (she was sleeping, they had brought her from home sleeping in the early morning) while they went to the OR for an emergency c-section. I hung out with Janet and had the pleasure of meeting Eddy with her and witnessing her seeing her sister, Janice, for the first time. It was such a gift for us to be there for her birth and have it all be fine in the end, mom and baby doing well.

That night we went out for dumplings on our own. A lot of places have menus with no English. We had a fun time ordering that night but ended up with what we wanted thanks to some young men who had smart phones and switched their Taiwanese characters to Roman and then translated what I had typed in. The same thing happened when we stayed at the bed and breakfast (before the cultural center) and I went back to talk to the owner after breakfast to see if we could walk to coffee. People in Taiwan don't drink liquids while they eat. He didn't understand what I was saying and got out his iPad and Facetimed his daughter then handed me the tablet to talk to her, then I told her (in English) what we were looking for, then I took the tablet back into the kitchen (where he was doing dishes then after getting me set up) and she translated. He made us coffee and I took it back to the room where the kids were hanging out. Traveling in this day and age with electronics everywhere changes, or does it level, the playing field? I still think a smile and the right attitude gets you so much more and what you need. Maybe the right app used at the right time does too. Is it all you need? No. Do you have to have it? No. Does it make it easier? Yes.

Traditionally in Taiwan people ate (or still do in some cases) congee for breakfast. A porridge of grains cooked with excess water and topped with various toppings (pickled radish, ground peanuts, pork floss (tiny bits of dried and almost rolled pork, looks fluffy and orange/pink almost), kimchi, ginger, green onions, sometimes cooked with sweet potatoes etc) however this is a breakfast that takes time to prepare and also time to have things on hand. Now the younger generations take these hand breakfasts (photo above) and eat them at work. Eddy took us to taste a variety of them. QUITE good. After this Eddy was kind enough to drive us (with Janet :) I was happy to see her again) to the airport, of course Rosa and Janet were still at the hospital. Thank goodness he did! Not only were we happy for the last little bit of time with them but we had a giant explosion with an additional suitcase I had bought the day before and he helped us repack and make use of a box packing station place near by.

We enjoyed Taiwan so much. It was so much more than I ever imagined.

I realize I forgot to write about Paul and I going for a foot massage and I then, same place but after, went for an ear cleaning. The ear cleaning was a special experience and I feel quite sure I broke some cultural norms of polite behavior. Maybe I will write a blog post just about that. Maybe I should combine that with the waxing (with a very unexpected ending) I had in Uganda....

Round the would with Grandma

My Grandma passed away after the boys and I left for Europe, but before Paul left for Africa so he was able to bring some of her ashes to me. I left them in every country after that. She traveled a lot in her life and towards the last few years of her life, I spent many hours retelling her the stories of her travels. Sometimes the memories would come back to her and she would add to the stories. Other times she was in awe that she'd done what I'd said but couldn't remember herself.

Really these photos I took of where I left her were for myself, my cousins, Mom and aunt. I am just going to put in the highlights. I already wrote a post about her and travel, my first blog post. There are some things I have kept from my childhood that I cherish, all happen to be things she sent or brought home from travel. A few of the highlights are a stuffed koala (I think out of actual koala hair? :/) from Australia, it still smells the same as it has all my life, a Russian nesting doll (says made in the U.S.S.R. on the bottom) I love to open it and smell the inside, a small Russian nest with small wooden eggs, a small silk horse from China, and a post card from France.

I posted this already but this is the photo of the last visit I had with my grandma alive. I can remember her smell as I write this. It was a long and fairly lucid visit.

Turkey:

We were only in the Istanbul airport and it felt disrespectful but I just put some on the carpet of the airport. I think she'd want to at least visit it. This was the first time we'd seen Paul after all our time in Europe, we had overlapping layovers and meet in the airport. He handed me the jar of ashes and I was surprised at the rush of emotion I felt holding them the first time. This was the first time I'd ever touched cremation ashes. I was surprised at the texture of the ash- gritty, of course, but also very fine.

Tanzania:

The garden in front of the B&B

From the hot air balloon as we silently moved over the Serengeti. I think she would have liked it very much.

Zanzibar:

The blindingly white sand, warm saline water washing my feet, as I looked out into the green and blue hues of the Indian Ocean.

Uganda:

The mouth of Nile. I think this would have been another top favorite for her, besides the Serengeti.

This was where I stayed the night before the gorilla trek and I tossed some off this back hill. I loved it there.

Dubai

Along the street. Not very romantic.

Sri Lanka

This isn't where I put the ashes. I put them off to the left edge of the grassy area behind the pool, overlooking the lake where the Asian elephants often bathed. I thought I'd taken a photo, but I can't find it.

Bangkok

In the river Chao Phraya River that runs through Bangkok.

Taiwan

The rice patty of a town we stayed in.

Maybe this is creepy but I put a pinch in this floral arrangement in the lobby our hotel in Taoyuan. I just really liked it and thought I should do it with my orchids when I got home.

Home:

In this photo, I am having coffee with Grandma at home. Years before Grandma died, she gave me this blue tea pot of one of my great grandma's. When I first moved to the new Portland house I kept shuffling her small, round the world (RTW), bag of ashes (I decided not to mix them with the other non-RTW ashes) around the house. I'd sort of have a mental conversation with them. In the end I put them in this little tea pot. I think the best final place for them will be off the Yaquina Bay Bridge. The Yaquina Bay and the bridge is the stunning view we all grew up with from her window of her home. We all loved it and that view, that bridge brings me much comfort. There are funny stories about it from long ago. This coffee cup is one I took from her house (after she died). I love the look of it and actually it is what she kept her bacon grease in and there are even metal marks, all over the inner lower half, where she'd dig it out. I remember when I found the cups (often there were two) in the fridge door and being grossed out by them and it explained part of the smell the fridge always had.

The view of the bridge from the other side (not from her house) on the last time I was in Newport.

The other thing I asked for of my Grandma's- her passports. 32 years of passports with at least 59 stamps.

Gorilla trek.

Gorilla Trek, Uganda.

I tried to get a gorilla trek for me and the boys, but they were too young. In the end, I was able to join Jacelyn (one of Paul's Canadian classmates) on her gorilla trek. It was the last weekend that my family was to be in Africa. I had loved all the time I'd had with the boys and we'd been together non-stop 4+ months at that point. Plus, I had a lot of things on my emotional plate. This was a much needed weekend away from my family (and nice time for Paul to be with just the boys) and I'll be forever grateful for being able to join her to see these amazing animals and to have Jacelyn's down-to-earth company.

Roadside market. I love how the cow looks like it's on the roof. Most of the things are sold in the amounts you see them stacked in.

Steep countryside. Very lush and pretty. Hard living, though.

I just really like how this sign says "piggery mgt." I would have liked to know what they would teach. Also Irish potato means what we think of as yellow potato. When you were out at an eating establishment and there were whole or cut cooked potentates they were simply referred to as Irish, not potatoes but just Irish- that took me a bit to realize. 

We stayed the night up in the hills and it was chilly. They made us our own little charcoal fire for warmth since we were eating outside. 

This place got it's power off the grid. At night, the lights ran on battery and to walk to and from they hung lanterns along the paths and you also had our own to take with you. I have since gotten one of my grandma's just like it and used it a weekend here at our cabin. I love it. I love this picture. It was so amazing up there. So soothing and healing feeling. You just felt the peace and like you could breath. I think that was also in part to the cool air, lack of dust and traffic.

Beautiful view from the eating area. It was just the two of us staying there. We were along the edge of the DRC and the residence said they could see helicopters, lights (at night) from the warring occurring.

Outhouse and hand washing station at the ranger's office.

We were along the edge of the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest. The specific family we saw is one that has been watched and tracked for more than 10 years (I want to say 15 years). They were used to people watching them so they didn't run away. Here you see Jacelyn sitting in of their beds from the night before, at this point we knew were getting close to them. They weren't in the forest when we saw them, they had come out into the farm lands. We followed a narrow path between patches of farms then up and along a really steep hillside. The sticks were nice for 'sounding' to see if you were going to be stepping on the ground or just vegetation that would drop away. 

This is the silverback of the group. Once you reach the gorillas you can spend one hour. I didn't take too many photos and of the ones I did, there weren't too many that were great. They were pretty indifferent to us being there, or they seemed like it. It might also be that they just refused to look at us. As if were were an annoyance and they thought we might go away of they ignored us. Before this silverback was sitting here (in picture) he moved and wanted to walk between our group (it was us, the guide, the escorts with riffles and the other 6 tourists who each had porters). He kind of stood there a moment to wait for us to move then walked through. He was so close we could have touched him. He practically walked on Jace's feet. It's almost hard to remember they aren't tame, they aren't docile, they could kill us if they wanted. Then when you see him walking towards you and you all start to move and the guide are saying slowly! slowly!! -you remember.

After. We stopped here for lunch. We are excited, giddy and in awe about what just happened.

It was a special experience that I'll always treasure. Similar to the night I saw a mother sea turtle come out of the Pacific, dig a hole, lay eggs, bury them and return to the ocean under a full moon with a close friend and her daughter. These mountain gorillas are at risk. There are some estimates that suggest there are less than 1,000. Habit loss, poaching and war are some of the threats they face.