Some of our readers will have noticed that several posts (namely, all of mine) have been deleted and that our blog is now invitation only. This was entirely my fault - I was politely informed by my chain of command the other day that some of the things I was writing about constituted a violation of operational security and needed to be removed. Apparently more people read this blog than I thought!
Anyhow, my apologies if I've disappointed anyone. Over the next few days I'll be modifying and reposting my previous entries sans the security violations, and we're collectively deciding whether to continue invitation only or not. In the meantime, if you know anyone personally who would like to read this blog and can't, please feel free to email one of us and we'll get you invited asap. If you don't know our email addresses you can try contacting the US Department of Defense directly; they seem to be pretty good at finding things on the internet. ;)
That's all for now, look forward to writing more soon!
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Keeping the Home Fires Burning.Surprise, here is a random contribution from the ones left guarding the bags, so to speak. We still count as part of the team, so here's what it's like from our end ...
Under "Life goes on" we have working at Bart including meetings, capitol verses operating budgets, homeland security, the commute and so on. Also, house and home, dogs, pond life, spirituality and recreation. All goes on much the same as usual.
For "Seasonal Changes" we have fog and rain and clouds giving way to large patches of blue sky and sunshine beginning to make itself felt. Weeds sprouting alarmingly all over the yard/creek/neighborhood/town. Bulbs bravely poking their little heads up amongst it all - crocuses, tulips, daffodils and some surprise things that I planted and forgot about. Buds forming on the hydrangeas and wisteria and camellias out in full force in the front yard.
Stetson has been back for a few days and Rutland just put in her first appearance as I was typing this sentence, no kidding.
We are enjoying the fire pit on the patio every chance we get, sitting in the great outdoors cocooned in our own little circle of warmth and light and love :-) Australian open over, we move on to SAP open in San Jose this week and soon Pac Life Open in Indian Wells, and on the telly, starting today, the Race is on.
Under "Supporting our Troops" we can list car covers x 2 (custom fit, no less) for Ben's cars,
packing up and storing Jo's things, faithfully searching for and reading blogs twice daily (if not hourly) and - our new way to exercise creativity - care packages! Don't worry Ross, yours is in the works. It is just a bit harder to think of things that we could send that you don't already have in superior form where you are. I still actually think you should be sending packages to everyone else ... haggis anyone?
"New and Exciting" has to start with the Work Shop (not shed). All consuming. Taking up every inch of space in the yard, every spare minute of Dad's evening/week-end time and large chunks of budget. It will be GREAT when it's finished. Could even turn into a second career/home. Well worth all the above.
A close second in this section is Grandma's visit - countdown is at T-14 :-D We are going to make the most of having her to ourselves for the first time ever. Also in this section we have the new and (the jury is still out on this) improved street view due to neighbors installing solar panels and consequently cutting down large, decades old tree. Opens things up a bit ...
Oh, and also my new camera - how am I doing so far?
Final category is "Ways to Take Minds off Stuff". Here we can include running, spinning, Louie, chocolate, facebook, reading, plays, dining in or out, playing cards, pumping iron(?), helping other people and now blogging.
Life is good.
For "Seasonal Changes" we have fog and rain and clouds giving way to large patches of blue sky and sunshine beginning to make itself felt. Weeds sprouting alarmingly all over the yard/creek/neighborhood/town. Bulbs bravely poking their little heads up amongst it all - crocuses, tulips, daffodils and some surprise things that I planted and forgot about. Buds forming on the hydrangeas and wisteria and camellias out in full force in the front yard.
Stetson has been back for a few days and Rutland just put in her first appearance as I was typing this sentence, no kidding.
We are enjoying the fire pit on the patio every chance we get, sitting in the great outdoors cocooned in our own little circle of warmth and light and love :-) Australian open over, we move on to SAP open in San Jose this week and soon Pac Life Open in Indian Wells, and on the telly, starting today, the Race is on.
Under "Supporting our Troops" we can list car covers x 2 (custom fit, no less) for Ben's cars,
packing up and storing Jo's things, faithfully searching for and reading blogs twice daily (if not hourly) and - our new way to exercise creativity - care packages! Don't worry Ross, yours is in the works. It is just a bit harder to think of things that we could send that you don't already have in superior form where you are. I still actually think you should be sending packages to everyone else ... haggis anyone?
"New and Exciting" has to start with the Work Shop (not shed). All consuming. Taking up every inch of space in the yard, every spare minute of Dad's evening/week-end time and large chunks of budget. It will be GREAT when it's finished. Could even turn into a second career/home. Well worth all the above.
A close second in this section is Grandma's visit - countdown is at T-14 :-D We are going to make the most of having her to ourselves for the first time ever. Also in this section we have the new and (the jury is still out on this) improved street view due to neighbors installing solar panels and consequently cutting down large, decades old tree. Opens things up a bit ...
Oh, and also my new camera - how am I doing so far?
Final category is "Ways to Take Minds off Stuff". Here we can include running, spinning, Louie, chocolate, facebook, reading, plays, dining in or out, playing cards, pumping iron(?), helping other people and now blogging.
Life is good.
Friday, February 12, 2010
SCHOOL or Why I'm Here I Guess
So far, nothing in Rwanda has really turned out at all as I expected. Sometimes, I've expected doom and gloom and received sunshine and comfort, while other times what I expect will be painless turns out to be a giant and taxing ordeal. Surprisingly and thankfully, my first two weeks of school turned out to be a perfect example of the former.
I've never taught before, fullstop. My ESL experience in the United States consisted of me observing a slightly antiquated English class for adults in the Mission, just kind of sitting quietly off to the side and listening to a melancholy group of students repeat ridiculous sentences about their brothers looking for tomatoes but buying carrots instead in stilted English. Hardly rock solid prep for handling 27 hours per week of Rwandan teenaged girls in groups of 40 or more. We had some practice here during our teaching practicum in Nyanza, but there were three of us then for a class of less than 20, and we were teaching English, and there was no curriculum. Again, helpful, but not enough to erase my nerves about suddenly becoming a full-time high school Entrepreneurship teacher.
So I planned my lessons thoroughly. I didn't leave a single minute where I wasn't sure what I would do. I had topics to lecture on, work for the students to do in groups, ice-breaker exercises, writing work, reading work, reasoning work, problems for them to solve, tough semi-ambiguous questions for them to think about. I stuck with the curriculum and tried to measure out a reasonable amount of work for each class, and the more planning I did, the less nervous I became.
I showed up to school on the first day at 7:30am (which means I left my house at around 7:28am; huzzah for living inside the school walls!) and sat in the teachers' lounge, meeting my colleagues and going over my lesson plans one last time. School started on a Tuesday, which is one of my long days: all eight periods spent teaching, all four different classes represented. As 8am drew nearer, I was expecting some kind of extreme terror to take me over; I had been so nervous for so long about the first day of school; surely some kind of miserable sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach should be hitting right about now, yes? I held my hand in front of my face, like I usually do when I'm nervous, to see if it was shaking. Rock steady. Huh. I walked through the door of my first class at 8am on the dot, still waiting for the heavy weight of gloom and terror to paralyze me. I started in on my lesson. I explained class rules. I had them introduce themselves. I gave them an assignment. They handed it in. We had a discussion, they were a bit quiet, somewhat painfully so at first, but by the end of the short period, they had opened up considerably. The school secretary rang a bell to signal the end of period one. I checked my schedule and headed to my next class. Similar experience, except these kids were older and therefore more engaged, more feisty, more fun. The period passed quickly. Class number three. The rest of the day kind of whooshed by, with its fair share of awkward silences and embarrassing mistakes, but with one overwhelming theme: each class was taught with a complete absence of nervousness on my part, and shockingly, incomprehensibly, each class had at least a few moments that were fun to teach. This day that I had feared and fretted about since I began considering applying to this program back in February 2009, that I had dreaded for a year, was somewhat uneventful, and was even a little fun.
Weird.
Since then, there have been ups and downs; some periods have been rough, and others have been a blast, but there have been no disasters, and on the whole, the trend continues: teaching is not terrifying, and is actually pretty fun. I'm finding that it's a bit like acting. I get to go up in front of the class and be whoever I want to be. These kids have no idea that I'm nervous talking in front of groups; they don't know that I'm terrified of talking on the phone or of meeting with people one-on-one. They aren't aware that I've never taught before, and they sure as shit don't know that I'm actually younger than the oldest student in my class.
In coming to Rwanda, I found what I thought was a rare opportunity to reinvent myself. I'm generally and broadly ok with who I am, but like most people (I think?), there are some significant chunks of my personality that I wish were different. When I came here and found myself an anonymous stranger in a foreign land, where even my "friends" didn't really know me at all, I realized that this was my chance to break away from some of the personal ruts I'd allowed myself to slip into. I started thinking about some of the things that I had an almost crippling fear of back home, simple things like speaking in front of groups, dancing in public, playing sports. I hated to be watched for fear of being judged and of coming up short. But I knew other people who did these things freely and seemed unfazed. I wished so often that I could be like them, that I could break away from my fear, but I had already established myself as someone who couldn't let go in front of other people. Here, I hadn't established myself as anything. I was free to pretend to be whatever I wanted. So I pretended that I liked to dance, and I danced like an idiot until 3:30am, and it's on video somewhere, and I had an amazing time. I pretended that I liked to play group sports, and now I'm essentially leading a running troupe through the trails of my rural village most mornings. I pretended that, rather than being ready to throw up at the idea of speaking in front of a classroom, I was raring to go, and now I actually look forward to keeping my students on their toes, being unpredictable, having control of a class, lecturing, leading discussions, listening to what they have to say and responding, adapting, even teaching. Here in Rwanda, I've been pretending to be who I want to be. There are still big, ugly rough patches in my personality that I'd love to smooth out; I still can't seem to shake my inability to shut up (hello, blog post!) or my fear of being out of the loop, but I'm working on them, and that's alright for now I guess. But I'm relishing this chance to change, and starting to realize that I probably didn't have to wait for an intercontinental move to take it.
Before I left, I saw a documentary called Proceed and Be Bold! (which I recommend sans reservation) about a man who, in his mid-40's, junked his pleasant middle-class life and started making printing press posters full-time. Talk about jumping out of a rut. I don't think there's anything wrong with a pleasant middle-class life; I hope to enjoy one myself. But he wasn't all that happy doing what he was doing, so he struck out to change it. His words at the end of the film have been on my mind every day since I first heard them:
"Do you want my life? You can have my life. All you have to do is declare yourself crazy, then go out and do whatever you want."
So family, friends, here it is: I have gone crazy. I'm doing whatever I want over here. There's really nothing to stop me, and it's a pretty damned good time.
It's worth saying, in light of the whole idea of this blog: I am lucky and proud to come from a family that has already declared itself crazy, and is spread all over this world as we speak, doing whatever it wants. Keep it up, family. Keep building, keep flying, keep trekking. Thanks for the inspiration <3
I've never taught before, fullstop. My ESL experience in the United States consisted of me observing a slightly antiquated English class for adults in the Mission, just kind of sitting quietly off to the side and listening to a melancholy group of students repeat ridiculous sentences about their brothers looking for tomatoes but buying carrots instead in stilted English. Hardly rock solid prep for handling 27 hours per week of Rwandan teenaged girls in groups of 40 or more. We had some practice here during our teaching practicum in Nyanza, but there were three of us then for a class of less than 20, and we were teaching English, and there was no curriculum. Again, helpful, but not enough to erase my nerves about suddenly becoming a full-time high school Entrepreneurship teacher.
So I planned my lessons thoroughly. I didn't leave a single minute where I wasn't sure what I would do. I had topics to lecture on, work for the students to do in groups, ice-breaker exercises, writing work, reading work, reasoning work, problems for them to solve, tough semi-ambiguous questions for them to think about. I stuck with the curriculum and tried to measure out a reasonable amount of work for each class, and the more planning I did, the less nervous I became.
I showed up to school on the first day at 7:30am (which means I left my house at around 7:28am; huzzah for living inside the school walls!) and sat in the teachers' lounge, meeting my colleagues and going over my lesson plans one last time. School started on a Tuesday, which is one of my long days: all eight periods spent teaching, all four different classes represented. As 8am drew nearer, I was expecting some kind of extreme terror to take me over; I had been so nervous for so long about the first day of school; surely some kind of miserable sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach should be hitting right about now, yes? I held my hand in front of my face, like I usually do when I'm nervous, to see if it was shaking. Rock steady. Huh. I walked through the door of my first class at 8am on the dot, still waiting for the heavy weight of gloom and terror to paralyze me. I started in on my lesson. I explained class rules. I had them introduce themselves. I gave them an assignment. They handed it in. We had a discussion, they were a bit quiet, somewhat painfully so at first, but by the end of the short period, they had opened up considerably. The school secretary rang a bell to signal the end of period one. I checked my schedule and headed to my next class. Similar experience, except these kids were older and therefore more engaged, more feisty, more fun. The period passed quickly. Class number three. The rest of the day kind of whooshed by, with its fair share of awkward silences and embarrassing mistakes, but with one overwhelming theme: each class was taught with a complete absence of nervousness on my part, and shockingly, incomprehensibly, each class had at least a few moments that were fun to teach. This day that I had feared and fretted about since I began considering applying to this program back in February 2009, that I had dreaded for a year, was somewhat uneventful, and was even a little fun.
Weird.
Since then, there have been ups and downs; some periods have been rough, and others have been a blast, but there have been no disasters, and on the whole, the trend continues: teaching is not terrifying, and is actually pretty fun. I'm finding that it's a bit like acting. I get to go up in front of the class and be whoever I want to be. These kids have no idea that I'm nervous talking in front of groups; they don't know that I'm terrified of talking on the phone or of meeting with people one-on-one. They aren't aware that I've never taught before, and they sure as shit don't know that I'm actually younger than the oldest student in my class.
In coming to Rwanda, I found what I thought was a rare opportunity to reinvent myself. I'm generally and broadly ok with who I am, but like most people (I think?), there are some significant chunks of my personality that I wish were different. When I came here and found myself an anonymous stranger in a foreign land, where even my "friends" didn't really know me at all, I realized that this was my chance to break away from some of the personal ruts I'd allowed myself to slip into. I started thinking about some of the things that I had an almost crippling fear of back home, simple things like speaking in front of groups, dancing in public, playing sports. I hated to be watched for fear of being judged and of coming up short. But I knew other people who did these things freely and seemed unfazed. I wished so often that I could be like them, that I could break away from my fear, but I had already established myself as someone who couldn't let go in front of other people. Here, I hadn't established myself as anything. I was free to pretend to be whatever I wanted. So I pretended that I liked to dance, and I danced like an idiot until 3:30am, and it's on video somewhere, and I had an amazing time. I pretended that I liked to play group sports, and now I'm essentially leading a running troupe through the trails of my rural village most mornings. I pretended that, rather than being ready to throw up at the idea of speaking in front of a classroom, I was raring to go, and now I actually look forward to keeping my students on their toes, being unpredictable, having control of a class, lecturing, leading discussions, listening to what they have to say and responding, adapting, even teaching. Here in Rwanda, I've been pretending to be who I want to be. There are still big, ugly rough patches in my personality that I'd love to smooth out; I still can't seem to shake my inability to shut up (hello, blog post!) or my fear of being out of the loop, but I'm working on them, and that's alright for now I guess. But I'm relishing this chance to change, and starting to realize that I probably didn't have to wait for an intercontinental move to take it.
Before I left, I saw a documentary called Proceed and Be Bold! (which I recommend sans reservation) about a man who, in his mid-40's, junked his pleasant middle-class life and started making printing press posters full-time. Talk about jumping out of a rut. I don't think there's anything wrong with a pleasant middle-class life; I hope to enjoy one myself. But he wasn't all that happy doing what he was doing, so he struck out to change it. His words at the end of the film have been on my mind every day since I first heard them:
"Do you want my life? You can have my life. All you have to do is declare yourself crazy, then go out and do whatever you want."
So family, friends, here it is: I have gone crazy. I'm doing whatever I want over here. There's really nothing to stop me, and it's a pretty damned good time.
It's worth saying, in light of the whole idea of this blog: I am lucky and proud to come from a family that has already declared itself crazy, and is spread all over this world as we speak, doing whatever it wants. Keep it up, family. Keep building, keep flying, keep trekking. Thanks for the inspiration <3
Thursday, February 11, 2010
The day before yesterday
Breakfast split; 8am-11am, 630pm-close. Breakfast service is always more relaxed than dinner. There’re no pre-drinks, only 3 courses, table cloths aren’t ironed on. A lot of people had the porridge followed by a full Scottish. How do they fit it all in? Once they all left we set up for lunch/dinner service – change the used table cloths, iron them all, add some more silverware, put out the glasses and decorative plates, vacuum and mop. Then I was off.
It was a brilliantly sunny day. Finally. Nicki had bought me a new cycle computer as a present so I thought I’d take it out for a test ride. Not to be deceived by the weather, I packed my camelbak with an extra thermal top and my rain jacket, and set off just before noon. Since we arrived Nicki and I have both wanted to ride the cycle trail which connects us to Calander (the closest town with more than one street), so I chose this for the ride. This section of National Cycle route 7, or the lowland highland route as locals apparently call it, crosses our glen road at Balquidder 4 miles from the hotel. It stays on the road for a while passing through beech and pine forests gradually climbing before opening into a 4wd track with views down the loch towards Calander. (photo). It then drops down slowly becoming a single track trail through farmland, and runs through the bottom of the valley on the west side of a loch. For the last few miles the trail is a nice gravel path running next to a river and then more farmland til it hits town. I kept looking at the cycle computer knowing that with each mile further I went I would have to go that much further to get back home. By the time I got to Calander I had ridden just over 17 miles. I sat for a while on a bench by a river watching a father and son feed the ducks, and ate the apple and the orange I’d brought in my pack. Bought a snickers to eat and two huge blocks of cadbury’s chocolate for the house and set off again. At 20 miles my legs were tired and at 25 they were fairly jelly like. But as I got closer to the hotel I felt a second wind and the exhilaration that comes as the end of a long ride approaches. To my surprise the sun was still on the glen road as I turned on for the last 4 miles towards the hotel. Finished the 35 miles just before 4pm with plenty of time to relax before going back to work at 630. This was the first real ride I’ve done since we got here and it felt good.
Yesterday
8am-4pm shift. I wear a black shirt, trousers, apron and shoes. Black tie with red stripes. Brown socks. This was a quiet morning with only 8 guests in for breakfast. Again the sun was met by a cloudless sky around 10am as it rose above the mountains facing the hotel. With most of the guests checking out and the newcomers not arriving until the afternoon, I kept myself busy cleaning the conservatory windows, polishing glasses and organizing the cellar, and splitting logs for the fires. There were a few walk-ins for lunch. The residents (this is what we call guests after the first day, if they are staying for more than one night) returned just before my shift ended from a long walk up Monachyle glen with tales of having seen a large stag silhouetted by the sunlight upon a ridge. I left them talking over sandwiches and pints in the bar by the fire.
Today
Off today. A sleep-in was very welcome as the ride from the day before yesterday seems to have caught up with me. I had a bid of time to play the mandolin (which I’ve not been playing enough) before nicki came back from work at 11am. The weather being unseasonably nice, I suggested a bike ride. We headed the other direction this time towards inverlochlarig – where, incidentally, Rob Roy spent his later years leading a relatively quiet farm life. After just a short 2 mile ride to the end of the tarmac road we locked up the bikes and set off on foot up a mountain to the north. Nicki had to be back at work by 6:30 so this was only a short excursion. However, had we had more time this is the very same route we would take to reach the top of Ben More, the highest mountain in our area at just over 1100 meters. We had been comfortably biking in just shorts and tee-shirts, but after we rose above 500 meters it began to get cold. Time to put on the thermals and fleeces we had brought. We stopped in a sheltered spot at about 700 meters for a feast of hot soup from the thermos, sandwiches, apples and chocolate. From our vantage point we saw the potential for many other outdoor excursions. To the south a couple of glens head towards loch Katrine. To the west a farm road leads to loch Lomond. To the north Ben More and the Crianlarich hills. And of course east back to loch Voil and the hotel.
Breakfast split; 8am-11am, 630pm-close. Breakfast service is always more relaxed than dinner. There’re no pre-drinks, only 3 courses, table cloths aren’t ironed on. A lot of people had the porridge followed by a full Scottish. How do they fit it all in? Once they all left we set up for lunch/dinner service – change the used table cloths, iron them all, add some more silverware, put out the glasses and decorative plates, vacuum and mop. Then I was off.
It was a brilliantly sunny day. Finally. Nicki had bought me a new cycle computer as a present so I thought I’d take it out for a test ride. Not to be deceived by the weather, I packed my camelbak with an extra thermal top and my rain jacket, and set off just before noon. Since we arrived Nicki and I have both wanted to ride the cycle trail which connects us to Calander (the closest town with more than one street), so I chose this for the ride. This section of National Cycle route 7, or the lowland highland route as locals apparently call it, crosses our glen road at Balquidder 4 miles from the hotel. It stays on the road for a while passing through beech and pine forests gradually climbing before opening into a 4wd track with views down the loch towards Calander. (photo). It then drops down slowly becoming a single track trail through farmland, and runs through the bottom of the valley on the west side of a loch. For the last few miles the trail is a nice gravel path running next to a river and then more farmland til it hits town. I kept looking at the cycle computer knowing that with each mile further I went I would have to go that much further to get back home. By the time I got to Calander I had ridden just over 17 miles. I sat for a while on a bench by a river watching a father and son feed the ducks, and ate the apple and the orange I’d brought in my pack. Bought a snickers to eat and two huge blocks of cadbury’s chocolate for the house and set off again. At 20 miles my legs were tired and at 25 they were fairly jelly like. But as I got closer to the hotel I felt a second wind and the exhilaration that comes as the end of a long ride approaches. To my surprise the sun was still on the glen road as I turned on for the last 4 miles towards the hotel. Finished the 35 miles just before 4pm with plenty of time to relax before going back to work at 630. This was the first real ride I’ve done since we got here and it felt good.
Yesterday
8am-4pm shift. I wear a black shirt, trousers, apron and shoes. Black tie with red stripes. Brown socks. This was a quiet morning with only 8 guests in for breakfast. Again the sun was met by a cloudless sky around 10am as it rose above the mountains facing the hotel. With most of the guests checking out and the newcomers not arriving until the afternoon, I kept myself busy cleaning the conservatory windows, polishing glasses and organizing the cellar, and splitting logs for the fires. There were a few walk-ins for lunch. The residents (this is what we call guests after the first day, if they are staying for more than one night) returned just before my shift ended from a long walk up Monachyle glen with tales of having seen a large stag silhouetted by the sunlight upon a ridge. I left them talking over sandwiches and pints in the bar by the fire.
Today
Off today. A sleep-in was very welcome as the ride from the day before yesterday seems to have caught up with me. I had a bid of time to play the mandolin (which I’ve not been playing enough) before nicki came back from work at 11am. The weather being unseasonably nice, I suggested a bike ride. We headed the other direction this time towards inverlochlarig – where, incidentally, Rob Roy spent his later years leading a relatively quiet farm life. After just a short 2 mile ride to the end of the tarmac road we locked up the bikes and set off on foot up a mountain to the north. Nicki had to be back at work by 6:30 so this was only a short excursion. However, had we had more time this is the very same route we would take to reach the top of Ben More, the highest mountain in our area at just over 1100 meters. We had been comfortably biking in just shorts and tee-shirts, but after we rose above 500 meters it began to get cold. Time to put on the thermals and fleeces we had brought. We stopped in a sheltered spot at about 700 meters for a feast of hot soup from the thermos, sandwiches, apples and chocolate. From our vantage point we saw the potential for many other outdoor excursions. To the south a couple of glens head towards loch Katrine. To the west a farm road leads to loch Lomond. To the north Ben More and the Crianlarich hills. And of course east back to loch Voil and the hotel.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
<<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> only has one <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>, for starters - sorry if I upset anyone by massacring the spelling in my previous post. Other than that it's referred to as <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> (for <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>), and is a dusty, generally dry military base southeast of <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> in the <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> province of <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>. The terrain is <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> and doesn't contain much that isn't a building of some kind, but occasionally a small tree struggles to find some <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> in the <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>, and provides some welcome shelter from the <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>. It's winter and the air itself is relatively pleasant, but the sky is always clear and it'd be easy to get scorched by staying out too long.
We arrive at <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> or so, strung out by the long day and travel delays. It's dark and we are herded this way and that like cattle, given some lectures on rules and whatnot, and eventually wind up in a yard pulling bags off trucks and setting them in rows while trying to find our own.
As this is going on we are saved by the first sergeant of our assigned unit who has managed to locate us and has a far superior plan to the one laid out for everyone else. The gist of it is that we will drive to the <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>, drop off our gear, and then head to our rooms and go to sleep.
Sleeping arrangements aren't ideal but the beds are clean and fresh linens are provided which we appreciate with gusto. Space on <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> comes at a premium, and for the time being we're <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>. The rooms contain plenty of beds but with <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> being maintained someone is always on a <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>, so as we come and go we're required to <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> . On the plus side, the bathrooms have a steady supply of hot running water and are cleaned daily. <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> is available by the bottle, replenishable by palette upon palette stacked outside everywhere, and after a welcome night's sleep we learn techniques for <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>.
Speaking of outside, I get my first look at <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> when I emerge from our <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> sometime the next day and am nearly blinded by the sunlight. <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>. We're housed in <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> - a modular <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> containing <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> bedrooms and a bathroom - which sits close to the middle of an area probably two <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> full of <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> buildings. The streets within the mods are square and wide, forming neat rows with every building surrounded by <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> walls which look exactly like the ones you get down the middle of highways except these are roughly <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>. We depart <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> for the <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> - it's not far - and as we leave the mods we discover that the planning process was apparently abandoned outside the housing area in favor of the 'build things wherever there is room and leave a space wide enough for a truck here and there' school of force development. The crooked streets, nonsense traffic, and general bustle remind me of <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>, the main difference being that instead of actual buildings the blocks of <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> are crammed with either rows of <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> doubling as buildings, <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>, ongoing construction sites, or all manner of tents, shanties, lean-to's, and vehicles. Although most of the military presence is <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> is actually a <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> post and both military and civilian personnel from countries all over the world are represented en masse, indicated by the phenomenally attractive smell of everyone's feces burning in harmony with the garbage somewhere in the distance. <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>.
As entertaining as a <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> can be, my main focus right now is to get to work and discover what life is actually going to be like out here. Questions abound: <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>? <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>? <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>? <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>? <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>? <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>? <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>? Guess we'll find out all this and more, soon enough!
We arrive at <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> or so, strung out by the long day and travel delays. It's dark and we are herded this way and that like cattle, given some lectures on rules and whatnot, and eventually wind up in a yard pulling bags off trucks and setting them in rows while trying to find our own.
As this is going on we are saved by the first sergeant of our assigned unit who has managed to locate us and has a far superior plan to the one laid out for everyone else. The gist of it is that we will drive to the <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>, drop off our gear, and then head to our rooms and go to sleep.
Sleeping arrangements aren't ideal but the beds are clean and fresh linens are provided which we appreciate with gusto. Space on <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> comes at a premium, and for the time being we're <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>. The rooms contain plenty of beds but with <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> being maintained someone is always on a <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>, so as we come and go we're required to <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> . On the plus side, the bathrooms have a steady supply of hot running water and are cleaned daily. <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> is available by the bottle, replenishable by palette upon palette stacked outside everywhere, and after a welcome night's sleep we learn techniques for <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>.
Speaking of outside, I get my first look at <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> when I emerge from our <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> sometime the next day and am nearly blinded by the sunlight. <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>. We're housed in <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> - a modular <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> containing <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> bedrooms and a bathroom - which sits close to the middle of an area probably two <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> full of <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> buildings. The streets within the mods are square and wide, forming neat rows with every building surrounded by <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> walls which look exactly like the ones you get down the middle of highways except these are roughly <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>. We depart <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> for the <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> - it's not far - and as we leave the mods we discover that the planning process was apparently abandoned outside the housing area in favor of the 'build things wherever there is room and leave a space wide enough for a truck here and there' school of force development. The crooked streets, nonsense traffic, and general bustle remind me of <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>, the main difference being that instead of actual buildings the blocks of <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> are crammed with either rows of <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> doubling as buildings, <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>, ongoing construction sites, or all manner of tents, shanties, lean-to's, and vehicles. Although most of the military presence is <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> is actually a <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> post and both military and civilian personnel from countries all over the world are represented en masse, indicated by the phenomenally attractive smell of everyone's feces burning in harmony with the garbage somewhere in the distance. <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>.
As entertaining as a <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>> can be, my main focus right now is to get to work and discover what life is actually going to be like out here. Questions abound: <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>? <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>? <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>? <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>? <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>? <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>? <<CENSORED FOR OPSEC>>? Guess we'll find out all this and more, soon enough!
Travels in the Country
Just now returned from a longish weekend away, and I’m sitting on my bed in Shyorongi, finally clean again, finally dressed in comfy and non-stifling clothes, kind of feeling at home in this place.
Many things to write about since Ross dawdles so, and I had them organized in my head but now they’re jumbled again, so here’s what I remember:
We traveled the country! We had a rollicking two weeks between orientation and the start of school, since the first day was pushed back to allow for more English training for secondary school teachers. After spending about a week (well, five days, minus one or two days spent in the capital) at our sites, my fellow vols and I got a little bored and decided to make the rounds visiting each other. My favorite J’s from the south, Jane and John, came up to visit me on a Friday night, and they got the full Shyorongi experience: nothing to eat but stale donuts and tea (read: sugar water) and a townful of locals staring them down as they walked to get it. The next day, we went to visit some friends up north. The journey takes about one and a half hours, and we kept waiting and waiting for a bus, but none would come, so Jane and I jokingly suggested that John flag down a passing truck and see if they would give us a lift. John did this, and without flinching the driver named his price: 3,000Rwf. We quickly haggled him down to 2,000 total (about $1 per person) and hopped in the truck bed. My first experience hitchhiking! Man, it was glorious. The weather was warm, the day was clear, the northern Rwandan scenery so, so beautiful. We were driving slow enough that every person and town we passed could see that we were muzungus (white people), and countless hoards yelled good morning at us in various languages and laughed and clapped and cheered at the sight of three rare foreigners hitching through their villages. The phrase “liberation of Holland” kept floating through my mind, inexplicably, weirdly. Twas an unforgettable ride.
Me and Jane hitching (photo stolen sans permission from Jane; murakoze inshuti anjye Jane!)
The north was as beautiful as they say it was; our friend Meghan essentially lives in Jurassic Park, and we did some nice hiking the next day before heading back down to the capital (where you basically have to go to get anywhere). Jane peeled off at that point to visit our most remote comrade in the northeast, while John and I headed east for one day and then southeast the next. Other memorable snippets from the trip include:
Relaxing for a few hours next to a pristine, picturesque lake in the eastern town of Kayonza with (the other) Jo and Chelsea, eating chapattis, sambusas and pineapple, reading, talking and generally feeling the sun on our skin. Probably the most relaxed I’d felt in Rwanda thusfar, so pleasant.
Hiking up to the top of a cliff overlooking the Akagera River, which divides Rwanda and Tanzania and contains beautiful Rusumo falls, with a sweet passle of guys: Hewsan, Kyle, John and Mitesh. About halfway up, Hewsan orders us all to be quiet, and as I look up ahead of him I’m delighted to see a pack of about twenty baboons monkeying around (!) in the trees in front of us. They amble up the path and we trail in their wake all the way up to the top of the cliff. Tiny little baboonettes sit on their mothers’ backs for the ride. I’m vaguely aware that a baboon could rip my foot from my leg in one clean motion if it wanted to, but I still feeling like taking one by the hand and doing a jig.
Earlier on that same hike, Mitesh, Kyle and I decide that we want to hike down to the level of the Akagera River, so we scramble down the dense growth of the bank and realize when we get down there that we can’t see our way back up to the top at all. We start making our way back up the embankment through the thick fields of sugarcane (I think?), which we basically have to climb up because it’s so steep. Finally, close to the top, we literally hit a cement wall stretching out and blocking our whole path. With no other options, we climb the wall and drop down on the other side, somewhat surprised to find ourselves in a dining room at a restaurant, full of lunchtime patrons. The bewildered locals mutter “muzungu” while shaking their heads, and we give them a wave and a bow and exit through the front of the restaurant onto the street. Success!
Spent a few days in the capital after that, which was heavenly (I really didn’t care for Kigali at first, but now I’m just in respectful awe of how convenient everything is there, and of the variety you can enjoy), before heading back to our sites. I spent the next few days lesson planning for the first week of school, then made one quick trip back into Kigali to watch the finals of the Australian Open and the African Nations Cup (both, frankly, disappointing), then squeaked back into Shyorongi just in time for
THE START OF SCHOOL
which I will surely write about in my next post.
So lovely to hear what you brothers of mine are playing at. Oh, for the record, I love Neutral Milk Hotel as well, and credit myself for getting Dad into it. I’ve been listening to them a lot on the busses around Rw, as they fit the mood pretty well.
Alright, now I’m off to watch one of my school’s football matches, our first of the year. Go [insert unknown Stella Matutina mascot in plural here]! Miss y’all Copleys wherever you may be.
Friday, February 5, 2010
king of carrot flowers
'when you were young you were the king of carrot flowers,
and how you built a tower tumbling through the trees...'
-the neutral milk hotel
I'm listening to this song as i start this blog. Its off our friend helens compilation album Five Years - The Musical. Jo you might have this album. I really like the song, the guitar part in it, simple but really good sound.
sorry for holding up the blog. no excuses. i am eager to read what the other us copley kids will write soon after, i find your post infinitely more interesting than my own
ok so the hotel reopened today. we have been busy over the last few days (nicki and i got back on tues.) helping to get the refurbishment finished and cleared up. lots of painting had to be done still and things were only just finished today. the fisrt guests arrived just as we were finishing cleaning up, truly last minute. Feels good to have it all finished and to be able to get back into the swing of things here. the bar and restaurant look really smart with the fresh paint, everything back in its place.
earlier. as we rode the train from edinburgh up to the trossachs destined for the hotel, we realized the snow had melted while we were away. maybe we'd be able to get the mountain bikes out? it looks so beautiful here when its green. we took public transport to balquhidder, the town closest to the hotel. noted the sun now stays with us till almost 5:30. decided to walk the 4 miles from balquhidder to monachyle. as we walked any sense of uncertainty or aprehension about returning here quickly melted away. its beautiful, remote, quiet. the walk reminded us of a tramping trip - a day on the milford track maybe, or strolling past giants in prarie creek - and while there is no mitre peak nor redwoods here, the mountainous
surroundings have such a friendly approachable feel to them, yet are so vast and impressive to behold, that I started to forget we were walking home and not to find a camp site. it cant seem to make up its mind. the first night we were back in snowed huge clumpy snow flakes leaving the ground covered in 10 cm of clean white slate by morning. but then it rained and it nearly all washed away.
ever throw a snowball at a pig? he is awsomely unresponsive and i was so entertained by this! the pigs have gotten huge while weve been away. soon they will be in our bellies. i am thankful for having pigs to throw snowballs at and to eat.
Nicki and I are largely preocupied with thoughts about our upcoming cycle tour of eroupe, which rapidly approaches with each passing day. not close enough to make a chain yet though. there was a good amount of discussion and hypothetical plan making while we were in france just recently. the most recent idea is to begin in Le Havre, cycle along the normandy coast, head inland at mont saint michel, then back to the coast above bordeaux, then through bordeaux to toulouse and then the south coast of france. from there we have not decided but (after our recent trip to the south alps) we're entertaining the idea of keeping on the coast until almost
Nice then head north and cycle over the alps towards milan via gap and briancon. this option would be amazing, aford us the opportunity to see friends, and experience this beautiful region in the summer, but it is the french alps, and would be nothing short of torturous. from milan through slovenia to croatia. four months. ish. plan is big in scope and would continually evolve until the trip is through.
the frace trip was really good. french skiing is different expereince than california skiing, and i've been wanting to get over there since we arrived in the uk last march. i think we skiied 7 out of 14 days. mostly at les orres, which is actually similar in size to northstar, a bit bigger, and a fair amount steeper. the tree skiing here was really fun, and we found some great fresh snow. in les orres we stayed with our friends manu and fabio, who have a spare room in there appartment which we got to use. we lived mosly on wine and cheese and chocolate. ok thats not entirely true. but there was one day close to the beginning of our trip, we had decided not to ski this day but to take advantage of there bread maker, when we really went overboard. they both had the day off so after we got the bread cooking we went to the shop, ended up buying 7 or 8 different kinds of stinky rich french cheese (oh the variety!), an amount of wine, and oh did we eat wine and cheese. nicki says cheese gives you vived dreams by the way. i think it might. we had enough cheese to last us a while. yeah that was good. ok from there manu was nice enough to drive us to les2alpes, we made a road trip out of it on a sunny day. it was an amazing drive through the alps. we went a little out of the way to drive into italy and take a photo. incidentally i really had to go so i pee'd on italy. then we went back to france and to les 2 alps. again we stayed with friends, they were really nice, happened to have just moved from one apartment to another, and let us use their old apartment to the time we were there. the town here is a really ustling ski town. the summit (or should say the highest summit) is just over 11,000feet, which i think is the highest ive ever been. there is glacier skiing here, a fairly crazy place to ski over all. you should look at the map online, its crazy. at the end of our trip it felt like we'd been away from the hotel forever...
...now it feels like we never left.
the farewell transmisson now plays. songs ohia
an apropriate song for the end of my blog
and how you built a tower tumbling through the trees...'
-the neutral milk hotel
I'm listening to this song as i start this blog. Its off our friend helens compilation album Five Years - The Musical. Jo you might have this album. I really like the song, the guitar part in it, simple but really good sound.
sorry for holding up the blog. no excuses. i am eager to read what the other us copley kids will write soon after, i find your post infinitely more interesting than my own
ok so the hotel reopened today. we have been busy over the last few days (nicki and i got back on tues.) helping to get the refurbishment finished and cleared up. lots of painting had to be done still and things were only just finished today. the fisrt guests arrived just as we were finishing cleaning up, truly last minute. Feels good to have it all finished and to be able to get back into the swing of things here. the bar and restaurant look really smart with the fresh paint, everything back in its place.
earlier. as we rode the train from edinburgh up to the trossachs destined for the hotel, we realized the snow had melted while we were away. maybe we'd be able to get the mountain bikes out? it looks so beautiful here when its green. we took public transport to balquhidder, the town closest to the hotel. noted the sun now stays with us till almost 5:30. decided to walk the 4 miles from balquhidder to monachyle. as we walked any sense of uncertainty or aprehension about returning here quickly melted away. its beautiful, remote, quiet. the walk reminded us of a tramping trip - a day on the milford track maybe, or strolling past giants in prarie creek - and while there is no mitre peak nor redwoods here, the mountainous
surroundings have such a friendly approachable feel to them, yet are so vast and impressive to behold, that I started to forget we were walking home and not to find a camp site. it cant seem to make up its mind. the first night we were back in snowed huge clumpy snow flakes leaving the ground covered in 10 cm of clean white slate by morning. but then it rained and it nearly all washed away.
ever throw a snowball at a pig? he is awsomely unresponsive and i was so entertained by this! the pigs have gotten huge while weve been away. soon they will be in our bellies. i am thankful for having pigs to throw snowballs at and to eat.
Nicki and I are largely preocupied with thoughts about our upcoming cycle tour of eroupe, which rapidly approaches with each passing day. not close enough to make a chain yet though. there was a good amount of discussion and hypothetical plan making while we were in france just recently. the most recent idea is to begin in Le Havre, cycle along the normandy coast, head inland at mont saint michel, then back to the coast above bordeaux, then through bordeaux to toulouse and then the south coast of france. from there we have not decided but (after our recent trip to the south alps) we're entertaining the idea of keeping on the coast until almost
Nice then head north and cycle over the alps towards milan via gap and briancon. this option would be amazing, aford us the opportunity to see friends, and experience this beautiful region in the summer, but it is the french alps, and would be nothing short of torturous. from milan through slovenia to croatia. four months. ish. plan is big in scope and would continually evolve until the trip is through.
the frace trip was really good. french skiing is different expereince than california skiing, and i've been wanting to get over there since we arrived in the uk last march. i think we skiied 7 out of 14 days. mostly at les orres, which is actually similar in size to northstar, a bit bigger, and a fair amount steeper. the tree skiing here was really fun, and we found some great fresh snow. in les orres we stayed with our friends manu and fabio, who have a spare room in there appartment which we got to use. we lived mosly on wine and cheese and chocolate. ok thats not entirely true. but there was one day close to the beginning of our trip, we had decided not to ski this day but to take advantage of there bread maker, when we really went overboard. they both had the day off so after we got the bread cooking we went to the shop, ended up buying 7 or 8 different kinds of stinky rich french cheese (oh the variety!), an amount of wine, and oh did we eat wine and cheese. nicki says cheese gives you vived dreams by the way. i think it might. we had enough cheese to last us a while. yeah that was good. ok from there manu was nice enough to drive us to les2alpes, we made a road trip out of it on a sunny day. it was an amazing drive through the alps. we went a little out of the way to drive into italy and take a photo. incidentally i really had to go so i pee'd on italy. then we went back to france and to les 2 alps. again we stayed with friends, they were really nice, happened to have just moved from one apartment to another, and let us use their old apartment to the time we were there. the town here is a really ustling ski town. the summit (or should say the highest summit) is just over 11,000feet, which i think is the highest ive ever been. there is glacier skiing here, a fairly crazy place to ski over all. you should look at the map online, its crazy. at the end of our trip it felt like we'd been away from the hotel forever...
...now it feels like we never left.
the farewell transmisson now plays. songs ohia
an apropriate song for the end of my blog
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