A Summer on Three Continents

NOTE — At some point in time over the course of the past two years, this blog morphed from reflections on travel/living abroad to vague musings that flirt with existential crisis. I can only blame the French. This post’s format is a blunt attempt to correct the trend. Inspired by college flatmate.

May – Not actually summer

Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Ramallah

One can’t really write a short post on visiting Israel and Palestine. I don’t want to leave anything out. But I had one of the most visceral spiritual experiences of my life at the Western Wall.  Thank you to N for being a wonderful guide and answering my hundreds of questions.

Warsaw

The history of Warsaw is heavy. I spent 4 hours at the POLIN Museum of the History of Polish Jews, one of the most nuanced, sensitive, contextualised exhibitions on the Shoah. Moving past the violent history, Warsaw today is a cool, urban center offering green spaces, delicious food (shoutout to paczkis), and cozy hangout spots.

June – Winding down 

Paris

It’s the end of an era. The city I daresay I know the best out of any in the world is no longer mine to call home. No doubt my last few months in Paris were some of the happiest of my entire life, especially after I finished school in May. Endless stretches of time to take the long way home, to twist myself into weird poses at yoga in the Tuileries, to talk politics and love with close friends, to watch a World Cup match, to eat every imaginable type of carbohydrate. Every day from late spring to early summer seemed to leisurely bleed into each other. Every day was bright with the hazy summer light that melted into a deep cerulean blue only at 11pm. When I’m old and looking back on this period of time, I think I’ll remember this vignette — Walking down Rue du Faubourg at 8pm, with two bottles of chilled rose clinking in my tattered tote bag, nestled with a baguette tradition that has a premature bite taken out of it, heading to the Seine while chatting up M and K.

Graduation from my masters happened. Fete de la Musique rocked my world (and ripped R’s pants as we climbed over the fence to Buttes Chaumont). And just when I had committed mentally to staying another year, plans changed.

London June 2-5th

Only on my fourth visit to London did I really end up liking it, thanks 100% to A. Notting Hill is a charmer. The tea and coffee is infinitely better. Got smashed on Pimm’s. The pub by LSE even had Goose Island on tap.

Milan,Venice June 14-17

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Actually Burano

I met up with my parents in Milan, from where we journeyed on to Venice. Italy is a mesmerising country. It exudes sensuality and warmth (quite the opposite of Parisian cool), makes you want to drown in your Aperol Spritz, slowly…softly….  I think Venice was the best family vacation we’ve ever taken and (because?) it was only four days. I’ve never seen my mom light up so much just by being in a place. I also do not doubt that Italian food is an international crowd pleaser. Linguine is basically Chinese noodles anyway according to my dad.

 

July – Exhaustion

Beirut July 4- August 4

My month-long stay was more stress than relaxation. Many a morning I felt like never leaving my bed or the apartment to face the mammoth of responsibilities awaiting me outside. I was alone in an unfamiliar place. Really alone. I didn’t know a single soul in Beirut, yet was attempting to execute an intensive artist development workshop with two cancelled debit cards and two unexpected team member drop-outs. One can imagine how such a situation can put a damper on enjoying the Lebanese coast. Nonetheless, everything came together, despite my anxieties. Was it perfect? No. But it was accomplished with the invaluable help of classmates, new friends, my lovely co-founder and pints of Arabic ice cream. Next time, Beirut, I’ll come and enjoy myself.

August – Restorative eating

Puerto Galera August 5-6

My flight from Beirut to Manila was less than $300, most likely due to the high demand for maids from the Philippines in the Middle East (human rights abuses in this industry are worth educating yourself on). Happily reunited with my better half, K, in tropical paradise.

Taipei August 6-15

IMG_6171 What can I say about Taipei except that I gained five pounds, and happily so, while eating my way through all the city had to offer? Everyone eats well in Taipei – from taxi drivers to executives. K was the best tour guide. Always go eat with people who know exactly what you love and exactly what you don’t care for.

Shanghai August 16-19

My first time ever in Shanghai, can you believe it? Beijing and Shanghai are rival hubs, as naturally all political and economic capitals of a nation become. 1920’s Shanghai is the stuff of legends and a walk around the city still evokes that era. The influence of European powers is still visible in the Beaux Arts well-kept historical hotels and banks lining the Bund. Did you know that during the British occupation, the Chinese were not allowed to enter the park on the riverwalk? Problematic pasts, can’t really separate it from anything related to British imperialism. Nonetheless, I was absolutely charmed by the neighborhood in the former French Concession. Something about tree-lined streets…

September – Establishing new home in Nairobi

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Trying to get my hygge on

Give me some time to process 🙂

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Too Fast Too Furious?

I’ve been pushing it pedal-to-the-metal these past two months. Even for me, I’m starting to find my international mobile lifestyle a bit excessive. After two years in Europe, I am moving to Nairobi, Kenya for my first “real” job in migration research, armed with a recently minted masters diploma and yellow fever vaccine. For the past month, I’ve been in Beirut, Lebanon implementing a passion project that’s been a year coming – an artist development program focusing on digital tools. And right now, I sit in a board game cafe in Taipei, Taiwan, waiting for Kevin to get off work so we can stuff our faces (again). I think my friend captured it best when yesterday he remarked, “You’re a master at getting people to pay you to live in dope places.”

It’s a much nicer statement than the ones I hear from my parents which run along the lines of “When will your craziness settle down?” and “I can’t wait for this wild phase to be over.”

But don’t you worry mom. If anything is the killer of dreams, it is the French bureaucracy and I have been dealt a crushing blow. Cancelled debit cards while abroad, bank counsellors unreachable by email nor telephone, exuberant charges for what should be free services, impossible to cancel transportation subscriptions — all served up with a delightful tone of exasperation from your friendly neighbourhood French bank teller. So as I sit here sipping my coffee, cash-less with a frozen bank account and about to move my entire life to a new continent, I think to myself, “This may just be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.” All these oceans and continents traversed, halted by a hostile personal banking system from the 1980’s. Sounds about the perfect au revoir to my chapter in France.

 

Printemps Parisien

Spring has always made me feel a certain kind of way. Specifically, the first warm breeze fluttering in through an open window sometime in April (sometimes in late March if we’re lucky), during a lazy late afternoon when you suddenly realise that it’s still astonishingly bright out.

I remember distinctive vignettes – sitting in the classroom after school for a AP World History review session, with the windows facing the tennis courts; walking home from the bus stop with Jack’s Mannequin blasting in my headphones as I just discovered angsty emo music to soundtrack my first quasi-breakup; slowing down my usual headlong dash across the quad to my Self, Culture and Society course to notice the sudden splash of green in all the scene; and most recently, laying out on a Oaxacan blanket in the most beautiful park in Paris, feeling the sun infuse my skin with warmth and freckles.

Spring embodies a swift change between extremes. And it always has made my thoughts and feelings veer on the extreme as well (unstable in a way). Spring is truly a dangerous drug for me to indulge in hazy thoughts of pre-determinism, buried memories, life’s inevitable cycles, second chances, uncontrollable circumstances, emotions beyond my  intention. Doesn’t all that sound perfect to pair with a rosé and strawberries?

A Parisian spring is beyond me. All day I just think of the physical beauty of the world and the palpable energy of an entire city rejoicing in it. It’s a wonderful atmosphere in which to immerse oneself for a few weeks. I’ll let you know when I emerge out the other side.

 

Tell me where you are in the world

It wasn’t until a coworker asked me for recommendations in Copenhagen that I realised my memories were slipping away. Unlike for Cairo or Paris or even Beijing, I did not chronicle anything – no lists kept of favourite cafes, no photo stories, no poetry. What does that mean, if it means anything at all?

My childhood friend just sent out an address spreadsheet to our high school gang group chat, titled “Tell me where you are in the world.” There’s 6 of us in the group, but the title was directed at me. She said she missed the postcards we used to send to each other and wondered when I would blog again and make zines again. As I tackle down what may well be my last semester of school ever, evaluating (or at least musing over) my life choices has become a daily ritual. Making zines has not crossed my radar. For the first time, I’m starting to think, “Am I too old for this?”

Do it for the memories, for the ephemeral experiences, the shot of adrenaline straight down your spine, take charge of the vivacity of youth, see the world, run after it, hunt it down, wrestle them until you swallow whole excitement, wonder, devastating beauty, loss, longing. I do it for those damn fenceposts I wrote about on this blog in 2014. Sometimes I think back on the past few months, or year and I don’t know what I did. Where did it all go? I need something extraordinary upon which to drape my time and staying on the move is how I stake a claim. But I’m starting to feel like it’s losing effectiveness and maybe it’s better to just stay still for a while, to stop being greedy, to embody slowness. Seeing more is not depth.

Anyways, I intended to write a bit about my half-year spent living in Copenhagen. Suffice it to say that I was very content there. I was healthy, I was active, I read books, I drank coffee, I had a rhythm to my life though no friends. And I was content with that. But life doesn’t offer counterfactuals, so maybe I should construct my own.

A Post on Living in Paris

Perhaps I’ve been holding off writing about my Parisian year because of the sheer weight that the City of Lights holds over the American imagination. “We’ll always have Paris,” declares Humphrey Bogart to Ingrid Bergman. Quotes from Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast swamp the #paris feeds. Perhaps the only thing more basic is a pumpkin spice latte selfie in front of the Eiffel Tour.

Paris is always a good idea

I do not have the original poster anymore, but I assure you it looked basic like this.

Or maybe I’ve put it off because Paris has held such a spell over my own life. For a year in college I hung a poster of Audrey Hepburn’s famous utterance, “Paris is always a good idea,” in my room. Superimposed upon an aerial view from the Arc de Triomphe of course. I tried hard to hide my longing for the most cliched of European cities, but alas everyone knew and everyone congratulated me wholeheartedly when I finally got the chance to live the Parisian life this year as a masters student at Sciences Po. The beautiful dream came true and the mythical city became my every day reality. How can I do it written justice now?

To be honest, I don’t have much to add to my past experiences of Paris on the subject of Paris itself. My lasting impressions this time are less about the chic fashion and croissants, instead they have turned inwards. As with any dream of epic proportions, its luster fades once we transform the dream into our everyday, lived experience. Once you live within your dream, it will eventually cease to be your dream because, by definition, the dream has become your reality. And when that happened to me, I learned that no matter how much living in Paris inspires me, how many beautiful moments I encounter along its streets, I am left with my same core personality, tendencies, and flaws. I think it’s too much responsibility to give to any city the power to fundamentally change people.

Since college graduation, many people have jokingly asked me what I’m running away from, citing the trope of the 20-something girl traveling the world to escape heartbreak, boredom or something equally tragic. I’ve always waved them off because I’m not running away from anything like that — in my view I’m chasing a professional path in international development. I guess you could then ask me what is it that draws me to a career in which the boundaries between professional and personal life are blurred. People in development, at various scales of self-righteousness, are motivated to do their job because they believe it will make a positive difference in the world. That one is easy to understand. But people who work in international development also praise the heavens when they get a contract that lasts longer than one year. People in development are ready to drop everything and pack a suitcase with their entire life inside at a week’s notice. And that kind of lifestyle is unreasonably seductive to me, despite the predictable giant wrench it throws in your personal relationships. It is also, to a degree, irresponsible.

Do you know that sometimes it feels good to be completely lost and disoriented? I’ve always conceived of life as a series of uncontrollable events and situations emerging from chaos. I like it when life such conceived hits me full force. I feel most alive when I’m trying to reign in the chaos– this feeling is most viscerally experienced when I’m plopped into the heart of a new city, a new culture and new code of behaviour to decipher. The feeling of living in a parallel universe is delicious. When things are out of your control, you cannot to be blamed. I love it when decisions are made for me, when some life decisions are automatic. But it’s wrong to try and live your life perpetually in this way. Isn’t this running away from responsibility? Kundera’s heaviness?

I apologize that nothing is really said about Paris in this post. Did Paris make me somewhat fancier, more stylish, and snooty? I will have to say yes, at least in part, to all three. However, Paris represents to me a broader disillusionment of dreams bringing to light my flawed inner realities.

 

 

Thou Shalt Schlep

In typical Wendy fashion, this blog entry is approximately two months late. I am no longer in Chicago. I’m now living in Paris and completing my masters program. 

While lifting off the dusty tarmac of Cairo International Airport, I anticipated the reverse culture shock of arriving back in Chicago after a full year abroad. It took me ten months to adjust to the lack of sidewalks, manic driving, and thick air of Cairo’s metropolitan core. Ten months to consider the two-hour commutes as comfortable, the festive crowds as commonplace, and the unrelenting sun relaxing. What will my charming Midwestern, American city be like after such a crazy ride? Turns out, I needn’t have worried one bit. Returning to the pace of life back home was as effortless as breathing.

cairo-traffic

What’s not as effortless as breathing is stomaching full-force Cairo pollution jammed down your lungs.

A couple years too late but home this summer meant working a summer job. The art of the side hustle, the struggle, and the extra mile is an American covenant – Thou shalt schlep.

To that end, this summer I took a serving job at a theme restaurant located in Chicago’s tourist central – Navy Pier. Half motivated by the lucrative tips and half motivated by the thrill of trying something completely new, I signed up to sling fried shrimp and po’ boys five days a week. Trademarked birthday songs, trivia questions at every table, and decor dripping with movie references came neatly packaged in the deal of a summer jaunt on the Pier. Just because I was at home-sweet-home doesn’t mean I should get too comfy, said my inner masochist.

A central belief I have developed for myself over the past few years is to always try new experiences that make me feel uncomfortable, or to push my boundaries of comfort. I was walking behind this group of teenage boys last week on my way to work. One of them had on a t-shirt that read, “Pain is weakness leaving the body” splashed in caps across the back. Similarly, experiencing discomfort is like purging limitations from my mindset. The more you do what you once thought impossible, the more you begin to believe in your unlimited potential.

hushpuppies

Tried hush puppies for the first time ever and my life is changed. Who knew corn, cheese and oil could make such a magnificent orgasmic experience.

If you know me, you would know that I am not loud, pushy, or beguiling. Well those are apparently the three traits one needs to be a successful server. Of course, one should definitely not come off as loud or pushy to the customer, but as I quickly learned, one needs to be forthright in the kitchen and with managers in order to get orders out fast and problems fixed without a hitch. I also come home smelling like fish and chips every night. Mmm beer-battered seafood is quickly becoming my signature scent. I scream. I smell. I schlep. Summer exploration of the many sides of myself is indeed an immersive sensory experience.

Peace, love and coleslaw.

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Still lasted longer than Eric Forman at Fatso Burger.