Keep On Keepin’ On

Now that I am relatively settled it is safe to say that I have missed (sporadically) blogging. Therefore I have decided to begin another blog. I know that this blog was all themed for my “Adventures in life after college” but I think that since I am beginning a new phase in life it is only right that I begin a new place to share my experiences and reflections. I will miss “Less Than Halfway Around the World” but it is time that I finally say a proper goodbye. No more holding onto the past and things that were, right?

I will apologize now for the not so interesting things I will be blogging about from here on out on “Mindless Mondays“. But who knows, maybe I will find some inspiration in my “static life” and none of you will be snoozing halfway through every post.

Please help me out and let me know if it gets too mundane. If that happens, I will have to kick it up a notch and maybe I will venture back abroad (we can only hope for the best), sooner than we all thought!  In the end though, I love all of my readers and I’m so glad that you took this journey with me. I don’t want to disappoint any of you and I am excited to continue writing, so check out the new blog (by the way if you haven’t figured it out already it’s called “Mindless Mondays” and you can access it by clicking here: http://mindlessmondays.wordpress.com/ or any other text on this page that is a different color than black!) and lets keep in touch!

Ciao for now and I will see you on the other side

Kira B Maixner-

Someone Once Said:

‎”Your journey has molded you for YOUR greater good. It is exactly what it needed to be. Don’t think that you have lost time. It took each and every situation you have encountered to bring you to the now. And NOW is right on time.” -Asha Tyson

My cousin and me on Long Island, New York

I flew from Rome to New York over a week ago. I boarded my flight to JFK in the worst of moods (really, when they told me I couldn’t have a window seat I burst into tears – that didn’t really stop for the next twelve hours) and the nine hour flight seemed to take forever and I couldn’t even sleep. Upon deplaning, I got my second wind and cheered up, after all, I was definitely excited to see my family and I wasn’t exactly home, in every sense of the word,  yet. Sure the language that was bombarding my ears this time was my own and though it took me a few seconds to make sense of them, I could read every sign. I knew instantly where I had to go to catch the train to my final destination and I made small talk and eavesdropped on everyone that I met along the way just because I could. However, I knew that home for me resides in the crisp, dry air that is Colorado and the Rockies along with my family and friends that live there.

A great example of “Simple American Pleasures” – M&Ms in every color. What…they don’t have these in every country?!

In the mean time, It was great to see my extended family and the humid days of the East Coast helped cushion the harsh reality that I am no longer in Rome. A bit of shopping didn’t hurt either. Yep, I was caught doing the most American thing no less than 12 hours after entering the country, shopping, (come on, I was in need of a few essentials the most important being Victoria’s Secret!) and I had a giant, overdone Starbucks while doing it. After a nice week full of family and simple American pleasures, I boarded my last flight of this part of my life and I flew to Colorado and into a happy reunion with most of my family and the familiar foothills of Rocky Mountains.

On my way to Colorado

That said, there are tons of things on my mind now that I am home; most of which revolve around the fact that I have no car, no home, no job and no idea where to go from here (not like I haven’t ever encountered this scenario before). That constant drone is ruptured by the memories that filter through my head. Memories that simply have to do with the places I have been and the people I have met. Now that I have finally meandered my way back to the country that I call my own, I feel so far away from the person that I was before I started this journey (naturally), the person I was during each segment, and now, even the person that I have grown into. Maybe this is the jet lag of nine countries and 15 flights over the past 16 months talking, maybe it is the denial that the end has come (seriously, with the Zombie Apocalypse beginning in Florida, who knows what will happen now), but one thing is for sure. It’s over. No matter how you look at it, no matter how full or empty my metaphorical cup of happiness is, I cannot get around the fact that this is simply a goodbye. And it is simply depressing. Basically my poor little glass of life has been emptied and pushed off the counter, left in glistening slivers of shattered hopes and squandered dreams.

Happy reunion. Missing a few important people but this is most of the gang

However, since I am an ever optimistic and don’t want to bore all of you to death with my whining and ramblings of how much I will miss this part of my life, I will leave all of you with a few wise words from a few wise asses that have left me with hope that the journey will continue from here. That I have yet to really see the world (of course) and endings really are beginnings!

“I wish you a very good journey to an unknown you’ve never seen.” Pieter V. Admiraal

“The whole object of travel is not to set foot on foreign land; it is at last to set foot on one’s own country as a foreign land.” – G. K. Chesterton

“Adventure is a path. Real adventure – self-determined, self-motivated, often risky – forces you to have firsthand encounters with the world. The world the way it is, not the way you imagine it. Your body will collide with the earth and you will bear witness. In this way you will be compelled to grapple with the limitless kindness and bottomless cruelty of humankind – and perhaps realize that you yourself are capable of both. This will change you. Nothing will ever again be black-and-white.” – Mark Jenkins

Capri!

For my last weekend in Italy, I decided to go to Capri, the legendary island that is as picturesque as they all say it is, if not more. I have to say that while I enjoyed the weekend immensely, laughing with my roommates the whole time, speaking Italian, eating, laughing and eating some more, it might have been a mistake. Visiting the spell-binding Capri may have been a mistake because afterward, I was dreading my departure flight the following Friday even more. Anyways, what is done is done and what was seen was seen, and I wouldn’t change that for the world!

Capri in the early morning light!

Capri

Beautiful doorway in Piazza Umberto

This was the picturesque view from one of the main squares in the main village of Capri. Basically if you looked in any direction into the sea on Capri, this was the sight you would see…shockingly blue water, blue skies and a tiny white boat…

Random, beautiful, ancient churches and monasteries were sprinkled around the island. This could be, quite possibly, one of the most striking churches that I saw in all of Italy…granted I became tired of going into and admiring the countless churches long ago…but there was just something so beautiful adn simple about this magnificance…

Metro Mondays

Mi piace molto (I like) Metro Mondays (a lot)…and Tuesdays and Wednesdays and Thursdays and Fridays. And usually Saturdays and Sundays too, though on the weekend, it’s not usually for work.  In fact, I like public transportation in Rome (well, in Itlay in general) so much that sometimes I seriously consider riding the metro a few stops past mine (Policlinico) just to sit and watch the procession of people and objects a little longer. Then, I remember that it is either: A) already late and I really do want to get home; B) A Strike Day and the metro in the opposite direction could take up to ten days to pass my way again; or C) That I will just ride the metro again tomorrow, for a good 25 minutes, and it is probably unhealthy in some way to be underground in the dark, dank and dripping tunnels for longer than I need to be.

Though the Metro is insufferably limited with only two lines that allow quick access to a fraction of the city and the service is a bit shotty, especially on Strike Days,  I have to say I enjoy the experience. I absolutely hate the massive crowds that cram into the tiny compartment on the days that I really don’t feel like having my personal bubble invaded (i.e. almost every morning) but the odd musician, or crazy person with an instrument, that waddles up and down the car pumping the accordion or tooting a horn, makes the breach of personal space worth it.

Germs

I cannot even begin to think about the germs that must be on every square surface of every blue or red pole or grey seat that line each car. Usually, I begin the ride trying my hardest not to let more than my pinkie finger anchor me in order to salvage my immune system from the hordes of savage bacteria that are, without a doubt, lurking. However, as the train shoots through the tunnels, jerking and swaying, I am usually forced to full on grip anything in sight with at least two fingers – even all five – or do my best to balance (which never looks pretty…or graceful). Needless to say, the first thing that I do as soon as I cross the thresh-hold of my final  destination is make a bee-line to the bathroom to scour my hands in quantities of soap that belittle the 2010 BP Oil Spill  (but still, as I write this, I feel the scratchy throat that can only mean the germs prevailed and my body is generating Metro Immunities).

So, having mentioned all of the above, I am not sure why I like the Rome Metro so much. Sure, it might be different if I said that the London Underground tickled my fancy. With it’s precise time tables, infinite stops, smooth rides and nice little “conductors” that keep everyone out of the way and ensure that the cars aren’t overcrowded (“Please stand clear, this train is departing! Please stand clear of the train!” they shout, blowing their whistles and sounding immensely intelligent with heavy British accents) it is obvious why it is considered a great system. However, I guess it is just the “messy” that makes me love the two silly lines (Lina A-Orange and Lina B-Blue) of Rome Metro. It could be the way the lights flicker, the ceiling drips grey matter and the escalators hum and pop that keeps me intrigued (“Will the whole place collapse while I’m getting off ?! Maybe I should get off sooner...”). Maybe it’s the bright graffiti that consumes the old cars, blurring into streaks of bright red, yellow, blue, silver and green as they fly by.  It could be the slur of the languages that the other passengers speak bombarding my ears and it could be their drifting smiles as we hurtle through the darkness to our next stop. I like to help the tourists that I see, wandering around, a map in one hand, Euro in the other, knowing that this city is large with very little method to the madness (there is, of course, a lot that I still have to learn myself).  I like the whistle of the wind and the squeal of the breaks as the train approaches and I like stepping over the yellow line, onto the car and knowing that eventually I will get where I’m going.

Other bacteria infested things I try to avoid. Also, that could quite possibly be the only trash bin in the entirety of the Rome Metro System.

That is Always the Way with Kindness

That is always the way with kindness, you never know just how much you do. And it never seems like you did anything but act like a decent person in the first place.

I wonder where the hell I would be now if kindness and generosity weren’t in the world. I don’t want to think about where I would be if I wasn’t scooped out of one mess or another by a stranger, an acquaintance or even a good friend.

The last two weeks have probably been the most stressful and most unstable of my silly little sabbatical from real life. In retrospect, though I think I should have gone about things a little differently with that family, I don’t regret my decision to leave for one second. However, the consequences of my actions were just as great as I feared they would be. This was the first time that I really had half a mind to hop on the next plane home and I think it is safe to say that I was close to a complete melt down at the height of things. Now, my feet are back on the ground and I can feel the pace of the world again, it’s no longer a whirlwind that has eaten me up and spit me out. But I am feeling cautious and I am in the midst of a severely needed reality check. However, I can say that I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for the willingness, of a few people in particular, to support me and lend me a shoulder to lean on. This kindness is surely part of the reason that I am still here and part of the reason that I’m pulling it together.

A moment of meditation on the beautiful Livornese Sea

There are really no ways that I can express my gratitude then just mimicking what was repeatedly said to me: “I know that if I were in this situation, you would do the same for me.” Do I even need to say that, of course, it’s true? They say that “it’s nothing,” but to me, it’s everything, quite literally, down to the pear that I ate or the blanket that I slept beneath. I know that it isn’t “nothing” but it is the “something” that keeps me going. It’s the light at the end of the tunnel at the end of a long, dark day. It’s the laughter that broke my fear into a smile and it’s the comfort and relief that I can find in knowing that I am not alone on this journey, in this life, after all.

So, before I get too mushy (and that is a real fear these days as I am feeling a bit more sentimental than usual in the aftermath of such a turbulent time) and all my feelings come out in a big weepy mess, let me just say, to everyone that has helped me these last few weeks and even in the past, Cam on, Grazie Infinite, Sukriya, Jule, Sawadee, Ah Kun, Khawp Khun, Danke Schon and of course, THANKS A MILLION for everything. You are welcome to come and crash in on my couch or on my bed any time you want. You are welcome to my food, my computer and my bathroom, heck even my bank account, anytime you please. Of course you will have to wait till I actually acquire or accumulate any of those things and in the mean time you are welcome to my wonderful sense of humor If you ever find yourself in a bind (or just want to visit) and need the unyielding support of a friend, call me, I’m here, always.

Operation “Run Away!”

At least I can say that I lived down the street from the Vatican. Literally, the family that I agreed to be the Au Pair for in Rome lives on Via Conciliazione, the street that leads straight into the Piazza of St. Pietro. But don’t get too excited, I only lived there for three days because the mother of the family was nuts-o and I just couldn’t hack it. I had to suck up all my fears and I had to actually run away. I will admit that I am not in any way proud of that moment, but it had to be done and I don’t regret the decision.

Fine, if it takes two to tango, then I will take my part of the blame and say that I was having a bit of an issue lying my freedom to rest. Sure, I was just settling down after more than a year of traveling and having a few minor responsibilities was going to give me a few issues. Among other things, I couldn’t sit in the grand house or look at the little boy (as cute as he was) that refused to eat without thinking of the poverty that I have witnessed in the last nine months. The grandeur was just as surreal as walking through the main train station of New Delhi, the contrast of the filthy rich just as striking, in many ways, as the festering poor.

The view from the front door. At least when I escaped all I had to to was look right to see the magnificent view of the San Pietro.

Now though, I am going to throw the blame away and say that the responsibilities and restrictions that were laid out did not correspond with my understanding of the position once I set foot in their million dollar foyer. It’s funny, all of my senses were screaming while I was unpacking and I knew that in a few days time I would be stuffing it all back in my bag. I thought that I would give it an honest shot, but I have learned, over the course of this year, that honesty is not always valued and is always trumped by the human ego and a closed mind.

So, in a nut shell, this is why I decided to stay for only three days and then opted for Operation “Run Away! Run Away!” Being from a country where many of the citizens have guns, I wasn’t too shocked when, on the second day, the mother strolled into the two-year old’s room wielding a tiny pistol. It was when she started joking about it and, in a round-about way, threatened me, that I knew she was off her rocker. On the third day, she threatened the live-in house keeper with a knife, as a joke, and on the fourth day, I decided I had to peace out before things got out of hand. Besides the loon’s fixation of threatening people with deadly objects, there was the little issue with security and the fact that I was either locked in or locked out of the house at any given time because I wasn’t allowed to have a set of keys to call my own. The two year old only wore blue (seriously his wardrobe consisted solely of blue attire) and he spoke mostly Spanish (neither of his parents speak Spanish…that should give you some idea of how much time they spent with their child).

Castello di Sant'Angelo...the neighbors. Was quite a nice view at night...while I was locked out....

In all, I knew I had to listen to that uncanny sixth sense that we all have deep in our gut. After a long deliberation, my heart thumping, I packed my bags in the middle of the night and fell into a fitful sleep. I woke up the next morning, after sitting on my bed with bags packed and lurking in lumps next to the crisp white linen of my bed (the most comfortable bed that I had slept in since leaving my own last year, I will say). I sat in the heavy silence broken by the church bells of Vatican City, pondering the mess I was about to propel myself into. I thought about how unprofessional I was about to be, about the reasons I couldn’t stay and about the reaction of the mother if she saw me leave, would she bring out her gun again? I sat on the bed and weighed the outcome of the situation. I would have no home, I would have to sleep in a hostel for the next week or two. I would have no job, and I wasn’t in the East anymore where $10 could buy me three meals and a bed for a few nights. I was for-fitting a flight home and hell, to be honest, I was giving up some damn good, home cooked Italian food. However, if I stayed, I knew that I was going to be trading my sanity and happiness for a kind of security similar to the pretty, pastel painted cage of a bird. My wings would be clipped and the only thing that would be flying was my freedom, right out the window.

With one last thought about how easy it would be if I were to stay and about how hard things were about to get, I heaved my backpack onto my back and clipped it around my waist with finality and swung my other bag onto my shoulder. I cracked the door to my bedroom, the rustle of my bags deafening to my heightened senses, and I crept towards the kitchen, the back door and freedom.

The Motorbike Misfortune

***So, don’t take this post the wrong way, it’s ling and full of complaining. However, I am, in fact, enamored by SE Asia and I know that I will be back sooner or later. Though the scamming is out of control and can be a pain in the ass, it’s part of the experience….But by god, NEVER rent a bike on Koh Pangnang unless you stomp out all possibilities of a scam before hand.***

Renting a motorbike, as you already know is essential in South East Asia. To even begin to get to know the place, you have to commit to a zippy little moto and brave the chaos that defines the roads in Asia. The experience is rewarding though and you will discover the best beaches and the best hangouts all the while having the best fun!

In Thailand, the traffic is a bit better than in Vietnam, but boy are they sticklers about their equipment, which they could care less about in Vietnam. In fact, the bike rental shops run a scam on Koh Pangnang that, in most cases costs the patron quadruple what he spent to rent the bike even if he polished it every night and cared for it like it was his own child. What I mean to say is that if you damage the bike in any way, maybe a pebble was kicked up from the road and nicked the side plate as you drove to the beach, then you can expect to pay an absurd amount of USD to fix, not only the nick, but to replace the entire plate, the stickers and the Yamaha crest because they have to, you know, have a perfectly clean bike for the next customer, so they can scam the shit out of him too. I have even heard cases of pre-scratched bikes for hire where the renter ends up paying no less than USD$200 for the “damages”. To say the least, the moto-rentals and clinics in Koh Pangnang make bank between outrageous prices, scams and a freaking cold heart…okay and there are plenty of idiot tourists that ride around messed up, out of their minds like lunatics and crash…who wouldn’t see good business in such asinine antics?

Either way, these principals shouldn’t apply to the kind hearted and honest tourists like me and Ylva. To make a long story that pleads my innocence in the matter, short, I will just admit that we had a minor accident and fell over on the bike (yeah, it was really stupid) while navigating a quite steep dirt road en-route to one of the most beautiful beaches on the island. Really it was nothing more than flesh wounds and a bit of a sore arm the next day (and because I have to say cause I am still pissed about it…the tires were bald on this bike, something I should have thought about beforehand and something that I am sure was all a part of the grand scam). The bike wasn’t damaged too much and being sweet honest girls, we knew we had to repair at the very least, the broken turn signal. We weren’t too worried about the scratched sticker and we hadn’t heard about the scams. When we returned to our guesthouse however, we were informed that we were looking at a rough cost of about $15,000 BAT ($500) and that we had chosen to rent from the worst guys in town. Still unbelieving, we went to face the music, smiling sweetly and apologizing profusely. We were sure that our responsible appearance and the fact that we weren’t stupid enough to drink and drive was on our side. Unfortunately we didn’t anticipate exactly how ruthless the assholes that ran the place were going to be. Did I mention that I had to leave my passport for collateral when we first rented the bike or that my visa ran out in three days and my flight to London wasn’t going to wait for me?

In short, and to spare all of you from my rage, I will just say that we got off with paying $200 between the two of us. But not after a few hours of resilient argument on my side and even a short contemplation of leaving my passport behind in favor of a cheaper ($200) Emergency Passport Replacement plan and a few calls to the US Embassy. Basically we were screwed. Sure I don’t have an international driver’s license but none of the tourists do and the Police turn a blind eye on the fact in favor of a few bribes from the rental shops. They had my most valuable document (which is normal and to be expected when you are renting a heavy piece of machinery) and we didn’t speak Thai (which might have helped). All we could do was plead our case or flee. In light of the pain in the ass it would prove to be to get a replacement passport (besides the fact that I would be abandoning my identity in the hands of two of the worst people I have met on my travels and the silly sentimental attachment I have to my passport and visas that reside within it) we decided on $200 and if they wouldn’t budge, then we would book it. Luckily they caved and I was reunited with my lovely passport. However, part of me, on principal wishes we just left them SOL. Not only was the manager and ass with no patience but he was a misogynistic wife-beater that threatened to hit me more than once if I didn’t give him money, anyone’s money. Then he made me apologize for being outspoken with/to him, the bastard.

Bangkok writing far below...

Now I love almost EVERYTHING about South East Asia and Thailand, but the one thing that I really can’t stomach is the tourist track and the less than welcoming tourists agencies that believe that foreigners are made of gold and try their very best to get every last penny from them. Don’t get me wrong, I am well aware of the pompous idiot foreigners that invade these beautiful lands, throw around money and think more than less of the locals and treat them with disrespect. In fact those travelers enrage me and I curse them along with the best of the local shop keepers. I am in favor of paying an exact and fair price and I always give the benefit of the doubt. I don’t like to haggle because I figure that $.50 – $2.00 will help the vendor more than I will miss it. I would have gladly paid for all the damages on the bike, so long as it was evaluated and priced fairly. Something that may never sweep Koh Pangnang for, with much money comes much corruption…duh. For me, it is disheartening to see the greed; it’s exhausting and deterred me, at times, from really fulfilling my limited time in the region. To get to the point and to finish this post, I will just say that this incident was the cherry on top to the cream for me in SE Asia. I could barely wait to board my plane a few nights later and took a deep breath of relief when we took off, Thailand writhing far below.