Dec 3rd - I flew to WDC
Dec 4th I surprised my mom on her birthday
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Thursday, December 8, 2011
November 2011
November 1st - I started the month in Granollers knocking over the bakery's display on All-Saints Day.
November 17 - Last day of the CELTA class
Nov 18 - coffee in the plaza with everyone
Nov 19 I flew to Cairo Egypt and Met Mohammad and saw Ibrahim
November 17 - Last day of the CELTA class
Nov 18 - coffee in the plaza with everyone
Nov 19 I flew to Cairo Egypt and Met Mohammad and saw Ibrahim
October 2011
October 6th or so - I flew to Florida to visit my brothers and practiced living out of my backpack.
My syrian friend, Tariq Shaweesh came.
October 15 - I went to Barcelona
October 17 - Barcelona Triathlon
October 18 - CELTA @ Cambridge School
My syrian friend, Tariq Shaweesh came.
October 15 - I went to Barcelona
October 17 - Barcelona Triathlon
October 18 - CELTA @ Cambridge School
August 2011 - The Green Bus, Plans Always Change Part II
Sometime August 2011 in Damascus
Syria
The soldier approached me as I was kneeling down to pump up
my bike tire which I had just changed.
He had driven his bus in reverse back to my location when he saw I was
no longer behind him. When he had first approached
me from behind, he passed me and I sped up to draft behind him. A few minutes later, he slowed down to force
me to pass him, where he remained for the next 45 minutes. Since it was a large, dark-green military bus,
he was probably heading to the airport but because I was a female wearing
spandex shorts, I thought he probably wanted to go slow to gawk at me.
Syrian
women normally cover their heads and bodies because it is not proper for a
woman to disrespect her husband or father by causing another man to think about
her romantically. Even if I do not agree
entirely with this belief, I must put myself in the man’s shoes and realize
what he might be thinking about when he sees me. Part of my wanting to live abroad is also
wanting to learn new perspectives, realities, beliefs and how to function in
these societies through eyes of the native.
As we
approached the airport, we waved goodbye.
I made a U-turn around the median to head back and I was out on the road
alone again. There were hardly any cars
on this 15 mile stretch of flat airport road since it was Ramadan. During this holy month, Muslims abstain from
water, food, cigarettes, and gum during daylight hours. Because it is so hot during the day and no
one is drinking, many people stay inside to stay cool if they have the
opportunity; which results in the night coming alive. The taxi drivers who I spoke to were all
proud to be fasting and felt it was the right thing to do.
As I
watched rocky and mostly flat beige colored landscape pass by, I wondered how
the few dust covered shrubs with were able to survive in the Middle Eastern sun
without water. I had to drink twice as
much when I rode my bike in Syria Syria
I was
thinking about the salt on my face when I heard a car approaching from behind
me, I stayed to the side so it could pass, but it slowed down to match my pace. The green bus was back; now I was
uncomfortable. I was a female foreigner
alone on a road which was isolated by fields of dirt during a crisis in which
foreign reporters were not allowed in the country. It was bittersweet that the bus was back, the
soldiers could do anything they wanted and no one would stop them, or they
could protect me from any one else. At
this point, I no longer had a residence card and was waiting to be approved for
a new one, so I did not have any legal reason to be in the country. I also did not have a permanent address, a
real job, or any non-suspicious reason for riding my bike alone on the airport
road.
I pulled to
the left side of the road and waved the green bus forward so I could talk to
the driver. In my Arabic, I asked him to go just a little bit faster and then
maintain that speed. I'm not sure if he
understood what I wanted to do, but he sped up to a pace in which I could
draft. While I was behind the bus, it
would speed up and I had to work hard to keep up, then it would slow down and
give me a break. I'm not sure if the
driver was trying to play with me, but I interpreted it that way. I thought I was getting tired because all of
a sudden I was having a hard time keeping up my speed. I looked down and my tire was flat. I pulled over to the side of the road to
change the tire. Even though the bus
kept going, I knew that the secret police had sent that bus out there to watch
me.
August 16, 2011 - I arrived in Madrid at 7am in the morning after travelling all night. I was sleepy, but I put my things in the hostel and was able to go on a walking tour at 11:30 that Sunday. We were warned that Madrid was notorious for pickpockets, so wear your backpacks on the front.
For lunch Sunday, I ate Gaspacho Soup. It was warm in Madrid, but it was so much cooler than Syria. When I called home, I exclaimed how nice it was to be out of Syria and how pleasant the temperature was in Madrid. I did not know the temperatures for the first several days I was there but my dad looked it up and said it was 97 Fahrenheight. That really says something about how hot Syria is.
Monday afternoon, I did work trying to get the shipment of my household goods sent out from Syria to go back to the U.S.
Tuesday morning I woke up horribly sick. My body had ingested something that it didn't like and I was having evacuations from the top and the bottom. This was old news for me because I had been getting sick chronically for the past 2 months since that one day I ate that street food. I'm just SO emotionally worn out from suffering from food poisoning again and again.
I went to the hostel front desk and I asked where I could find a doctor or go to the hospital. She said, "If you go to the doctor, you're going to have to pay for that. If you go to the pharmacy, they'll just give you the medicines you need." I don't have health insurance in any country, but I also how how expensive one doctor visit can be in the western world. (In Syria, it's about $10. No need for insurance there.)
I went to the 'Farmacia' and told them I had food poisoning, she suggested Immodium and this other thing. I went back to the hostel, curled up in bed and took my own medicine I had brought from Syria. Some stuff called, 'de-vomit' and something else which calls itself an 'intestinal antiseptic.'
Tuesday afternoon I was slightly better and went to the Hyland Language Institute to pay for my tuition, evacuations from bottom continued.
Wednesday I spent the day inside and cancelled an apartment viewing because I wasn't well enough to be far from the toilet. Thursday I had improved enough to view 2 apartments, but was still losing fluids and not able to drink fluids or eat much; I had to return to the hostel to sleep and rest. Friday I had to change hostels. After resting in my bed in the new hostel, I had to go get my bags from the old hostel.
On the metro subway from the old hostel to the new hostel, I broke out in a sweat. It was so fierce that my shirt became moist, my hair was wet and I had sweat rolling down my face. I felt so bad, light headed and I wasn't sure what was going to happen next. I rested my head on my hands which was holding on to a pole because the metro was so crowded. The people on the train knew something was going on because I'm sure I was pale. When the train stopped, they helped me push my bag off. I dragged it away and sat down on the platform with my bags for a few minutes until everyone had cleared. There was a metro official who came to me and asked if I needed medical assistance, I told him I didn't think so. He helped me carry my bags out and up all the stairs. He told me I needed to make sure I was drinking water.
Back at the hostel, I kept on all of my clothes and just curled up in bed under the down feather duvet. I could not get warm all night and I was having severe muscle stiffness all over my body including bad headaches so I took 4 ibuprofen. I eventually showered to get warm and was in bed for the night although I couldn't stay asleep.
I wrote my mom an email and told her of what I was feeling, "
The next day, Saturday, I couldn't sit up or stand with out pain from my gut. I had given up on this language institute, getting my CELTA, and I just wanted to go home. I wanted to go back to the states to get proper medical treatment because I felt like I had only one more day of strength in me. I don't know what would have happened after a day, but I wanted to call, "Mercy" and be rescued.
Saturday, after I could get myself together, I set out with a guy from the hostel escorting me to find a travel agent who could book a flight for me for the next day. All the travel agents were closed that afternoon, they would be closed that Sunday as well. My next plan of action was to go to a clinic and just complain that I couldn't drink any fluids because I was nauseous, I was losing fluids because of 'evacuations' and I was sweating profusely. I just wanted to get an IV.
I checked into the clinic and explained what was wrong, they drew some blood for tests, and put me on an IV. An hour later, they were waking me up from this chair and telling me that they needed to admit me to the hospital because my blood wasn't normal. There was some sort of infection but they couldn't tell what kind.
I had to go wait in the waiting room while they found a bed for me. In that time, my mother called me on my mobile and she advised me to tell them that I would be paying for this on my own. Mom said they might be sensitive to the financial situation and quell some of the tests they were going to do. After bringing this to the attention of the doctor, she said not to worry about the financial part of it. They would probably give me a bill, but they wouldn't chase me to the states to make me pay it.
I was admitted to the hospital Saturday afternoon. I spent the remainder of Saturday in there, as well as Sunday and Monday. The entire time I was on an IV drip because I wasn't able to eat food or keep fluids in me. Tuesday, I began to be able to eat and keep my meals inside. Tuesday night on the phone with my mom, she booked a flight via internet for me to fly back to the states on Thursday.
I decided that no matter what, I was going to get discharged on Wednesday. If they didn't let me go by discharging me, I would just leave and walk out. Luckily, when Wednesday morning came around, I was dressed, packed and ready to go when the doctor came around. She told me they had found strains of selmonilla in my samples and if anything started again, she gave me a prescription for an anti-biotic.
I was discharged, I left the hospital, took a cab to the post office, mailed back everything except my necessities for an overnight stay in hostel, and I went to the hostal.
Thursday morning I got up, almost missed my flight because I went to the wrong branch of the Madrid airport, got on the flight and smoothly came back to the states for rest and relaxation
Things always go from crawl pace to race pace in no time. I've had a month with no plans while I was living with my parents.
I have just arrived in Florida to visit my brothers and to see them before I launch off again.
July 2011 - Plans Always Change Part I - Last Month In Damascus
Damascus, Syria
In April 2011, the Damascus Community School principals told me I would not have a job the following year because they were closing my music department. I wanted to remain in Syria primarily to continue learning and practicing Arabic, but secondarily because I very much enjoy the way of life.
In June, I enrolled in Arabic language classes at an institute in Mezzeh, in Damascus so I could continue to learn Arabic and so they would sponsor me for residency. I rode my bike there (about 20 minutes) everyday. Classes were from 9-12:30 Sunday through Thursday. Classes were fun and easy. It was about 2 weeks into the clas before the teacher could get to material I had not already taught myself from books. I knew how to speak a basic form of colloquial Arabic, but the class was for Classical Arabic; it is similar. I was easily the top in the class. I was the only American, but most other students knew English, so it was the only other language we spoke as a class majority. There were people from Portugal, Finland, Malaysia, Indonesia, Korea, China, Serbia, Russia and Ecuador; this Arabic class was at least a 3rd language for most of the people. Most of the women in the class had husbands who spoke Arabic and worked in their country's embassy, others had parents in the embassy, some worked in companies who sponsored them, but few were drifters like me with out an umbrella company providing.
In April 2011, the Damascus Community School principals told me I would not have a job the following year because they were closing my music department. I wanted to remain in Syria primarily to continue learning and practicing Arabic, but secondarily because I very much enjoy the way of life.
In June, I enrolled in Arabic language classes at an institute in Mezzeh, in Damascus so I could continue to learn Arabic and so they would sponsor me for residency. I rode my bike there (about 20 minutes) everyday. Classes were from 9-12:30 Sunday through Thursday. Classes were fun and easy. It was about 2 weeks into the clas before the teacher could get to material I had not already taught myself from books. I knew how to speak a basic form of colloquial Arabic, but the class was for Classical Arabic; it is similar. I was easily the top in the class. I was the only American, but most other students knew English, so it was the only other language we spoke as a class majority. There were people from Portugal, Finland, Malaysia, Indonesia, Korea, China, Serbia, Russia and Ecuador; this Arabic class was at least a 3rd language for most of the people. Most of the women in the class had husbands who spoke Arabic and worked in their country's embassy, others had parents in the embassy, some worked in companies who sponsored them, but few were drifters like me with out an umbrella company providing.
Wednesday, June 28, I was on my way home from class when I decided to get a shwarma sandwich because I didn't have much food at my house. That night I woke up with all sorts of pains in my stomach and was forced to visit the bathroom many times. As morning came, I called the instructor and I told her I was sick and I wouldn't be coming to class. I don't remember what drugs I took, maybe ibuprofen or maybe it was the De-Vomit medicine, but I felt better so I rode my bike to class in the hot Syrian sun.
When I got to class, I didn't feel good, but I didn't feel bad. I had sweated more than normal while riding my bike, but that was expected because it was a little later in the day. I did my best to pay attention, but I couldn't get with it. I blamed it on my being out-of-sync schedule wise sleeping late and going to class late. I got home at 1:00 and laid down.
This same day, Wednesday, June 29, was my first day of American Language Center training one-on-one with my mentor, Anna. I sms-ed her from bed to ask if we could postpone our meeting, but she could not. I did not want to play the sick card because I wanted to have mind over matter. I knew I'd be miserable for a while, but I needed to go because I needed to know what to do for the first day of classes which was tomorrow, Thursday, June 30.
Since I was moving out of my apartment, I had packed all my belongings and was moving my boxes into my friend Annie's house for storage while I looked for an apartment. I was sweating in the hot sun, moving boxes, nauseous.....I was a mess.
I managed to get to the ALC somehow and met her on time (4:00 maybe). I'm sure I was pale as could be during the whole meeting because I wasn't sure if I was going to lose my lunch again. At one point in our talking, I did have to excuse myself to the hammam for a sudden ejection. I felt better afterward. Anna and I got to talking and she is just one of those people you can have a conversation with and you both always have something to say. Our 'meeting' was about 3 hours long because we were talking about everything. For the next month that I worked there, Anna joked with me about having to excuse myself during 'orientation.'
Thursday, June 30th I could not go to Arabic class because I had "Syrian Stomach" which I have come to learn is the polite way of saying one has food poisoning. My first day of ALC class was successful and it continued to be the highlight of my day.
The same day, I moved out of my school-provided apartment and had food poisoning, I moved in temporarily with an Australian couple I had met at church. They were absolutely wonderful with their hospitality, their overseas expertise, and assisting me with advice in deciding what to do next. I ended up staying with them for the month of July.
That Wednesday (maybe July 3) during Arabic class, I got a call from Khalid, DCS's off-campus director:
Me: "Hello?"
Khalid: "Hi, Kat. Kaaaaaat, your stuff is in Annie's apartment. How did you get into her apartment? You're not allowed in any DCS apartments. Did she give you a key?"
Me: "Yes, she said that since she wasn't going to be there this summer that I could put some things in there."
Khalid: "You need to get your stuff out of her apartment before Saturday or I'm going to call security."
Me: Cheerily, "No problem Khalid, thanks for telling me."
Khalid: "Kat, I'm going to have to tell Dr. Jim about this. He is not going to be happy."
Me: "Alright Khalid, is there anything else? "
Khalid: "Have a good day, Kat"
---------------------------------------------------------------
That afternoon, I visited Annie's apartment, after teaching my first ALC English class with a truck. I couldn't get the keys to work. I couldn't get any of the keys to turn the lock. I called Khalid back and he ensured me that he had changed the locks so that I could no longer go inside. We rescheduled my moving-out to Saturday morning.
Saturday morning came around and I woke up with feathers in my stomach. This is always the first feeling in my stomach before it wretches itself. How was I sick again? Another food poisoning?
............
............
The class was successful the first month. On July 10-11, the US Embassy sustained damage from a government-inspired riot which tried to smash windows of the embassy. During the demonstration, someone climbed on top of the building, switched the flags from US to Syria, and tried to enter the building, but the marines stopped them. (Where was the Syrian security who promised to protect our embassy? Interestingly slow in doing anything....) This whole thing came about because the US ambassador, Robert Ford, had visited another city, Hama, to see what was really happening. What he saw was that there were no 'armed gangs' and only peaceful protests. He mentioned at one point, he saw "a boy with a stick in his hand." Syria wasn't happy about this move because it exposed, in the public spotlight, some of the lies the government had told as well as showed US support to the people of Syria. Syria felt as though its pride had been compromised and so wanted to do something in retaliation.
After the embassy incident, I wasn't comfortable being an American anymore, so I became "Australian." I also seriously considered my next move about whether I was going to continue to stay in the country or move on. I had a wonderful job at the American Language Center which I enjoyed immensely, I had great friends, I was able to bike, run, learn Arabic, but I was not able to travel around outside of my walking-distance little bubble.
The Arabic class started to bother me because the teacher wanted the students to ask her for permission before we went to the bathroom and she stopped the class and hollered at us if we came in late. The ages of the students were from 25 - 50, so we're not small children who need to be taught discipline, nor were we leaving class to go 'play' in the bathroom. In this language class, she did not allow us to speak to our neighbor or speak at all unless it was an individual's turn to read a conversation alone.
After being trained in cooperative learning techniques and having it reinforced at the ALC, I was getting so mad at the class. The class was about copying from the board and not practicing or speaking. I wasn't able to learn as fast as I was when I was teaching myself, but I was able to learn different things in different ways. I learned the dictator-style teaching that "if you have a question, you ask the teacher," and conversation opportunities which were offered only when I would nag the teacher for time to practice talking to each other.
After I stopped going to the Arabic class, I focused on enjoying my job at ALC teaching English. I enjoyed it so much that I wanted to learn more and work for a certification in the field. My boss recommended that I go straight for a master's degree in the field rather than any other certification because it would be much higher ranked in the academic world.
After realizing I had only been teaching English for a month and it wasn't enough for me to justify a master's degree in this new field, I decided to go for just a 'quick' certification. CELTA certification by Cambridge was less than a master's degree, but if I focused, I could complete it in one month and I would be able to travel the world and teach English anywhere. The website had a shopping list of countries I could go to for the certification. Basically, the course costs the same in every country, but if I had a choice, where would I want to go? Hands down, I wanted to go to Spain.
I had an adventure trying to get an exit visa from immigration where I learned I was illegal, but in the end, after some bribing, it was granted. I booked my ticket for $300 with a fraudulent international student card, packed my things, applied and interviewed for the course and shipped out all with in 5 days.
Continued in Part II
After the embassy incident, I wasn't comfortable being an American anymore, so I became "Australian." I also seriously considered my next move about whether I was going to continue to stay in the country or move on. I had a wonderful job at the American Language Center which I enjoyed immensely, I had great friends, I was able to bike, run, learn Arabic, but I was not able to travel around outside of my walking-distance little bubble.
The Arabic class started to bother me because the teacher wanted the students to ask her for permission before we went to the bathroom and she stopped the class and hollered at us if we came in late. The ages of the students were from 25 - 50, so we're not small children who need to be taught discipline, nor were we leaving class to go 'play' in the bathroom. In this language class, she did not allow us to speak to our neighbor or speak at all unless it was an individual's turn to read a conversation alone.
After being trained in cooperative learning techniques and having it reinforced at the ALC, I was getting so mad at the class. The class was about copying from the board and not practicing or speaking. I wasn't able to learn as fast as I was when I was teaching myself, but I was able to learn different things in different ways. I learned the dictator-style teaching that "if you have a question, you ask the teacher," and conversation opportunities which were offered only when I would nag the teacher for time to practice talking to each other.
After I stopped going to the Arabic class, I focused on enjoying my job at ALC teaching English. I enjoyed it so much that I wanted to learn more and work for a certification in the field. My boss recommended that I go straight for a master's degree in the field rather than any other certification because it would be much higher ranked in the academic world.
After realizing I had only been teaching English for a month and it wasn't enough for me to justify a master's degree in this new field, I decided to go for just a 'quick' certification. CELTA certification by Cambridge was less than a master's degree, but if I focused, I could complete it in one month and I would be able to travel the world and teach English anywhere. The website had a shopping list of countries I could go to for the certification. Basically, the course costs the same in every country, but if I had a choice, where would I want to go? Hands down, I wanted to go to Spain.
I had an adventure trying to get an exit visa from immigration where I learned I was illegal, but in the end, after some bribing, it was granted. I booked my ticket for $300 with a fraudulent international student card, packed my things, applied and interviewed for the course and shipped out all with in 5 days.
Continued in Part II
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