Tsy mazava!

Meaning, “it’s unclear.”

It’s pretty much the theme of my life right now.  I just follow my host family around because they always seem to have things to do and they always know what’s going on, and me?  Well I never do.

Despite the lack of clarity, I love Mahajanga and my life here.  Since coming here I have soaked all day in the Indian Ocean, climbed down into a canyon of red and purple clay and waded through the river to the ocean, attended a party with my host mom and all of her friends, danced the electric slide once my host mom and all of her friends were pretty tipsy on coconut rum punch, eaten jackfruit, learned that I was seriously lip-swelling allergic to jackfruit of all godforsaken things, watched musicals with my host sister, and walked along the Corniche socializing half a dozen times.

That’s just a start.  I couldn’t begin to sum up this town.  We’ve conducted a series of visits to schools (talked with a beginning English class sloooowly), hospitals (saw my first birth, no kidding), and fisheries (donned galoshes and a hairnet and waded through the processing plant).  So many crazy stories, so little time to write them all down.

The basic profile is the Mahajanga is a great, relaxed, welcoming, absolutely beautiful place.  In my host family I have inherited a sister and a friend, a second mother and a friend, and even a little brother who gives me a hard time.  I love them and they are wonderful to live with.

I love this place so much that I have decided to stay here for my independent study.  What can I say?  It won my heart, and through my host mom I have a connection at every radio station in town.  So I am prepared to study this final topic: Radio Communication in Malagasy Culture.  I have already met a Malagasy journalist and I am totally psyched to hang out at a Mahajangais radio station for a couple of weeks.  Not to mention there will be time for the beach.

Send my regards to Austin, and Hook ‘em Horns!

 

“Mora Mora” with a side of doctor appointments

First thing: I am okay. But I am a little sick with a “gastrointestinal infection.” Read: parasite of some kind really common in tropical countries but never seen in the US. I’m getting the results of my analysis today and then I pop some meds and start feeling better.

But really, next time any of you go to a tropical country don’t worry about knowing you have something. Because something like this you KNOW. I know what’s wrong with me, and so does my angry digestive system.  The doctor was interesting–not bad for a doctor in a Third World country, sanitary but minus all the little stupid comforts.  Since I couldn’t eat before the bloodwork, my host mom packed coffee (note: in teapot, with cup and saucer) and bead with butter and jam.  After the doctor appointment we had coffee in the car.  I love this culture.

I have been able to go out and do stuff; though, especially after the wicked pain meds the doctor prescribed. So in spite of my current condition I am embracing and enjoying Mahajunga.

This is a great town, I have observed, to be an expat in. It’s warm (read: hot as hell), tropical, with great beaches and friendly people. There’s a nightlife and an art scene. It’s beautiful. The only thing that really sucks is the internet, and the massive effort it takes to go to the doctor.

Saturday night we went to a dance recital, and then a group of us went to La Corniche, which is the town’s social center and the road that runs along the ocean.  We sat down at these picnic tables around open grills and had barbeque with pickled mango and kassava and fried bananas.  This whole town comes to life on weekend nights, and everyone seems to know everyone else.

Sunday we all went to the beach with all of the host families, sort of like an elaborate playdate.  It was wonderful, we all took over a bunch of parasols on the shore and shared food and soaked in the warm, blue water.

My walk to school consists of a ten minute stroll down a paved boulevard lined with mangoes, until I reach the ocean.

My host family is unbelievably supportive and fun. We all sat around and talked last night, it is amazing how quickly I have come to bond with these people.

The most awkward situation came last night when our maid (she’s really more part of the family) found out that her niece had passed away and burst into tears. I just sat there, frozen, because I am not always sure how to deal with death in the United States, much less in a different culture in a different language. My host brother walked her home so she could sort out the details and my host mother turned to me, smiled a little to comfort me, and said, “La vie, se passe, se passe, se passe.”

This is the most direct time, but since arriving here I have heard about three deaths. It’s a reminder that so few people here have realistic access to healthcare, and that there’s a high mortality rate here. My host mother talked a little about when her husband passed just over a year ago. She is such a strong woman, and it’s strange for me for an entire people group to have such a healthy attitude towards death: you can’t avoid it, so thank God for the time you have and don’t worry about tomorrow.

We visited a high school today, just a small group of students. It was interesting to drive one of these research visits by ourselves–our questions, our objectives, or ideas. We visited an English classroom and the students asked us questions, and it was fun. Of course, there was the one guy in the back who asked our ages and would have asked for our numbers if the teacher would have allowed it. We’re invited back to an American Club meeting on Thursday for speaking practice, but I don’t know if we’ll be able to go.

All is well here, and all will be better after I go to the doctor today and get some medicine for my sad tummy! I will update as I can, but between the beach and spending precious time with my host family, and doing things that actually have an academic lean, I’m really busy! Send my regards to Texas.

 

I hear you’re somewhere in the sand.

Safe in Mahajanga, which is gorgeous.
It is so different than Tana…a lot smaller, and by the ocean in the Strait of Mozambique.  Very chill, very “mora mora” (Malagasy for slowly, slowly).  The first thing drop-off and safety buddy Jill and I did was find the water and dip our feet into the Indian Ocean.  It is actually the Strait of Mozambique, but for my sake I’m calling it the Indian Ocean.  Tomorrow I start a homestay here for just over a week and I am excited to meet me new family (who I think live closer to the center of town, yay!) as homesick as I am for my fa,ily back in Tana.

The sun and the ocean is a good balm, too.  It is very hot (“mafana be” in Malagasy) but I feel sort of at home, dead of summer.

We spent the loast day and a half at the Ankarafantsika National Park, which is both beautiful and LEMUR INFESTED.  One was seriously five feet from me, just staring.  On the night walk I even got to see two mouse lemurs, which are just as cute as they sound.  PIctures will follow someday when I have a lot of time and a speedier internet connection.

We were camping, but seriously, I was more camping in Ampihoarana the week previous.  There were toilets and showers (cold, but who cares when it’s Texas hot?) and mattresses in the tents.  Good ones.

For those of you concerned about my health, thanks a million.  My virus thingy is gone, and I am still having some pain in my side but it is getting so much better so I think the anti-parasite drugs are working.  I’m not 100 percent, but I am doing good on the whole.  It was bound to happen, honestly.  One of us had to get a parasite first, and I feel like I might be the winner.

In other words, don’t worry.  I’m in good hands…better than good, actually.  Academic Director Roland is in my mind as this magical entity who always shows up with “gouter” (snacks) and is obsessed with our health all being perfect.  If anything were to happen to any of us we’d be on our way to whatever help we needed in two shakes, they are so on it.

Actually, if any French-speakers are thinking about studying abroad, I would recommend checking out this program.  The staff is beyond phenomenal and I feel like these thirteen ladies are family to me, we have been through so much together and supported each other.  I am learning so much about myself, and how to really LIVE life.  I have so much appreciation for my life right now and I love and miss you all.

But I wouldn’t leave here for the world right now.

Veloma !

Em

 

Whereupon Emily decided she wanted to go home and speak her own language…meaning Tana and French.

Yeah, we are all sorts of confused.  The other night at dinner I spewed out a random sentence in English in the middle of a conversation, real fast.

So I am back from the village, and I am going to be very conservative about this entry.  It wasn’t a good experience, but it wasn’t a bad experience.  It was mixed, and one of the most highly e,otional events in my life.

First of all, few if none reading this can really understand what I’ve just been through.  It is the most isolated and lonely I have ever been in my entire life, and simultaneously the most objectified and emotionally violated I have ever felt.  On the whole, however, the moments of pure cultural exchange were some of the most valuable experiences I have ever had.

Friday morning we boarded taxi-brousses specially chartered for us and go dropped off one after the other.  I expect this would have been painful if you weren’t number two and two hours in like I was.

The first thing I noticed was the village, which is gorgeous and nestled in the hills of the Bongolava Region.  A lot of the houses are made of earth and earth bricks, which is a dark red and very beautiful.  When I got out of the van, I had about twenty children gathered, staring at me.  This group would double and become a permanent legion of stalkers/watchers.  I was introduced to my host father and brother who speak French (a relief since this was not a guaranteed element of the village stay) and the man with the NGO that organized all of this said, “well, see you in five days.”

I was shown to my room, which was a dining room, and like most of the others I shared a bed with my host sister…though she was married and I never figured out why.  I think it was village hospitality which here dictates that no one is alone.  Everrrrr.

My family consisted of two grandparents, my host father Philippe, and my host brother/sister in law Guy and Nirina.  They had three children who were both adorable and terrifying hellraisers, depending on the day.  Kepp in mind: I am not a children person, and this did not alleviate that.

I was watched almost all the time.  While I took naps, while I ate, while I studied.  When I left the house the crowd followed me.  I couldn’t get the kids to play with me, they would just stop and stare if I tried to join in.  I was followed by the yells of “Vahaza!”  I got a little freaked when they encircled me, just because I was so on the spot.

I spent a lot of time taking walks and making courtesy visits: to the mayor, to the cheif of the fokotany (Malagasy administrative district), to the pastor, to the only woman in town with a car.  They were really proud to both show me off and show me what they had: a television, for example, powered by a car battery, and their machine that gets the hard, inedible shells off of the rice (something that marks them as affluent in the village setting).

The cultural exchange was so rewarding.  Its so amazing the connection I made with my family, particularly the grandfathher, or “Dada be”, who spoke only Malagasy.  We spent hours talking with my host father translating, and sometimes just sat there with him going over words in English and Malagasy.  Once my host father came home and he announced, “I am learning English!”

They wanted to know everything about America, of which they knew nothing.  The bittersweet thing is that Americans are generally viewed by what they give them, thus I was asked to stay and teach English, asked for almost all of my belongings, asked to borrow money, and treated like a portrait artist.  These things aren’t meant to be offensive and aren’t even considered rude here, but it was a little exhausting refusing and trying to refute all of these images of the American as some kind of filthy rich Santa Claus figure.  It made me cry once, because I really just wanted something familiar, someone I could communicate with, since the French there is even so different that sometimes communication is impossible.  I was so lonely, but I was probably only alone for a total of fifteen minutes in five days.

One day we went to the river, where all of the women were doing their wash and all the children were playing.  That was really wonderful.  The next day my host dad asked if I wanted to go to church in the next village with my friend Jill and I said, yes please!  It was nice to speak in English for a few hours, even though we were watched and it felt like some kind of weirdly arranged playdate.  We had a meeting the last day in Bevato, the Commune Center, and the walk back was two hours long.  Which is more of a hike than a walk, but people don’t really get caught up in definitions here.

It was on that walk in this amazing countryside, hours from anything that could be considered civilization, that I realized, holy cow, I am in Africa, walking back to the rural village where I have been living, and I am about to wade through a river.

It was pretty exhilarating, to say I’ve done it.  Sparse electricity, bathroom a hole in the ground.  To be honest, I prefer picking a bush, because of the smell and the fact that anywhere a lot of waste is gathered draws in vermin.  Cockroaches, spiders, and the worst for some reason, mice.  My host sister laughed so hard when I ran out of the WC screaming about a mouse.  I ate rice, lots of rice.  The “loaka” (stuff that goes with rice) was usually a little sparse, and I got really excited when we had fish because of the protein.  I shouted “trondro!” which is Malagasy for fish and they all thought that was pretty funny.  I liked speaking what little Malagasy I knew because I got treated more like an animal with cute tricks than an objectified anomaly.  I mean, everyone’s married by my age out there, so I was asked about my husband, and then for my number, many many times.

The children were the hardest part; because, let’s face it, I am no Mary Poppins.  But I did bond with a couple of sweet little girls, and the last night they were hanging out in my room with me and it was nice.  So I am slightly more maternal than a brick wall (although I think a dead gerbil might have me beat).  They were always at the house, too, because my host father is a wonderful man who works with the NGO and works with orphans.  Really, such a sweet, helpful, earnest man, and I am blessed to know him.

Overall, my family was great and the experience was simultaneously the most difficult and wonderful thing I have ever participated in.

That said, those little brats got me sick.  I felt like death Sunday night so my host family here in Tana got a hold of our academic director, who got a doctor out to us.  It’s either a virus or a parasite or both, so I was prescribed meds for both.  I am kind of excited about the parasite possibility.  “Africa?  there are crazy parasites there.”  “Well, actually…”

Though reality is I will probably never know.  I will take the anti-parasite drugs and just get better.

Tomorrow I leave for Mahajanga, which I am pretty excited about.  I finally get to live on the coast!  Though it looks like I will be studying literacy rates and communication in the southwestern coastal town of Tulear, so I will get some coast then, too.  I might also be living in a convent there?  More as that exciting and bizarre situation develops.

Send my love to Austin, Texas.  You have no idea how much I miss it’s familiar, English-speaking streets.

 

Lemurs and beetles and chameleons, oh my!

So this weekend we went to the national park in Andasibe, which I think is a must for anyone visiting this country.  We went on a night hike and saw a lemur cross the road–and more terrifying, almost get hit by a car.  We even saw the reflectins of the eyes of the mouse lemur, the smallest lemur.  The cutest pair of lights bouncing through the forest you have ever seen.

Our day hike was les mysterious and more fruitful…we saw a pair of really beautiful sifaka playing and eating in the trees.  We also saw and entire family of the black and white indri-indri, which was pretty phenomenal considering that there are only 1000 of them left in the world.  They were beautiful.  I also saw a giraffe beetle, giant stick bugs, and a few other fantasty-like creatures.  Mostly we hiked through the rainforest–at a breakneck pace, our guide didn’t waste any time–and enjoyed the unbelievable scenery.  I am pretty sure I have wanted to go to the rainforest since I was four, and I was like a little kid.  I even jumped up and down with excitement when I saw my first lemur.

After lunch, we went to a private park, mainly of reptiles.  There were chameleons–which we held, a boa constrictor–which we also held, and crocodiles–which we did not hold.  I held a chameleon, that still blows my mind.  Two at once actually, because when I was holding one, the guide placed another on my shoulder, and I thought he was going to fall, but instead he scrambled right up on top of my head.

After that we took the long and scenic drive back to Tana.  It was wonderful, rocking out with the other girls, talking about life and genereally bonding.  They are all pretty fantastic.  But coming back to the ctiy during rush hour was kind of a drag.

It is raining al,ost every night, which is out of season.  When it rains, rush hour becomes your very own little apocolyptic scene.  The whole town is trying to take the taxi-be, and pushing and shoving.  I finally got a little insane myself and shoved my way as the third and last person onto the fifth taxi-be.  It was miserable and everyone was lamenting “l’emboutaillage” (traffic).  But I made it okay, only having to deal with a few advances fro, the Malagasy man who thought that he, in broken French, could convince me to give him my number.  He was very mistaken.
Tomorrow begins ten days of silence.  I will be orienting in the town of Tsiroamandidy in the Bongolava region to the west of here.  After two days, I will be living in the tiny village of Ampihoarana with a family, trying my damndest to speak Malagasy.  I am a little nervous, since each girl gets a separate village, but all of these villages have had students before and my host mother is employed by the non-profit who set us up, so that is comforting.  After five days of isolation, research; Malagasy, a little French and no English, I return to Tsiroamandidy for debriefing and then we are going for a little vacation and evaluation at Lac Itasy.  I will check in the fourth of fifth of October, when I return.

Ten days of no internet or phone starts to,orrow, and five days of no running water or electricity starts in a few days.  Let’s do this!

 

Tsy mila, non, merci!

<i>”But the jungle is large, and the cub, he is small,

Let him think and be still.”</i>  —The Jungle Book, The Maxims of Baloo

In response to a question, “vahaza” means “foreigner” in Malagasy, usually pointed towards a white or Western person.

I finally got the courage up to do my laundry.  Well, to ask my host family to explain how to do the laundry, then do all of my clothes.  Like all things involving washing here, it involves a series of buckets and a cup.  To a Malagasy this makes perfect sense with no explanation.

That I do all of my laundry by hand like the rest of the family, I think I won a bit more respect.  Not only am I the crazy vahaza who conquered the taxi-be and can shower out of a bucket without complaint, I washed all of my clothes by hand.

The misconception is that Americans are always tired, or weak, or unable.  I’m trying to smash that one up, and I think I’m doing a good job.  I’m a strong girl.

The commute, also, is getting easier.  Early in the morning I walk to the bus stop (only about two minutes away) toute-seule and a little proud.  I hop on the right bus.  Sometimes it’s already moving, and there’s a little hop mauever I’ve learned to do just like a Malagasy person.  The drivers’ assistants stand in the back, hang out the doors, and shout the places the bus is going with an amazing amount of art–they’re like auctioneers.  They’re other job is bouncer, and I’ve only seen that acted out once when an unruly man who couldn’t pay wouldn’t get off the bus.  You’ve seen everything when you’ve seen a hysterical man lifted up by his armpits by a man half his size, and thrown off a bus.

I’m half-cynical self-made American, half-bleeding-heart progressive.  The street children and vendors sometimes make me surprisingly angry and frustrated, but sometimes when I meet the eyes of the street children, I get overwhelmed.  And the slums make me sad when we roll by them every day on the bus.  The rich live up on hills, where as the poor live down in the valleys where it floods, so it’s most depressing after a good rain.

This place is absolutely beautiful, though.  I’m still in awe of the views.  Laraine’s host dad found this great restaurant with views of the entire city, and geckos crawling up the walls.  I kind of want one as a pet.  The lake my house is near is breaktaking at dawn and sunset, hills rolling all around it.

School is okay.  The pace is  picking up and Malagasy is one of the hardest things I’ve ever tackled–so much is so different than both English and French.  And, since I’m speaking French both in the home and at school (except for sweet, sweet English-filled lunch breaks) I’m a little exhausted.

I actually went out this weekend, managed a few taxis and taxi-bes, and I’m sort of proud.  On Friday after class we all went to the Angaredna (approximate spelling) music festival held by the Alliance Francais, and it was fantastic.  It was more music from the South of Madagascar, the province of Androy, and I’ve fallen in love with both the music and dance of that culture.  It’s so fast-paced and ultra-harmonized and beautiful.

On Saturday, because my host sister was already headed for a meeting with Jessie’s host mother in Ivandry, I took the bus over and hung out with the Ivandry girls, Jessie and Anne.  We hit up our first supermarket, which I’ve missed, and bought ice cream, which I’ve been eating too much of.  I went to a barbecue held by Jessie’s host-aunt and uncle afterwards.  Malagasy barbecue is actually really good, though there’s no spice and just a lot of shishkebobs.

I have no idea how to spell “shishkebob.”

This experience is both the longest and most fast-paced of my life.  And, I think, when you are in a completely different context and there’s no familiar role to play, you really become yourself.  I’m learning so much about myself–some good, some bad–and I’m really just trying to soak it all in and go with the flow.

A bientot, cheris.

 

I am “vazaha”, hear me roar.

I must say, having mastered a public trasportation system in another language (it’s almsot all Malagasy, and I pretty much know how to say “hello,” “goodbye,” and “how are you”) with no road names, no maps, and few marked stops makes me feel pretty capable.

I can now get to school and back by myself.  I thought my family was going to throw a party when I made it home by myself.  When I couldn’t, it was pretty stressful, and there was even the possibility I’d have to switch to a closer location.  I’m so happy, because I’ve falled in love with this wonderful family and I don’t want to switch homestays.

The ride to school and back is pretty long (about an hour) and I pretty much pass through all of my side of Tana.  We pass markets, slums, schools, car dealerships, and advertisements.  A lot of the advertisments are so Westernized–Oh, you should drink this lite beer because you don’t want to be fat and alone.  The funny thing is, I can count the number of overweight Malagasy I’ve seen on one hand.

It does bother me a little how much American culture leaks down, but I guess it can’t be helped.  Everyone’s looking to what they think is up–people here to Western countries, us Americans to celebrities, celebrities to what’s a la mode…if people looked inside of themselves, where their strength actually lies, I think it would solve a lot of problems with society in general.  There’s a reason God gave man primarily the gift of free will–our wills are strong, if we just have the courage to use them.

I sound philosophical and optimistic, but this is probably the hardest experience of my life.  I’m such a stranger here–people mock me on the bus, yell at me on the street, even grab at me.  The beggar children once surrounded me in a circle, yelling “Madame vazaha, madame vahaza!” and I don’t think I’ve ever felt that much anger and fear towards children before.

It’s strange and complex.  I guess this is why this is an experience so few Westerners take for their own–it’s easy to go in large groups of foreigners, tour groups, church groups.  But live with a family, be the only white person in a suburb, commute alone, assimilate, learn the language?  It makes me nauseous just thinking about all the multitasking I’m doing.

Tonight is my first night on the town, so to speak.  We’re all going to a music festival, which means it’s too late for the taxi be and I’ll have to spring for a taxi to get home safe.  It should be interesting, the group Vilon’Androy from the southern province of Androy already came and gave us a performance and a lesson.  The dance lesson was hysterical.  Yes, there are pictures.  Yes, of me.  If you can find them, go ahead but there is NO way I’m posting them.

I’m going to humbly ask you all to keep up on politics, because I get so little of them.

Veloma tompoko’o.

 

Public Transportation and an Attack of the “soucis”

My host family is absolutely wonderful, but culture shock is starting to set in a little.

This weekend I met the whole family…they’re so like my family it’s eerie.  On our big Sunday lunch, the men sat in the living room and played guitar and sang, while the women chatted in the kitchen.  I stayed in the living room listening to Malagasy folksongs.  Cultural note: cross-cultural songs are anything by the Beatles and apparently, “La Bamba.”  I sang along a bit to “Let it Be” and they decided that I should then perform it, twice.  It’s now “Emily’s Song.”

Because it was my “welcome party”, in a way, they made so much food, and the whole family came: my maman, two sisters, two cousins, brother, and uncle.  It was a pretty wonderful time.  I’ve also been learning to shop in the markets, that’s all there is in the area where I live.

The biggest source of frustration is the “taxi-be”, or bus.  The stops are confusing, the routes aren’t posted, the stops aren’t posted, and the drivers aren’t helpful.  On Friday night I got lost, took the wrong taxi-be, and ended up stuck downtown at night with no idea how to find the right bus.  I finally ended up paying too much for a taxi (they double the price for Americans unless you argue with them) and then had trouble even telling the taxi driver where to go.

The problem is there aren’t any named streets, save a few.  So now my host mother has told me to tell them “in Analamahitsy, across from the laundry,” and they’ll know.

My family really is wonderful, though.  They are all teachers, and my maman will stop in conversation to give me little French lessons.  They introduce me to people as “our new daughter, our American daughter,” and want to know everything about my life in America, which I think is maybe disappointingly boring.

The only really exhausting thing is A) travel and B) talking in French all of the time.  I’m pretty tuckered out by the end of the day just by trying to understand others and make myself understood.  I’m having trouble in my journaling–I keep writing in French without meaning too.  I guess these are all good things.
There’s more, but my cousin is waiting to help me take the taxi-be, so I will write more later.

Au revoir!

 

Tonga Soa!

I am in a Tana cyber-cafe right now, with only a few minutes to write.

The plane ride was absolutely brutal.  I passed out at our hotel in Abohimanga as soon as we go there, since I was in the air for literally two days.  The flight to France was turbulent, and I had just taken my Malarone, which I have no learned not to do before travel.  Nausea abounds.

I love this country, still kind of overwhelmed by the whole experience.  This city is huge and very busy, especially compared to the countryside in Abohimanga, where we have been for the last few days.

This is our first time in the city, since we’ve been orienting out in the countryside.  The countryside around Tana is absolutely beautiful…hills are rolling out from all directions, and the air literally smelled sweet with flowers.  Yesterday we went to le Rova Abohimanga, which was the royal palace for the Merina kingdom in the 19th century.  It was absolutely beautiful and fascinating.  It’s funny how little westerners know of the history of this area of the world–it’s very interesting history.

The precolonial architecture was most interesting to me, as was the artisanship.

We eat rice for every meal, and we eat something every couple of hours.  The people are extremely nice and welcoming, and I’m even picking up some Malagasy.

Last night was our last night in the hotel.  Today, I meet my host family at a reception and go home with them, so I will be updating as to how that goes.

I feel like I’ve been here for ages, but it’s been less than a week.  Crazy.

 

No thank you, I’m leaving the country.

Two days and counting.  

Today I had a lot of errands to run around campus, mostly involving an error with my financial aid check (eek!).  It was weird–I feel like I’m from a foreign country.  It’s the first day of class here at UT and everyone’s bustling around, and I’m just floating through, completely uninvolved.  And in two days I will be completely uninvolved and thousands of miles away.  Especially when those cowboy preachers tried to shove a little green Bible down my throat.

I never thought I’d say this, but I’m nostalgic.  I’m going to miss Austin.  I’m going to miss UT–yes, the institution I’ve complained so much about for the last three years.  It’s been hard, but it’s been good.  This is a good place for me.  I wouldn’t recommend the life of a working student to just anyone, but I feel like I’ve reaped some rich rewards from my experiences.

Wandered practically lost around REI and Academy yesterday–I find you get the best service when you introduce yourself to the salesperson as: “Hi, I don’t know what I’m doing.”  But with some struggles and wanderings through a veritable labyrinth of running shorts, camping gear for pets, and fancy water bottles, I found everything I needed.  I’m just not sure how to USE it all, but I guess that’s what orientation is for.

Going to the dentist today because my socket may be a dry socket–I don’t think it’s a true one, though, because it just doesn’t hurt that badly.  Still, I wouldn’t recommend getting wisdom tooth removal a week before travel.

Today is a sort of “Last Supper” with people, since tomorrow night James and I are celebrating 1 year a little early (and a little abbreviated–I have to leave for the airport at around 3:30AM).  Then I need to go souvenir shopping for gifts to bring my homestay family.  I figure anything they can display in their home would be a safe bet.

À tout d’ailleurs!