10 Months Later...

As I passed the 10 month mark of my runaway adventures this week, I realized an important lesson I left off of the list last month in my post, about 9 Things I Learned in 9 Months on the Run ... So, here you go - Lesson 10.

Stealing a first kiss on this bridge at midnight, with the city lit up before us... smooth... real smooth.

10 - Write about everything.

Street mussels - the perfect snack for a night of drinking with friends!

I've known I should learn this for quite some time. In my (failed) endeavors to become a historian, I utilized journals and field notebooks of soldiers as the primary sources of my thesis research. I've thought for years that someone who has lived an extraordinary life should document it, even though they may not think the life they've led is anything special. You never know when someone, somewhere in the future, be it a distant relative, or a curious student, will want to know what life was like for you. Seemingly boring, everyday details can be something intriguing, even vital to a historian's research, or simply interesting to future generations of your family.

He left me here with a long goodbye kiss, and a broken heart.

I've finally learned this lesson with such pain, and quite a bit of regret. I began to realize how important writing about your experiences is while reading The Museum of Innocence by Orhan Pamuk here in Tbilisi. Those of you who know me, know I don't read much. I reluctantly would try to do reading for my classes, but often would just skim through the books and hunt down a good synopsis. However, this book I read more intensely and quickly than any of the Harry Potter books... I can't even remember the last time I ACTUALLY finished a book. (I apologize to any of my professors who may stumble upon this entry and realize that I was a total sham.) Anyway, this novel takes place in Istanbul. A lot of the content is incredibly relate-able to my experiences there, since some things haven't changed, even 40 years after the beginning of the story takes place. Memories came rushing back to me not just of my experiences in Istanbul, but of other moments all along my journey since I left as well. Many of the settings are places I frequented, which made me nostalgic for those streets, the humid heat, the smell, the sounds of Istanbul - what's more? It makes me nostalgic for the love I found there. (I know, the L word... it's a big one, right? You're intrigued to know more now, aren't you? Well, tough. You'll have to wait...) That love opened up a door to a completely different part of life that I hadn't been experiencing before. A door that was opened at precisely the right moment, in the most enchanting setting I could imagine. I couldn't have dreamd of, or written a better scenario than the one that played out on its own.

It gave me a case of the feels. I literally fell asleep with it every night. 

Anyway, now that those feelings - which were so strong immediately afterwards, that I never thought they would leave, and actually wished I could rid myself of - have faded, I wish I had something more substantial I could look back on. I know that I have to live in the moment, but sometimes, much like our narrator in this book, I wish I had something to conjure up those feelings of love, and magic, to comfort me when I need it. I wish I had descriptions to go along with all of my photos and videos to try to describe what all of my other senses were experiencing. Especially as I experienced the grandeur of Istanbul (and some other places) for the first time, and again for the first few weeks of my return, I wish I had documented those sensations better. In addition, I wish I had documented the intrigue accompanying each person I met, particularly the ones that would later go on to become large parts of my life. I wish I had written down every detail of our time together. Not just with my love in Istanbul, but also the friends and loves I've been lead to since.

Here I doomed our happiness.

One of the most beautiful things about this book - it's inspired me to go back and try to write down everything I can remember about those loves. Not to look back on in agony over how short lived they were, or to relive the details, but because they affected how I experienced the city. Some places in Istanbul drew me to them, leading me to reminisce and smile, while others I began to avoid, so as not to awaken the pain resting within me from a love lost. Places that I simply spent time in with no true intention, or even desire to be there, became extraordinary because of the company kept... doesn't each fantastic experience deserve to be preserved? Just as some people bring home souvenirs from traveling to remind them of where they've been and their experiences there, I've begun collecting places. Certain cafes, or street corners where life was simply perfect, even if only for a brief moment.

In the book, our narrator describes the happiest moment of his life, and that, sadly, has a negative connotation. It means that the rest of his life could not possibly be better. That moment is gone, in the past, and everything was only downhill from there. In a sense, I have to agree with him. I don't have a definitive happiest moment in my life yet, so there's hope that I still have yet to experience that quintessential happiest moment. However, sometimes, if you realize in a moment of happiness, just how incredibly happy you are - that's the end of the happiness. Whether its because you suddenly fear that happiness can't be genuine, or the possibility of losing that happiness, it has become doomed. Don't think about how happy you are. I know it can be tough, especially when it's an overwhelmingly happy moment. Just be happy.

The Munich wintertime skating rink - one of the places where life was simply perfect, even if only for a little while.

So here's my advice:

An amazing site to come across the night we met.

Take the time to write, maybe a little before you go to bed, or when you wake up in the morning... what is the day like? Sunny? Cold? Hot? Dry? What smells and sounds make this place unique? Trivial, seemingly mundane, things will help complete the overall description of your experience, as well as accent the more monumental moments. Sensory memory can be a wonderful thing. Some day, you may smell or taste something that sends you back to that time, but it's even better if you can distinguish just which place and time it brought you back to. I've heard from people who have traveled extensively that in some places, everything just starts to blend together - you can't really distinguish where that memory took place. It's something I've begun to fear will happen to me one day, something I fear has already begun because I haven't adequately documented my experiences.

Take the time to type a private blog, jot down notes about something interesting or special about how your day has gone, hold on to little pamphlets or wrappers and make a scrapbook later with a description of what made that so special, or straight up journal about your travels. It's even cathartic to physically write down the little or private things that you don't want, or think the public will want to read. It's good for you to get these thoughts out somewhere, even if no one ever reads it.


Think about what you've done in your life, and what's going on in the world around you. No other person is leading your life. No other person will. Especially if you travel. You want to capture the fascination and excitement of your trips, so one day someone (even you, yourself) can look back on them, and appreciate all that you experienced. Think about it. Fifty years from now, wouldn't it be nice to read about that fateful day in some far off place, when you met the greatest love you've ever had? How the air smelled and felt? How their eyes mesmerized you from the moment you met? How you just wanted to be close. How butterflies fluttered in your stomach when your hands accidentally brushed up against each other as you walked down the street - that spectacular moment when your hands sought each other out, latching on and lacing fingers without any reason, as if they were magnets drawn together out of natural force? Don't you want to remember the things you learned about yourself? How each love left you more confident and helped you realize something more about what you want, nay, what you deserve, in a relationship? It's so easy to back track and think that someone is fantastic and treats you well in the next relationship, when you've completely forgotten what you loved about your previous relationships. This advice goes for places as well as people. Months after returning or moving on from a place, you may not remember it as it truly was. You may gloss over the negative aspects of a place and remember it as being more enjoyable than it was, then if you return there, be disappointed. The contrary can happen as well. You may look back on these writings and realize that a place was even better than you recalled.

He looks proud, right? Such a lovely grandchild to have!

Writing will give yourself, and people who care about you a better record of who you were, and of everything that contributed to the person you became. You never know if you're going to have a niece, nephew, grandchild, or great grandchild who is absolutely fascinated by you, because you are part of them. They may like to know what led you to become the person they one day knew, or who their parents knew. They may be a little too young, or too shy to try to ask you directly, but if one day they have something you wrote to read and learn a little more about you, I'm sure they'll appreciate it. Like I said before, you are part of them. Which brings me to part of the reason why this post is a week later than I had intended to publish it - I want dedicate it to one such person in my life. The first man in my life - my grandpa. I hope I made him proud with my adventures, even though they kept me away from him for a lot longer than I had intended, and prevented me from being there in person to celebrate his life with the rest of our family. I still love learning more about what made him the man I knew, the man I love, the man who will always be a part of me. Тебя люблю навсегда.

One of those farewells you sense is going to be your last, but hope with all your might it won't. Unfortunately it was.

Bishkek - Day 3

Okay... I'm sorry for slacking on getting a new post ready after replacing my computer... things have been incredibly rough for me since that happened, for various reasons... when it rains it pours, right? Anyway, there was a lot more data on my stolen computer that hadn't been backed up than I thought... including Bishkek Day 4, a lot of my edited photos, and all of my audio files which contained so many important and nostalgic sounds I wanted to share with you, to help you really get a glimpse of this crazy life I've been living. Regrets. I have them. But, that leads to more lessons I can pass on to you so you hopefully won't suffer through the same losses and frustration that I have had to deal with on these adventures. Always lock your shit up. Always. So, here's my last stream of consciousness post for my time in Bishkek...

Bishkek Day 3: June 23, 2015

Here goes showing y’all how much of an emotional roller coaster something like this is. Today wasn’t bad at all. Today was, dare I say, comfortable-ish? Now I just have to keep from crying myself to sleep tonight, and I’ll be progressing a lot faster than I thought I would have a few days ago. At least y’all are benefiting from my lack of internet at home, because I’ve been spending a good hour or two at the end of the night to recap the day for you. Or maybe you don’t like the longer posts and wish I’d just cut to the interesting stuff, well tuff. That’s another thing about living so far away from the city, I can’t stay out with my friends until 11pm every night, get distracted by a certain someone and then pass out before taking the time to write. The longer I go without internet and have limited opportunity to connect with anyone, the more I start thinking that maybe what I really need is to persevere and grow on my own, like I do with everything else. I just wish I had remembered to download new music before I left… there are way too many songs on my computer that stir up stupid emotions in my tiny broken Slavic heart. Yea, I know last year I was writing about a broken heart too, and just like that one, there are a lot of factors contributing to it. I don’t know how you people do this crap. I’ll adjust to Bishkek and eventually start liking it here a whole lot faster than I can get over being so stupid as to open this tiny Slavic heart to someone who never deserved it. In Russian – моё сердце разбыто – quite literally, shattered. Yeah, we don’t do subtle in this language. Он разбыл моё сердце и я ненавижу его из-за этого...

So… back to the comfortable-ish… well… thank God my neighbor has taken me on like a niece, because I didn’t pay attention to what today’s schedule was supposed to be, and I was prepared to get to school at 9am… classes start at 8:30am this year… oops… good thing Racha, the girl placed next door, pays attention and told her host family the proper time, so needless to say, I hauled ass out of the house without eating breakfast, putting on makeup, or even brushing my hair. My neighbor drove us to school this morning, which was really nice of him to do. I was placed in the 4^th year course, as expected, and I really like my classmates so far. We’re having a good time in class, and getting to know each other too. We’ve got two 50min grammar classes followed by a 65min reading class (really thinking that teacher doesn’t like me & Masha though), and then finally a 50min speaking portion, which was surprisingly fun. At 1pm we were free to go for the day.

Delicious eggplant salad... I can hardly believe I used to hate it!

Masha and I clarified what our schedule would be for Wednesday, and asked about the password to the website for our homework, then headed down the street to the Vefa center for lunch (It’s a small mall). The password wasn’t sent out yet as of 8pm, not that it would matter for me, since I still don’t have wifi at home… this will be my number 1 complaint about the program this year. If you’re going to have online homework, you need to make sure that host families are equipped with wifi, especially when we live so far away from the city. I can’t stay at school or at a local café until 8pm just to do homework if there’s a lot. I actually don’t have to be at school until 2pm tomorrow, but I’m gonna get there at 9:30am so I can do the homework that’s due Thursday, or at least get it started. I also plan to buy a wifi router tomorrow as well. Yep… that’s about a $100 expense that I wasn’t expecting. I know my host family is fine with me using their computer, but I don’t want to hog it, when that’s the primary source of entertainment for the kids in the evening and when it’s raining, like it was today.

We drink beer from crazy straws, because we're ladies.

Aaaanyway… For lunch we tried eggplant salad because it reminded me of one of my favorite Georgian dishes when I looked at the picture, and Lagmancun because that looked good too. We split those and ordered 2 beers… guess how much it cost? Go on, guess… I’ll wait…

About $7.40… our fancy coffees afterwards cost about the same too.

So, around 4:30ish, I headed back to the school to see if Racha was ready to head home, because she said her host dad would pick us up from school. Minor miscommunication, and my host mom (or well I feel like I should start calling her my hostess, because she’s actually closer in age to me than any of my actual sisters are) came to get us. She took us to look into the whole router situation and help us decide what we need, but turns out they need the original of my passport for it. She put our address in my phone in case I ever need to take a taxi, and tried to teach me what stop is ours on the Marshrutka. (It’s the name of the school that’s nearby, or apparently I can just say остановите в школу and that should work too. Guess I’ll find out tomorrow!) Then I just tried to study some of the new vocab before dinner.

Lagmancun... yes it's Turkish and not Kyrgyz... who cares?

Tonight dinner was reminiscent of some of the food I had in Georgia, simple pan fried potatoes with meat, sliced tomatoes, bread and of course tea (like 3 bowls). I’ve been a bit intimidated by the bread, because we were told that it’s pretty much sacred around here, so if you start eating a piece, you should really finish it, and if you waste it, it’s an insult. Also, it turns out that Mash also has a traditional Kyrgyz family, they just haven’t started cooking and eating in the outdoor area yet. She called me today to tell me that they tried to get her to drink some mare’s milk, but she couldn’t do it because of the smell lol… I’m sure y’all can’t wait until I start writing about that! It’s already getting easier for me to hold conversations in Russian, and my hostess and I are doing some more bonding too. We’ve made plans to take a walk around the neighborhood tomorrow after dinner.

The cultural aspect of the importance of family around here has already been brought up. That was important in Georgia too. Week 1, my host mom exclaimed that I was so old to not be married, which made me feel kinda terrible, but by the end of the program, she was offering to take me on walks down the Boulevard to find me a man, because OBVIOUSLY American men are idiots. Little by little my family and neighbors have pried into what my family life is like. 1^st night was asking how many siblings I have etc, last night they got to asking me if I was married or had a boyfriend, and tonight asking if it was normal to get married so late in America. I thought about making up a boyfriend, or trying to explain part of my broken heart to her, but instead chose to portray everything as normal, because it is normal for me. I don’t know why I don’t have a boyfriend, and I never thought I’d be my age and still be single, but that’s the hand I’ve been dealt, and in America it’s not completely terrible to have that hand either.

An array of Kyrgyz Som... believe me, it's not that much...

When it started to rain after dinner, we went inside and continued to chat and she asked me to teach her daughter a little English. I know I’m not supposed to, but I guess I really did enjoy teaching Russian… teaching English to some 8-9 year old Kyrgyz girls was quite a change for me… and maybe some good preparation/experience for the near future. I need to work on my vocabulary though if I want to explain things better. At least they just about had the alphabet down after an hour. I don’t like the book we were using though. I’ve noticed around here that people want to practice their English on you more than in Batumi. My host mom there rarely ever spoke in English, my sister who was fluent in English never spoke to me in it, my host brother tried to teach me Georgian (because I don’t think he spoke Russian) and my poor wee little sister rarely talked to me because she didn’t know a lot of English and even less Russian. Only once did I have someone who could speak Russian refuse to speak to me in Russian, and I am completely sympathetic as to why. He spoke to me in English, I spoke to him in Russian. Georgia has undergone its own cultural renaissance. I guess most former Soviet Republics have, but of the 2 I’ve spent an extended period of time in, Georgian patriotism/nationalism seems much stronger. They want to move towards the west, but are determined to keep their traditions and language, and that to an extent means keeping Russian around too. School children there learn English whether they go to Georgian school or Russian school. Maybe because you still have to go out of your way to learn English around here that people want to practice it more? I don’t mind all that much. I’m at a level where I don’t think it will make such a drastic difference to only be exposed to Russian. What I need is to work on including more Russian in conversations with my friends so I can have a good conversation about things that are more substantial than what I am used to talking about.

I’m thinking it’s time for me to pass out. I meant to be ready for bed by midnight so waking up at 7 wouldn’t suck… its almost 1, whoops… at least this means less time to be reminded of things before I fall asleep, and hopefully that will mean no crying tonight… that’ll be nice… 

End Day 3.

There was a much longer rant on language acquisition, but I decided to omit most of it to avoid boring the crap out of you, but there you go... the last of my stream of consciousness posts, because I'm an idiot... but here are some spoilers:

I didn't cry again my whole time in Bishkek. I persevered and grew on my own, as I always do, as I always will. I did adjust, and got comfortable in Bishkek before that broken heart healed. I have my closure now, and I can't believe I ever acted the way I did. I can't believe I ever let myself feel so hurt over something so stupid. Classes, and my classmates started to drive me crazy by the end of the 1st week, so much that I was ready to go home if something didn't change. Another thing about growing up - I learned to tell someone in charge that I wasn't satisfied with things, those things were changed, and I started enjoying class again, well except for the classmates driving me crazy part... the only thing that could remedy that would have been less time around them, which I could not get. I gave up trying to teach those adorable little girls because the book/English language just frustrated the crap out of me. Also, reading through this again, I realize I still haven't learned my lesson about opening my heart up to people who don't deserve it. I'm not so sure that's a bad thing either. Is it better to suffer the pain of heartbreak from putting yourself out on the line, or to keep yourself reserved and possibly miss out on something wonderful? Only time will tell.