Life As A Returned Peace Corps Volunteer (RPCV): Stop and Smell the Roses

I returned to America close to four months ago... so... that's weird. 

I have been meaning to sit down and write ( process) the end of my service and re-adjustment for about 6 months now. Yet, unlike the first big adjustment at the start of service, returning home and re-adjusting was nothing like the fantastically foreign experience from 2 years prior, it was far more nuanced. I didn't feel like Dorothy in Oz anymore but I felt similarly exhausted, naked and exposed. I understood the words coming out of everyone's mouths around me, but felt that I was speaking another language and generally not understood. Again, there was no greater comfort than the voices (and eventual presence) of my fellow PCVs. I wasn't a stranger in a strange land; I was in the homeland and people felt more ridiculous, judgmental, ignorant and fearful than I'd left them. 

We were told to be patient with ourselves during re-adjustment, to give it and ourselves time. They reminded us that we were changed and while we might have some consciousness of our differences, they would be felt in a wholly different capacity. It was emphasized that while folks would inquire about service, they in truth didn't care to hear the entirety of your experience. All of these things have proven true and it has admittedly been an uphill battle to feel simply normal and good. A recurring theme in conversations that I've had with other returned volunteers is how re-adjustment has mostly just been a numb experience. Things that we'd expected to be awesome and amazing don't have quite the glitter and glow we'd imagined. In a way it feels like the same old same old from before we left - and it is. 

So, I want to again remind my fellow re-adjusting babies of some things.

You just accomplished something amazing and unique, don't forget it! The next time somebody casually says, "I don't think I could/would ever do that," bask in the pride that you did. In the midst of a low day, do something you could not while in service whether it's going to the movies, or choosing an intricate meal to make and taking your time in the grocery store picking out all of the ingredients. In the last few months I have been guilty of sitting around, doing nothing and feeling poorly about my current place in life many, many, many times. I even went so far as to ask my mother if people thought I was a loser... then I proceeded to tell our neighbor that I felt like one - to which she responded incredulously. Yet, it's hard not to feel like one when living back with your parents, jobless even when I just accomplished something amazing. 

If you feel like you need a vacation from your vacation ( if unemployed like me) go and take it. Call a volunteer that you feel knows and understands you well. One of the most frustrating feelings upon return is the continued isolation. After having been an outsider for two years, often misunderstood and or not understanding the things around you, to have this continue in a similar but much more complex way is rather difficult. Get out of the house and do something with yourself, spend time with friends, or simply make plans to go see friends. I know that this seems so obvious and simple, but it really isn't. If the disappointment that America, while insanely abundant in food and comfort, and comfort food, is somehow not the glorious thing you'd been counting down the days for - make it so. 

Remind yourself that you went without some of the simplest things for so long. Next time you're driving, remind yourself,  "I'M DRIVING! I GET TO DRIVE MY OWN PERSONAL VEHICLE WITHOUT BREAKING ANY RULES!" Notice how smooth the ride is, think about the (at times) painfully nauseating roads we've left behind. Then take a look down at your shoes, when was the last time you were worried about their cleanliness?! Remember the layer of dirt that practically covered our entire lives?! I absolutely love no longer being concerned with the dirt on my shoes, LOVE IT. Once you've smiled to yourself at this simple, yet amazingly liberating notion, take solace in the fact that you are an American surrounded by other Americans, who don't give a single fuck about what you're wearing (except maybe if you wore that t-shirt for the last 3 days - this, my friend, you need to change), how you style your hair, whether or not you live alone, what you do with your free time, and what member(s) of the opposite (or same) sex you may or not be having relations with. How awesome, so many things we no longer have to be conscious of!

Try to do as many anonymous things as you can in a week and take satisfaction in that. Do whatever it is you feel like doing but go out and do something.  Next time you're in the grocery store, if feeling overwhelmed by the amount of choices remember that you can try something new every. single. goddamn. time. It would take you months to try all of the different selections, realize this and rejoice in it. Go outside and lie down on a patch of grass in a park, do whatever you want there. The next time you buy beer or wine, or whatever is your drink of choice remember that we have this great selection of tasty alcoholic beverages (though, MY GOD, the cost of them). If you're on the job search grind and find yourself more and more defeated every time you don't hear back, take a step away from your computer for an hour. Go outside or to a coffee shop or wherever you feel best able to connect. Take note of your surroundings, of your freedom, breathe in deeply with your eyes closed and remember: 

For two years you were giving it all you had, making it work, learning to be okay when many things were not, constantly having to let major and minor irritations go because there was nothing you could do. Now, you are in a place where you can mold your life, your surroundings, your relationships, and your work into a balance that both fulfills and contents you. Deeply acknowledge what a great privilege this is, remind yourself of all the other folks without this. America is a great place because you truly can do, say, and think however you please. Make yourself happy and don't ever forget what you purposefully went without so that when it came back into your life, it would be that much more meaningful. 

And, also, you're beautiful, special and I love you. 

Kisses and such,

Carol 

Less Than Three Months ( I'm still turning 27 after 2 years)

Here I sit with my 2nd sunburn of the warm season feeling more refreshed and lighthearted than I have in months. Winter has a way of creeping into your bones and this winter was one of the harshest the Armenians have claimed to see in a while. Yesterday my site mate Lauren came over to help me do some spring cleaning. We moved one of the soviet hammocks out to the 'patio' which in reality is the roof of the wood shed and we then hung an actual hammock on the upper bars of this contraption.

A week or so after writing my last post, I was very seriously considering ETing (Early Termination to end Peace Corps service prematurely). For a full week I started to make my plans, make up my mind. It was yet another low point, yet another bought of the blues. The reality which I will return to had finally hit me, knocking me right off my feet, gasping for air. I've always had the safety net of at least two or three girlfriends still living with their parents in our hometown of Babylon, NY. Knowing that I had dear friends to spend time with during my transition period at home was always a huge comfort and relief. I could ease the embarrassment I felt at having to return home and the anxiety at sharing a roof (and rules) with my parents. It made me feel like I wasn't alone in my place, my path.

Yet, since having struck out for Armenia very much has changed in life back home. Sure, people are mostly the same but that moment of youth has passed entirely. In Babylon there is a small tendency to hold on to that moment, to linger in its sunlit caresses. Growing up near a beach and spending summers working around or near the beach or pool on the bay, a person unwittingly becomes attached to that feeling. A feeling nearly indescribable but for those who were there alongside me, they know. Perhaps it is akin to omnipotence or immortality. Ironically, here I am feeling more sentimental about my teenage years than I have in years (because let's be real I am not THAT old) and yet it has been more so during my time in the Peace Corps that I've become fully aware of my youth, the fact that I am young and I have so much ahead of me.

I left America two years ago, certain that upon my return I would have everrrrything figured out. I would have a man, a job and a vision for my life. I don't really have any of those things fully, perhaps pieces of them. I recall preparing to leave and writing a post about this age-anxiety, focusing on the fact that I would be 27 when I returned- 27!!!! My Aunt Jeanie commented on the post saying, "No matter what, you'll be 27 in two years", and she was absolutely right. Time is going on out ahead of us in a whirlpool motion and struggling against the current, against the natural flow is a fools waste of energy.

Things are going to be different when I return home and I suppose that was always going to be true. My brothers and my girlfriends were all going to move into the next phase of their young adulthoods. My fervent desire to return home early a few weeks ago was an attempt to not feel as though I had missed this passing moment, the change in seasons, the turning of the page. As a romantic I yearn for these moments of culmination. As I told my friend's mother recently, I rather enjoy feeling my feelings and respect ceremonious events when it is the time to sit and reflect - to feel all the moments come up to that one and then go on like all the rest. My realization that this moment had come and gone without me for so many of my friends and would soon happen with my brother, my childhood companion and best friend, was like a slap in the face. I wanted to run home and be there in that moment in an effort to prevent it from happening at all. As if watching him cross the stage at his law school graduation was going to make it suck any less when he moves to California a week later. As if we hadn't already both grown up and began to walk separate paths.

Ok, I'm rambling here and losing the thread in a bout of sentimentality. What I am trying to get around to saying is that I can acutely feel this page turning, I just didn't realize it previously. Being so far away from everyone after so long is only just hitting me. When I first arrived in May 2012 I felt so homesick and was very aware that I wasn't at home.  After 23 months in Armenia I don't think about it so much; I found a way to cope and I've been riding the wave, aware in a very objective way how very far away I am, how disconnected. Now as the time comes for me to return home I am again aware of the distance and the disconnect. It's a little scary and unsettling, I had thought ripping the band aid off early would abate the pain but I know now it's more important that I feel my feelings over here, just like I have been for the last two years. I still have the mountains, the long marshutni rides, the summer dusk and the love of friends that aren't so new anymore. Friends that are going to be the only ones who know what I'm talking about when I reminisce in the future.


So...I have been here for two full years... when did that happen?


Songs In My Head: Philip Philips- Gone, Gone, Gone
Mumford & Sons - Hopeless Wanderer

Coming Full Circle

Our first week in Armenia, a walk in the mountains!

About two weeks ago I said goodbye to the best friend I made in this country. It’s taken me this long to write about it as I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt, or really how I could articulate my feelings. The morning that we spoke on the phone and she knew it was her time to go, the conversation was fluid and easy. I remember cooking myself breakfast in the now warm kitchen. The night before I’d attended my very first Armenian wedding and had a rather obvious full-circle moment.

As you may remember my very first visit to Malishka was quite alarming. Looking back on it now I wouldn’t react to the same scenario in this country so severely, but the truth is I was scared. I was scared when I first arrived, intimidated by the idea that I couldn’t express myself – a strength and inclination I’ve had my entire life. I was scared that I wasn’t cut out for Peace Corps, that I’d made a huge mistake. In truth, that first trip to Malishka was terrifying.

Site Announcement Day

Anyway, my guide or host was a young woman unable to communicate well in English. She wasn’t even the person I was told I was going to be with that day. She was no one, as far as I was concerned – a random member of the community. Already I was skeptical of the whole situation and then she didn’t stick to the plan I was aware of, the one where I get brought to my host family that has been vetted by the Peace Corps. I knew there was somewhere I was supposed to be and where I’d been brought wasn’t that.  I didn’t like this, not one bit. I didn’t like not being in control. I didn’t like that I had to ride this particular wave.  And yet I had no choice but to ride it, albeit cold sweats and a minor panic attack. Peace Corps had gotten real; I was alone in the middle of bumble fuck Armenia dependent on the good graces of others and depending on the good graces of others is not a thing I’m known for.

A birthday party during training, summer 2012

Flash forward to approximately 20 months later, in a silk party dress I used to wear at bars as an illegal underage patron, shoes from Italy and a simple braid in my hair because the blow dryer broke in the most inconvenient of moments, I watched as this same woman entered the reception hall in her wedding gown. Without realizing it, I was attending her wedding party. All I had known was that the bachelor of the school, the 30ish blue-eyed man that always had the teachers in giggles was finally getting married. I had no idea that he was marrying this particular girl. I laughed for about 30 minutes straight at the irony.

Areni Wine Festival 2012

Of all people in Peace Corps, Phi was going to understand exactly how hilarious this situation truly was. I texted her saying “I’m at my kidnappers wedding” and even though I hadn’t used that term in close to two years, she knew exactly to what I was referring, responding, “HAHAHAAH OMG”.  The next morning I called her after seeing a curious post on a private Facebook group for volunteers. She was offering up her printer, which is the equivalent to gold amongst volunteers. The moment I saw that post I knew what was happening. Later we had the conversation I had been prepared for, the one where I tell her it was the right thing to do, it was time to let go. I was lucky in that my schedule worked out and I got to say goodbye to her in person.

My 26th Birthday

We laughed, we cried and we indulged in our favorite food and drink, all of our favorite past times. The day after saying goodbye to her I was tired and irritable. I went to a performance at the school and encountered my greatest nemesis, snarky teenage boys. They have an uncanny ability to get under my skin and that day was no exception. I walked out of the school feeling beaten up and battered and had a most defeating realization, “There is only one person left. There is only one person in this whole country that I can call to comfort me because Brian is gone and Marisa is gone and now Phi.” It was one of the loneliest moments I have had in my time here. Maybe I am greedy, maybe I should be happy that there is at least one person. And I’m sorry for anyone reading this thinking, “But what about me?”. I can think of a few others who are comforts but they are not Phi, no one can begin to fill her shoes.

The last two weeks have been difficult. I’m mad at Armenia for taking my friend away. I’m jealous that she’s already home. I am tired of feeling tired and beaten up and needy. Then I have days that I want to continue the battle in memory of her … or something. I feel motivated and invigorated, ready to finish strong for the both of us.  In so many ways I feel my service has come full circle. With Phi gone, attending that young woman’s wedding, the start of Spring and the National Poetry Contest on the horizon… my time here is wrapping up. Like Dorothy before she leaves Oz there is a sense of both relief and sadness, a love and a hatred of all that has passed, the hope that calm and serenity will come now that some questions have been answered, and home isn’t really home anymore is it?

Pretty soon I’m going to wake up in my old bed, to sounds and smells so familiar they are a part of me, and wonder if it was all a dream.

Seriously, only 5 more months left?!?!

For a while there I was thinking about leaving on a daily basis in a kind of cyclical manic-depressive-escapism way. (Don't care if that actually made sense). It wasn't good for me but I can't really say I'd been in a great place. Luckily though, I was not alone in my apathetic despondency. Depression this winter was at the very least less manic than last winter but just as affecting. Instead of feeling totally out of my head I just felt low... really, really low.

In general, my lack of writing on this blog is directly related to those feelings of depression. Not to say it came and never went away but when it left there was nothing much to say. Not only that, but I haven't been so closed in a long time. I wasn't writing because the things going on in my head weren't truly appropriate for this blog. Ultimately, I do answer to Peace Corps with what I say here and for good, understandable reasons. What I write can be easily misunderstood and misinterpreted and those two things are opposite of the Peace Corps 10 Commandments ( or 'Core Expectations'). Yet, I'm lucky to have friends both in and out of Peace Corps I can share my uncensored thoughts with, without harming my community or Armenia.

It's kind of crazy to think that the last time I blogged was before I even decided to book my plane ticket to Milan. When things got sticky in the fall I became totally focused on life after Peace Corps and was trying my hardest to get approval to leave a little early to attend a specific Yoga Teacher Training I had discovered in the Himalayan mountains. It took a while to find the one I was looking for, then there was some negotiating and around the time of my last blog post I was notified that my request had been once and for all officially declined. In retrospect it was good timing as the holidays were coming up and I had no choice but to forget about all that for a little while.

This year I hosted Christmas for some close friends of mine. I enjoyed picking out a fake tree and  decorating the house with some help. I did not enjoy when my pipes froze two days before Christmas, after the casual Christmas party ( that no one came to because it was freezing and we were all broke (( or so I tell myself)) and two days before actual Christmas. I am very grateful for the friends I do have though, as they helped to hold me and the holiday all together. Everyone was so good lending helping hands with fetching water, cooking, stoking the fire, gathering the fire wood, dealing with poo mountain and most of all keeping spirits relaxed and positive. Frank was even enjoying our company by the end of the four day affair.

It was the day after Christmas that I impulsively bought a ticket to visit my friend Caitlin in Italy. I had been holding on to a voucher from AirFrance that was about to expire and instead of looking into trips BLAHBLAHBLAH I simply booked my ticket and then notified my friend - because I've known her since Pre-K and BOOM, moves like that are totally okay! A few days later I traveled to Yerevan to meet with other volunteers and celebrate the New Year. I had a really amazing night, dancing with my friend David only how David and I can dance. My friend Chris came back to Malishka with me on the 2nd for a few nights. One night we almost died of smoke suffocation from my wood stove but HEY, we didn't and that's what counts. I also visited my host family for a very low-key 'Nor Tari' (New Year) celebration.

My lowest was after all of this. The sun had not shone in about two weeks and the temperature was staying between 0 and 15 degrees Fahrenheit. It was in that time I just felt empty, bored and despondent. I didn't have school and I didn't really have anywhere to be. I started writing in my 'ledger' at this point, a gift from a friend. The ledger is a daily account of my life's happenings. At first it was just about giving myself something to do and then it sort of took on a life of its own. Luckily, I soon discovered Beyonce's new album and I again had purpose in my life- to writhe around my living room as though I was the sexy goddess that Beyonce is. This helped to lift my spirits immensely until school started up again. I knew that all I had to do was to get through two weeks of school and then it was vacation time!

Not to forget January's 'Great Pet Caravan to Yerevan' where myself and Frank, two puppies, two kittens and two other volunteers gathered in a taxi to head to the veterinarian in Yerevan. Frank made me so proud on this day, so much so that when giving his name for his kitty passport (so that he can come home with me in July) I went with 'Francis Scott'. No, not after Francis Scott Key but F. Scott Fitzgerald. I have my friend Jenny to thank for that one. Either way it was an adventure and not nearly as stressful as I'd previously envisioned. After having that experience I feel confident about Frank's ability to travel to America!


Instead of writing another 11 paragraphs about Italy and how amazing and beautiful and sexy and comforting and invigorating and liberating and perfect it was in every single way I'll wrap up saying this: I'm going to make the rest of my days here count, savoring all the moments I have left. I'm going to try and keep my heart open, even when it hurts, especially when it hurts. I'm going to love Armenia and let it love me.

One of the Good Ones

A post about an Armenian that makes me feel like I can stay…

Admittedly, my posts have been infrequent as I find it difficult to put finger to key board and write happy things when I’m not happy. Winter has come and with it seasonal depression. I am homesick for my family (in all of their madness) around the holidays. I am sad that I will miss my niece’s 5^th birthday and it breaks my heart that she’s been asking me if I will come and visit her. Few people truly like winter and the constant roller coaster of emotions as a volunteer don’t help. Yet, today I am inspired to write about a person in my life who soothes my anxiety and makes me feel truly welcome.

Movsisyan in Siranush's house taken with Photobooth

The first time that I met Movsisyan (this is the name by which I know and refer to her but her first name is actually Satenik) was in Siranush’s kitchen during my very first visit to Malishka. I was having my first “ Oh my GOD, what have I done?!” moment as a Peace Corps trainee. The saint that she is, Siranush sensed this and ordered me to lay day and rest after an hour or so into our first meeting. When I finally summed up the courage to leave the room that was to become mine in a month or so, I headed straight for the kitchen. As I entered the kitchen, Movsisyan and Siranush momentarily stopped dinner preparation to welcome my arrival.

Movsisyan’s deep-set eyes examined me with a well-intentioned curiosity.  She reminded me of photographs of my maternal great grandmother with long salt and pepper hair pulled up into a tightly wound bun. Just as many other older women in Armenia, over the years she had collected a mouth full of shiny gold teeth. She pulled out a stool from under the table and ordered me to sit. She cleared an open space in front of me rearranging the surface crowded with peppers, tomatoes, onions, garlic, salt, pepper, sugar, coffee, miniature Turkish coffee cups and a large decorative glass bottle that I could only assume was filled with homemade vodka. Siranush placed in front of me a small cup of Turkish coffee, seemingly from out of nowhere.  I sat in silence, allowing the calm of the home’s hearth to wash over me in a dream like state.

“Do you like tomatoes?” Movsisyan inquired. “Yes, I like them very much,” I responded like a small child and not the 25-year-old woman that I was. “Good, because we are making a soup with tomatoes, potatoes and onions,” she stated. For the next twenty minutes I intently watched her prepare the meal with Siranush. Her hands moved methodically wielding the knife like an extension of her own body. Cutting boards are not something you can expect to be found in an Armenian kitchen. Using sharp knives half the size of an average utensil women hold the vegetable in one hand and cut with the other. Preparing food in this way comes so naturally that while I sat and watched Movsisyan’s hand, she stood watching me watch her. Every now and then our eyes would meet, her calm and piercing stare  reassuring me that I was okay and everything would be okay.

From the beginning I have appreciated Movsisyan’s ability to speak with her eyes. Not only does she speak with them, she analyzes, contemplates and understands with them as well. While I understand that this is true for most people she does it in a way that a spectator can notice. With all of the staring and looks that I endure on a daily basis you come to know all sorts of stares. The difference between a kind and a cruel one, one of judgment and another of compassion is evident. When she looks at you she is truly looking at you, drinking in all of your movements, expressions and reactions like a foreign cocktail. She swishes the combination of these things around in her mind deciding if it brings her pleasure or not. 

She was introduced to me as the family 'tatik' (grandmother) but I learned later that she in fact was not a blood relative. Armenians are quick to give friends family denotations whether it be ‘sister’, ‘brother’ or ‘grandma’ and ‘grandpa’. I also learned that Movsisyan was the ‘master’ (homeroom) teacher of the twin sisters Hasmik and Anna. She had been their ‘homeroom’ teacher since the third grade and the relationship is a different than that which we are accustomed to in America.  Your master teacher, if unchanged from the third until the 12^th grade becomes an equally respected, feared and loved figured as that of a parent. Movsisyan and Siranush became close when Siranush returned from her University studies in Yerevan during the ‘Dark Time’ to begin teaching Armenian language classes at the school. Being her senior by at least twenty years and an Armenian language teacher herself, Movsisyan took Siranush under her wing forging an invaluable relationship of trust and support.

I have forever felt grateful for both women extending this relationship toward me. Social politics at the school can at times be similar to walking a tight rope. One wrong move and then a long fall (hopefully) to your safety net. This past year at school has been particularly difficult for me in the social/political realm. A person whom at first meeting I was weary of has made a point of being an antagonist in my life. Details are unimportant but the presence of this individual is a thing I at once fear and dread. When things came to a head a little over a month ago it brought me to a new level of low concerning feelings of isolation and community integration.

In the school there is a small room tucked away on the second floor, far from the teacher’s lounge and Director’s office called the language cabinet. In it, the senior Armenian language teachers including Movsisyan and Siranush each their lunch, drink coffee, grade papers and socialize in there with the other language teachers. I have realized that when I first came to the school and Siranush told me to treat this room like it was a space for me as well that I wasn’t fully aware of the privilege that I had been afforded. This small cabinet has become my refuge in the school. It dawned on me one day that only Movsisyan and another elderly woman spent their free periods in there. It was clear to me that my counterparts did not feel it was appropriate for them to casually hang out in there, while that is exactly what I do.

As of late Movsisyan has been extra careful to make me feel included and cared for. If she is making herself a cup of coffee or tea, she makes one for me as well. If she has brought some cheese and lavash to snack on, she will make me a small wrap and tell me to eat. She never asks how I’m doing and yells at me when she doesn’t believe I am dressed warm enough. After being sick and missing school for a few days she inquired where I’d been and why I didn’t tell anyone I was sick because I can’t just let people sit around and worry that I’ve been stolen or got lost. All of these things combined have served to shine a bright spotlight onto Movsisyan’s kindness and her role in my life here.  To say it shortly, she means a lot to me and has been a huge influence on my time here. 

Movsisyan is one of the good ones and I love her for all that she provides me. 

Nothing But The Water

I have seen

What man can do

When the evil lives inside of you

Many are the weak and the strong are few

but with water, we'll start anew

Won't you take me down

to the levy

take me down

to the stream

take me down

to the water

We're gonna wash our souls clean

Take me down 

to the river

take me down 

to the lake

Yes, we'll all go together

We're gonna do it for the good lord's sake

I have fallen so many times

for the devil's sweet cunning rhymes

this old world has brought me pain

but there's hope for me again

Won't you take me down

to the levy

take me down

to the stream

take me down

to the water

We're gonna wash our souls clean

Take me down 

to the river

take me down 

to the lake

Yes, we'll all go together

We're gonna do it for the good lord's sake

I've tried my hand at the Bible

tried my hand at prayer

but now nothin' but the water

is gonna bring my soul to bear

but now nothin' but the water

is gonna bring my soul

to bear. 

Listen to "Nothing But the Water" by Grace Potter

Tsaghadzor

Hello my beloved followers, secret stalkers, lovers and friends. Yet another month (two!!) has passed by without a posting by yours truly. Just recently I was telling my Aunt Therese that I suppose I've been feeling uninspired as of late; that it just feels like the same-old, same-old. While that's true to a certain degree, it's not the entire truth. Before I update ya'll on thangs I'd first like to explain why I posted these song lyrics. 

About a month ago I had drafted this post, with these lyrics as you see them. I had just returned from my final All Volunteer conference in Tsaghadzor. The conference was scheduled over Halloween weekend so volunteers wanted to enjoy their time in the evening and this year a talent show was organized. For anyone who has known me for any length of time they will know how much I love performing for people, or no one at all it doesn't actually matter. Anyway, I never got around to officially signing up before the conference but I was in luck as not too many others had as well and the MC's opened up the floor for whomever felt inspired. I of course, could not pass down this opportunity. I hadn't prepared anything so I decided to sing the first song that came into my head. I also was inspired my friend Phi's performance (which you can watch here). The song carries a lot of meaning for her and while she was singing, the only song that felt appropriate to follow up with was 'Nothing But The Water' by Grace Potter. I strongly identify with this song and most of my family members and friends have already been forced to listen to it as I find it so powerful; but for those of you who have not please have a listen into the deep recesses of my psyche.

It feels a bit overwhelming to try and recount in great detail the goings-on of the last few months. There was some drama with my counterparts at the school but that situation was resolved and things are back to their usual  one part gratifying, two parts frustrating normalcy. Things that frustrate me at school are the general culture and atmosphere at the school. It's also frustrating that these things are still frustrating. One wants to believe that after being in a place for 20 months that they would become accustomed to attitudes and behaviors but I suppose some things are just immutable.

Frank in his spot.

I believe I mentioned previously that I was given a teenage kitty by my host father back in the middle of October. At first he was very scared and spent most of his time hiding under the bed or staying within five feet of my person. Now, 1.5 months later he insists on being held in some form or fashion at all moments of the day that I am not moving around (and sometimes even when I'm moving around.) It's heart warming to have this little animal be so obsessed with me. My favorite part about living with Frank is that each evening and morning he will crawl into the covers of my bed and curl up under my chin into my neck. I've had many cats in my life, but none that I've raised on my own and I've definitely turned him into the ultimate lover cuddle kitty. I like to complain about it to my friends but they all know how much I love it.

Thanksgiving crew

Once again this year I celebrated Thanksgiving in the southern most part of the country, Meghri. Last year we were at Tall Tom's place in a nearby village but this year my good friend David hosted us in his most energetically positive home. (Check out how close we were to the Iranian border here!) This Thanksgiving was quite possibly one of the most enjoyable in recent memory. David and Jessica planned a two day extravaganza of crafting and cooking. I was happy to arrive in Meghri a day early to have David and his house all to myself. I am not so sure that Frank agrees with this sentiment but I was sure to save him a kitty treat to serve him once returning from my four day vacation.

My metro stop

About a week ago my wood stove was finally installed. At the beginning of November my site-mate Elisabeth and I had purchased a total of six cubic meters of wood together. Her half was sent over to her nearby village of Shatin while the rest remained with me. At the time, I was still comfortable enough to have only my space heater on. Yet, just as in most of American right now- the last two weeks have been pretty chilly and snowy. I love having my wood stove but GOOD LORD is it a lot of work. I'm lucky enough to be familiar with starting fires in my parent's wood stove back in New York but I am working with the 1990 Toyota of a wood stove while they have a 2013 Cadillac. I am hoping that I will eventually get over the difference and learn to simply enjoy the fact that for the most part I am toasty and warm.

Marshutni ( in summer)

In other news, volunteers recently had a gathering in Yerevan to celebrate Christmas before folks started heading home for the holidays. It's incredible to me that this time last year I was at home, hanging out in my parent's hot tub imbibing all the best chilled white wines I could lay my hands on. I can NOT believe that was already one year ago. Throughout my time in Armenia it has never ceased to surprise me how fast time moves.

A bad decision

Anyway, the day after the party my other site-mate Rosie and I decided to travel back home together. Typically this drive takes about 2.5 hours and it takes around 30 minutes to get from the center of Yerevan to our bus stop. On my way over to the bus station it had been raining but by the time the marshutni (pictured left) departed there were already big fat snow flakes coming down at a good rate. I looked at Rosie saying, "It's going to be a long ride today." Little did I know that the particular marshutni we were seated in was in no way equipped to handle the weather conditions. The only reason we made it over the mountain was because after four hours a good samaritan in an Army Jeep towed us with a thick metal chain. The entire experience was at once exhausting, terrifying, hilarious and absurd. After 8 hours of traveling, I finally hopped off at the side of the road outside Malishka. Then I peed my pants, then once I got home I realized the power was out in the whole neighborhood, AND THEN I realized I had locked Frank's food and water in a separate room, explaining his erratic and disconcerting behavior upon my arrival home. Now, one might expect to cry in this situation out of frustration. I was in surivival mood though, making sure to change my pants, feed the cat and start a fire in the dark. Thank god for trusty flashlights! Just another day in Armenia, folks! You can read a more detailed account of our journey, written by Rosie here.

Saying goodbye to my dear friend, Marisa, a volunteer who ended her service early.

In other news: The latest winter fashion in Armenia is the classic peacoat. Half of the female teachers in school have recently purchased one and I'm glad to know that my trusty old grey guy has suddenly become fashionable once again. It's nice to wear something right once in a while.

Next On Carolyn's Blog: Christmas is Ruined!... It was a Christmas Miracle!!!

Shows I've been obsessively watching: Breaking Bad, Mad Men, Mob Wives and The Daily Show
A book I read: My Name Is Red by Orhan Pamuk
A Song I've been listening to: TKO Justin Timberlake

A quote: "I GOT YOUR DAD!!!!"

Hard Times Come, Hard Times Go

At this point in time, I have about 8 months left in my service. It occurred to me when I was posting Facebook pictures of the Areni Wine Festival two weekends ago that it was the last time I would be there. It's highly unlikely that I will ever attend another Areni Wine Festival. At the very least, I won't be gathering in the Field of Dreams with several other volunteers as the high sun moves west. And so,  I feel compelled to make the best out of what’s left before the time gets away from me. Yet, the following post is not going to be about the things that I know I will come to miss. I want to give a voice to my experience of hardships as a Peace Corps Armenia volunteer. I do it because it is the thing least spoken about publicly. I do it because I think shedding light on the difficult parts of volunteering is just as important as shining light on the positive ones.

I remember during my application process looking at an acquaintance’s pictures of the beginning of his service in Kazakhstan. While Armenia and Kazakhstan are not direct neighbors, they are in the same part of the post-soviet world. I recall seeing pictures of a television, cabinets, couches and rugs and I thought, “Are you kidding me? That’s not Peace Corps!” I was under the impression that hardship meant living in a hut under an oppressively hot sun. I thought Peace Corps was bare feet and eating with your hands. I thought it was reading by candlelight and going weeks without speaking to family or friends. That was what I wanted, that was what I felt I needed. I saw service as something cleansing, a sacrifice of values and luxury to get to the heart of life's meaning.

I definitely didn’t think that Peace Corps was electricity, Internet, a cell phone, or pizza and beers. I never imagined that I would become more self-conscious about the state of my clothes and the possibility of being seen without make-up in the Peace Corps than I had been in America. I wasn’t expecting to become obsessed with having as much privacy as possible, as opposed to spending time with people in my community or host family. I thought my heart was going to open, not close.

The reality that your expectations, your hopes and desires are probably not going to be met is hugely disappointing, even devastating. When does this realization come, if at all? I can’t speak for others but my moment of realization happened about ten months into my service. I had been feeling down and out for quite some time. I had been feeling confused and lost. I was angry a lot of the time. I felt isolated and misunderstood by anyone who wasn’t a fellow volunteer. There was so much I didn’t bother telling friends or family at home. They read my blog, they heard some stories but they could not imagine what it felt like. When I spoke to people back home it was to hear their voices, to smile at my niece and hear her high pitched giggle. It was to have a sense of normality, if only fleetingly. It was to not be gripped by the anger or anxiety I felt the rest of the time.

The moment this storm cloud, so to speak, moved on came while I was walking the Border2Border route in the month of June. Maybe it came from the strength I felt in my heart and bones, lungs and legs. Maybe it came from the beauty I was surrounded by and experiencing all day long. Because even though I was still being stared at and I was still not being understood fully, I inexplicably felt free. I remembered what freedom felt like in my heart and my head. I had been in a prison of my own fears and disappointments. I had been holding on to the idyll I had so badly wanted before arriving in Armenia. Over the course of that walk I was able to feel present and centered again.

As soon as I was done with the walk, I called my father asking him to fly me home at the end of the summer. I knew that if I was going to get through Year 2 in one whole, happy piece I was going to need to spend some time at the beach, and at my favorite place on earth - Lake George. At first, I felt somewhat ashamed of my decision. I felt weak for needing to go home FOR A SECOND TIME. Yet, as soon as I landed and was with friends the shame was gone. When I returned to Armenia, I knew I'd made the right decision for me. Sometimes as volunteers we get so caught up in this reality that in many ways we lose touch with actual reality. We tolerate treatment and behaviors that we would never stand for at home, in the name of respecting the culture and being a good volunteer. Sometimes this is healthy and appropriate but sometimes it's not, and it is SO difficult to know the difference between the two. 

What's my point here? I don't really know. It's not to complain and it's not to gain sympathy. It's to shed some light on the parts of being a volunteer that aren't so easy to articulate. It's so that if someone where to come across this blog while they're in their service, they know it's normal to feel unhappy. It's normal to be utterly frustrated and overwhelmed with the cultural differences. It doesn't make you a bad person, it doesn't make you a bad volunteer. It makes you a human being living in a place that you're not from, a place where you are constantly feeling the need to explain your self and answer for your country. It isn't easy and there are days I want to quit. But I won't, because the whole point in coming was to learn to live with discomfort in a healthy way. It was to see what I was made out of, and what I could endure.

And well shiiiiit, am I getting a lesson.

...and then sometimes you take the marshutnit home from Yerevan after a long night and the beauty of the country takes all of it away. You smile, because you know there's still room to grow and to love. 

Song Of The Week: Gin Wigmore- Happily Ever After

Border2Border Part II: Becoming A 'Family', The Decision To Stay

Part 2: Kapan to Sisian

On the 6th morning of our adventure, we set out for an expected hike approximately 30 kilometers out of Kapan. Due to some delays, it wasn't until noon time that we walked out of Kapan. As we were making our way out of the city I got an unexpected phone call from my father. It's unusual for him to call me at that time of day, so I became a little worried. My fear was soon met with expected sorrow, as I learned of a yet another family member's death. Since my arrival in Armenia last May a total of 5 people, with varying degrees of separation and blood connection, have gone from this world. While I was not close with the young woman who passed away, my father and her father are first cousins with a close relationship. Uncle Richie, as I know him - played a small role in offering help to get me through the medical portion of the application process. It's never easy to learn of someone else's sorrow and that day I spent a good portion of the trek alone, contemplating the oddities and non-coincidences in life.

This was one of our hottest walks, and I was seriously grateful that my pseudo-grandmother, Marisa,  had made sure to fill my belly before I set out that morning. As a group we decided to take a long break on the side of the road in the only shade we could find. Everyone was profusely sweating, hot, tired and exhausted within our first break. We continued on, taking another long lunch break down by a river. At some point along the way, it became obvious that we had taken the wrong road. In Armenia, this is no small defeat. Our only choice was to continue walking to insure finding water as we were running dangerously low. Around 5pm, we convened outside of a small store in an even smaller village. Everyone was done for the day, and as a group we decided our only choice to get back on track was to take taxi cabs to the place we were supposed to be at the end of the walk that day.

We found a place that looked quasi-suitable and continued to walk another mile or two until finding our camp site for the evening. After setting up the tents, the boys promptly got to making a fire over which to grill our remaining vegetables. Soon after, thanks to Uncle Tender Breath (Kevin), the fire was burning strong. We had a lot of good laughs around the fire, while being eaten alive by the bugs. With not much sleep under our belts, we set out an hour later than expected at about 8 or 8:30pm for Tatev. This was by far my favorite walk throughout the whole trip. We had tree cover and soft dirt roads for the majority of the walk. Once out of this seeming forest, we came to a small town where our most valuable team member that day- Jesse found some children to figure which road we needed to be taking. A little ways outside of this village, we made the group decision to take naps during the heat of the day.

   Afterwards, we continued the journey and soon began to see what we could only assume was Tatev off in the distance. With our destination in site, our bodies and minds began to prepare for rest. This can be a dangerous thing when you find that you don't actually know which road to take when it forks. People get cranky after walking all day, to feel that while the end is in site... there's no end in site. It was at this moment that I called my friend Brian Bokhart for some confirmation about where we were and where we were headed. He walked last year and alleviated our frustration and near hopelessness by assuring us that we were where we needed to be and would eventually reach our destination (though how much longer until than was unclear). Jesse again, sought out an Armenian to confirm the right way. It was here that we did some off-roading and took the path less beaten. All I will say is that basically no one was smiling as they entered Tatev.

Yet, once we had cold beers and fresh food in our bellies - we were all smiles and laughter. It was at this restaurant that a wide assortment of inside jokes were born. We became our little family; with Uncles Cool Jesse and Tender Breath, the Irish Twins, the Middle Sister, and the Big/Little Sister. Apparently, we don't have parents. We were even more elated to be informed that it was no problem that we sleep on the grounds of the Tatev Monastery, one of the most important monument/tourist attractions in the country. That night, I fell asleep under a star saturated sky. In the morning we taught at the local school. Afterwards we bought some goods from the vendors and loaded the longest cable car in the world. The trip itself lasts around 12 minutes. We got to see the road we were avoiding walking, and an abandoned monastery that had been totally taken over by various greens. The walk to our next generation was very short and along the way, the group was met by some very enthusiastic Armenians that wanted a picture with us. (Because of a perhaps somber mood, I was not with everyone when this occurred but watched with entertainment at the event from down the road). We arrived in our teammate Branwen's village of Shinohayer sometime in the afternoon. The group promptly split up to pick up goods for dinner.

That evening our final team member, Meewa, joined us at Branwen's apartment. She was meant to be my replacement, as I had intended to finish my stint with the group at the next location, in Goris. It was in Shinohayer that I began to seriously consider staying. The team was so bonded and I had nothing except free time waiting for me back in Malishka. I knew that our most strenuous walk was coming up right after Goris. Also, the fact that I could lay low during teaching days now that Meewa had replaced me was also pretty appealing. With this in mind, we went over to Branwen's school in the late morning to teach the kids. Afterwards, we went back to her place for more time. That night I spoke to my family for the first time since being on the trip. It was then that I realized I wanted to stay on with the team. I was really enjoying my time with everyone and felt like I was quitting before the big game. I am a team player until the end.

The next morning we set out early for Goris, expecting a much longer walk than the one that was had. I checked in with our team captain and my sitemate, Lauren, about staying on with the group. I  consulted everyone else on the team, making sure that I was still welcome. Knowing me and my big personality - I wanted to make sure that no one was sick of me yet, before inviting myself to continue on.  Luckily, they claimed not to be and so it was settled - I was going to stay on for three extra days. This way, I have four days to prepare for the teams arrival in Malishka.

That afternoon we arrived in Goris. It was decided that the schedule would be changed and we would only be in town for one night, not two. We taught that same afternoon, and slept in the teacher's lounge that evening. Everyone was mentally preparing for the 27 kilometer walk that we had ahead of us. Unfortunately that night I didn't sleep very well - which I suppose is true for the majority of the trip. In particular though, I remember this night. It was rather inconvenient. At 6am, the taxis which would take all but two packs arrived at the school. By 6:45am we were out the door, hoping to hack off a good chunk of the walk before the heat of the day.

That day we walked ten hours in the blistering sun. I got a sun rash on my arms and legs, that faded over night but was uncomfortable. During the walk, we ran into a small grandmother who offered us cold water and coffee. It turned out that she was one of Lauren's University student's grandmother. At this point, we were a solid 3 hour ride from the University where Lauren works. It was a nice coincidence, a moment along the road that breaks things up and helps you keep going. Another nice breaking up of the walk occurred when we ran into a large cattle of sheep, their herders, horses and large cattle dogs.  We walked with them for some time and then eventually sat down for a lunch break. A little while later, that herd and ran into one another around us. One herd on the the road, the other to our backs in the field. The dogs were going absolutely nuts, the sheep where bah-ing their damn heads off and as if on cue an convoy of army trucks filled with soldiers drove past, blaring their horns at the herd. Once this scene out of a bad movie passed, we all promptly fell asleep on the side of road, under the hot sun.

By the time we made it outside of Sisian, I was lasting on pure will power alone. I was in some sort of yogic trance for the last hour as I focused on lengthening my spine and rolling back my shoulders. I was concentrating on my gait as if my life depended upon, because if I thought about how hot, thirsty and achey I was, I knew I was done for the day. Finally, the team made it to the Basen Hotel in Sisian. There we took pictures of our disgusting feet, had the best tasting meal in days and went to sleep shortly thereafter. For the first time since Kapan, I was able to lounge both during and after my shower in a state of utter exhaustion.

The next day we had our very first rest day with no walking or teaching on the agenda. We took advantage of this state of affairs and headed to a nearby lake with our favorite game, Bananagrams, some cold beverages and good humor. We hung out for the afternoon, swimming, trying to fix our horrid tan lines and playing the game. That evening everyone did their own thing, with Meg and Lauren back at Lauren's place and Kevin and I grabbing a hot dinner at a nearby restaurant. The next morning we taught at School No. 3 in Sisian, with a relatively good turnout thanks to Lauren, Meg and Meg's friend Hasmik. That evening I made dinner for the gang at Meg's and we headed back to the hotel. In the morning, I didn't have a chance to say goodbye to everyone as the taxi came even earlier than the planned 8am arrival. With an empty stomach and a craving for coffee, I left the team behind to carry on their merry way.

I admit, the silence and sudden lack of movement in the day was not an easy adjustment. I slept for most of the afternoon, checked some emails and sent a text or two to the team to see how they were doing. I missed them and almost wished I was still with them, except for the great calm that had come over me since returning back into my little oasis. Little did I know that our eventual reunion was short coming...

How Can I Explain?

I have been meaning to write a blog post for close to two weeks now. So many new, great amazing things have been happening. Yet, the only thing I can think about recently is Boston and the idea of 'home' that is far broader than the house my parents live in. And while I was thinking about it, I couldn't necessarily articulate any of those thoughts, beyond: "Holy f*ing shit".

Two years ago, I was living in Boston. Two years ago, the streets whose images are being broadcasted across the world are streets I felt safe on, streets I walked. I admit, my little hiatus from Facebook took a hiatus as this ordeal continued to unfold. For a little over a year, Boston was my home away from home. It is still a place that I consider returning to once my service is done. So, as I began my morning routine of putting the tea kettle on, turning on my computer, plugging in the flash drive that operates as my internet, then going outside to relieve myself and re-entering the kitchen again, I quickly glanced at nytimes.com and thought, "Huh?" I was sleepy, foggy, so I turned my back and made the coffee. When I sat down in front of my computer again, the shock didn't truly set in for several minutes. I read the headlines over and over again, then I watched the video.

At first, I was extremely confused. Then I was nervous, scanning my brain to think of any friends or contacts that might have been there at that time. Then I realized it was getting late and if I was going to go for a run, I needed to leave. As I climbed the hills of Malishka that morning, I can't say I was thinking about the tragedy. I was thinking about my time in Boston. The times I went downtown to the Public Library because it was just so awesome. And the ever reoccurring thought returned, "How the hell did I get HERE?!" When I got back to the house I immediately sat down in front of my computer and logged onto Facebook. I checked all the pages of friends, and people I've lost contact with who live in or are from the area. I read moving posts from peers I went to school with who I didn't even realize were from Boston and from friends that are runners. Surreal is the closest word that comes to describing how it felt to read the updates every morning there after.

Today, one week later, I am understanding that while unimaginable physically removed from Boston, I was still very much affected by the events that went on. It left me feeling wildly homesick. I wanted to be there, or with people I knew during my time there... or just SOMETHING. I wanted to be out celebrating in the bars when the 2nd brother was caught and the lock-down ended. I wanted to be surrounded by people who KNOW Boston, who LOVE Boston. Instead, it rained and was cold everyday. Instead, I laid in the dark listening to yet another midnight shower. I had vivid, odd dreams about people from that place and time in my life.

There was only one Armenia who asked me about the events. I find this odd, because a good chunk of Armenian news is taken directly from American news outlets. For instance, last fall there was air time given to the Texas high school cheerleaders who made banners with Bible verses displayed. And yet, no one seems to know about the bombings, nor do they really care all that much. When the man at the vegetable market asked me if I knew what had happened I said, "Yes, I do. But how can I explain?". He took me literally, and began explaining - in Armenian- that two bombs had gone off.  What I really wanted to say was, "NO! How can I explain the decisions of another human? How do I make sense of someone doing this? Why is the world at a place and time, when news of a bombing gets a mild reaction, almost like hearing that it rained yesterday?" Unfortunately, I don't have the language to say these things. It is times like these, that I feel truly isolated in my community.

There is a part of me (for once) that wants everyone here to know there's something going on and ask me how I'm doing. I wanted the children to know that I don't have the energy to deal with them lately because a place I once lived in is in a state of chaos. Then, I began to think of the Peace Corps Volunteers that sat on the other side of the world while the towers burned in New York in 2011. I wonder, how many of them went home? Were they allowed to? Did they stay together until they were able to go home? How many of them called New York home?

Another thought I had last week was the overwhelming irony in my being in Armenia during both the Boston Bombing and Hurricane Sandy. Before coming, whenever asked where I was headed, 90% of the time the reaction was, "Sorry, I have no idea where that is!" I would then explain that it bordered Iran and Turkey. The look of horror was almost always imminent after imparting this information. "Aren't you scared, to be so...close..to there?" My answer was the polite nod of, "Yes, I understand your concern, but no I'm not scared." Nowadays, the idea seems laughable. Scared? What would have been scary was being in the last two places I lived during the horrific events that have occurred in them this last year.

I guess you could say that the honeymoon phase of having my own place is complete. I promise to post again in the next few days with pictures and more things about new secret admirers from across the street. (Though, it's not a secret because they come one to two times everyday asking if I can come out and play).

Home Sweet Home

What's that you say, darling? Weren't you just escaping your 'prison' for the last two weeks? Yes, yes I was.

My dear readers, followers, friends, and stalkers I thank you for hanging tight during my times of tribulation. I must admit, I have deleted the post which describes in detail my melt down approximately two weeks ago. I thought it was wise to do so for two reasons. One, my country director sort of asked me to and two, well... it was really just one I guess. At first I edited some parts out, and then I thought "shiiiiiiiit, delete". I could see his point, reiterated by others that it would bring shame to my community and could be misinterpreted. One of the things I reflected on heavily while taking my little mental health vacation was what did I come here to do? Certainly, it was not to bring negative attention to the people I live and work with.

I thought long and hard about this, spoke for probably a total of 20 hours with different friends about the topic. Why am I here? What was I seeking? It's so easy to get lost in the romance of living abroad, meeting new friends, etc. I lost my way, I lost sight of my intentions and it's been a great relief to be back in my original mindset. I have always viewed service, or self imposed hardships as an opportunity for self cleansing. Through altruism, we can see the bigger picture and better understand our own purpose in life. I have been wrestling with the idea that one of my larger expectations from before coming has been a huge disappointment. I had it made up, that where ever I ended up serving, I would become enlightened or have some huge epiphany that while different and unorthodox, this new community's way of operating in this world had merit. This doesn't mean I hate Armenian culture. There are many things that I enjoy. I feel guilty even admitting this is the way I feel.

But yesterday, as I walked up the steps toward the train station which leads me to my village's bus I realized I was going home. In that moment I knew, the dread that had resided in the bottom of my belly was gone. Let's rewind a few days backward. I was sitting in Chris's bathtub -in the dark- seeking answers or meditating. Last April, I participated in a women's retreat in Pennsylvania recommended to me by my therapist at the time. For a while, I was really good about utilizing some of the tools we'd been given to cope / heal. It's been a long time since I returned to any of that stuff. I decided in Chris's bathroom to start with the very first guided meditation.

Now, I don't think I can properly describe what it is or what I saw, but what I realized and concluded was that my sense of well being or 'happiness' was shattered months ago. It was in the start of my actual service (after training) that the idea I'd been clinging to as my thread of hope and love became obsolete. He was the bandage I'd been using to protect a very old wound, and it got ripped off. I was unhappy. I have been unhappy, deeply sad and lonely for the last six months. Can you imagine? REALIZING that you are unhappy? It sounds so odd, but it's the truth. With that, it became clear that my reaction to uncomfortable situations in the host family, with the director and my counterpart and other PCVs is deeply tied to this other thing that I've been ignoring. It was then I understood that a house with painted walls and wood floors and a nice bathroom is not going to make me happy. If anything, these things that I have with the host family have kept me lulled into happiness. I like the blue walls, I love their shower, I like being taken care of even more. But ultimately, a couple layers below the surface this discontent remains. And so maybe praying that whatever gods may be give me a nice house was short sighted. In a way I think I need to take the unfinished house. It is shelter. I can cook there and entertain there and sleep there. There are walls, a roof, a bed and a kitchen. So, I will continue to rely on my host family for showers. SO WHAT. It could be worse, this could be my actual life.  As my brother Andrew pointed out, there are poor families in America who spend their whole lives relying on others for something so much as a shower.

If there's something I'm extremely good at, it's pretending that everything is okay when it is not. My moment of reckoning came two weeks ago on the phone with an older volunteer. She powerfully blew away the smoke and smashed the mirrors, revealing my unhappiness. Only, I couldn't tell where it was coming from. It took two weeks away, cooking nice meals for loved ones and new friends, a cry outside the bar with a new friend, an international conversation with an old friend, 3 hour long baths, and a ridiculous amount of coffee and writing to get back to good.

I am on my two feet again, eyes and heart wide open.


Song Of The Week: Ben Howard - Keep Your Head Up
Quote Of The Week: "Wait, isn't that the place with the serial killings?"
                                   "What can I say? It's a convenient place to bury people."
                                    "Oh my god, Carolyn."
                                   "Whatever, it's a great beach is all I'm saying."

She's A Volunteer...

Today my Regional Manager came to visit my village. She was coming to check out my possible new house and meet with my Director. My counterpart did not come to meet with her, because you know - it was her day off and all. It was so nice to have Meri, my Regional Manager with me. She is an Armenian and beautifully fluent in English. I really trust her judgment and understanding of volunteers' needs. In short, she's great.

Unfortunately, there are some problems with the place. Namely, money. Every month, Peace Corps deposits 145,144 drams into my Armenian bank account. That exchanges out to about $356.14 a month. Now, that is based on the fact that I live in a village, so I am only allotted 15,000 drams ($36.81) for rent. This is the amount that the volunteer before me paid for this house back in April of last year. The landlords in Russia have communicated to their brother (who will manage the house and myself) that now the asking price is 25,000 drams ($61.34). There is this baffling Peace Corps rule that you are not allowed to pay 5,000 drams over the allotted amount within the stipened. Luckily for me, there is an appeal process and my Regional Manager explained that I am a volunteer, it's going to be really difficult to pay the 25,000 (and I'm technically not allowed to, either).

I will wait to hear back from both him and Meri, so that hopefully everything is sorted out my next week. By sorted out, I mean I will begin the repeal process (which can take up to a month) and hopefully only pay 20,000 drams (5,000 extra out of the 145,144) for the month of March. Other then the money and the fact that I can't paint the bare cement walls, I am extremely exited about this place. Mainly because I get to buy new stuff; including but not limited to food items, linoleum, rugs, a teflon stick-free pan, and other things.

Every night before I go to bed I dream of living in there. I'm considering buying a bed right now, as it's become more and more important to me. There are other household goods that I'm giddy about buying, simply ecstatic.

Wish me luck on the repeal process!!

Song Of the Week: Taking Back Sunday - You're So Last Summer (yes, I still rock out to TBS)
Quote of the Week: "What is it- one of those 'pin - interest' things?"