Hard Time

I have 64 days left here. Today was one of those days that made me say, "Good riddance!" It started when our secretary told me that I couldn't hide stuff behind the display board - apparently my buckets and apron peeking out do not spell, "Professional." Well, I can understand the apron, but give me an effing break - I have to teach the KG's in their own rooms, I haven't been given a cart to move everything around on, and I don't have the time to run back and forth to my classroom between sessions, so what the hell do they want me to do? I've been about as flexible as a Chinese contortionist while they figure out exactly what they want me to do about the KG's, so I got a little peeved over a complaint this asinine. Then there's the fact that I spent the last 30 minutes of the day with 2H while their teacher was out - not that huge a deal until I realized that I'd switched today's duty with their teacher yesterday because of their field trip. And I didn't want to switch because it was the best day of the cafeteria calendar, Fajita Day, but I did it anyways, and now I needed my lunch period to finish prepping something I didn't have time for in the morning. Argh!! The logical thing would be to work a little harder and get ahead of the game so these things wouldn't phase me, but I rarely operate under the rules of logic.

An ironic thing occurred to me this morning...when I first decided against music as a profession, way back in my innocent college days, I thought I wanted to be a kindergarten teacher. I had all these talents - music and art and storytelling - and I thought that teaching kinde would be great because it would let me use them all. Yeah, well, then I volunteered in a kindergarten class, and I realized how much work it was, and how much responsibility you have for their learning, and I ran screaming into art education. Yet here I am, after five years of teaching, and not only has more of it been as a kindergarten teacher than an art teacher, but I'm about to go and do it to myself AGAIN. And I'm sort of looking forward to it. Maybe GDA warped me in more ways than I think...

Lazy Day

It is 3:36 PM and I have yet to leave my apartment. I talked for two hours this morning to Tori, then read, slept, read....etc, with a little chili cooking thrown in....until coming in here to look at plane tickets. Here's the score:
18 days without pop.
6 days of exercise:
Sunday: Belly Dance practice
Monday: Biking and jogging
Tuesday: Swimming
Wednesday: Biking
Thursday: Walking to the Sailing Club and back
Friday: Swimming
And we'll make it seven once the sun goes down a bit more - maybe I'll dance in here a bit before heading to the pool.

The problem is, I don't feel like anything's happening yet. The scale tells me nothing's happening yet. This is one of the reasons I didn't have any success at getting things started last year - I'd have a few really good days but it's hard to keep going without results. But I'm determined to keep going til I leave this country, so I have to get some results at some point. Especially if I add more good habits into the mix. Next on my list is to start packing my lunches again, and then to quit eating out. My mocktails experiments this past week were not wildly successful and as I've been told, juice doesn't have any less calories than coke, so I think those are out, but I'm going to keep the tang and lemon barley water, just to satisfy my sweet tooth and give me a little variety. I think I'll also fast tonight over it. I really want to be healthy again.

The Best I Can

I've been off the sauce for fifteen days now (and the temptation hasn't weakened). I have seventy-one more til I leave the Emirates. I have done some exercise the last three days now - I danced on Sunday, biked and jogged on Monday -

- oh yes, I jogged...Trish had mentioned the bikes before, and since I finally had Paul's and mine both at home, I texted to ask if she wanted to go for a spin that night, and afterwards she asked if I'd come for a run with her. For anyone else, it would have been a resounding HELL NO! -

- and went for a swim last night. Not bad, right (I mean, except for the pain - OH THE PAIN - in my ankles and calves)? But when I stepped on the scale at the Hilton yesterday, I hadn't lost anything. Nothing. Now a year ago when I was trying to change, I'd get demotivated right about now - what was the point of changing if it didn't make any difference? - but giving up now isn't going to be very helpful. I've determined to make it at least until I leave the Emirates. In 71 days. For good. As in, not coming back.

If this is the first time you're hearing this, I'm sorry...neither Hallmark or egreetings.com had a "FYI-I'm-quitting-my-job-and-going-somewhere-new" card. What can you do? Not to worry - I have a new job. I had an interview over Skype the night I got back from Paris while I was sitting in front of my computer in a towel, dripping. Nice, right? No, I didn't have the webcam on.

Why am I leaving? It's not just because my partner-in-crime is gone, although it's no coincidence that my new school is in the same city as his. I've been caught up in a gold-sand inertia the last 8 months. I have felt like I can't really be bothered doing anything. I have a beach ten minutes away that I go to maybe twice a week. I have plenty of time to work on an illustration portfolio, but I don't actually work on it. I'm living in the middle east but I've only bothered to see belly dancing once. And for the most part, my friendships here feel more like work. How pathetic AM I?

The two people here I will miss sorely (I mean, other than my students, of course...) are Trish and Michelle. In spite of the fact that they are my two best girl friends here, I don't think I've ever mentioned them in this blog. They are amazing, and they give me the relief I need to get from one day to the next. I can't imagine what the next two and a third months would be like here without them. Probably they'd be what my first two months were like...watching X-Files and working at friendship. Which is not to say that I won't be doing those things, but it's nice to know that there's more to it than that, because I want to make these last 71 days the best I can. On all accounts.

and in the eyes of a jackal i say kaaaaaa-

BOOM!

I have a strange feeling of detachment about being back in RAK, about the rest of this year. More on that another day. We had the grand inquisition in for two weeks before the holidays, right? Well, it turns out it was a good, old-fashioned witch hunt in all but name. We had a meeting first thing this morning, before our PD day (teacher-inservice for my American readers), to discuss the "results" of the inquest. And it was scathing. The Mighty Inquisitor was NOT IMPRESSED, she disapproved of us in lots of different ways, but the point of the exercise was they got our principal sacked. Our much-loved, odd little Aussie principal. Don't get me wrong, folks, he's got his faults, but at the end of the day, HE is not the problem with this school (I'm going to pass on naming the problem til another day).

Anyways, there was hardly a teacher in the room that wasn't gutted. The Grand Inquisitor will be taking over as of the 15th of April (which gives me another reason to call it Evilness Day). I'll talk about this more later. I've got another caffeine headache. Apparently I picked the wrong week to quit.

Parisian Memories, Part Deux

Alright, here's your play-by-play (I give up on doing it any other way...I've been home five days already and need to be finished).

Day One:
I got in, and figured if I did nothing else, I HAD to see the Eiffel Tower. I also figured it was something Socrates would have already done, that he wouldn't be interested in doing it when he arrived. Well, what did I know? Afterwards the dusk was coming on, so I went for a little wander, hoping to stick around long enough to see the tower all lit up, and found a place to get a haircut, which I've been meaning to do, as the Emirati lady that cut it for me back in October basically just hacked it off. And I was really pleased with what the guy did for me. I headed back across the park toward the subway, still without lights, and on my way passed an awning that read, "Restaurant Coreen." I took a few steps before it clicked...Korean Food! It was not the only Korean place I found in Paris - actually there were quite a number of them around, even one across from Socrates' hotel called "Sarang," which I thought was appropriate. After a nice set meal of miso, gun-mandu, and bibimbap (for only 17.50 Euros...don't know if that ought to make me laugh or cry), I was full and happy and confused. For example, the menu was in French, which I mostly understood, but I wasn't sure if the foods I thought were described were what they actually were. So they called the mandu something, I don't remember what, and I asked if they were mandu, which they knew, then I kept speaking in English to ask if they were steamed or fried, which they didn't understand, so I switched to Korean to ask if they were mul or gun mandu. I was pretty impressed with how much French I remembered, considering it's been ten years since I took it, but I kept wanting to speak my smattering of Korean words, especially the numbers, because it's just more recent, and after leaving the restaurant it was worse than before. Oh well.

Day Two:
I woke up in the hotel before the sun had rose, because someone had gotten into the shower. A night at the Hilton it was not, but when you stay seven nights in Paris, price becomes very high up on your list of standards (right after safety, in fact, but before cleanliness). I waited until about 9:30 and finally left for the D'Orsay museum, which Casey told me was not to be missed. I probably should have left earlier, the line to get in was ridiculous. They has an exhibition on called "Crime et Chatiment" (Crime and Punishment), which was interesting...and sort of set the dark mood for the week. I wandered through the wealth of amazing impressionist and post-impressionist paintings, and did some sketches of some sculptures, and had lunch at their cafe...I highly recommend the chocolate muffins in French museums. The baguettes with jambon et fromage, on l'autre main...let's just say that butter is not a condiment most Americans put on their sandwiches.

I wandered over to St. Germain Des Pres next, buying a painting from a street artist along the way, jam-packed with cute little cafes where some of the great minds used to hang out. Part of me wanted to sit down and smoke a cigarette and discuss existentialism...but it's hard to discuss existentialism with yourself and I didn't have any cigarettes. Oh, and I'm Mormon. Eventually I redirected my wander toward the Seine and crossed onto the Ile de la Cite, home of Notre Dame. It was free admission, at least for the ground portion, and so I waltzed right in and took a look around, and basically it is everything anyone has ever written about it, so I'm not going to waste your time or mine writing more. I bought a candle and lit it - even if it's not something Mormons strictly believe in, there's a kind of beauty to the tradition, and it's something I tend to do. I should have gone up the towers that night - I was going to later in the week but it got busier and so I let it pass. Next time. As I was walking away over the bridge, the bells - THE BELLS! - started tolling and it was a nice way to end the day. Well, sort of end...rather than hopping on the subway right away I kept wandering, and ran into the Pompidou Center, which is kind of an eyesore, but there's this huge reflecting pool with these kinetic sculpture/fountains, and a church on the other side, and that was nice.

Day Three:
I learned my lesson the day before and headed out for the Louvre an hour before it opened, with the result that I was the second person in line. While waiting in the atrium with the hanging pyramid (you know, the one in the DaVinci Code?), I was able to use the wifi from the Apple Store to get online on Giancarlo, and got Socrates' travel info - he was coming in two days, he was staying at a hotel near THE Opera house, you know, the one in Phantom, which I wandered over to find more than six hours later when I finally left the Louvre. In the meantime I ticked off rooms as I passed through them - and some of them that's all I did, breeze by paintings that are worth more than I've made so far in my life. After buying my ticket I made a beeline for the Mona Lisa, realizing this might be the only chance I had to get an unobstructed view (and was only slowed down a little as I came to the Nike of Samothrace on my way up the stairs). Sure enough, there was only me, two Japanese tourists, and two security guards, and I spent probably ten minutes staring at her, alternating between wonder at actually finding myself in the same room with
this much-reproduced masterpiece, and trying to figure out exactly what made her so special. I enjoyed wandering the palace and seeing works of art that I had studied back at UMKC, and it was interesting to come back and see the Mona Lisa swarmed by admirers again later in the day.

 I eventually wandered my way over to the Arc de Triomphe, and got to see it by sunset light, all painted gold.
After a look around and a few pictures, I walked down the Champs Elysees, stopping at the Gap because they had a sale on. I bought myself a grey, short-sleeved knit top, which was a linen/cotton blend, so I was disappointed when I had to take it back on Sunday because it had gotten a run sometime on Saturday when I wore it (I exchanged it for a linen/cotton dress that I had also liked, but hadn't bought because I didn't think I should get them both).

Day Four:
When I left the hotel on Thursday, it was gloomy. When I emerged from the internet cafe, it had started to rain. I went back to the hotel and got my sweatshirt, then went for a walk...it wasn't raining that hard. It was about lunchtime, and I was looking for a restaurant, so I went down new streets that I hadn't seen before, and eventually sat down in an Indian restaurant on the other side of Canal St. Martin. After lunch I went back to the hotel to warm up and sat inside for a while, reading. Later I decided I would go find the restaurant with the chansons that I wanted to eat at that night, and I did, at the top of Belleville Park. On the way it started raining again, and so I stopped in a cafe and drank hot choco while I read (much better than smoking and discussing existentialism!) As I mentioned in the last one, I did go see the music, and afterwards got a view of the city of lights from the top of the park, and it was all just magical.

Day Five:
I decided to go on an all-out ramble this morning, so after checking my email I set out down the Canal St. Martin, eventually breaking off because I found a street that looked enticing. As I followed that street, eventually I started seeing signs for the Place de la Republique, so I went there and took a look around, and then from there hit the Place de Bastille. The building is no longer standing, but there's a column standing in memorial. I thought I'd try to see the towers of Notre Dame, so from Bastille I turned toward the river, and as I walked I passed a side street that led to the Place des Vosges, which I mentioned in the last blog. Finally I made it to the river, and crossed onto Ile St. Louis, where I stopped for some gelato at Berthillon's (which is supposed to be famous...I've never heard of it, so maybe it's a Lonely Planet scheme to make them famous. Whatever the case was, I enjoyed the cerise glace), and found a gallery that had a show of art inspired by Alice in Wonderland, which I found interesting because I made my own Alice art several years ago, and was thinking of another before I came to Paris. In the end, Notre Dame turned out to be crowded, so I gave it a miss, and eventually met Socrates at Gare du Nord, and we had a nice, if not terribly eventful evening.

Day Six:
Socrates and I had decided we would meet at his hotel at 11, which left me with some time to fill in the morning. It wasn't quite enough to do anything substantial, so I turned to my trusty Lonely Planet, and decided to see if I could find the covered passages or Galleries, which turned out to be quite lovely and made me miss our own Passageway in Omaha. From our rendezvous, Socrates and I walked over to the Arc, and did the Eiffel Tower - yes, I did the Eiffel Tower twice in one week, and both times I took the stairs. Between them, Montmartre, and the Catacombs, on top of all the other walking I did, by the time I left Paris my legs were screaming, "NOOOOOOOOO!!!! NO MORE STAIRS!" We had dinner and went out that evening, and it was really nice to turn down the pace from being a tourist and just chill out.

Day Seven:
I met Socrates at 10:30 to see him off at the train station. I kept it together pretty well, in spite of the fact that it was going to be goodbye for a while, but was, as I mentioned, glad for the gloomy weather and my somewhat macabre itinerary. I already wrote about the Catacombs, so I won't waste any more time on them (at this moment I've been typing for an hour and a half...I should be half so disciplined with my school work!) I swung by the Champs-Elysees to exchange my shirt, then hit Montmartre. I started with the Cimitiere, which has some famous people buried there, but I didn't bother looking for them, instead just wandered around, looking at the monuments and softly singing sad songs to myself (see what I mean? I get very interesting when left to my own devices).

Headed up to the top of the hill via the Moulin de la Galette, which is the name of one of Renoir's paintings, and the only remaining of Montmartre's famous windmills. I wended my way to the Place du Tertre, which was more packed with tourists than anywhere else I've been so far, as well as having its share of chintzy artists. I went to the Sacre Coeur, and had a look around descending the stairs in front down the steepest part of the butte. I wandered the streets to the main thoroughfare, and saw the outside of the Moulin Rouge...I should have splashed out on a show, but Paris is expensive, and I just couldn't be bothered. Lastly - and I saved it for last, knowing it was the only museum in Paris open til 2 a.m. - I went to the Musee d'Erotisme, just for the hell of it. Lonely Planet was right - it WAS surprisingly artistic! - but nothing a worldly traveler and well-read art student such as myself hasn't seen before (Khajuraho?? Been there, seen that.)

So, to sum up Paris - it was just about the perfect vacation (in fact, it could only have been improved if it would have been cheaper). It had good food, good friends (I say friends, plural, because even though only Socrates was with me physically, I thought of you all, whether it was because I was eating food that reminded me of you, or because I saw something I knew you would love, it was like having you there), death, sex, freedom, beauty, truth, "and that which I believed in above all things....love."

Parisian Memories, Part Une

How do I tell you about Paris? How can I give you an idea of what the experience was without giving you a play-by-play, that may not be all that interesting? I'm going to try, but you may have to bear with me a bit.

I'm a wanderer. One of my great joys in life is to explore, getting to know new roads and being surprised by what I find. I look forward to getting a little turned around, seeing it that way rather than "lost." (I've actually only been lost once in my life, in Verona, but that's another story). RAK is not exactly a wonderland for wanderers. Even if it weren't too hot to bear half the year, there are not that many new and surprising things to find, so after three months being stuck up here, it was not just a pleasure but a great relief to be somewhere that I could wander. And wander. And wander. Even from the top of the Eiffel Tower you couldn't see the end of streets to wander down, and corners at which to make a choice. I find myself wishing that I'd had the forethought to bring a pedometer, because it feels like I walked 500 miles (and I would walk 500 more, btw). By the end of the second day I was going to bed with worn out feet and tired legs. Worn out and tired, but happy.

During my Friday morning wander as I was working my way from the Bastille to the Seine I found myself following the strains of a violin down a side street, and found myself in the tres jolie Places des Vosges, and the notes wafting over the air added to the ambiance of the park and the building and the statue and the rain. I've been a little deprived of live music here, as well - the little Filipino musicians in the bars sing their little hearts out, but it's just not the same, and when I snuck into the secondary assembly on the last day of school to see one of my Sunday school students play her harp, it brought tears to my eyes. I don't consider myself to be a big music fan, but I AM a music lover - re: I don't get caught up in the details of who and when, but the actual music itself has a power to derail my trains of though like little else does. For example, two accordion players got on with us at Bir Hakeim, and started playing a tune that Socrates assured me was Jewish, although I knew it from Girl Scout camp, and I almost missed our transfer. I don't think I've heard that song since I was nine years old, and yet, there it was! Now normally I have to roll my eyes at buskers...there's something a little gauche (which means "left" in French, as Socrates reminded me) about street performers. However this week I was able to appreciate the musicians - or rather, most of them. One lady got on the subway as Socrates and I were heading to Gare du Nord to see him on the Eurostar, and sang to her little music-machine-on-an-ajjumma-cart, and I was not impressed. At least the violinists, accordionists, trumpet players, and other assorted musicians that accentuated my trip with music had to work to acquire their skills. People, just because God has blessed you with perfect pitch doesn't mean you sing well. On the other hand, Thursday night I made my way up to the top of Belleville Park to a little restaurant called Le Vieux Belleville, where two men - an accordionist and an organ grinder - led us in one good old French song after another. We were having a fairly broken conversation before they got things started, and I told them that I knew one of the songs, Complainte de la Butte, so they put it into their set, and as we all sang along a young couple got up and waltzed. It was warm and magical.

Last thought for tonight deals with French men. I thought getting out of the middle east I would be free of the stares of men. Non. The first few days in Paris I was shocked by how many men randomly started conversations with me. And some of them were actually tall and good looking! Maybe I'm the type that French men go for, or maybe they are just more confident and play the numbers game. After I met up with Socrates it stopped, and wasn't sure if it was because I had a man with me, or if I just didn't look like a naive tourist anymore...I'm guessing the former, since Sunday after he left I told a man, "Pardon," on the metro, and he turned around and winked at me. If it weren't for the fact that - well-brainwashed midwestern girl as I am - strangers kind of unnerve me, it would have been a nice shot of confidence, especially paired up with Socrates' compliment that I have the potential to be quite popular with men. Too bad I don't care all that much for popularity.

Dem Bones

Between Evil's chat on FB and this stupid keyboard, this blog may not happen. Here's an idea: maybe I'll just type it and pretend the keys are where they are supposed to be, and all the boys and girls back home can use their secret decoder rings to unravel the message! I like this idea!!!

So this is just going to be a couple of highlights qnd todqyùs events; k? Today I saw Socrqtes bqck onto the Eurostqr to go bqck to London viq the Chunnel: ?qn Iù, jeqlous - Iùd hqve so ,uch street cred bqck ho,e if Iùd tqken the chunnel so,ezhere: From Gare du Nord I went dozn to the Latin Auqrter to see the Cqtqco,bs: I zqs vqguely qzqre of the Cqtqco,bs fro, so,ezhere; Les ?iserqbles; I think; but it took Lonely Plqnetùs suggestion of visiting the, on q rqiny dqy to jog ,y ,e,ory: Zell; I zould hqve gone even if it zerenùt rqiny; but it turns out it zqs pretty good zeqther for sqying goodbye; qnd so there zqs q little ,ore q,bience for the creepiness:

Qnd it zqs creepy: Let ,e tell you: You zqlk dozn: Qnd dozn: Qnd dozn so,e ,ore: Then you zqlk through tunnel qfter tunnel qfter tunnel: For so,e reqson people get spqced qpqrt qs they descend; so you find yourself zqlking qlone; through se,i-dqrk tunnels; knozing thqt eventuqlly you're going to find yourself in q room full of bones: Zhen you get there; you donùt reqliwe zhqt youùre looking qt inituqlly: The bones excqvqted in the lqte 18th qnd eqrly 19th centuries fro, overcrozded Pqrisiqn ce,eteries qnd ,oved here qre stqcked up so neqtly thqt qt first you think the skulls hqve been set in textured ce,ent: Qnd then you look qgqin qnd reqliwe thqt texture is qctuqlly ,qde up of the interlocking femurs: Lots qnd lots of the,: Qnd this pqrt of the cqtqco,bs goes on qnd on qs zell: Itùs q,qwing to think of qll those bodies; qll those people; gone: Qnd so,e of the, since longer thqn ,y country hqs been qn independent nqtion:

I cqnùt deny thqt I zqs definitely creeped out: I knez I zould be; but it zqsnùt so,ething I zqs going to pqss on just becquse it zqs q little ,qcqbre:::qnd the logicql side of ,y brqin tells ,e thqt old bones cqnùt do q thing in the zorld to ,e: But I zqs ,ore hesitqnt thqn I zqs qt the vqlley of the kings in luxor; qnd zhen the first drip fro, the ceiling hit ,e on the heqd; it DID ,qke ,e ju,p: Reqlly:

Zell; it looks like this is qll youùre getting todqy: Stqy tuned:::this ti,e to,orroz Iùll be bqck in RQK qnd Iùll put so,e pictures up; too: