China Ed 101

I mentioned at the end of my previous vlog that I'd had a bit of an eye-opening encounter with the Chinese educational system. I've been wanting to expound on just what I meant by that, but it's been quite the task finding a spare minute to do so. Wonderfully, we were given a random three days off from teaching for the middle school and high school's sports days.

Problem, solved.

So like I said in the video, I feel like the perception we Americans have of education in China is pretty flawed. Now, I hate to generalize, so for all of you enlightened Americans out there who already know how it all goes down in Chinatown please feel free to find other reading material.

But, if you're anything like me, you have this idea that Chinese students are an intelligent, elite super-force of academia that are soon to take over the world because, well, our pokey educational system is just not up to par.

Let's clear a few things up, shall we?

First, yes. Yes, Chinese students tend to excel in the maths and sciences. And, yes, Chinese students also tend to score high on standardized tests. But before you start converting your dollars to RMB, let's look at why this is the case.

Chinese schools seem to revolve around two things: rote memorization and the idea that more is better (my Chinese co-worker told me that we have Mao to thank for that).

Education here is about the result, not the process. Students do not learn how to learn, they learn information. They are not taught critical thinking skills or the creative application of their knowledge or abstract thinking or anything in which the information they ingest can be used outside of the framework in which it is presented to them. They learn to take in information and regurgitate the same information in the same manner.

This is why math and science are such strong subjects for them. Math involves a lot of set formulas and systems that supply you with consistent results. Math requires us to memorize things because their facts and figures are unchanging. Twelve times two will always equal twenty four. And if I ask you to memorize the twelve times table and then give you an exam to check if you know it, you'll probably ace it. (Or you'll be like 8-year-old Amanda and write all the answers on a slip of paper because, c'mon, the twelve times table is hard.)

However, if I ask you to take two unrelated objects, say a paper clip and a water bottle, and combine them to create a new object, well, that requires a completely different skill set.

This same "just memorize it" thinking applies to standardized tests. Students here really only apply themselves when they know a test is coming. If they have the SAT coming up in, say, two months, they will spend that entire two months, twelve hours a day, studying for it. Test prep books, outside lessons, practice tests, whatever it takes to get a high score. Yet there is no concern for whether any test-taking skills are actually learned in the process. The score, the result, is the only thing of importance.

Take essay writing, for example. You don't learn how to write an exam essay, you simply memorize several different essay answers and copy the same answers on the test, perhaps tweaking a few things here and there to try and make it fit whatever the question is asking of you.

One of my students summed up this whole learning fiasco quite well. I was chatting with her about her post-graduation plans and she told me that she really wanted to become an architect. She feared that she wouldn't be able to, however, because she lacked creativity. She told me, "I can copy other's work really well, I'm very good at it. But I can't think of my own ideas. I have no creativity, and I think because of that I won't be able to become an architect. Do you think maybe I could work as an assistant?"

That is the problem with Chinese education. These students may go on to be excellent engineers or scientists, but the percentage of them who will be making new discoveries or reinventing our world or starting movements is very small.

The other half of the problem is the whole "more is better" mantra of China. Students here work round the clock. Students are in their classrooms by 7.40 every morning and, depending on their grade level, they finish their evening classes and study halls at either 9.30 or 10.30 at night. They receive a two hour break in the middle of the day to eat lunch and take a quick nap and around two hours in the evening to eat dinner, take a quick shower, and perhaps get a little bit of "fun" time in. Many of these students also take additional lessons outside of school.

I privately tutor a student (not from Xiamen Yingcai) and in addition to his regular five day school week he spends Saturdays with me and a math tutor, leaving Sunday as his only "free" day, which he spends doing homework.

The result of this hectic schedule results in exhausted students who sleep in class. Like, all the time. That's actually one of the biggest issues I've faced here. These kids just can't keep their eyes open, and understandably so. I mean they make me tired just looking at them!

So, between the surface-level learning and the chronic exhaustion, the average Chinese student leaves much to be desired.

Unfortunately, this approach to education "makes sense" in a country with a population as large as China's. The government requires a system that keeps aspirations and creativity low in order to function.

Now, of course, this is my blog and these are my opinions. The whole purpose of this blog is to mark my reflections about the world as I travel through it and not dish out hard, cold facts. There are obviously Chinese students out there who don't fit this mold and who, hopefully, will go on to have a positive impact on their country and the world. And I could just as easily write a whole other entry about the plight of the American educational system.

So having said all that, what do you think, bloggies? Thoughts? Opinions? Any in adamant opposition of what I've remarked on? Any who have had similar or dissimilar experiences teaching in China? I'd love to hear from any and all of you!

Until next time...zaijian!

The Three (or Four) Things

Yes, bloggies, I've already been in China for over a month! One down, nine more to go. As past experiences have proven, these next nine months will be over much quicker than seems humanly possible.

So per my blogging tradition, I've put together a vlog to reflect upon what this experience has been like so far. Speaking eloquently is not (nor has ever been) my strong suit, but if you'd like a more personal take on my time here in China, grab a cup of tea, snuggle into your favorite chair, and enjoy the two videos posted below. :)

(Even though I tried really hard not to, I did ramble excessively. Hence, the two part video. You can look in the description box of the videos on YouTube to see exactly what I'm droning on about when, so feel free to skip around.)

Click here to check out the pictures that I refer to in the second video. There are also pictures from the lake around the Marco Polo area of Xiamen (nicknamed that because of the famous Marco Polo Hotel located there) which I did not mention in the video. 

"Beauty" and a drink: My First Chinese Dinner

Eating a meal in a foreign country is often an event, usually an experience, and almost always speaks volumes about the culture of that particular place.

Sitting down and sharing food with a group of people will generally tell you all you need to know about what a society values, the rules of social interaction, gender roles, etc. 

This past Wednesday was our "beginning of the year" staff meal. All of the teachers in the International Education department were invited by the school to have dinner at a local restaurant. I was thrilled. While I (mostly) enjoy the food in the dining hall, it can get monotonous eating there twice a day, everyday. So, yes, I got a little excited to hear that I would be eating in the "outside world" and that someone else was footing the bill.

Prior to this meal, I gleaned from Loren and Maffi that alcohol was to play a huge role at our little gathering. Apparently, business dinners do not happen sans drinking. I've heard that there is actually a Chinese saying that goes, "No social ties can be formed in the absence of alcohol." In fact, people will hire other people to drink for them at these events if they are unable to do so. Yeah, it's that important. 

After classes finished on Wednesday, all of the teachers and our superiors walked around the block (like, literally around the block) to the restaurant. The men smoked outside while we waited for everyone to gather and for the restaurant owners to prepare our tables. 

Smoking, especially for men, is very common here. It is a rarity to find a grown man who doesn't smoke. While neither the teachers or the students are supposed to smoke at school, you can often catch a whiff of cigarette smoke as you pass the boys' bathrooms during break times or after lunch.

When our entire party had gathered we were ushered upstairs to a small air-conditioned (thank goodness!) room. The men all sat at one table and the women, who were in the majority, occupied the other two. Most of the men hold higher administrative positions and are the "superiors" I mentioned earlier, but even the men who were simply teachers sat at that table. The only women "allowed" to sit there was the head of the English department, Ella, and her assistant, Sunny (the woman who hired me). I'm sure this isn't news to anyone, but there's definitely still a strong sense of male dominance in Chinese society.

We were each given our own set of flatware: a saucer, and two small bowls, and "silverware": a spoon and chopsticks. The food was delivered family-style on large platters or in large bowls, but we did not use serving spoons to pile up our plates and then eat. Instead, we would take our chopsticks, grab a bite to eat, eat said bite, and then go back in for another bite. The bowls were only used for the soups and the small plate was there simply to hold bits of bones and leftovers. My chopstick skills are quite good, but even so, it was a bit tiresome having to lean in to grab something off of a platter every time I wanted to eat. There were also a few "tricky" dishes, like the whole fish and the meat served in sauce, that refused to cooperate with my multiple chopstick attempts and forced me to grab my spoon and angrily scoop up the offending food bit.

As soon as we were seated, the food began to arrive. And it didn't stop arriving! I had no idea how many courses to expect for this dinner, but somewhere in the back of my Western-conditioned mind I was thinking: appetizer, entree, dessert. Ha! 

Thinking back now, I can't even recall each dish because there were so many. I do remember potato soup, seafood soup (with squid, mussels and shrimp), pork, shrimp, fish, chicken, noodles, mushrooms, a few different types of vegetables... I truly lost count. As soon as I was sure we had reached the end, the waitress' head would pop up over the edge of the staircase and there she would be with yet another food-laden tray while we scrambled to re-arrange platters to make more room.

In between this somewhat chaotic stream of dishes, our bosses, Mr. Gao, Mr. Tao, and Mr. Zhong, began to make their way around the room to start making toasts. Up to this point, the "womens' tables" had only been offered tea and coconut milk to drink. All of the cases of beer had been dutifully deposited at the "men's table" where they drank a few cold ones to kick off the meal. Now, they were ready to share their bounty.

The process went something like this. One of the men would come to our table. We would all stand as a sign of respect. He would make sure all of our glasses were topped off with beer before he delivered a short toast. Then we were all expected to drink. People who did not drink the entire contents of their glass were mocked and cajoled until they had done so. And then the process would begin again.

Thankfully, I wasn't the only one who wasn't fond of beer and many of the teachers, including myself, would joke and plead off drinking anymore. The men were quite persistent, though. They would call the women mei nu (pretty girl) and, for me, the English word, "beauty" to convince us to share one more drink with them. It actually turned into a bit of a competition between Mr. Gao and Mr. Zhong to see who could get the women to drink more. Mr. Gao employed a clever technique in which he toasted us each individually so that we had to drink up (as it would be incredibly impolite to refuse a direct toast from your superior!).

At the end of the night, when the dinner was winding down and people were beginning to disperse, Mr. Gao attempted to reel me in for one more round of drinking with him. "Three glasses," he told me, a huge grin on his face. "Three more glasses of beer and then we'll be finished." At this point I had already had four (?) glasses and certainly did not need another. I smiled right back and politely declined. Loren was sitting right next to him so I told him that he and Loren could compete with each other instead. Mr. Gao immediately shook his head, wide-eyed, "No, no! It's not competition, it's friendship!"

And there it was. The staunch Chinese belief that alcohol is the lubricant of relationships. 

It's one thing to read about a social custom in a guidebook or in the ramblings of an expat's blog. Or to wax poetic about cultural differences or the wonder of culture shock. But when you find yourself actually confronted with one of those moments, it always gives you pause. Here it is, you think. Here is one thing that makes this place special. That makes it different. That makes it not home. Here is one thing that makes me stop and consider their culture and my culture and evaluate just what it is that keeps our American relationships "well-oiled".  

I love having moments like these. As I mentioned months ago in one of my Ecua-blogs, often during the course of living abroad you find yourself falling into the humdrum, day-to-day rut that we all find ourselves in. You forget, Hey, I'm in China!, and you no longer stop to appreciate the fact that you are thousands of miles from home in a country and culture completely apart from your own, and there is just so much to learn and experience, and none of it should be taken for granted. 

I've decided that's going to be one of my goals this year. To constantly be mindful of those Hey! I'm in China! moments. I have a little over ten months in this beautiful country and, as Ecuador showed me, ten months is not nearly as long as we've been led to believe. 

So I'd like to end this entry with a toast. (It seems only right.) A toast to all of us, whether abroad or at home. A toast to being appreciative of where we are and who we are and where we are going and what we are learning to become. Here's to Hey! I'm ____! moments.

Cheers!

My Xiamen address

I've had several requests over the past few weeks for my address here in Xiamen and I finally have it to share. My apologies for the delay, but I wanted to verify that it was correct and that I was using the correct format. (Actually, I'm still not 100% sure this is the correct format but apparently most Chinese people aren't either and their mail seems to get sent off just fine.) All of the important information is included, though, so if you do decide to send something it should make its way to me eventually!

Amanda McCarther

Xiamen Yingcai School

No. 63 3rd North Road, Xiamen

361022 Fujian

China

Mid-autumn festival and exploring Xiamen

This past Monday was the mid-autumn festival here in China.

I know what you're all thinking.

MID-autumn?! It's not even the beginning of autumn yet.

Remember, though, China works on the lunar calendar, not the solar, and on the 15th day of the eighth month of every year, the Chinese (and Koreans and Japanese and Vietnamese) celebrate this holiday.

I can't really comment on the festival's origins or traditions since I didn't really partake in any. But I'll include a link here so that you can read up on it if you're interested.

The two things that I did do was eat moon-cakes and play bobing, also know as "moon-cake gambling." The interesting thing is that we teachers actually played bobing at the school on the last day of class before the holiday. Apparently, gambling on school property is not frowned upon. And what's more, the school actually gave out cash prizes to the winners! I wound up with 40RMB, Maffi won 30RMB, and Loren was the big winner with 100RMB. We were also all given a cash "bonus" for the holiday as well.

I purchased the mooncakes at one of the local grocery stores. Mooncakes come in all shapes, sizes, and flavors so I chose chocolate, sweet potato, and jasmine tea. Traditionally, mooncakes have egg yolk in the middle to symbolize the moon. In the pictures below (of my chocolate mooncake) you can see the little bit of yellow peeking out.

We foreign teachers decided a better way to celebrate our three day holiday from school would be to explore the south of the island.

Now, Xiamen is an island, but there are also parts of Xiamen located on the mainland and that's where I live. All of the touristy spots, however, are on the island and Maffi and Loren assured me that the south of the island was the place to be.

So on Sunday morning we hopped on bus 946 and took a quick 30 minute ride south. It was a gorgeous, sweltering, 90 degree day. Perfect for sightseeing--and regular bouts of heat exhaustion. 

We began our excursion at "Little Taiwan" where we perused the seemingly endless alleyway of wall to wall food and fruit stalls. The majority of the vendors catered to seafood lovers and I saw everything from lobsters to octopus tentacles to whole fried squids. There was also more traditional fare like dumplings and ice cream. I was completely overwhelmed with the array of sights and smells that seemed to float from every direction. I was definitely ready for a snack after our little bus ride but every time I was sure that I had seen the most delicious thing to eat and was ready to buy, my eye caught something else. The end result being that I made it down the entire alleyway without making a single purchase.

Yes. Those are octopus tentacles. On a stick.

I think I could get a week of meals out of one of those bad boys.

We left Little Taiwan for Zhong Shan Lu which is the "walking street" of Xiamen (appropriately called that because it's a pedestrians-only street). There we found an eclectic blend of restaurants, cafes, clothing stores, jewelry stores, food marts and, of course, WalMart. The brands ranged from  obscure, foreign companies I'd never heard of to things like Nike and Sephora. Along the way there were also a few stages set up for televised events to advertise different products.

Occasionally, we would come across an employee standing at the entrance to a store loudly clapping their hands at the passersby. In answer to my questioning look, Loren explained that the "clappers" were used to attract people's attentions and draw customers into the store. Ever the actor, I had to restrain myself from bowing or curtsying as we walked by our clearly adoring audiences.

Along "walking street," Loren found a small food stall that he had visited before which made exquisite spring rolls for 3.5RMB (about 57 cents). With our hunger satisfied we opted for another short bus ride that would take us closer to the beach.

Before rushing off to the sand and waves, we visited the Nanputuo temple, a gorgeous religious complex full of shrines, statues and exquisitely designed buildings. I know I've been in China for almost two weeks but aside from the language barrier and the people it hadn't really hit me that I was in China until I saw the entryway to the temple. 

Here at last was the China that we see in the movies and drool over in the guidebooks. Here was the quintessential image of the East that's been firmly stamped in our minds since we were kids. Finally, finally, I had made it to that fantasized version of China. 

The grounds of the temple are extensive and due to the heat we only explored a small portion of it. Still, what we did see was breathtaking. Unlike some temples, this one allowed photography and I wandered around snapping shots of the architecture and of the devout paying obeisance to the array of gods perched behind glass panes or sequestered away in candlelit alcoves. 

We did wander a little ways up the mountainside and came across a small shrine tucked away in a small cave. Here people (or perhaps the monks?) had left statues that apparently had continued to grow into a collection over the years. 

(apologies for the poor quality--it was really dark in there!)

The main building of the temple actually involves a hike up the mountainside so, with a promise to return in the cooler month of November, we contented ourselves with the ground level buildings and then went off in search of lunch. 

One of the biggest problems I've faced so far in China is the simple fact that I can't read anything! So something as simple as finding a place to eat can be quite difficult. Especially if the entire menu is in Chinese and has no pictures. So the two things we usually look for when scoping out a restaurant is 1) whether they have menus with pictures and 2) whether or not the restaurant is full. A busy restaurant is typically a good restaurant and a safe bet for a meal.

After wandering up and down a few streets we came across a small place that seemed to match our criteria so we sat down and hoped for the best. We were pleasantly surprised. For less than $2.50, I wound up with a heaping plate of exceptional beef and noodles!

The last leg of our trip was a brisk walk from the restaurant to the seaside. Check that. It was 90 degrees so it was more like a slow, perspiring shuffle. Regardless, we made it in about ten minutes and gratefully plopped down in the sand under the shade of the overpass. 

Since I've been spoiled by Australian beaches, I've got pretty high standards for them. This one ranked somewhere in the middle. It was mostly clean and the sand was soft and smooth. The water temperature was warm enough that I didn't let out my customary squeal, but not so warm that it wasn't refreshing. However, the water was pretty muddy and I could feel a fair amount of sediment and other "sea bits" rummaging between my toes as I waded around. Loren assured me that the "good" beaches were further along the coast so more exploration is in order. But until then, I can certainly content myself with this one. The ocean is the ocean and it still mesmerizes me wherever I am.

Per Chinese culture there were very few people actually in the water or out in the sun. Here the ocean is just something to look at or briefly stroll next to. Sunbathing is very uncommon since the Chinese prefer to keep their skin light. I had expected people to show up with swim gear and sunscreen and instead I found myself smiling at the primly dressed women in their frilly sundresses trying to make their way across the sand in high heels. (Yes. High heels! They wouldn't even take them off at the beach. Did I mention that Chinese people are obsessed with height? Here tall is beautiful and it is rare to see a woman walking around without a heel, wedge or platform of some kind on her feet, regardless of what she's doing. They'll even go hiking in them!!)

Our day concluded back on "walking street" where I found some delicious fruit sorbet to top off the afternoon. All in all, it was a relaxing and informative excursion and seeing as south Xiamen is only 30 minutes away, there will be countless more trips there throughout the year.

If you'd like to see all of the pictures from my trip, just click here!

First week of classes

The first week of classes ended this past Saturday and now that I have three days off to relax and process everything I can finally fill you in on what teaching's been like so far.

The school day here begins at 8:00am sharp and ends at 4:20pm. Each class is 40 minutes long with a ten minute break in between. Because the students here don't have lockers and wouldn't be able to haul their fifteen pounds of textbooks with them, they stay in one classroom the entire day and the teachers are the ones who rotate. Lunch is from 12:00 to 2:00 and during that time both the teachers and students head back to the dorms for naps. (Who knew siestas were a thing in China?)

My schedule is different each day so I teach anywhere from three to five classes depending. Fridays are our "flex day" so we administer mock IELTS exams to the Senior 3s in the morning and have the rest of the day off. In my opinion, a 4 1/2 day work week is the best kind of work week. ;)

As for the students, the first thing I'd like to say is that some of the English names these kids pick are just straight up bizarre. I have one girl named Kaiser and another girl named Roy. One student goes by the name Funny, another is called Joden, and one of Loren's students is named Animal! I mean, what? How on earth am I supposed to keep a straight face when I ask Funny to stand up and answer a homework question? These kids....

I can honestly say, however, that I'm quite fond of the majority of them. They are attentive (mostly because they're curious about the unhinged foreigner wildly gesticulating at the front of the room) and polite and seem to have at least some interest in learning English. I obviously have a few classes that I prefer more than others, but there is only one class that literally makes me want to leap headfirst through the nearest window.

One of my Senior 3 classes consists of eight boys. They are the less advanced Senior 3s and, for all intents and purposes, are the "remedial" class for their grade level. As such, most of them firmly believe that the only reason to come to class is to simply change sleeping positions from their bed to their desk. I have the misfortune of having two back-to-back 40 minute blocks with them on Tuesday mornings and I spend 78 of those 80 minutes slapping their desks to keep them conscious. Sleeping in class is actually a problem in quite a few of the classes here and it is common for the head teachers to walk around the halls during class to rap on windows and wake up students. This is a rather ineffective method, however, since as soon as the teachers move on the heads fall right back on the desks.

I've since come to the realization that there is simply no point in letting "my boys" shoot my blood pressure into the stratosphere. Yes, they sleep in my class and don't want to participate, but it happens with everyone who teaches them and no one else seems to be concerned. So I keep on lecturing and address the two or three students who are attentive and want to learn something and leave the rest of them be. I just find it funny that all of the boys in this class have told me that they are planning to go to university in the US or Australia and yet they see no point in improving their English. Oh, what a rude awakening awaits them...

Thankfully, I have great fellow teachers who I can vent to about any and all frustrations. Both the other foreign teachers and the Chinese teachers are super friendly and helpful and are definitely one of the best perks of this job. To the best of my knowledge, the newest foreign teacher has been hired and should be joining us the week of the 15th. He's from the Philippines, like Maffi, but is a fluent speaker and comes with eight years of teaching experience. I expect that he'll fit right in to our merry little group.

Xiamen Yingcai School

Now that I'm only a weekend away from beginning classes and have a better sense of what I'll be teaching this year, I thought I'd do a quick expo-blog on my new school.

This year I'll be teaching at Xiamen Yingcai School's International Education Center. Xiamen Yingcai is a private K-12 boarding school with around 3000 students and 600 faculty and staff. The International Education Center is specifically devoted to preparing Xiamen Yingcai high school students for future study at universities in the States (or other English speaking countries).

Outside of the International Education Center

As of right now, I will be teaching Senior 3 Advanced Writing and Senior 1 Speaking. Class sizes are about 20 students per class which I'm pretty happy with. Anything bigger and it can be harder to keep tabs on everyone and anything smaller and it limits the amount of activities and exercises you can do.

The staff at the Center is made up of both native and non-native English teachers. I haven't officially been introduced to everyone yet, but the Chinese teachers I have met so far all seem incredibly friendly and helpful. We all share a huge office partitioned off into mini cubicles so I'm sure we'll all get to know each other quite well this year.

At the moment, the foreign teachers consist of myself, Loren (USA), and Maffi (Philippines). There was supposed to be another American girl joining us but she had to drop out at the last minute. They're holding interviews now to fill the position so there should be a fourth member joining our little party shortly.

The campus itself is huge (over 41 acres!) and has computer labs, a library, art center, gym, outdoor Olympic--sized swimming pool, a huge music department, etc., etc. It's easily larger than the small university I attended for undergrad. It's also relatively close to the downtown area of my neighborhood so most of what I need is within walking distance.

Below are a few pictures (as promised) of the school and the supermarket:

View of the basketball courts and some of the buildings on campus

Construction in front of Sun Square (the front of the school)

Kindergarten building

ji

Sidewalk outside of the school--on the way to the supermarket

Our two level supermarket with escalators!

Xia-wha?!

Since this is my first post about China, I feel like I need to preface it by saying that these are my first, fresh-off-the-boat impressions of Xiamen. They are largely impressions and not facts and will undoubtedly change over the course of my time here.

I like to do these "first impressions" entries because in ten or twelve months its always amazing to look back to where I started and where I ended up. Living abroad changes you in so many ways and sometimes, unless we document those changes, we miss them altogether.

So. Xiamen...

The very first thing that popped into my head as myself, Sunny (a fellow English teacher), and our polite but tight-lipped driver made our way from the airport was that Xiamen reminded me an awful lot of LA. The heat, the sunshine, the palm trees, the beaches, the ever-present sheen of smog on the horizon. I had to continually check the Mandarin-emblazoned billboards on the side of the highway to be sure I was in fact in China and not southern California.

Xiamen does, however, seem to have a lot more construction going on than LA. Everywhere you look there are towering, half-finished skyscrapers, high-rise condos with cranes resting lazily atop, and construction sites walled off with colorful illustrations of what's to come. At first glance, it would seem that Xiamen is a city on the rise. And perhaps it is. But from what I've heard a lot of the construction is subsidized by the government and a lot of these new condos and apartments that are being built can only be afforded by a small minority.

Of all that I've experienced so far, the biggest adjustment for me has been the weather. It is just SO. HOT. Like step-outside-and-simply-breathe-and-you'll-be-drenched-in-sweat hot. Between the blazing sunshine, the humidity, and lack of air conditioning in most places, I feel like I'm trapped in a ginormous sauna from about 8am until 6pm when the temperatures finally start to drop. I'm sure between the heat and the multiple climbs to the sixth floor of my dorm building (yes, there is no elevator), it's doing wonders for my figure. But I really can't wait for mid-September when the summer is over and the temperatures are closer to the 70s than the 90s.

The other huge adjustment, coming in at a very close second, is the language barrier. This is my first time in a foreign country where I literally cannot communicate at all. I spent brief weekends in France and Belgium, but they were weekends and I was always with a tour group. I'm in China for a year and it's clear that I'm going to need at least a functional level of Mandarin to do the basic things: grocery shopping, navigating around the city, exchanging pleasantries with my non-English speaking co-workers, etc. Right now I'm relying heavily on Loren, one of the other foreign teachers, to be my translator and tutor of sorts. He's been fantastic about teaching me a lot about the language and culture. I'm hoping that between him, David, and whatever self-studying I do, I should be able to handle myself within the next few months. Or here's hoping anyway!

Another thing that's really stood out to me is the amount of attention I receive as a foreigner here. I don't think I've ever been stared at so much in my life. And it's not like the sly, out of the corner of your eye staring. It's like the "let me gawk at you as we walk towards each other on the sidewalk and then stop and turn around and continue to stare at you as you pass me by". I mean, I guess it's flattering? Or unnerving. Regardless, it's going to take some time to adjust to.

I'm really happy with the food so far. I'm still dying to get my hands on a giant bowl of noodles, but the meals in the cafeteria have been more than sufficient. And they're free, so who's complaining? There's always rice (of course) and the meats and veggies (half of which I have no idea what they are) are always amazingly seasoned and relatively easy to eat with chopsticks. I don't know that I'm going to miss American food that much while I'm here, but it is strange to know that it isn't readily available if and when I want it. There is a massive store near downtown Xiamen called Metro that specializes in imported items, like peanut butter and cheese (which apparently you can't find anywhere). So I guess I can always soothe my cravings there if it gets to be too much.

A typical lunch in the school's cafeteria

The rest of my experiences so far are little things and more of an "oh, well this is different" and not an "oh man, how am I gonna live like this?!" Things like my weird bathroom, encountering squat toilets for the first time (that was an experience), discovering that small children do not wear diapers and simply wear crotch-less pants so that they can pee anywhere (and I do mean anywhere), realizing that it will be a long time before I see forks and knives again, and so on and so forth.

These little "encounters" will be the basis of some fantastic stories I'm sure, so that'll be something to look out for in future blog posts. :)

****************************************************************************

I've had a ton of requests for pictures and I promise I'm on it. If you're on FB you'll see that I've posted a few pics already. I'll do my best to have an album to post on here shortly.

Also, for those of you who are new to this blog, there's a place on the top right hand side of this page where you can enter your email address and be notified each time I put up a new entry. That way you won't need to bother with checking back here or my FB page for updates.

Pics and more info about the school coming soon!

My newest "home away from home"

Okay so I'm trying to make the most of the brief amount of downtime I have before classes and chaos begin to get in a few entries about what's going down here. I've had lots of requests for pics so I will try to get a few posted before the week is out along with my "first impressions" entry and more info about the school and what exactly I'll be doing this year.

To tide you over until then, however, here is a quick video of my "suite" here at the school. I'm currently living alone but the other bedroom will more than likely be filled within the next few weeks with another foreign teacher.

Enjoy and comment below!

Continent #5!!

So.

I'm starting off this latest blog entry with mixed emotions.

I am beyond excited to brush off this dusty blog and start typing again. I mean, hello! I'm going to CHINA!!!

Yet instead of breaking out into my happy travel dance, I have to admit--I'm mildly terrified.

After the "Honduras incident" it seems my eagerness to hit the road has significantly decreased and my anxiety about living abroad again has significantly increased. Regardless of my fantastic experiences living in the UK, Australia, and Ecuador, my time in Honduras really shook my confidence in hopping on a plane and jetting off alone to yet another international destination.

What if disaster is once again waiting on the other end with open arms? What if in two weeks time I am running for the airport, desperate to escape? What if I just can't handle it???

Thankfully, I have wise siblings who interject my frantic stream of consciousness with profound statements like: "Amanda, worrying doesn't solve anything."

Which makes me stop and realize a few things.

First: Worrying doesn't solve anything!!! (Simple enough concept, but definitely worth repeating--especially for us tightly wound, Type-A people)

Second: Even though things in Honduras went sideways it showed me all the things to do and NOT do when preparing for a teaching position abroad. This time around I've quizzed my supervisor on the curriculum, the classes, and the living situation. I received and reviewed my contract before leaving the country. And I've even been in contact with a foreign teacher who currently works there who has been brilliant about giving me all of the insider info I need about the school and life in Xiamen in general.

Third: The buddy system is important. When you're all alone in a foreign country and things start to get hairy, even the slightest issue can rapidly turn monumental. I think one of the reasons why Honduras was such a challenge was because I was literally down there without anyone. According to what I gathered from the locals, I'm pretty sure I was the only gringa residing in El Paraiso. While this might sound like a grand and daring adventure, in reality it's exhausting and lonely and it really sucks when the cockroaches outnumber you ten to one and you can't call in backup. My point: everybody needs somebody. Even more so when you're hundreds of miles from home. So, I'm happy to say that my brother, David, will also be living in Xiamen this year studying Mandarin at Xiamen University. While we aren't exactly neighbors, knowing that he'll only be a taxi ride away makes me entirely more comfortable with the situation. (And I'll have a travel buddy during school breaks so no more solo bus trips where I may or may not end up getting stranded in the middle of China.)

But yes, all of that to say I'm off to CHINA!! And I'm so excited to share yet another adventure with all of you!

My suitcases are (mostly) packed. I've figured out how to say (butcher?) "Hello," "How are you," and "My name is Amanda" in Mandarin. My passport has a fresh new visa in it. Come what may, I've been given a fantastic opportunity to experience Eastern culture firsthand and mark yet another continent off my list.

So, bloggies, here we go again!

Things don't always...

...go the way we planned.

For some people, this just makes life more exciting. For others, it makes life a nightmare spinning wildly out of their control. 

I think I find myself falling somewhere in the middle of that extensive spectrum. 

I'm a professed type-A personality who isn't centered without my stack of yellow Post-it notes. Lists bring me comfort and checking them off, even more so. I like to know what's going to happen tomorrow, next week, next year and neatly plot it out in my planner. 

But at the same time, I like the idea of change and unpredictability and waking up tomorrow to a day that you weren't at all expecting. It keeps you from becoming complacent and disengaged with the world around you, and with yourself.

So, as you may have guessed, Honduras didn't turn out as planned. I found myself at a school where textbooks mattered more than teachers. Mindless worksheets mattered more than imparting knowledge. Empty points mattered more than assessing a student's abilities. Basically a for-profit school that cared far more about the money that was coming in than creating a conducive learning environment for teachers and students. Where teachers were "dispensable commodities" easily acquired and just as easily fired.

After working more than nine different jobs in three different countries, I know there's no such thing as the "perfect" workplace. Concessions must be made and, frankly, there are just things that you have to learn to put up with. But that is one thing. Being somewhere where your help is not wanted or needed, where is no room for input or suggestions, where the students go behind their teachers' backs to have them fired or reprimanded when things don't suit them, and where the principals back the parents instead of their teachers, that I can't do. If a teacher cannot have the support of both the students and teachers, she must have at least one of them. And if both are against her, then the struggle is hopeless from the beginning. 

It's sad and frustrating to leave a journey when it's just begun, but I don't at all consider it time wasted. I mean, I finally made it to Central America! I got to experience life in a beautiful, rural Honduran town for a couple weeks. I became acquainted with Honduran Spanish and learned my fair share of slang. I made great strides towards overcoming my fear of insects (lol). And I met some truly wonderful people who I know will always be here waiting with welcoming arms and open homes. 

So where will I be 3 months from now? 6? I can't say. The hope, of course, is to be back on the road sooner rather than later. Until then, I'll do my best to take advantage of my time at home and with time well-spent with friends and family.

Thank you, Honduras, for being yet another learning experience on this mad adventure called my twenties. 

I'll put another story in my pocket and turn the page in anticipation for the next one.

Welcome to Paradise

Honduras.

Where do I begin?

From the minute I set eyes on it (as I stretched unabashedly over my airplane seatmate and peered openmouthed out the window), I knew that this was not “just another Ecuador.”

Our flight was landing in the capital, Tegucigalpa, and so I had been expecting to see the tall buildings and towering mountainsides smeared with houses upon houses reminiscent of Quito.

Instead the two words that struck me when I saw what lay outside the plane were space and brown.

There were mountains, but they were gentle. Not the imposing behemoths that flanked Quito. And there were buildings, but far fewer and much shorter. It reminded me much more of a giant suburbia than the capital of a country. And while there was plenty greenery to be seen, there were also numerous flat, brown patches of farmland scattered all around the edges of the city. It seemed as though the line between country and city was much blurrier here than in Quito.

In my head I knew that I was headed to Central America. That Honduras was a smaller, less developed country. That I was not simply returning to Ibarra for another year. But somehow, in some undetected part of me, that’s precisely what I expected to greet me when I stepped off the plane.

Of course, my expectations were immediately and swiftly shattered.

The plane did not taxi into a sparkly new airport like in Quito. Instead, we were unceremoniously dumped onto the tarmac and then directed into a small building that more closely resembled the headquarters of a small business than an airport.

I was not questioned about my business in Honduras, but simply handed over my customs form, had my picture taken and was sent on my way.

There were no huge crowds of travelers either coming or going. In fact the only people in the customs line were the people from my flight. And from the look of things on the tarmac it seemed that the flow of planes in and out of the airport was quite leisurely.

It was, in fact, nothing like Ecuador.

I was still mentally processing my new surroundings when I was cheerily welcomed by the principal, a teacher from the Spanish department, a fellow Honduran English teacher, and the bus driver. Pulled from my “I-just-landed-in-country-daze,” I responded in kind with a warm welcome. As the Spanish words of greeting tumbled out of my mouth, their expressions of joy turned ecstatic.

“Puede hablar español!”

I didn’t want to set their expectations of my Spanish too high so I quickly interjected that I was still learning Spanish and far from fluent. However, I’m fairly certain that all that registered was, “Si, yo puedo hablar español…”  and nothing else. The teachers from the previous year apparently spoke only very little Spanish so my knowledge of Spanish came off as quite extensive and I was instantly thrust back into that maddening cycle of second language usage that consists of: listening, comprehending, translating, formulating a response, and translating yet again all at the breakneck speed of a normal conversation. Thankfully, the English teacher must have picked up on my sluggish, jet-lagged brain and stepped in to do most of the hard work for me.

Lunch was had at Pizza Hut (you can never fully escape) and then I more or less slept in the back of the van while the principal and teachers used their time in Tegucigalpa to run a few errands.

I slept right up until we were about 40 minutes outside of El Paraiso (Paradise). It was dark by this time but I did the best I could to observe my surroundings in the light from oncoming traffic. I just remember thinking, “it’s so dark.” And, “I’m literally in the middle of nowhere.” The darkness was so thick you could almost feel it weighing on you. I did start to get a little anxious as it became quite clear that we really were traveling into a world apart.

Just as I was wondering when I would see civilization again, Elena, the English teacher, pointed towards the windshield where clusters of orange streetlights gleamed against the blanket of night.

We had arrived.

The street and house lights of El Paraiso told far more about my surroundings than the flashing lights from cars, and now I could see dirt roads, people milling about the street, and packs of stray dogs huddled on the street corners. The buildings shamelessly showed the wear of their years and weeds and bushes clustered at their edges and in empty lots. Nothing seemed new or particularly clean.

We slowly bumped our way down several blocks, moving further away from the lights of “main street,” turned a sharp left, and found ourselves on the doorstep of what looked like a small, yellow condo. At this point, however, I was completely and utterly overwhelmed and barely coherent after 20+ hours of travel. All I wanted was a shower and bed and everything else could wait until the light of morning for further analysis.

Thankfully, my house was rather new and quite clean and within the hour I had passed out on my bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One week later…

Right now, there are two things in El Paraiso that have required me to make the largest adjustment: the lack of infrastructure and the insects.

Compared to El Paraiso, I was living like a princess in Ibarra. There were paved roads, and supermarkets, and parks with free WiFi. Here, none of the streets have names and none of the houses have numbers. The “supermarket” far more resembles a general store from the Wild West than my beloved Supermaxi. You will find no linoleum floors or fluorescent lights or shiny new products in gleaming aisles here. It is a rarity to see a new car and instead beaten pickups and rusted taxis crawl along the bumpy roads. The majority of the people walk (as do I) and I watch them as we pass each other on the road—a boy aimlessly kicking a plastic bottle along the gutter, a woman gracefully balancing a plastic basin on her head as she pulls along her little girl, a family going “in to town” to buy an ice cream.

When I was in Ibarra it was easy to forget that I was living in a third world country. There were enough conveniences and amenities that I felt there was little lacking to maintain the lifestyle I was accustomed to. Here, it is not. 

Each morning when I step out the door I am reminded again of the vast discrepancy between life here and life at home. And it’s the little things, like not being able to find a bath towel to purchase (I ended up having to get one from a shop that sells second-hand items brought from America), or waiting on the cement tub behind the house to fill with water so I can shower and wash the dishes that gives me pause. That makes me wonder about the seeming excess I’m used to. And it’s the larger things, like hearing my well-dressed, educated co-worker tell me in near perfect English how he has tried twice to illegally enter the U.S. because he knows he will never receive a visa, or how his neighbor lost both of his legs in his own attempt to cross the Mexican border, that jars me so hard my teeth hurt and I feel the gap between me and my home country widen ever so slightly.

And then--then there are the insects…

Everyone who knows me knows that my relationship with insects is a precarious one. I’ll willingly admit that I’m one of those people who makes decisions about where to travel solely based on what type and how many insects I may encounter.

I knew heading to the tropical climate of Honduras would test my courage and resolve, but I was secretly hoping I would somehow find a way to avoid the unpleasantness.

HA!

Each morning I wake to giant cockroaches lazing about my kitchen, bathroom and bedroom. My fly swatter rarely leaves my hand and when it does it’s usually within arm’s reach. (I’m drawing up plans at the moment for a fly swatter holster.) Nearly every ceiling corner is home to an arachnid and I've yet to identify the minuscule insects which seem to always be present in my kitchen cabinets. It seems every time I enter a room there’s already a “somebody” in there waiting to greet me.

I've been proactive, of course. I spent this first week cleaning the house from top to bottom (got rid of most of those pesky spiders—take that!) and Raid-ing nearly every square inch of the house. At night, I ensure there is not a crumb to be found so I have less overnight guests. And I silently give myself pep-talks and send up desperate prayers throughout the day for the strength to fight my enemies.

The hope is that my fear of bugs will lessen as I gradually adapt to my new surroundings and come to terms with the fact that I’ll never truly be alone at home.

Before I wrap up this entry though, I thought I’d leave you all with one funny anecdote from my war on creepy-crawlies this week.

My scariest (and most embarrassing) experience thus far (not counting the morning I found not one, but TWO giant roaches IN MY ROOM!) was when I realized my house was also home to a gecko. I had spotted it earlier in the day when it scurried behind the TV in the sitting room and was aghast when a pale translucent body about 5 inches long and a pair of beady black eyes peered back at me. I knew I wouldn’t be able to catch it (and had no desire to touch it anyway) so I fled the room and hoped that it would find its way out on its own.

Fast forward several hours. I was braiding my hair before bed and happened to get some hair oil on my jeans. Since they were new, I immediately took them off to scrub the spot in the sink and decided since there was no one else in the house I would just stay in my t-shirt and underwear until I went to shower. 

A little while later, I grabbed my towel and headed to the master bedroom to do just that. As I passed through the doorway and flicked on the light, I noticed a quick movement on the wall to the left of me. There in plain sight was the gecko!

I stood frozen in the doorway for a moment--locked in its cold, reptilian gaze--and then instinct kicked in and my first reaction was to run get the can of Raid. I had no intention of spraying it, but I thought if I made some noise it might get him to relocate to another room (or better yet, back outside). So there I stood, in my underwear, tapping frantically on the wall with a can of Raid, with a look of pure terror on my face when I realized—I had left the curtains open! Thanks to the narrow streets and the houses built right on top of each other, any neighbor with a good pair of eyes could see right into the bedroom where the crazy, pantless gringa was mumbling words of courage to herself and beating some strange metal object against the wall. 

Needless to say, I immediately hit the light switch and ducked around the wall into the darkened sitting room. (sigh) Well, at least I’ll be keeping the gossip mill briskly turning for the next week or so…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’ve had quite a few requests for pictures but unfortunately I don’t have any yet to share with you guys. I’m trying to think of the least awkward way to go around El Paraiso taking pictures—hopefully I’ll have some soon. However, I will be posting a video of my newest home away from home so do keep an eye out for that. And I’ll also be posting more information about Eagle’s Crib and what myself and the other teachers have been up to this past week. 

As always, feel free to leave comments below!

Just a little bit of pluck

It's that time again, bloggies!

Time to hop on a plane and head to yet another undiscovered corner of the world.

I must say, no matter how many times I do this, I'm always greeted by that familiar mix of fear and excitement as I zip closed that last suitcase and head to the airport.

I keep thinking that at some point that twinge of homesickness will fade. Or that heading off into the unknown will somehow lose its intoxicating pull. And time and again I'm proven wrong.

I hope that never changes.

I always want to love my family and home deeply enough that I'm sad to leave them. And I always want the hope for what's on the horizon to keep pulling me forward.

Now, I may be watching too much Downton Abbey or reading entirely too much historical fiction, but every now then as I step foot into the airport, I imagine myself to be some plucky 19th century heroine. (You know the ones I mean--we all spent countless hours reading about them in our high school English classes...or in SparkNotes.)

I imagine us on our parallel journeys, separated only by the years. There she stands in her traveling best, anxiously awaiting her future. There I stand hoping I got my flight times right. She, with her worn leather suitcase in hand; me, with my bright turquoise backpack and guitar. She goes off to board her carriage or steamship or train and I slip into my economy class plane seat and pray for sleep. And then we are both whisked away to a world we've never known, where we will encounter curious people and adopt new customs and feel entirely overwhelmed with the strangeness of it all, and sometimes wish that we had just stayed at home. But somehow, in the end, we will find that we've formed an unexpected bond with our new home away from home and will return (or not) a person at once the same and different.

Sometimes, I imagine that.

Strangely enough, my overactive imagination helps to quiet some of those needling fears that tell me I'm crazy for heading off alone to the sixth poorest country in Latin America. One that, according to the UN Office on Drugs and Crime, has the highest homicide rate in the world. Thinking of all of the uncertainties that young women, both real and fictional, have faced as they've set out to fulfill their own calling, gives me a sense of peace as I set out to follow my own.

There's so much I'm looking forward to this year--continuing to learn Spanish, exploring a brand new country, trying my hand at teaching something other than English. I know that, as with each time before, my experience this year will not consist of the things I have planned for, but all of those things that I will have neither expected nor anticipated. Those are the stories and memories I'll bring home with me (and which will make up the content of my blog entries).

And so, faithful bloggies, we're off once again.

¡Vamos!

Wait! I'm not ready!

This always happens.

You move to a new country for a year and think you've got all the time in the world to do everything it is that you want to do. So the year passes and you travel and eat strange things and meet new people and think that you are going to do everything it is that you want to.

And maybe you do.

But somehow, when you get to those last 48 or 24 hours in-country and you're literally hours away from boarding a plane, you stop and think: "Wait! I'm not ready!" Somehow there just wasn't enough to time to take that one trip to that one place that you always wanted to visit but kept putting it off because you had "so much time." Or you weren't able to visit that one cafe with the really good dish that you just had to eat one last time because you know you'll never find that food in your hometown. Or you didn't get the chance to take that one last walk around your neighborhood and etch every detail onto your brain in indelible ink.

When it comes down to it, you're never completely ready to say good-bye.

This year in Ecuador can't be summed up in a blog post so I'm not even going to attempt it. I've had the opportunity to see and experience so many amazing things this year and this list only just begins to touch on them:

I've climbed one volcano and biked down another.
I've eaten guinea pig and cow tongue and cow belly (Not stomach. Belly.).
I've visited the middle of the world.
I've canyoned down a waterfall.
I've experienced my first earthquake.
I've been stranded at a gas station in the middle of Ecuador and lived to tell the tale.
I've become (fairly) conversational in Spanish.
I've fallen in love with my students.
And my host family.
And Ecuador.

Hopefully, the culmination of all of my posts and videos and pictures over this year have painted a fairly complete picture of how this year has affected me. But even I know that I won't fully realize exactly what this year has meant to me until weeks, months, or even years later.

I don't know when I'll be back. I don't know if I'll see my students again. I may never know if Ana really did become a doctor or if Miguel and Bryan became soldiers. I don't know when I'll see my host family again or if the Ibarra I left will be the same one I someday return to.

But I do know that Ecuador has left it's mark on me. In little ways--like my newfound love of fritada. And in much larger ways--like teaching me what it means to live like a Latina.

Ecuador, te amo. 

Voy a extrañarte mucho. 

Hasta la próxima vez!

A Quito Thanksgiving

This year is only the second time in my life that I've missed out on Thanksgiving in the states. In spite of my travels, somehow I've almost always managed to make it back home for this holiday.

When I applied to the WorldTeach program I knew that based on the length of my stay in Ecuador (and my small stipend amount) that I wouldn't be able to swing a trip home for Thanksgiving. It didn't seem like a huge inconvenience at the time because, honestly, who's thinking about turkey in the middle of February?

But as the months passed, and November grew closer, and my friends and family at home began chatting about Thanksgiving plans, and my Facebook news feed started to blow up with all things Thanksgiving, I began to feel that little twinge of homesickness. After all, what was I going to be doing for Thanksgiving? Turkeys are insanely expensive here (no, turkeys are not native to Ecuador, who knew?), I didn't know any gringos in Ibarra who might just happen to be whipping up a Thanksgiving meal, and I was skeptical about the possibility of streaming the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade live from NY to Ecuador. 

Well, lucky for me, as part of the WorldTeach program, we are required to have an End of Service conference to wrap up our experience in Ecuador and prepare us for whatever may come after. And, luckier for me, that conference happened to land right on the fourth Thursday of November. Suddenly, I had not only one, but nine other gringos to celebrate with. And most of us could cook!

It didn't take long for all of us to realize what this meant. We were going to attempt our very own Thanksgiving meal right in the heart of Ecuador! The owners of the hostel we were camped out at were kind enough to give us free reign over the kitchen and with a little ingenuity, some hastily printed recipes, and a few crazy hours in the kitchen, we ended up with a beautiful Thanksgiving dinner. 

One of the host moms in Quito cooked us a lovely turkey and delicious homemade gravy, and between the nine of us volunteers we ended up with a complete spread of: mac and cheese, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, soup, salad, Carolina ale, rice pudding, apple crisp, and ice cream. And since we made enough to feed a small Ecuadorian army, we even had the traditional Thanksgiving leftovers (complete with turkey sandwiches) which were thoroughly demolished the following day.

I just want to say a huge thank you to our director, CJ, and to my wonderful group of fellow volunteers who made this Thanksgiving one of the most memorable I've ever had. As always I have so much to be grateful for and this year you are all at the very top of my list!

I hope that everyone back home in the states had a beautiful Thanksgiving as well and I look forward to sharing an equally beautiful Christmas with you! 

(Only two more weeks until I'm back stateside!)

"...las almas de los fieles difuntos..."

"Que las almas de los fieles difuntos por la misericordia de Dios descansen en paz."
(May the souls of the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace.)

Today is Dia de los Difuntos.

Today we remember the dead.

Most of what I know about this holiday comes from what I learned in my high school Spanish class. All I remember was pictures of brightly painted skulls being paraded through crowded streets and somehow coming away with the impression that this holiday was basically the Latin American version of Halloween.

Today, I realized it most certainly isn't.

After lunch, my host sister encouraged me to take a walk in the cemetery near our house. She wanted me to witness for myself the customs associated with this day. I had already sampled my host mom's colada morada and guagua de pan, the traditional food and drink eaten on Dia de los Difuntos, so I was interested to see what actually happens.

I thought it might rain so I took my umbrella. I knew the minute I stepped out onto the sidewalk that something special was happening today. Normally Ibarra is quiet on the weekends. People are home with their families are out at the lake. But today, everywhere I turned there was a cluster of people slowly making their way to or from the cemetery.

As I made the turn onto the street that the cemetery is located on, the trickle of people turned into a flood. Suddenly there was no room. Every available space on the sidewalk was crammed with shifting bodies or eager vendors. I ditched the sidewalk for the side of the road, willing myself not to flinch as the buses and taxis passed less than an arm's length away from me. But at least I could breathe. And walk at a normal pace.

The entrance to the cemetery was flanked on either side by even more vendors. I paused for a moment to examine their wares. Garish purple, black and silver wreaths made from tinsel and gift bows framed the stalls. Fake flowers in every shade of neon glared from tiny glass vases. Small prayer cards stamped with images of Jesus and the saints and trimmed with lace tumbled out of plastic containers. Every now and again, I would catch sight of someone selling fresh flowers and their soothing, organic colors brought a small sense of tranquility to the chaos.

Then the crowd surged behind me and I found myself inside of el Cementerio San Miguel de Ibarra.

I'd never visited an Ecuadorian cemetery before. I'd walked past this cemetery many times but never had any reason to enter. The first thing I noticed was that the stone wall to my left was actually full of coffins. Instead of rows of headstones laid out on grassy knolls, the interred had been placed in holes in the wall. The opening to those slots which had been "filled" had a panel of glass placed over them to seal them off and stated the name and year of birth and death of the person.

I watched as the family members of the deceased carefully placed the oh-so-recently purchased wreaths and flowers on the ledges in front of the glass. Others stood quietly looking on. Possibly saying a prayer or meticulously coaxing old memories from their forgotten corners.

But those moments, those moments of quiet reflection and prayerful mediation, were actually few to be had. As I wandered further into the maze of crypts and crosses and shrubbery, the spirit of the cemetery took on a livelier air. Children recklessly chased each other around headstones (I found headstones--some of the deceased were buried in the ground). A few of the wilier vendors had slipped inside and were loudly advertising their cold beverages. Adolescents lounged carelessly against the stone crosses while they chatted with their friends. It seemed I had found myself in the middle of a neighborhood block party, not a cemetery supposed to be full of thoughtful remembrances.

But my surprise and slight annoyance at the lack of decorum quickly gave way to an overwhelming sense of joy. Yes, today is meant to remember loved ones lost, but it's also a day to celebrate loved ones living. There in that cemetery couples young and old were walking arm in arm, neighbors were catching up on news, grandparents gently rocked their grandchildren on stone benches in the shade of the trees. Life in all of its beautiful stages was here, too.

I kept walking.

I found myself in front of a large family crypt. It was made of intricately carved stone and the inside was lined with polished tiles. On the ledges, vases brimmed with freshly picked flowers. I had passed many of these crypts as I strolled through the grounds. Each was meticulously kept up. Some were even built with glass walls or had small chandeliers hanging inside.

But the door to this crypt was open and on the stairs leading down into the crypt sat an old woman. Her skin was little more than crumpled tissue paper and her small form had been slowly pressed into a gentle curve over the years. On her lap rested an open Bible. There she sat, lips slowly tracing each vowel and consonant, as she read aloud to her husband? Her son? Her sister?

My fingers ached to take a picture. I wanted to somehow capture that second's breath between life and death. For there she sat, literally and figuratively, on death's doorstep, remembering those gone before and, perhaps, considering her own mortality. I wanted to capture her serenity. For even though she sat so close to eternity, I could feel her sense of peace radiating through the tiny doorway.

She stayed with me as I meandered to the exit and slowly extricated myself from the crushing throng. I thought of her as the crowds thinned and the streets grew quiet. Her small form sat quietly hunched in my mind's eye as I found myself back on my very own doorstep.

There she sat. Her lips slowly tracing each vowel and consonant with each breath in. And out.

Today is Dia de los Difuntos.

Today we remember the living.

Halloween @ CECAMI

Yesterday was October 31st.

In Ecuador, it's just another day. The end of yet another month.

In America, well, we all know what goes down.

Personally, I don't really celebrate Halloween and have never understood the hype. BUT, the director of our school explained that since Halloween is a hugely popular American tradition and since part of our role at CECAMI is to share our culture, she wanted Ashley and I to host Halloween parties in our classes.

I had no idea what sort of reaction to expect from my students. Halloween is not a thing in Ecuador by any means and I just kept imagining the whole thing going south quickly.

To "encourage" my students to participate and come to class in costumes, I promised 5 extra points on their final exam.

It's truly wondrous what bonus points can do to a person. At 8am on Monday morning, I was greeted by the following sight:

I was completely taken aback by the lengths my student went to for an 1 1/2 hour Halloween party at their supplemental English class. I honestly think some of my students spent more time on their makeup than the actual length of the party!

If you would like to see pictures of myself and Ashley in our costumes along with pictures from our Halloween scavenger hunt and the afternoon class' costumes, just click here!