cool marble

Under my feet right now. The night is not as humid as I thought it would, a pleasant surprise.

I can't believe what sort of time crunch just happened. I have been robbed of a day but I'm not too worried about that now on account of being in Nepal.

Whoa.

Let that sink in for a moment.

For the 13 hour leg of the journey, (Vancouver to Guangzhou) I sat beside a guy who was part of an adventures training program. He was knitting a headband for most of the ride. I slept, listened to music, listened to loud Chinese conversations around me. Double dose of airplane food, crossed a date line and then we landed. I'd say this layover counts as China because we actually had to cross the tarmac...thus I touched Chinese ground with my feet, breathed in muggy, lush green air. The picture is our geographic location on the airport runway, Guangzhou.

Random things: they had only hot water to refill bottles with in the Guangzhou airport...this was hilarious. It was also 13 hours and a day later in my head sooooo probably not as funny as it was. There was also a blenz coffee place. Most unexpected thing ever. I now have a red stamp from China in my passport. HOLLA.

There were lightning storms on our second leg of the journey to Katmandu, a mere 5 hour blip, most of which I stayed passed out for. Lightning storms like last year landing in Nicaragua.Flickers and bursts of light over the hum of airplane engines.  I was conscious enough to catch the end of a sunrise over the continent, and the millions of stars in the sky, constellations of a different sort than home. It was beautiful.

The roads were familiarly bumpy, the street sounds, dogs, car horns, cross-the-street conversations., so far. I wonder how the light of day will change things.

I cannot promise when I will post next, but I am here and my veins are running with wonder.

keep going
-k

10:25 am

At least, on this side of the world it is still the morning.

I am looking at the watch on my wrist and it covers my tattoo wholly, which is interesting, because I'm not one who usually minds her wrist. But it is Chloe's watch, and she was there, so rightfully so she is hugging my wrist with me.

Let me just say that the international departures side of the Vancouver airport is one swanky place. Hello, casual river nd faux greenery. You have to walk through the "world duty free" area before getting to this gate, and that feels like some kind of perfumed, alcohol-bottle party with clean plastic bags and shiny white walls and this sparkly black floor. I don't want to say it but ... So much swag.

(^of course the spell check accepts swag as a legitimate word.)

Pre-read warning for the rest of this blog, I am doing this on an iPod touch so excuse the ns and ms and ts and as wherever they show up unexpectedly. Also lets realize together that is the a journey, so I know about as much as you do about this. ...okay that's inaccurate I probably know quite a bit more, but the feels and the things I don't know. If you know me, you'll get that. Apologies if you don't.

I always seem to have little kindnesses that appear on leaving day. Last year for Nicaragua it was that little girl saying LOOK AT THAT to my world-map suitcase. This time it was the slow moving check-in desk man who squeezed me an aisle seat for the 13 hour flight to Guangzhou. Rock on. If all goes as it goes, I'll have a window seat for the dizzy flight into Kathmandu. Dizzy because who knows what time it will be in the world. (That is also untrue, as it will be 10:15pm Kathmandu time when we land.) shhaa

These are very colourful boarding passes, which is quite lovely. My shoulders already miss the ache of my backpack.

Follow the DWC journey over at the DWC Nepal blog http://dwcvolunteersinnepal.blogspot.ca/?m=1 which will be a combination of people recounting the day's activities. Also check out DWC's website for more info on who they are.

And then most importantly you will want to google Creating Possibilities Nepal for a rundown on the group we will be working with and who will be guiding us, teaching us and giving us their time, expertise and conversation.

It is time to continue wandering through this. Here is to 13 hours on a plane, and then China! For a layover. Taking opinions: does that count as a country visited? Four hour layover....the jury's out on this one. (I'm looking at you, friends, for how I just said out. You know who you are.)

I think my tag to end these blogs will be keep going.

So let's do just that.

-k

this time

it will be four weeks in Nepal, building and learning and living. One week Kathmandu, three or so weeks in Lamahi, Dang district of Nepal, working with the social organization Creating Possibilities Nepal on classroom construction for girls bought out of bonded labour. I'll post more details, thoughts before we go.

Departure date is Friday May 3rd at noon.

I will be less of a lone wolf than last time, as my official title for this trip is that of Team Leader for a group of 6 other volunteers.

And so it is.

Buen viaje!

And so it goes.

The day was a very relaxed sort of day with the niños, probably because all the tension of trying so hard disappeared in light of the status of a Last Day. The other teachers were very kind and friendly and great, asking me when I'd return, if I would. Between them and Nicole, the kids knew that tomorrow I am leaving. They gave me generous hugs and "bye bye"s and "te quiero mucho" and I blinked back this feeling of a family, of being accepted and loved and belonging somewhere I never would have imagined belonging.

There was no kindergarten class in the afternoon today, so my last day was cut unexpectedly short. Nicole looked at me and said "that's it". That is it. Four weeks of sitting and playing and writing and speaking slowly, four weeks of "como se dice en ingles" and "otra vez" and "tu puedes". Four weeks and then this last moment, saying keep in touch, thank you so much. Thank you so much.

I did not cry when I hugged Nicole goodbye but if you were to stop me and talk to me on that way back home, I'd have ducked my head with my sunglasses shading my watering can eyes and not been able to respond for all the tightness in my throat. All the thoughts, all the feelings, everything was so very there in my heart and in my eyes.

Still it does not feel like an end. I will likely not believe this experience is over until I am walking into the Toronto summer sunset tomorrow evening. An even then.

I am going to keep this last post short because I know I have more words to say but right here, right now my goodbyes are close hugs and then walking away. Moving on, I suppose, but also just moving forward. We will be parting with Becky and Alan tomorrow at the airport as they head to the Corn Islands for the beginning of their three-week bonus travel, before Alicia and I check into our respective flights and gates and planes and home, in a very distant, very near future. I'm not sure how that airport goodbye will go, as we will be waking up in about 4 hours to start that journey, and I know I will be seeing them sometime.

And them my niños have already been hugged, hair ruffled and hand clasped goodbye.

So all that is left is to look out that plane window and wish well to the people and places that have altered the course of my life.

Te quiero y te echaré de menos mucho, Nicaragua!

No sé cuando yo voy a regresar, o si yo podré, pero la vida es la vida, y yo solo vivo una vez. No tengo bastante palabras para este experiencia. Entonces, gracias gracias gracias!

Mucho gusto!

stay golden,
stay awesome,
stay aware of wonder.

-k

All the thanks

Today my favourite grade twos wrote me love letters. I don't get to teach them tomorrow because they aren't in the rotation. Sometimes you just don't know how to say thank you enough to those precious precious kids.

Ustedes quiero, mis niños!

Uno beso, mi corazón

Our Saturday dawned cloudy and down-pouring for a while as we went for breakfast, bidding us bite our lips and hurriedly rethink plans for the day. This was a case wherein patience was rewarded and spontaneity applauded, thanks to Alan making full use of svuv. Solamente vives una vez. We headed out by noon, taking cover from an unbelievable explosion from the skies in a cafe; once the onslaught leveled down, we caught a cab down to the marina to reassess where we'd go next.

And don't you know, this marina was spectacular, with our volcano looking moody and ringed by clouds, the sky grey and heavy with questionable intentions. I skipped around, breathing deep the air and trying not to clap with joy at just how beautiful it is. Think Everglades and mangrove trees meets the most picturesque small island huts and life. We found another family--Linda and Mike and almost-seven year old Adele and little Zachary--to split a boat tour, and then off we went.

The just-over two hour trip had me lose all my dignity lumber-hauling-beached-whaling it back onto the boat after swimming in the warm, once-bull-shark-infested lake water, imagine what it would be like to go crazy on one of the tiny isletas, wonder what the convocation of almost goose like duck birds were up to, admire the lives of the rich who own their islands and the poor who survive on theirs and generally just run my fingers through the water and watch it stream by, small ripples and the sound of a humming motor, little laughter, the only signs of our presence.

And of course the rain cleared up for us, even though the day had seemed so hopeless. We headed back to our house, damp and happy and having well spent our time, our last weekend on a quiet adventure together. The night inched into darkness, and of course that smattering of stars that makes every night magical rose from our balcony. After a short nap, waiting for the night to get live, we headed out to Encuentros bar-club-pool-cinema, ready to seize the night and enjoy what we could of our open bar.

Let us just leave it as an incredible night. The music was very 'meh', but at one point it stopped mattering, because you just danced and danced and danced. And of course with a pool, there was required of me some swimming. So near the end of our night, approaching two in the morning, I kicked off my shoes and jumped in. The water swirled around me, the music a faint baseline through the chlorine, suspended and flashing and holding me there. Jump out, wipe my eyes, continue the dancing. A game of MarcoPolo or two later, the rest of the bar hadn't yet joined us, so we said screw it and just kept on playing, some strange kind of semi-grown-up-not-really pool party. The night breeze settled in, so amid the occasional whistle, we got out and took a little time to victory dance in the middle of the slowly emptying dance floor, squeezing out our clothes and just moving. Moving and dancing and holding wet hair off of a wet neck and looking up to see the stars and remembering how this is not everyone's life, not anyone else's but your own and this is pretty damn cool for that very reason, to be dripping in a Nicaraguan bar, turning around with stars in your eyes and the feeling that this doesn't always happen but when it does it is because of risks, because of taking them, because of this, because somehow, sometimes things are just as they should be.

Sunday was perhaps not the best of feeling kind of day, but we stayed quiet and local and in for the most part, looking up at blue blue skies and shingled roofs and watching birds pass by and tree leaves trembling and refusing to indulge in much reflection of all the Sundays passed and the Sundays to come. Because they won't all be here, feeling like this after a night like that.

And so it goes.

Yesterday started the end of my volunteering, ushered in by some of the kids asking me where the other American volunteers were, having to tell them they are gone. And aren't we all like that, here for so little, experiencing so much but never quite doing enough. Nicole told me she was going to miss me, and I think for all of our slightly stiff conversations between her hesitation of the English language and my willingness to make it better, tripping over myself to do so, even with all of the moments where I've observed, the moments of correction and encouragement, all of it has had some kind of affect. And my god, there it is. An affect of some kind, be it lasting or irresolute, a bonfire or a matchstick, there it is.

I haven't been thinking in lasts yet. The walk to work is still the walk to work, biting back retorts to the passing gringa comments, dodging motor bikes and horse poop and low hanging branches. And the kids are still my kids, although being on the other side of Tuesday has me blinking rapidly against the bat sounds and creature chorus of the night.

Today had me laughing from the start, the kids being hilarious and untamed in their energy, although I am beginning to appreciate the massive amounts of patience that so become teachers of younger kids. Gracias a ustedes! And then another moment walking home that didn't have me heart broken until just now while we enjoyed some live music of Spanish voices, maracas and guitar. One of the first graders who has taken a liking to me called my name, ¡Profe! Profe! as everyone left in the afternoon, so I turned around, already incredibly attuned to that call, that plea-question-beg for attention of Teacher! Teacher! I picked her up and swung her around and then continued on my way, she balancing on my hip, trying on my sunglasses. Asked her where she lives and she pointed to a bend in the street, onto a road that quickly got rural. As I'm dipping down to put her down, she goes in for a tighter hug and then plants a kiss on my cheek.

Oh, my heart. Not only is it just the sweetest gesture, but it gets me how trusting it is coming from a little kid (and how suave and gentlemanly it is from a late night pool party introduction). Or maybe trusting isn't the right word but I don't know how to describe it. Like innocence and love and joy and gratitude all in one. So it just hit me how beautiful such a moment is, this child whose language I do not speak, whose family I do not know, whose future is not for me to be in, but this child who recognizes me, believes me worthy of affection. Maybe it's just that all gringos who stay longer than a day are worthy of being cheek-kissed. Or maybe it's just me trying to find meaning.

But it is as it is, as it should be.

I am tired now, my luggage bags finally pulled out from underneath my bed. Everything in me feels a little bit shaky, uncertain of how to deal with this next part, this inevitability, these last two days with these kids. There is only so much now to be lived in without overstepping and losing sight of any reflexivity. So here is to final moments and reflection and the way live music makes everything better.

dftba.
-k

Context

I have five nights left in Nicaragua.

Last week I visited the new volunteers' two week project painting and upgrading a kindergarten classroom. It was a quiet morning because the kids were out of school, only breezes through shady trees and the ever present chatter of the birds. It was soothing, meditative work with the paintbrushes rolling over the walls, giving a facelift, some brighter colours, maybe some hope. Who knows. At one point there must have been a church gathering or something in the distance because a chorus of singing voices reached us on that hot nicaraguan morning air, humming and buzzing of life and worship. Could not distinguish the words and probably wouldn't understand it even if I could, but it was so pleasant. Reminded me of how our voices sound at camp when we are all singing in the mess hall and if you are outside, not directly involved the voices just fill the summer space and it is nice. Just nice, pleasant as dappled shadows, as little kids waving, as not understanding but enjoying anyways.

When I returned to Carita Feliz after that, it was this explosion of life and energy and sound. How the kids occupy the space they do, filling it so completely with their voices and bodies and lives, however temporary we might all be. And if you ever wonder why people do this, fixing schools and painting walls and maybe spending the rest of their lives down here because oh, that's where their heart has found itself, if you ever wonder why, you just need to walk into a school or orphanage or community centre when the kids are running, laughing, screaming to each other. And maybe it is for the kids but just close your eyes and feel how we all take up a little bit of space on this earth, how our dreams and hopes and fears and stories follow us wherever it is that we go, how we all have a family somewhere, how we all need our hearts to beat and our lungs to breathe and how when we all sing, it is unity and pleasantness and life.

Walking home from Carita that day, there was this carnival parade exploding down the streets with colour and kids and candy and music. I didn't mean to have it affect me, but like most things in life you never know what will move you and then this did. I was walking back from saying goodbye to the American volunteers whose last day it was and in front of me was Calle la Calzada underneath bubbling thunderstorm clouds, the bright yellow church in the distance, trees and horse carriages waiting for me to pass by. Behind me the carnival parade passed, blasting music, scaring the birds from the rosters of the burned church that's seen more fires and history of Granada than most ancestors. And "we found love in a hopeless place" just suddenly dawned on me. Because I did find love here, in these kids and these volunteers, whether or not this is an entirely hopeless place, and so I swallowed the tears for that moment because it felt more precious than anything else, necessary to just feel it and see it and witness this.

I spent my friday night looking at the stars and stars and stars and constellations I don't know how to name and sitting and chatting with these people I didn't know but now I love and somewhere between our comfortable night in and falling asleep that night I became okay with the idea of coming home. Not leaving, just coming home. Because now what happens is the really important stuff. You've been with me as I've discovered how incredible it is to be travelling like this, to volunteer like this, how much I believe I am capable of now doing for my future. And I've stumbled into several realizations that have given me insight on what I'd like to do with my life, and where it all starts to matter is when I return home. Where do I go after this experience, what will I do with all I've learned and felt and taught and lived when I get back to Canada? And this is how I'm okay with the idea of next week, of two months from now, because I get to start putting everything I've discovered I want into play, get the wheels turning, get focused, get real. I'm excited for how I will make this all work out for me. Nervous, too, because I have no idea how my dreams and realizations will fit into a North American context, but there it is.

I will leave you here for the evening and write more on our last hooray of a weekend for another day.

Here is to what remains, and what is to come.

dftba
-k