ROAD TRIP 2008!

That's right, now I get a chance to chronicle my cross-country trek that took my from the Western deserts of Utah to the Eastern forests of Central New York. After returning from my whirlwind visit to D.C., I packed up my possessions and loaded down my beloved 91 Honda Accord named Lucy to take a venture into the wilds of interstate travel. Accompanied by a lifelong friend Adrienne, I barely had elbow room around my sleeping back wedged between the seats, all of 3 inches of space visible from the rear-view mirror, and all that after leaving behind lots of precious possessions like my printer, my bedrest, and even my bed pillows.

We stopped the night in Cheyenne after accompanying the freight trucks in the slow lane as we plodded up the mountain passes, watched the gigantic windmill gathering wind energy, and braved the lonely 1-80 interstate across the Wyoming desert. We got in late into Cheyenne but found a decent hotel right off the freeway and crashed for the night.

With one leg of the journey down, we turned south on a slight detour that would take us straight for Wichita, Kansas and the second night to be spent alongside Kenneth and Bryn where they have been stationed for the past couple of years as Kenneth finishes up his residency. It was interesting to see the changing scenery as the mountain peaks of the Rockies receded away into the distance with open flatlands filled with the copper-brown tint of wheat and the rising red and silver outlines of barns were all the eye could see. I'd never been through the Great Plains though Kenneth and Bryn have told me about its charm. They will soon be heading for Iowa and a permament position as Kenneth works as an anaesthesiologist (I have NO idea how to spell that, but you get the idea.) Congrats bro!!

Unfortunately, despite the good weather and the quote-unquote picturesque landscape of pancake countryside, the second day was dampened by a friendly police-man forking over a speeding ticket. There's just no mercy these days! I could have understood it in congested freeways but in the nothingness of Nowheresville, Kansas, I couldn't believe that I could get a ticket as the ONLY car on the road! Such is life I guess. We did a good visit in with Kenneth, Bryn, and the three little munchkins running around the house. Little Evan was only 4 months old the last time I saw him, now at almost 2 years, he's spry as ever and quickly building his vocabulary (including a mighty valient effort to say Aunt Kristine that came out more of a (RRiiitty). Autumn, now 6, is witty and spunky, full of questions, including "why do you and my mom look so much alike?" We have talked a lot about how I look a lot more like my sister-in-law than my brother--no explanation that I know of. Little Isaac was a lot of fun too and while I had a hard time understanding all that he said, he was just as playful and genuine as ever. I miss seeing the little guys and I wish we had had more time to visit....We chatted over some Southern Barbecue the next day before heading out for our next stop: St. Louis.

We visited Adrienne's brother in St. Louis as he has been installing security systems in the area for a summer job, though was packing up and heading out for Michigan the next day. We headed down to the Gateway Arch, fighting the congested streets of the riverside bars and night life of a St. Louis Saturday night.

Playing around at the park built at the arch, Adrienne skipped across the giant spotlights and I got eaten by the mosquitos...good times. We grabbed dinner at a Steak n Shake diner before heading back to the apartment, chatting with her brother's roommates and Mapquesting the closest chapel to go to church in the morning. I didn't hit the sack until past 3 that night and I don't know how much later Adrienne stayed up, but we were both beat in the morning.

We went to a local ward, small and generally uninviting as not one soul came to greet us, but that's OK. We jumped back on the freeway and headed out to Columbus OH. That was definitely the most taxing day and the long hours behind the wheel started to take their toll. Passing through Indianapolis onward towards Columbus, the vegetation started to turn into more dense oak and aspen forests, and the sharp rolling hills of Missouri turned into bigger but more gradually sloping rises. The skies looked threatening and the winds were strong, but we made it all the way to Columbus without a drop of rain. Once inside the Econolodge and waiting for a pizza delivery, the rain started to pour. It was such a blessing that no storms had hit us thus far and even Bryn had said that the night before we arrived in Wichita they had had a tornado warning.

Our last day on the road, we stuck around Columbus for a little while to check out some land Adrienne's dad had bought and then stopped over to see the Columbus OH temple--a small temple but beautiful and accompanied by a simple and elegant stream running between the temple and the stake center.

We marched onward through the tip of Pennsylvania in to our final destination state--New York. And, as if to welcome me into my new home, the second we crossed over into New York State, I had a guy tailgating me. Shocked that he would be on my tail as I went 75 down a road marked with a 55 mph sign, I moved over only to have 3 more do the same thing to me in the right hand lane! At one point, I was sandwiched behind a sedan with a semi truck on the right and a tailgater motioning in the rear-view for me to get over though I had no idea at what point he imagined I would have the capacity to do so. Once I had a break and was ready to let him go by, I didn't have a chance to because he speeded around me, waving out the drivers' side with a sardonic grin on his face as he went by. And, after all the drama, he ended up slowing down, content to cruise at 70 right in front of me, but I'm sure feeling accomplished at having beaten me on the road. Incredible. I have yet to understand the NY road mentality, and I'll update you if I get anywhere with that.

So, after a long and tiring journey through the heart of the USA, we pulled into Syracuse NY just after 7 o'clock local Eastern Standard Time. I made a mistake of staying in the right hand lane which became an obligatory exit and so was forced to head into downtown rather than take the exit I needed to get to my new apartment...a mistake that took me through some rather questionable neighborhoods and gave me my first glimpse at the run-down urban center of Syracuse. I had no idea where I was, couldn't find any of the main roads that my limited map had to show me, but was determined not to stop and ask for directions short of finding a better neighborhood in which to do so. By a few small miracles, I actually found my way back onto the freeway and by another miracle, hadn't passed the exit I needed and so was able to make it to my new apartment and the waiting entrance key in the hand of a very helpful former tenant.

I didn't have much to offer, but we grabbed some grub at a nearby "Mexican" restaurant. I had to question the authenticity as a guy that looked Irish took our orders which he delivered to 3 African-Americans working in the kitchen. I'm finding that the Latin population is sparse at best in these parts and I don't know how long it will be before I can get any real Latin American food... We settled down on the hardwood floor atop some make-shift beds with the blankets I had brought, forced to accept just a few hours of sleep before taking Adrienne to the airport and sending her back to Utah to face her final and another hot summer in Logan.

Believe it or not, all of this plus a gigantic suitcase and other boxes plus my clothes that were on hangers already in the closet ALL fit into the backseat and trunk of my Lucy. NOT BAD uh??

Here are some crazy views from the road, including:

livestock, a shiny oil tanker that we could see ourselves in, a house, and some cool cars.

In the end, after all the stress and worries and stress and stress of moving and getting adjusted back to the States, I think the move was an incredible success. THANK YOU Adrienne for being a patient, kind, and dedicated friend and a great copilot in making this trip possible!! Also to mom and dad for helping me get things packed in...even in helping filter after what I THOUGHT would fit didn't end up fitting. I'm now meeting new people, getting acquainted with the Syracuse area and am sure to have plenty to comment on in future blogs about this new reality of mine. All in all everything points to great things ahead.

From capital to capital

Shortly after getting back to the U S of A, I had a pressing interview in our nation's capital, the famious Washington, District of Columbia. So, after leaving the red-roofed houses and cobble-stoned houses of sleepy Asuncion, Paraguay, I headed to the bustling metropolis of neo-colonial, modern, post-modern, and neo-classical splendor of Washington D.C. It was only the second time in my long life that I've been in the area, the first being attached to the same organization, but as a graduating high school senior. Only this time I didn't have a welcoming party, the mingling of other scholarship recipients, or the glamour of being escorted around the city. I was being invited to an interview and things were straight down to business. I was to fly in on Sunday and leave on Monday, leaving an all-important decision about a possible graduate school scholarship left for the deciding.

I stayed in an amazingly beautiful (and I can imagine expensive) hotel room that they had reserved for me in the Fairmount Hotel. The luxury burned my eyes as I could hardly believe that I was sleeping on down pillows atop a king size bed in an attractively coordinated business-style suite.

I made sure to make the best of the hotel stay, using the robe hung in the bathroom after a long and luxurious bubble bath and then sitting down to watch HBO and TBS while finishing my interview question preparations.

Monday morning, I headed down to the conference rooms to face the INTERVIEW. I couldn't help but think about the timeline that that particular day was originally planned to have. In a small corner of the world called Itaugua, Paraguay, preparations were being finished for my book launching...the decorations were to be put on the walls of a small municipal salon seating the 200-250 invited guests as they brought in a stereo system for the antiquated microphone set atop a long foldingn table adorned with a nanduti tablecloth. But, I would see none of it, choosing instead to move forward and reach upward in my life towards graduate school and more formal education to prove to the world that I had skills worth a living wage to keep myself fed, clothed, and adequately 'cultured' with some technology, gadgets, and hobbies to occupy my time.

My fears of not being to articulate myself in English were definitely confirmed though my occasional reverse-translation moments were not as difficult as my circumlocutory ramblings to get around them. But, the 'comittee' that was to interview ended up being just 2 people with big smiles and lots of happy side comments attempting to make me actually feel more comfortable as we were to 'chat' and not 'interview.' I had a good time thinking about each question and passed through the more than 1 hour interview without honestly feeling the time. I had a chance to talk with some of the other interviewees and they were all 2004 graduates, making me one year older, a 2003 grad. I walked out not really knowing how to gauge my success or failure but content to know that at least I could show that I had been dedicated to the interview and, in sacrificing my attendance at the book launching, was certain about where I really wanted to go in life--back to the old grindstone and the reconstruction of long-forgotten realities.

I went around D.C. on a fabulous tram system called the Tourmobile. While I half-expected a cheesy, barbie-faced tour guide prodding me not to stick my arms or legs out of the moving vehicle, I honestly really enjoyed the tour. All the trolley-like buses were void of windows for prime no-reflection snapshots of all the federal buildings, memorials, and I even snapped a few of the crazy street signs and traffic signals. I started after taking my first 'metro' from the hotel to downtown by the Smithsonian complex and boarded the tourmobile alongside a mix of tourists from all over the world. As we passed the National Gallery of Art and other museums, I was sad that I didn't have more time to stick around and acutally go through the buildings, but that'll be for another trip. I stopped at Union Station to see the half-station half-commercial center that reminded me a lot of Philadelphia. I stopped to try Godiva chocolates for the first time, snapped my picture in front of life-size cardboard cutouts of Barack Obama and John McCain in a maze of political satire products from playing cards to bobble heads (where all Hillary merchandise was 50% off!), snatched up some pizza, and then got back on the tourmobile.

It was amazing to see sights that cited the grandeur of my mother country's history and development after so much time studying another's. Everything from honoring the servicemen and women buried in Arlington National Cemetery to the iconic homage to presidents Lincoln and Washington. Tourists were respectful and courteous, no shoving or pushing or even competition to get pictures. They actually waited on the side of road for people to come off the bus until they boarded...something I don't think I'd ever see in Paraguay. The buses came frequently punctually and I literally rode the entire tour around the city. We saw the white house only from a LONG distance, Capitol Hill as well, though I did stop and walk around the Lincoln Memorial, providing a picturesque view of the Washington monument were it not for the construction crews in the foreground.

I finished the tour and returned to the Smithsonian metro station to return to the hotel and get moving to the airport. Braving another run on the metro, I opted not to take a taxi and arrived with 15 minutes to spare at the Reagan National Airport. Not bad for a day and a half in the nation's capital?

An unmistakable landmark, the Lincoln Memorial.

Silence and Respect mark the tomb of John F. Kennedy, accompanied by his widow Jacky, his brother Robert, and an eternal flame lighted shortly after his assassination.

Saluting all unidentifiable soldiers killed in the line of duty, a constant vigil is kept at the Tomb of the Unknown Soliders, Arlington National Cemetery, Virginia. Here there are 3 Marines, conducting a changing of the guards ceremony.

Getting back to...

So, I feel like I'm living at least 2, maybe 3 or 4 different realities right now, so keeping a streamlined, technologically-friendly blog of a day in the 'life of Kristine' is a little more complicated at this point in time and space than previously expected.

If that doesn't adequately describe the basic symptoms of re-entry culture shock piled on top of moving anxiety, social anxiety, and economic foreboding as I stare down two years fraught with student loans I'm bound to be paying for the rest of my life, feel free to give me a phone call and we could probably thrash it out into some more expanded terms. But, for the sake of brevity in catching people up on the past month or so that I haven't uploaded anything to my blog, I'll save the details.

And, for the sake of archiving, I'm actually going to break up this post into a few posts--I know, unheard for me!

So, here goes!

Ending reality 1--here I am at the Asuncion airport, definitely anxious to leave the climatically capricious tropics of Paraguay though sincerely distraught knowing that that transition would be filled with quirky language trip-ups, returning to awkward re-relationship-building, not to mention the preparation for an all-important scholarship interview, moving cross-country, and starting grad school. But, more on that in the upcoming posts. Back to reality 1. Sinthia and Lourdes were so generous in offering to take me to the airport and see me off. I had stayed the night with the wonderful Rodriguez family because they had lent me a bed and, in returning it to them, I was left without anything but a suitcase to keep me off the floor. As I woke up and had my last wisdom-filled conversation with Cati while we shared the steaming cup of yerba mate, I watched out the door at the contradiction of the bright green palm trees outlined by dark rain clouds moving over the valley. David took me back to my apartment and to run a few errands before making our last goodbyes as it poured outside. I made my last rounds around Itaugua that stormy Thursday, trying to stop at key houses and give my good wishes to the weavers, the friends, the town officials, and even the landlord that supported my stay in Itaugua. I was noticeably emotional but with the more than a week of goodbyes that I had been making as well as the process of selling my furniture, distributing the published books, and signing the donated books for the local schools, I was a little more put-together than I might have expected. The weather calmed just long enough to get me about 8 blocks from my house on various visits before it started pouring again. I was so anxious and afraid that I would miss my ride that I braved running through the rain and made it back to my apartment SOAKING wet and miserably cold. I couldn't put my wet clothes into the suitcase and opted to pull out a portable blow dryer that I used to somewhat warm me up and dry me off. Cati had come down so that I wouldn't have to carry my stuff on my own and it was a huge comfort to have her by my side.

Which takes us to the airport. I had a surprise visit by the Aldama family including Karen who donned her Havanna uniform to sneak into the waiting room with me until I got on the plane. It was hard to give my goodbye hugs and try to act like my normal self, but I did it. Once inside the waiting room, I thought it would be quick, but the flight ended up getting delayed and I started worrying about my connecting flight. I finally made it on and said goodbye to Karen and headed out, alone.

After short of running across the Buenos Aires airport to make it for the last boarding call for the red-eye to Houston, I finally started to feel dry though my clothes were disgustingly wrinkled and I was desparate for a shower. Approximately 11 hours later, I touched down on American soil and was welcomed back into my country of origin. A few more hours later, I made it to Salt Lake City, travel-worn, tired, shocked at the visual blur of highways, mountains, SUVs, traffic lights, and billboards lining the track back to Bountiful and the luxurious homes of the comfortable American middle class. I was "home" from another "adventure" as many would call it or an "experience" as others would cite. Whatever you call that chunk of life spent out of your comfort zone building new comfort zones, testing your horizons, breaking your spirit and teaching you to make yourself a new one...it had "ended" and now I was supposed to "go back to real life."

As I contemplate on those first few hours back in the States, all I can envision is the literal closing of one reality as it attempted to blend into another, an older, a more distant one that somehow could never really exist again because, with that attempt to blend, actually stops, shifts, and actually transforms in a permament bend in order to accommodate the new person returning the old reality. Then, as time goes on, that transformation acts more like a fault line under a volcano chain. It's always there though you don't always see it. But, every so often, things spark a forgotten memory, a friend left behind under the construction and uplift of the new mountains shaping the countryside...typically not one of those huge composite eruptions that blows its top, but the slow, somewhat constant flow of lava spurting up from the hidden abyss of the past and carving a small trail across the outer crust of the present. Sometimes there big eruptions spurting large flows that cover the entire construction...but those too die down and cool in the surrounding atmosphere and just become another layer in the constantly changing terrain.

OK, I don't know if that analogy really means anything to anyone but me, but it's my attempt to communicate what culture shock and its accompanying cultural growth mean to me. So, here's to you--realities 1 and 2 (but really, both were made of the millions of previous realities so the numbers don't really make sense either...), may you rest in peace under the upcoming lava flows.