wining and dining.

Ah, la vie de les jeune. 

Waggoner Weekend

A few weeks ago, I took a long-overdue trip south to my old college town, Bloomington-Normal, to visit an old college friend.

I hadn't seen Sarah for over a year, selfishly forsaking her for the allure of the foreign experience. Seeing her again, brought back a rush of memories and sparked our friendship back into life. I didn't forget, but I didn't remember either how much I love this girl.

We headed south to her hometown for a day. I had spent a Thanksgiving in Litchfield with her family a few years ago, and had a blast in this rural small town. Her family and friends are just amazing; it was wonderful to see them again. Plus, there was a wedding going on! Who doesn't love weddings?

Later, we headed to the towns Thanksgiving Bingo Night. There's an indication of a 'Cake Raffle' somewhere in that title, but it escapes me. The cake raffle was first; for each cake, 40 tickets were sold for a quarter. The giant Cake Wheel was spun, and the winner claimed their cake. Now, this might seem a bit mundane to you, but, rest assured, the tension was running high during this activity. I had to check myself a couple to times after getting much too excited and knocking several different items over. I was ecstatic when I won a delicious cake, made by none other than Sarah! Score!

Next was bingo, played for prizes of hams and turkeys. So much fun I had to play two boards.




That night, we hit the town. Dance, Dance, and then some.

Since this weekend, we've talked on the phone almost everyday. She's coming to visit me and my Chicago life in a few weeks in January. I absolutely cannot wait.

Potrait of a City

It's an odd carry over process for me, transferring the activities I have enjoyed so much over the past two years of globe trotting. I have stopped taking photographs like I used to, as, in my mind, it's associated with travel. I've stopped blogging, given the same reason. Recently, though, I've really felt the pull back to these activities. My two lives (life pre-travel and life post-enlightenment) are merging together, and I love the person I have become. 

That said, I have begun to explore the more creative aspect of both photography and the written word. My photographs are more experimental, utilizing the complicated array of manual controls that my camera offers. I have begun to explore poetry as well, and, although I haven't begun to write my own yet, I really enjoy reading various authors' work. 

Chicago is a wonderful city, full of enticing art and fantastic scenes just brimming with energy and emotion. My [pre-mature] New Years resolution is to really concentrate on capturing the city in photos, and record and explore my experience here. 

Starting now.

Portrait of a City

I forgot how much I ♥ scrapbooking...

... and hanging out with Candace! I got together with my student teaching mentor for an afternoon of mostly conversation, but we did fit some scrapping in. One page down! 

Watch for more to come - I am definitely taking the time for this hobby starting ahora.

Settling - the good kind.

These past few months have flown by, bringing with them so many new experiences and taking with them so much unease.

Teaching was rough at the beginning; stressful, time consuming, and heart-hardening. I've settled into a comfortable routine with my classes now.  My co-workers are just awesome, and these kids make me laugh so hard.  I have finally broken them into seeing Spanish as an academic, valuable subject. And, WOW, are they moving foward! One second grader, waiting in the parking lot at the end of the day, called me over to show me a giant cookie that he won. We had been working on making short sentences,  and, as he called me over, he shouted, "Hey, Senorita Baker! Es grande!". BOO YA, mad teaching skillz! Haha.

Outside of work, my life is brimming with activity; In place of living in various exotic locations, I have settled for a fantastique and full life here. I am so happy right now! I've made some wonderful friends, and almost always have something fun to do. I am enjoying every moment of it; pub trivia, concerts, double dates, musicals, "Clay and Cocktails" at art museums, movies at Navy Pier, and dancing until the sun comes up... and then dancing some more.

My apartment finally feels like a home. I have settled nicely into this little space I have made. The boxes are gone, everything has a place here, the curtains are hung, my spice cabinet is filling up, and I have nailed numerous photos from the past couple years on the walls. The decor hints of asia, and the vibe is saturated coziness. My very own first place is lovely.

Truthfully, I never thought about this time in my life. I was always so focused on travel that I took for granted the awesomeness of just being. Not having to put time limits on my life is so liberating. I can concentrate on becoming a part of the community, pursue different hobbies, and spread out at home - an amazing feeling after living out of a suitcase for 2 plus years. Though I do miss the constant adventure of travelling, I'd settle for this anyday.

Getting my Driver's Liscese in Illinois was more difficult and time consuming that getting my Chinese work visa. And premonition inducing.

Truth.

Here's the background story:

I went to highschool in Illinois, thusly receiving my Driver's Liscense for the first time in this state. If we passed the written test, driving test, and simulation test in our Driver's Education course in school, we could march straight into the DMV on our 16th birthdays, stand in line to take what would be one of the most un-flattering photos of our lives, and then pick up our ticket to freedom.. This first piece-of-cake experience with the Illinois Secretary of State's Office deceived me into believing the second time around it would be just as pleasant (though with a hopefully more appealing photo!).

After my parents relocated to sunny Miami, I made a trip to the Florida DMV to change my license. The process was minimal; enter, hand over your out-of-state liscense, relate your new address, take another photo (by this time I was become quite adept at looking cute), and exit with your new license.

I assumed, following logical thought patterns, that the process would be the same returning to Illinois. Upon my move back up to my [kind of] home state, I was shocked and agitated to find it was, for lack of a stronger adverb, NOT.

Firstly, DMVs in Chicago have very inconvenient hours for a business hour working, CTA riding citizen. I couldn't just pop in a few minutes before closing either;  everyone applying for a license in Illinois, no matter if you previously had one in the state, must take the written test. I needed time - which eliminated the weekday eveing hours. One DMV offered a short window of time on Saturday morning - though out of the way on the far west side, this became my only option.

So, early one Saturday morning, dragged myself out of bed. I took public transportation for 1.5 hours, and then completed my trip with a  half mile walk.No buses ran directly there.

I got in the initial screening line, waited for about twenty minutes, and was promptly rejected. Apparently, a copy of one's Social Security card in unacceptable, though no where on the website does it say this. I hung my head and headed home from what became a pointless four hour venture.

The following week, I tried again. Armed with the knowledge I accrued on my previous attempt, I readied myself the night before. I gathered an excessive selection of documents for each of the 4 categories required.  I was not taking any chances; I debated with my mother whether or not I should bring any of my elementary school report cards. That morning, I, again, dragged myself out of bed, rode and hour and a half on bus and train, walked a half a mile, and stood in line for twenty minutes. In the rain.

I passed through the initial line with flying colors. After recieving a slip with a series of numbers on it, I took a seat to wait until I was called.

If this story wasn't eventful enough for you already, I'll be happy to tell you that, at this moment, I had one of the most intense deja vu moments of my waking life. A man sitting next to me, who was wearing a blue plaid jacket and grey cap, leaded over, and, with a sarcastic smile, asked, "Why do they need to see all of these documents?!". I immediately recognized him and our deja fait conversation.  In my vision, I had responded with a quick quip, resulting from laughter in both parties. Now, when this man leaned over, all of this flashed through my mind in an instant, before he even spoke. I smirked as he opened his mouth to speak, already knowing what he was going to say. I faithfully repeated the response my witty dream-self had given, and we both laughed heartily. Unbelievable!

A few [introspective] minutes later, my number appeared on the screen. I came of my thoughts and back into the throw of the morning. I smiled as I approached the counter, and calmly laid down my thorough collection of documents. As the clerk tap, tap, tapped her long nails on the keyboard, she began to sort through my documents as I held my breath on the other side. Everything seemed to be going smoothly... until she started to discard the documents I had brought to fill the last category: proof of residence. One by one, she handed them back to me silently. When I asked what was wrong, she harshly informed me that they didn't qualify. Another, another, another... until that huge stack of documents I had so thoughtfully prepared had diminished to a measly two She considered these for a few minutes, holding them up to her face, scrutinizing the verbiage, licking the paper to ensure it was real . I cautiously asked her why the others, which, according to the [every trusty] website, were in perfect compliance, were void. She snapped back, telling me that they didn't have a date on them - a requirement that, again, was not specified on the website.

After a few more minutes of dissecting these documents, she informed me that most people would not accept these documents, but, because she was in a good mood today, she would accept. A wave of relieve washed over me, and I felt close to tears. I thanked her wholeheartedly for her kindness, and we parted ways awkwardly.

Little did I know, my day had just begun.

The next stop was the paying of the registration fee. Having rushed out of the house, I realized, with a sinking feeling in my stomach, that I didn't bring any cash. A big sign in the window informed me that credit cards were now accepted. As I worked my way through the line, I noticed the fine print; virtually every line of credit is accepted, save Visa. And, consistent with my luck, Visa is all I had.

I approached the window, and greeted my a kindly woman behind a glass partition. I explained my situation, and she was empathetic. She directed me to the nearest ATM, which, continuing with my current streak of fortune, was approximately 1.5 miles away. For lack of bus, I trekked a mile and a half through the sketchy West Side to an even sketchier Walgreen's. I got my cash, plus a little extra in case the need for bribery arose, and then trekked a mile and a half back to the dreaded DMV.

I moved to bypass the initial line and walk through the waiting area to the payment station, when I was stopped by two armed guards. I was told I would have to go through the line to get passed this point. I stammered, attempting to explain my situation while suppressing the crazed rage that had been slowly growing inside of me all morning. We bantered back and forth, until one finally grasped what I was saying, and allowed me to pass. Thank the LORD.

Up at the payment stations, I waited in another long line (it was later in the day at this point, and thusly much more crowded) and paid my dues. I made my way to the next step - realizing that I hadn't studied for the written exam again. I swore to myself that, if I failed the written test, I would not scream out loud. Or murder anyone.

Thankfully for the people present, I passed the test, and everyone lived. I moved on to the last hurdle: The Photo.

I waited in line, they called my name, I sat down in front of the screen, and, the second my behind touched the chair, SNAP. Picture taken. I sat aghast for a few second, not believing that had seriously happened. Did they just take my picture without any warning? After this whole fiasco, was I going to have a ID that made me look  like a dazed and confused idiot?!

I fumed at the man. I wanted so badly to give him a piece of my mind, did I not truly believe that my license would be suspended for such verbal abuse. And I was NOT going through that mess again.

They called my name, and I hesitantly flipped over my warm, new license to see Me. It was actually not bad - I have a pleasant, friendly look on my face. How that happened, I'm not sure - I was feeling neither pleasant nor friendly at the moment.

After my half mile walk and 1.5 hour ride, I was home. I laced up my running shoes and ran off the remainder of the afternoon and the ensuing frustration. What an adventure! (Is adventure the right word?)

The next week I was called for jury duty in Miami - how ironic!

The Switch

To be honest, I never really thought about being a Spanish teacher. I love the language, sure, but always pictured myself as a general classroom teacher in my [wildest?] work-time fantasies. I recieved my endorsement as a result of my minor, but never really considered pursuing it as a career.

How I underestimated that little addition to my teaching certificate! Not only did it find me a job in a cut-throat market, but it is FUN. I should has guessed I would enjoy teaching Spanish this much; didn't I love teaching English as a language? Don't I love learning languages personally? Simply switch the language, and I continue in the career path I love. Sometimes I (or we, as people) can be so close-minded to the possibilities that are available to us. 

I see a huge number of kids everyday, from kindergarten to eighth grade. Most of them ask me if I am Mexican, or attempt to guess my age (average guesses land somewhere around 56). Most classes are good, and eager to learn a new language. Yesterday was Mexican Independence Day, and the majority of my classes remembered [that I told them] this, and rushed up to me with hugs and exuberant salutations of "Happy Independence Day!" I flaunted this popularity in front of other teachers in the parking lot.

My school has a high (around 40%) HIspanic population (60% Black). The younger ones are adorable; so enthusiastic to share that they know spanish, too. The middle level kids usually feel that speaking Spanish exempts them from studying - resulting in a lot of misspelled words and incorrect grammar. They'll learn! 

The hardest thing I find is classroom management - when you are only with a class a couple hours a week, you run the risk of being viewed as "free time". The most difficult is 8th grade... and we all know why. The kids at my school have attitude, forcing me to up my game and stay on my toes - and contain [or burst out it] laughter quite often throughout the day. 

Anyhow, work is going really well. I love what I do, do what I love, and on top of that, I get SALARY. Boo ya.

THE "The Move"

My whole life I've been moving. When I was young, my family moved five times before I was in high school due to my father's job. In college, I moved to Spain for a semester, and then to Chicago for my student teaching. After that, I moved to France. Peru. China. Miami. Japan. Turkey. Miami. The list is not meant to boast, but just to verify the fact that, YES, Amy is a modern-day gypsy.


Though I'm no stranger to picking up my bags and starting a new life somewhere, this move up to Chicago was different than all the rest. For one, I picked out my own apartment, and purchased new furniture to fit my home-style. Used to living out of a suitcase, or renting places temporarily with furniture provided, this was a first for me. Second, this move was permanent. Sure, I'll travel during the summers, perhaps taking a sabbatical in a few years to revisit TEFL life, but Chicago is my new forever home. And the feeling, that settling, comfortable, peaceful feeling, is just amazing.


Because I don't own a car, my transportation to and from my new school has to be public. Since the school is located in a rather tough neighborhood, I had to find a place the was easily accessible. I settled on Hyde Park - a beautiful pocket of safety and charm on the South Side. The apartment was more of an issue; because the University of Chicago is nearby, the number of available apartments around the area had already dwindled in anticipation of the fall semester. Though the odds of finding a place in my price range, and in the location I needed to be in (due to complicated train schedules) were stacked against me, it seems that Lady Luck was looking out for old Amy - I found the perfect place for the perfect price.


With the Museum of Science and Industry in my backyard, getting downtown and back again is a synch.  With Lake Michigan, and, consequently, the lake-front trail, a block away, my daily runs are trouble-free with much to see (rhyme). I'm a few blocks from an gilt-edge grocery - think, a cheese section of which the French would be très fier (French-English dictionaries, everyone!) - and Binny's Beverage Depot (I'm exploring wine, and this place where curiosity is satisfied!). Obama lives 10 minutes away; add an additional 5 minutes to that walk, and there's Jesse Jackson's church.


My place is affordable AND adorable. A small studio, it's just perfect for me. Taupe walls, white moulding, ceramic tub, plenty of closet place for my expansive wardrobe. Plus, a quaint little kitchen where I work my new found culinary magic, and indulge my amour du vin - you can probably guess what that means without your French-English dictionary.


I'm working on decorations; currently, I'm developing an idea to cover one long wall with miscellaneous  frames displaying photos I've taken over the past couple years. 


As for my new life here, it is coming along nicely. Though I'm not as social as I'd like to be, I am moving forward in other areas. I am using my time now to really focus on myself; to heal my wounds, to get healthy, to take care of myself. It's a funny thing, I've discovered recently, to absorb these experiences I've had and interests I've accumulated, the people I've met and the things I've done, into my... me. Coming full circle, I feel a out of place and completely at home. 


I never really thought about this part of my life, the life after my globetrotting spree. It is a great life, full of a whole different kind of adventure. My future here, with an unseen end, is full of possibilities and optimism. 


And that is what makes this move the "The Move". 

Summer 2010 in a Nutshell

After a long flight to Istanbul, and a [slightly awkward, to be honest] night in my old apartment, I headed back to the Ataturk Airport for the last time. Departing from Istanbul was different than the other locations; I didn't feel that sense of attachment to the city. If I had the chance, I would love to spend six months back in Cusco, or China (not in Jinan, though!). I honestly attribute the medioce degree of enjoyment in Istanbul to my work experiences. Because it consumed so much of my life (remember those 6 days off in two months?), English Time tainted my Turkish adventure.

 

That's not to say that I didn't adore most of my students. They were great, and made working all the much more bearable. And the country itself is spectacular. I'd go back and visit in a heart beat, but not for an extended amount of time. And definitely not to English Time.

 

At any rate, I arrived exhausted back to Miami. I was so happy to be home, but almost immediately started feeling the pressure. I had to find a teaching job, but, as it turns out, it was one of the worst years to be looking. Budget cuts have forced most states to lay off teachers, minimize benefits, and change laws pertaining to pensions. I was hoping  will al my heart to go back to Chicago, but knew this to be a very slight chance. Illinois is in one of the worst fiscal shapes in the country, right behind California, and the education system has certainly felt the heat. As I was applying in earnest to Chicago schools, thousands of teachers were being cut. This made for a very stressful summer, full of uncertainties and thumb-twiddling. I had heard that things tend to get left to the last minute, and if I keep pushing, I could find a job. I applied all over the country: New York, Nevada, Georgia, Miami, Arizona, and even tiny little towns in the mountains of Colorodo. I didn't even have a social life- job hunting was my life!

 

My life, well, outside of my then job. Yes, I returned to Nordstrom for the summer, so kindly taken back after about a years absence. I was placed ina different department, however. Unfortunately, it wasn't a good fit - different clientele, and different co-workers. I loved my manager, but a couple of the women on my team were, well, lets just say they weren't really on my team. When combined with the stress of finding a teaching job, this less-than-satisfactory working environment made for a tough couple of months!

 

That all changed, however, when I submitted my resume to a non for profit organizations that governs a network of private schools in the Midwest. I got a call the next day, from a branch on the south side of Chicago, and we scheduled an interview for the Spanish Teacher Position. After a first interview, I booked a flight up to Chicago, and had an interview at the end of July. I had spent hours preparing for the interview; I WANTED this job. Great school, needy neighborhood. Plus, if my mother was the new principal, I would be hired.

 

After a tantalizing couple of weeks, the interview day came, and I was offered the job on the spot. Words can express the relief and happiness I felt - after two years of rambling around the globe, I was FINALLY going home!

L☮nd☮n with the BBFF [British Best Friend Forever]

I have wanted to go to London for FOREVER. I think most Americans feel the same - there is just something alluring about that place. The class, the accent, the history, the music... I could go on and on. And on and on. I would have my visit there if I had gone alone, but this happening metropolis was magnificent when coupled with the reunion of one of my best friends, Stephanie. She came down from her home in Manchester to spend a few days in LDN with me - took me to see the sights, and out for a few fun nights as well.

Booksellers on the Thames

Storm Troopers - appeasing our inner-geek.

Big Ben - illuminating an 

Athens... Actually Apathetic

I had heard before hand about the de-romanticized, rather placid city that Athens had become. However, I couldn't simply leave it off the itinerary. Having just perused three Greek isles, I had already decided in my heart that this would not be a Return-To-Country (a place, like Japan, where I would return to in a heartbeat). Knowing this, Athens was a city on my list of "Places to Go" that needed to be crossed off.

To top off my already low expectations, my visit landed smack in the middle of the workers riots, in which the entire country was protesting the heavily indebted Greek government. The streets were packed with people and police, creating a rather capricious atmosphere laden with negative tension. I snapped one photo - and then, not wanting to be singled out in the mayhem, stashed the camera in my [always] oversized bag.

Now, I realize that guy was smiling.... but, trust me, this was a quiet moment.

I did manage to visit the Parthenon, the Temple of Zeus (or, what's left of it!), and visit a museum.

Mykonos

Ah, to be touristy and cliche. I simply had to stop on this island for a night and see what it was all about. As it turns out, it was exactly as expected; contrary to what that usually means, it was lovely and enchanting.

My time there is best summed up in photos; enjoy the reel.

Santorini

YIKES. Blogging has fallen out of my daily routine; I have begun to associate the thing with travel and adventure and, having settled in one location for the time being, it seems somewhat unnecessary now. However,  I really do need to continue - I have plenty to share!

But first, Santorini. I stayed four days on this gorgeous island, which is apparently notorious for attracting American tourists. Being early in the tourist season, I mostly encountered the odd, abandoned animal.

The land mass of Santorini was created (and is still propped above sea level) by a historically volatile ocean hotspot; said 'hotspot' caused the infamous collapse of the once elite Minatorian society (or so legend has it).

Sincerest Apologies, Readers... And My Fond Memories of Rhodes

As I was perusing the overwhelming amount of adorable merchandise at Nordstrom Rack this morning, I realized I had not written in disappointingly long time. What triggered the neurons in my brain to connect the two seemingly unrelated subjects, I have no clue. I am glad though, for my erractic synapses; I love to write, and a busy schedule truely should not prevent it.

Not only a busy schedule, but the events since when I have stopped writing. I left you hanging in the Syrian desert, alone with the friendly Bedouins, whom I am certain have shown you nothing but hospitality. I have very fond memories of my time with them, but my journey didn't end there. After a few days of busses (more lengthy bus rides that any person should have to endure in their lifetime), I made my way up the Turkish Mediterranean coast, and took a ferry to the historical Greek Island of Rhodes.

Palmyra

Palmyra was the next stop on our list. A 4-hour bus ride from Damascus, we arrived in early afternoon. We met some Australians on the trip, the only other western travelers on a rather intimidating busload of surly Syrian men, and followed them to the hotel they had selected from their guide book. Here, we learned that the owner, Muhammed, was a Bedouin. The Bedouins are an ancient nomadic tribe, and have lived peacefully out in the desert for centuries. He informed us that his tribe also provided accommodation, and, with eager nods, Robin and I made our decision.

Muhammed tied me a desert hat, and we hopped into the back us his pick up truck with his friend, Abdul. We were off for the night, into the sand.

We arrive for a late lunch with a tour group, apparently here for only the meal. After being entertained by some traditional song and music, we sipped tea and ate. Delicious!

I took a motor bike ride with Muhammed after this, He answered my many questions about Bedouin life as we zipped through the desert basin. I even gor to drive the bike myself – an exhilarating experience!

This particular tribe had been here for 8 years. His family,  immediate and extended, lived nearyby. They could easily find eachother through the seemingly invisible roads beaten in the sand. Muhammed’s family has a heard of about 70 camels, and hundreds of sheep and goats, The government funds schools in the desert for the children, and they carry on their way of life largely interrupted. The healing powers of camels milk (mixed with some camel urine) somehow came up in the course of the conversation– and he related some stories of people who have come from all over the world for a period of months to stay bere, drink this unsavory mixture, and been cured.

Muhammed, however, was very savvy on current events. He spoke 4 languages with near fluency, and had a very open-minded approach to life that I would never have expected from a member of such a traditional culture. He had traveled to other cities, into Turkey, and to Barcelona. He was so warm and inviting, so eager to share his life. It was such a pleasure to meet him, and an honor to stay the night in his tent.

Later on, we rode camels into the sunset. One camel, quite bent on not following commands, continued to make its way to water troughs, and small patches of  snack-greens. It was hysterical. With cries of “Hatz!” and a threatening purr of the small motorbike, it finally surrendered.

 

That night, we enjoyed the desert’s cool silence with two good-humored Spaniards, with impeccable English, and 3 Bedouins. We had enlightening conversation about human nature, world events, media, other nationalities, the Beduoin experience, and so many more topics, We smokes nargile and drank tea by the light of the fire, curled up in handsome handmade sheep’s wool blankets and a overflow of soft cushions. It was a night I would never forget; people of such different worlds coming together, sharing opinions, experiences, food, and sleeping space. It gave me a great confidence in the human race.

The next day, after a delicious breakfast of boiled eggs, pita, and jam, we were back in the ‘saddle’ so to speak. The lengthy camel rides of yesterday had left us aching in certain areas, lending a certain unpleasantness to this morning’s trot. It was an hour to the ruins of Palmyra, and, by the end, I was begging to be let off. I’m still a novice with camel riding.

The ruins were spectacular, even more so being set against the sandy landscape. Robin and I clamored through the ruins of temples, palaces, libraries, and main streets. It was, if you can believe it, bigger than Ephesus.

Exhausted, we grabbed a bus back to Aleppo that evening,  via  the city of Hama, for an early departure the next morning for Turkey.  A dizzying whirlwind of travel, but a string of unbelievable and unforgettable experiences.