I haven’t posted for nearly 10 months. Why?

The simple explanation is, my feelings were hurt. After this post my blog started to get more and more hits. Traffic spiked. I was linked and mentioned on other blogs. And I’m not going to lie, seeing my stats climb on google analytics was pretty awesome. Oh oh look someone in Reno, Nevada was on my blog for 2 hours! Nice! I’m getting lots of hit for people googling “Mefloquine wet dreams”. Dirty… and awesome!

But with the increase in traffic came a lot of trolling. The rudest comments I just deleted. And most of the email I could ignore. People criticizing my writing style (“your blog is like if Diablo Cody was released on a poor unsuspecting African village.”) others shaming my over sharing (“writing about the stupid things you do while drunk abroad doesn’t make you seem cool it makes you seem pathetic”) and then there were the grammar/proofreading freaks. I was able to brush off most of those emails, but then an entirely different set started rolling in…

When I received some critical emails from other travel bloggers and Returned Peace Corps volunteers I really took their words to heart. I was accused of being exploitative. Of not writing about the “essence” of my experience in the Peace Corps. For making it seem like a joke. People were angry that I was writing honestly about my service. One person even went so far as to say I “wasted” the amazing opportunity that had been given to me.

So I stopped posting. I stopped checking the site. But the funny thing is… the blog didn’t die. I still got the emails (both good and bad) but the longer I was away the more positive the feedback was.

Recently nominated Peace Corps volunteers were watching the video of me opening my invitation and then sending me the link of them opening theirs.

I was messaged, tweeted and Facebook friended by strangers who felt like they knew me because they spent a day reading every post on my blog.

So, I’ve decided to put on my big girl pants and to ignore the haters. I love writing and I love sharing my writing on this blog. But my return comes with an–apparently much needed–explanation of what this blog is about.

This is not a typical “travel blog.” At no point will I ever write about those bright and shiny “travel moments” that saturate the travel blog community. I don’t write about exotic sunsets, historical monuments, authentic cuisine or thought provoking interactions with the “locals”.

I write about the awkwardness and uncomfortableness of life abroad. Because that is my travel reality and that is what I choose to write about. I am a hot mess, with an incredibly sarcastic voice and a penchant for poor decisions on the road. They say write what you know, and I do.

Also, if you want to read a great thought provoking tome about the Peace Corps experience, you won’t find that here. But, if you want to read about how one of the world’s most deadliest snakes nearly made me shit my pants. Or how I taught my Senegalese family to scream “dance puppet dance” at me during parties, then you are in the right place.

I think we all know that the Peace Corps won’t be featuring me in any of their recruitment ads.

Finally, This blog is not a “how-to” guide for anything—unless you are search for how to become a semi-alcoholic, over-educated, underemployed nomad. In which case I recommend you start by perusing the archives.

This blog is about telling a story. MY STORY.

I’m not going to win any travel awards for evocative writing or perfect photos. I know that.

This blog is filled with the stories of my life… or perhaps the lack there of. It is deeply personal, and I intend to keep it that way.

So whether you are reading along because you take sadistic pleasure in watching how my misadventures and poor decisions play out. Or because you are my future lawyer collecting evidence for an insanity plea deal. Or because you googled “big ass Senegalese girl” and this blog was the top result. Welcome.

Over the next 6 months or so I will be posting the things I wrote during my hiatus. Even though I stopped posting on this blog I never stopped writing! Fingers crossed, these posts will inspire/terrify/disgust and entirely new group of people.

Wanna see this post all bright and shiny? Check out the real deal at girlwithgumption.com

All foreign teachers in South Korea are subjected to a mandatory health check. You know, because foreigners are dirty, unhealthy and gross. Obviously. That’s why they trust us to educate their children. They just don’t trust us not to get STDs…

My health check began with me striping down in front of a Korean nurse who was texting on her phone while she hooked me up to some sort of sadistic-looking medical robot. Wires were taped to my chest and back. My arms were placed into plastic hooks and one was wrapped in a blood-pressure cuff. If I hadn’t been extremely exhausted and jet-lagged I may have protested or required some sort of explanation in a language I could understand. Instead, I laid back and resigned myself to the fact that humiliation and confusion were probably going to be my new normal. Nothing new.

After the machine whirred, spun and spat the “nurse” unhooked me and handed me a paper Dixie-type cup. It was flimsy, white colored with pink and blue flowers printed on the outside. She then spat off some rapid Korean. I, of course, gave the universal sign of “I have no I idea what the hell you just said”: Eyes wide open, shoulders raised, uncomfortable half-smile. She acknowledged my confusion by doing an about face and walking quickly away.

Ummmm… ok. Helpful. I returned to the waiting room hoping that the Korean chaperone my school sent would be able to provide insight. I held the cup out confused and said as clearly as possible, “I don’t understand. What do I do?” His response was a grunt, a motion towards the bathroom and then he too did an about face and walked quickly out of the doctors office.

Frustrated and incredibly confused about why everyone kept pivoting quickly and running away from me, I came to the most logical conclusion possible: Being put out and turning quickly to avoid additional interaction must be some sort of Korean cultural tradition. Being an expert at cultural integration I let out a huge sigh and did my own fierce about face and marched towards the bathroom—In the process tweaking my neck from the whiplash. I guess I will need to keep working on my pivoting skills.

Inside the bathroom I massaged my neck and I stared at the paper cup. Then I stared at the sink. And then stared at the toilet. It seemed I had two possibilities. The cup was given to me so that I could get a drink of water. Or to pee into.

I just had my pulse, heart, lungs and various other vital signs checked by a sadistic-looking medical robot. I thought to myself that if they wanted a urine sample they would have given me a plastic non-leaky type cup… with a cover. Right?

But I couldn’t figure why they would want me to drink water at the doctor’s office… after weighing the possibilities I concluded that I needed to pee into the cup…. So I did.

I strode out of the bathroom confidently and carried my slowly deteriorating cup of pee to the nurse who had returned to the examination room (I can only assume by means of a couple of perfectly executed 180 degree turns). At the sight of me her eyes got big and she squealed and waved me away, pointing to the reception desk.

Frustrated, utterly confused and unable to do my newly learned culturally appropriate Korean about face without spilling pee on my fingers, I froze.

The receptionist approached cautiously carrying a shallow cardboard box with a handwritten sign in Korean taped to the front. I can only assume the sign said, “Flimsy Urine Filled Dixie Cups Go Here.”

I placed my cup carefully in the box and then backed away quickly, expecting the receptionist to spin around and send my urine spilling over. Luckily I managed to avoid any flying drops.

Health examination. Check.
Alien registration card. Check.
Dignity. No check.

Wanna see this post all bright and shiny? Check out the real deal at girlwithgumption.com

So I think I am moving to a foreign country tomorrow. I say “I think” because I actually don’t have a plane ticket to Korea—or maybe I have a plane ticket, but no one at my new job has given me the (very-important-kinda-necessary) details of this ticket.

Oh yeah, that’s right, I think I’m supposed to start a job next week. I say “I think” because this job is as an English teacher. And I’m not a teacher. Well, I did just spend the past two years in Africa “teaching” people things. But I also spent the past two years chasing bats out of my hut at dusk and I feel far more qualified to be a guano specialist than a teacher.

I’m trying really hard to be a grown up. I’m making a responsible decision and getting a real job (well, at least as “real” as I can manage) that has an actual paycheck—even if it isn’t really something that I am passionate about. I’m making sacrifices and compromising. It kinda sucks.

I am standing over three empty suitcases, gulping down a beer and feeling really disappointed that my packing list includes things like makeup, sweaters, and regular closed-toed shoes. I keep staring longingly at a box filled with the remnants of my former life. A headlamp. A complet made of hand-dyed blue fabric. A couple of mefloquine tablets and a baggie of erythromycin. I can’t help but think that any journey that doesn’t require these things cannot be much of an adventure. I’m also starting to realize that maybe I shouldn’t use the risk of dying of a tropical disease as scale for measuring a journey’s adventurousness. I should also stop making up words like “adventurousness” if I’m going to be an English teacher.

I console myself with the knowledge that even though Seoul is not Africa, it will be better than here. America, you’ve seriously let me down. So I’m leaving, this time for good. That is, if someone would just tell me what plane I’m supposed to get on… Maybe I’ll just have another beer.

Wanna see this post all bright and shiny? Check out the real deal at girlwithgumption.com

Dear Korea,

I’m going to be honest with you–because all healthy relationships are built on trust, right? Korea… you’re my rebound.

I just got out of a long-term relationship. Honestly, it was a very tumultuous relationship. At times even abusive. But I loved Senegal with all my heart and gave everything I had to our relationship.

It was an amazing two years. In fact, the best two years of my life.

And while it was my decision to leave, I still yern for the way I felt when I was there. Some days it takes all my strength to stop from running back into his hot, sub-Saharan embrace.

But I know that things are different now. I am not the same person I was when Senegal and I first got together. And now I need to move on with my life. To meet new places and experience new things. That’s why I’ve decided to take a chance with you, Korea.

I’m not making any promises. The outlook for rebound relationships usually isn’t great. And as far as commitment goes, Senegal was my first real long-term relationship. You see, I’m usually more inclined to short-term flings. A semester with London in college, 10 day trist with Mali, a one night stand with Munich.

But just because you are the rebound doesn’t mean that I’m not open to the possibility of our relationship becoming more.

And who knows? Maybe I’ll fall in love with the rebound… with you. I’m willing to take a chance on us. Are you?

Affectionately,
–a girl with gumption

Wanna see this post all bright and shiny? Check out the real deal at girlwithgumption.com

So, my (real-life, non-internet) friend, and fellow blogger, Elizabeth over a One Day I’ll Fly Away, nominated me to participate in the easyJet Holidays Inspiration Initiative. The goal of the initiative is for bloggers to share who, what, where and when inspired them to travel. All the participants who follow the contest rules will have a chance to win an iPad2 and a 5 star holiday.

Of course, you need to be a UK citizen to win the prize… and I am not a UK citizen (at least not yet–Kit Harington I’m lookin at YOU). But I decided to write an entry anyways. You know, for shits and giggles. And I was bored at the coffee shop. And I was feeling introspective.

Who? The people who doubted me.
I grew up in a small town where anyone stood out or wanted a better life was labeled a “snob” or “showoff”. Faced with constant distain from my peers and many teachers (I had one high school teacher who routinely made me sit in the hallway because I made the other students in his class feel “stupid”) I left my high school when I was 16 and enrolled in a community college in the city. I also started working a part-time job. At the community college I was able to take classes on art history, European literature, foreign languages and world architecture. I had professors who challenged me and who thought that my independence and curiosity were an asset not “snobbish”.

With this sudden change, I started to think that maybe I wasn’t a shoe. Maybe I was a hat. Confused? Let Rachel explain:

With my new-found perspective and emerging self-confidence I convinced a friend to spend the summer after we graduated high school backpacking through Europe. This idea really ruffled a lot of feathers. I had people attack me and insist I was a rich entitled bitch. I was told that there was no way I could do it. I would come back broke or even worse my parents would have to bail me out. But I proved them wrong.

I still hear their voices in the back of my head. For better or worse on really rough days it keeps me going. I’m not rich. I’m not a snob. I’m not a showoff. I just refuse to ever again think less of myself just because I want to be something different.

What? A copy of Europe Through the Backdoor.
It was an old copy of Rick Steve’s Europe Through the Backdoor that first planted the seed that I might be able to travel.

I spotted it on the shelves of the library while I was doing research for an art history project on Caravaggio. Say whatever you want about Rick Steves, but that Khaki-wearing-middle-aged-PBS-personality makes independent travel seem easy and affordable for the average American. Picking up that book gave me the final push I needed to realize my dream of backpacking through Europe.

When? September 8th 2006, 4 hours outside Cairo, Egypt.
While my first trip to Europe was eye opening and inspiring, the next summer I decided to use what was left of my savings to travel to the Middle East. Alone. When the entire region was engulfed in multiple wars. This trip was my most empowering–it also ranks up there among the stupidest things I’ve ever done.

As the heading makes obvious, I can even pinpoint the exact moment when everything changed. I was on a local bus heading to the Sinai in Egypt. No one on the bus spoke any English. I had no idea if I was even on the right bus or where I was supposed to get off (we eventually hit the Suez Canal so I figured that we were heading the right direction). I was terrified. I eventually decided to get off the bus. I spent about 15 minutes confused and scared on the side of the road before I was offered a ride by a group of Bedouins on the back of a truck filled with goats. They took me to the nearest tourist town and dropped me off at a hotel (I can only imagine what was running through their minds—they must have thought I was crazy).

I knew I loved traveling, but it was during this particular journey that something different began to take root. I realized that this was what I wanted to spend the rest of my life doing–learning new languages, exploring new cultures and scaring myself shitless in foreign countries. I’ve done a pretty good job of doing exactly that.

Where? Anywhere really.
A great lesson I learned during my Peace Corps service that every place has value and potential, from the halls of the Louvre to a dusty African village. Where I am isn’t nearly as important as what happens once I am there.

And that’s the essence of real adventure, right? It’s about experiences. The world can surprise you with beauty, love and whimsy, you just have to be willing to get yourself to a place where you can see it…

how about you?

Whatever you are passionate about, be it traveling, playing the guitar or drinking cheap wine, what inspires you?

Tell me in the comments or leave me a link to one of your own travel inspiration posts.

Wanna see this post all bright and shiny? Check out the real deal at girlwithgumption.com

As my Peace Corps service came to a close I faced one of those inevitable forks in the road. Do I pack my bags and escape once again? Or do I return to America and settle down?

Faced with a really important choice I balked at the pressure of actually making a decision. You see, I’m not great at making decisions. Or actually that’s not true, I am great at making decisions, just not at making good decisions. But you already knew that…

With the hangover of adventure still lingering from 2 years in the Peace Corps, I ignored my instincts and decided to try and stay in the USA. Work a 9-5 job. Lease an apartment. Drink at trendy Thursday night happy hours. Apply to grad school. Go on bad first dates. It seemed like this is what I was supposed to be doing, and for a short time I convinced myself that I was making the right choice. I had my adventure. I lived my dream. Now it was time to settle down.

I convinced myself during months of self-examination alone in my hut in Senegal that my constant need to abandon what was comfortable and familiar was a personal flaw.

If I was capable of deriving my self-worth and happiness from within, then why couldn’t I do that while working a “real” job and living close to my friends and family in the US?

I reasoned that adventurous people live exciting and inspiring lives regardless of their location. And if I couldn’t find a way to live a exciting and inspiring life in the US than maybe the problem was with me, and not necessarily the location…

But I was wrong. So, so wrong.

Maybe if I had been offered an amazing job things would have turned out differently. Or maybe if I was living in the city, surrounded by young and talented people, would feel more inclined to stay. But I wasn’t and I’m not. I need to stop chasing what I know in my heart is a fraudulent dream.

For me, right now in this moment, settling down means settling. In my heart I know that the only way I feel truly alive is through travel and exploration–and a settled life for me is a life half-lived.

There are still new borders to be crossed, foreign tongues to be spoken, picture perfect moments to capture, roads uncharted, and words unwritten.

Good decisions, poor decisions; it doesn’t matter. Because you don’t choose a life, you live one. So I am going to keep living mine. A new chapter, a blank page, and a lot more (mis)adventures.

Life is short. Lets make the next round a double.

Wanna see this post all bright and shiny? Check out the real deal at girlwithgumption.com

Question: I see you’ve been in the Peace Corps for the past two years. You know I once thought of applying for the Peace Corps.

What I wanted to say: Great then, can I have your job? Because I actually applied, was accepted and served two years in the Peace Corps. It appears that I have already demonstrated that I possess more initiative and follow-through than you.

Also, while we are on the subject, I once thought of applying to Harvard.

What I actually said: Yes I was a Peace Corps volunteer and it was a very challenging and rewarding experience. While I was serving in Senegal I feel I gained some valuable skills and insights that would make me an excellent addition to your team.

Question: So we don’t allow our employees to check facebook or text during work hours. Do you think you would be able to disconnect yourself from your personal life during the day?

What I wanted to say: Well, during a particularly long power outage in Senegal I once went 2 weeks without internet, cellphones, music and electricity in general. So, yes?

What I actually said: Yes. I don’t imagine that will be a problem.

Question: We are looking for a highly motivated employee who is capable of working without direct supervision. Do you think you are capable of this?

What I wanted to say: Probably not. Motivation has never been my strong suit. That’s why I enrolled in college at age 16, traveled independently to 18 different countries before I was 21 and spent the last two years doing grassroots development work in sub-Saharan Africa. I’m such a slacker.

What I actually said: I have had extensive experience successfully completing projects without direct supervision. And for the past two years I have worked on projects while living on the opposite side of the country from my work supervisor.

Question: We work with a variety of people from a variety of backgrounds. Are you comfortable in a diverse work environment?

What I wanted to say: Nope. Not comfortable at all. That’s why I volunteered to live halfway around the world in an isolated African town where no one spoke English. I just feel so awkward around people who are different than me.

What I actually said: I’ve been extensively trained in cross cultural communication and have over 3 years of combined experience in international work and travel. I feel most at home working in an environment that embraces diversity and encourages a variety of work and communication styles.

Question: I see you’ve put down that you are interested in a salaried position. Just want to let you know that our entry-level employees are hourly positions and they usually start at minimum wage.

What I wanted to say: Last time I made minimum wage I was a 16-year-old waitress. I assumed that now with my three degrees and 4 previous years of experience that I am worth more than $8.80 per hour. Whoops. My bad.

What I actually said: Well I understand that compensation packages vary from company to company. I am willing to take a dip in salary if the company offers other employee benefits. –oh, you don’t? Not even health insurance? *Awkward silence*

Wanna see this post all bright and shiny? Check out the real deal at girlwithgumption.com

Peace Corps admin tries very hard to prepare their volunteers for re-entry. When the end of our service nears, they even pay for us to spend two days at a nice hotel plying us with resources to help us with re-integration. These resources are supposed to help us wrap up our service into nice little boxes and one again become functional cogs in American society.

After all, it would be bad PR if returned volunteers were constantly breaking down in the cereal isles of their local grocery store or shouting foreign profanities at city bus drivers.

Re-integration is hard. And while Peace Corps has done its best to prepare us, I’ve struggled with a few obstacles that I wasn’t expecting. Becoming an American African is harder than I thought…

First, I cannot believe that no one mentioned the reverse toilet paper shock. For two years my bottom felt nothing but the trickle of lukewarm water and the soft African breeze. No toilet paper means my butt was–well–soft as a baby’s bottom. So, you can only imagine my behind’s discomfort at being wiped with rough, chemically treated paper. Luckily with time my butt has rebuilt the callouses required for survival in the toilet paper obsessed western world.

Oh, and then there’s the cars. Automobiles have become my personal nemesis. I hate driving and I hate being a passenger. These huge chunks of metal are nothing better than American deathtraps. After surviving two years in Africa the last thing I want is to die in a run-of-the-mill auto collision. And the more often I am in a car the more likely it becomes that this is the way I am going to bite the dust. Is it irrational? Sure, but I have never claimed to be a rational human being…

And there is the loss of adventure. When you are in the Peace Corps, just getting out of bed and taking a shower is an unpredictable and exciting. The most boring and mundane days still have obstacles and challenges. Even after 2 years you are still learning a new language and gaining insights into a new culture. Life in America is boring in comparison. Sure, hot water, English speakers and an endless variety of food are nice—but life here feels too easy and dull by comparison.

And of course the climate readjustment. I don’t know if you realize this—but America is freezing. Or at least my little corner of the Pacific Northwest is pretty damn cold. My body’s internal thermometer thinks 90 degrees is “room temperature” even a well-heated house is cold by my standards. To top it off, I don’t have any warm clothes. I have seriously considered investing in one of these, but then I remember that I am a broke, unemployed, recently returned Peace Corps volunteer and I stop myself.

And finally, while Peace Corps does a great job of training volunteers to answer that inevitable “how was the Peace Corps” question with a quick 30 second elevator-pitch response, what Peace Corps really doesn’t prepare us for, are the people who simply say, “Thank you for your service.” On the rare occasion I encounter someone who actually appreciates my work, I get overwhelmed, tongue tied and incredibly emotional. Yeah, super awkward for everyone involved…

Being a Peace Corps volunteer is a thankless job. The organization is misunderstood, underfunded and overstretched. The volunteers who give up two years of their life to represent the best of the United States while doing difficult grassroots development work deserve so much more. At the very least, they deserved to be thanked.

Oh, but if are one of the few people who actually do thank volunteers, don’t be surprised if one busts into inexplicable tears. Don’t worry, that’s perfectly normal.

Wanna see this post all bright and shiny? Check out the real deal at girlwithgumption.com

Random dude: Cool. You were in the Peace Corps! So what was that like for you?

Me: Well… I’m not really sure yet. It’s like I woke up one morning and my hair was 6 inches longer, my skin was two shades darker, my body was covered in bruises and scars, I had a stomach full of parasites, there was the nasty aftertaste of shitty beer in my mouth, and an Akon song was stuck in my head.

Random dude: Oh… so you’re saying Peace Corps roofied you?

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Stage One – Denial
This stage manifests itself by volunteers insisting that they feel “fine.” They haven’t yet acknowledged that their service is over. They may still refer to themselves as a “PCV” (Peace Corps Volunteer) instead of a “RPCV” (Returned Peace Corps Volunteer). They call their village of service regularly and insist that their local language skills are not declining. Many volunteers prolong this stage indefinitely by embarking on close of service journeys to destinations even Lonely Planet has failed to cover in their Shoestring Guides.

Stage Two – Anger
Once volunteers have accepted that their service is in fact finished, they often channel their overwhelming feelings of guilt and loss into anger. Volunteers in this stage can often be heard crying, “Why me? It’s not fair!” or “Why did this happen to me?”

Stage 3 – Bargaining
At this point many volunteers start to believe that a return to the Peace Corps would solve all their problems. Many may find themselves negotiating with their former Country Directors for Peace Corps staff positions or Peace Corps Response assignments. Volunteers fruitlessly attempt to find a way to re-create their original Peace Corps experience—except vowing to be a “better” or “more effective” volunteer this time around.

Stage 4 – Depression
During the fourth stage the volunteer begins to understand the certainty of the end of their Peace Corps service. Because of this many volunteers may disconnect from the world and people around them. Phone calls to their country of service will occur less frequently. Their lives will revolve around marathons of the television shows Hoarders and Top Chef. Volunteers will spend most of their time grieving the end of their service.

Stage 5 – Acceptance
After grieving the end of their service, volunteers can finally move on and accept their new reality. They reassure themselves that, “It’s going to be okay.” Or “I can’t go back, I may as well move on.” Volunteers fall into their previous lives and their Peace Corps experience becomes something brought up only during drunken bar conversation.

Wanna see this post all bright and shiny? Check out the real deal at girlwithgumption.com