Travel Injuries

I am an expert on injuries. I have been broken, sprained, concussed, burned, cut, and caught. I have never broken my nose, but I have been hit so hard on multiple occasions that it bleeds. I broke my foot playing basketball in inappropriate shoes. I tore a ligament in my knee when I was younger when my soccer cleat got stuck in the mud. I got my head stuck between two bars of a railing when I was 3-ish (you can blame my Dumbo ears). We had to call 911 when I got my knee stuck between two planks on a swing set when I was in middle school. I have slipped down wooden stairs from the top step in socks with a baby in arms. I am clumsy, but I try to take precautions as best as I can.

My worst travel injury by far has to be the one that I am still recovering from. This story is so cool that it does not sound real, but this is 100% fact.

When I was in Tanzania, we had a one week break towards the middle of our 2 months of teaching/volunteering. It was at this point that we were allowed to travel or just rest or whatever we wanted to do. A group of 8 of us took the first part of our week off and traveled to Uganda to raft in the Nile River. (Yes, the one that is located in Egypt, but also flows through Sudan [and at this point in time, South Sudan] and Uganda). I tend to be adventurous, but I have never been rafting before, unless you count drifting lazily down the Delaware River (which I don’t).

It was pretty intense for somebody who has no experience rafting, however, it was absolutely amazing, and really, the best choice between it and the alternative, a safari. I can safari when I’m old!

As we are moving along, we come to a pretty intense rapid with a 7-foot drop on one side and a nice way down on the other. Our guide asks us if we want to take the nice way down or the other way down. Obviously, we are all young and reckless (not really), so we decide to try for the 7 foot drop. Our guide specifically tells us how to handle this drop, by tucking our heads once we start to go over so we don’t hurt ourselves.

I tucked my head, but when we dropped, it went up and straight into the helmet of the girl in front of me. I blacked out for a few seconds and my face hurt, a lot. I thought I broke my cheek, the pain was so intense, but I seemed fine after some Advil. I didn’t really think about much until I realize the entire right side of my face became really sensitive to touch and I started getting headaches.

I had to go see a doctor and apparently I was concussed and didn’t realize it, and because of the impact, I have some nerve damage that is still there, although not as bad as it used to be. At one point, I couldn’t even brush my hair on that side. Now, it just a small portion of how much it used to be damaged, and it no longer hurts, just tingles, which I presume to mean that it is almost done healing.

Here’s to hoping!

So tell me, what is your worst travel injury? Or your worst travel illness?

I Promise

I will update soon. I have just been a little busy.

Expect an update in the next 2 or 3 days, as I am taking a mini-vacation from my summer vacation.

I am in San Diego at the moment, with my grandparents. They are lovely. Life is lovely.

Peace Corps Update

So, I'm Medically Deferred until December. This means that I will most definitely not be leaving in January, however, by some miracle, I may make it to my original original nomination of April. Maybe.

The reason I have been hesitant to write before now is because of this. This is a really important event, and I didn't want to update anything until I revealed this, however, it didn't really sink in until today. I received the letter on Thursday. I knew that I was not cleared the moment I saw it, because it was in a normal-sized envelope, rather than in a large, thick envelope, which usually indicates the Medical Kit.

I am deferred because the last time I saw a therapist was in December, which was for various reasons, most having to do with the amount of time I commit myself to without thinking about sleep or alone time or studying for finals.

I am so upset by this news that, at this point, thinking about it makes me queasy. I realize that it is a very good policy for the Peace Corps to have, not to send anybody until it has been a year since their last whatever diagnosis, however, it is just sad for me because I wasn't supposed to leave until January anyway, but this is more than definitely going to push back the departure date, since I still have to get the forms and make the appointments and send in the forms and make sure that I did them right.

I spent a lot of time this weekend crying. I am not even going to lie. I am doing my best to look on the bright side of things but at this moment I feel like a failure. I internalize things too much. However, I am not going to let a deferment of five months deter me. This has been my dream for a long time, what is a wait of another few months?

It means I get to stay with my family longer, make a little bit more money to help pay off my loans, and take more classes to see what I could possibly do. I was looking into Master's International programs, however, I would really like to enter the Peace Corps as soon as possible, rather than put it off for more schooling.

The Peace Corps gives you sixty days to repeal a deferral. At this point, I'm not sure if I want to, because it is such a short deferral and I do not want to make more work for them... However, I would really like to get all of my medical forms done as soon as I can, especially because some of my doctors are in LA, and I am leaving for good at the end of August, which is going to make getting paperwork a lot more difficult.

Sometimes, I wish I had lied on the original medical forms. But I know that's wrong. We'll see what happens...

Keep your fingers crossed for me!

Weird Traveling Dreams

Now, weird travel-related dreams can fall into two categories: 1) Dreams about traveling, which this post is about and 2) Dreams that come from traveling, such as the intense dreams I had while on anti-malarials in 2009 while in TZ. I will write a post about those dreams later, but for now, my recent weird travel dream.

A few nights ago, I dreamt that my family and I were going to Australia. I have never been to Australia but I have always wanted to go. Also, there is no way that my entire family will ever go to Australia, for a number of reasons, including money and the fact that my brother hates to travel. Maybe it was just me and my mom, and in my mind, I just extended it to all of us. It was a dream after all, and when you think about dreams for too long after waking up, details tend to become fuzzy.

Anyway, there was a big plane, and we got through security. We only had one small carry-on bag for our entire time there, which was weird. Then I realized, after getting through security, that I forgot my passport. Also, I forgot to mention that we were running late and running through the airport to catch the plane, which was huge. My mom said, “Forget your passport, you don’t need it,” while I’m freaking out about my stupidity.

I will never, ever forget my passport. I have forgotten my phone. I have forgotten my phone charger. I have even forgotten my underwear (don’t ask). But I have never traveled anywhere without my passport. I take my passport everywhere. I treasure my passport, because of the stamps inside of it.

It took me awhile to realize that it was a dream, and when I woke up, I was still confused. I hate when I have dreams that confuse me that turn into days where I am just off of my game. That’s what I was all day after I woke up: a space cadet.

Aww well. This has been a random post, but travel-related nonetheless. I promise I will update with more interesting things than my psyche next time!

Surface Memories

Last week, after the last day of my last internship in college, I took out my Monroe. For those who do not know, a Monroe is a lip piercing that sits under and off to the side of the nose, kind of like beauty mark. After I took it out, I sat there for about a minute, felt like I was losing a part of me that I was not yet ready to let go of, cried a few tears, and promptly put it back in. Now, I’m either going to have to wait until the end of the summer, or just take it out long enough to do my substituting, then put it back in afterwards.

What does my facial piercing have to do with traveling?

I got it in Ireland.

In case you haven’t already noticed, I love memories. I love to talk about them. I love to recount funny stories about traveling or even everyday life. But most of all, I love the memories that I carry with me on my skin, on my body for people to see, and usually ask questions about. I love to tell the stories about them. It’s a win-win situation.

I have four tattoos (little ones) and one facial piercing. I used to have a different facial piercing, but that one ripped out and the story behind it isn’t that special, other than the fact that I got it on my 18th birthday because I had wanted one forever. (It was an eyebrow piercing and I thought they were “OMG SO COOL” the first time I saw one when I was still at an age in the single digits.)

Each time I change my body in some way, I do it with significance. Each tattoo has a special meaning to me. I can tell you what month and year and with whom I got the tattoo, and what the story behind it is. The same with my Monroe.

My Monroe. I love it so much. I have gotten so many compliments on it, and I have even had people, who tell me that they don’t like facial piercings at all, say that mine is the exception because it just fits. I look in the mirror and to me, it is so true. I take out my piercing and my face is just not the same at all. It is why I am hesitant to let go of it.

I got it with Niall in a little shop in Galway. April of 2010. I wanted a souvenir of Ireland that would always be with me. I went to Ireland thinking that I would get some sort of tattoo there that would symbolize my time: my family crest, a Celtic knot, a four-leaf clover, etc. I mulled it over and I just could not find something that my heart was set on, so I started to think that I wouldn’t get anything at all. Then I realized just how many people in Ireland have facial piercings and ta-da bright idea formed! Niall showed me a good place and viola, new piece of facial jewelry.

The only travel-related tattoo that I have is of my own design. I went to Tanzania from May through July of 2009. I definitely wanted something on my body to commemorate that. I definitely wanted it to say “Umoja ni nguvu” (unity is power). I definitely wanted to incorporate an AIDS ribbon. So I designed a bunch of different drawings, some with the outline of Africa, some without, some with the words on the ribbon, some with the words circling the ribbon, some with the words cresting over the ribbon. I experimented with sizes, with shading, with incorporating a whole planet, with no countries. After months and months, I finally decided on the design, and in January of 2010, I went with my little brother to the tattoo place that I go to by my house, and got it. It is beautiful and I love it and I love the questions it inspires.

Flesh memories. They consistently remind me of all I have done, and therefore, all that there is left for me to do. I would hate to be left with holes in their places.

Souvenirs of Mind, Souvenirs of Material

Now, some people might call “souvenirs of mind” memories. However, when it comes to my thoughts about it, when I say a souvenirs of mind, I mean a buried memory, one that is to be brought out by smell, by taste, by touch, by seeing something that reminds you of something or hearing a song that gives you a flashback. Not those easily manifested memories of who, what, where, when, why, and how, but those experiences that you forgot that you had: the smell of milky chai first thing in the morning, looking at a scarf and remembering how your friend gave it to you as you celebrated your birthday thousands of miles away from your home, the lingering smell of a lover on an old, forgotten scarf, finding a letter written to you by someone you care about and remembering detail in there, the song in a different language you first heard blasting out of car speakers, the smell of a dirt road in a foreign country, the feel of a small hand in yours, the laughter of a stranger that sounds like the laughter of a friend far away…

Some souvenirs of mind come from having souvenirs of material. A scarf (TZ). A jacket (IE). A statue or t-shirt (NI). Even a German newspaper clipping that you can’t read. All of these have memories attached to them, places that come to mind with the feel of the material, of the paper, of the soapstone.

I like material souvenirs that come from places that I haven’t been to. Postcards from France or Japan. A t-shirt and Monopoly in French from Canada. Earrings from Mexico. A purse from India. A calendar, t-shirt, or necklace from Hawaii. It sticks out in my mind when somebody takes the time to get me something when they visit somewhere. It means that I came across their mind, even for a moment as brief as the bat of a butterfly’s wing.

This is why I collect little things when I go somewhere. Even a necklace can hold a lot of power. (That may be a thinly veiled Harry Potter reference, but hey, even he had various types of souvenirs on his journey).

So even if a souvenir is small, is cheap, or even better, not material at all, it is still important to the memory of that place.

Have a great Monday!

Goodbyes Part 2: When It Hurts to Say Goodbye...

There are times in my life where the only thing I wanted to do was to resist the challenge of leaving, stay in comfort, and continue whatever little life I had made at that point in time…

I had no trouble whatsoever leaving New Jersey. I was a little apprehensive, but other than that, completely excited to start a new chapter in my life. It was scary, leaving everything and everyone I knew behind, going to a school 3,000 miles away where I didn’t know a single soul, didn’t know the correct “slang,” didn’t know anything. But it was an adventure and that is what I was looking for.

Now, the prospect of leaving this place haunts everything I do. I officially move out of Los Angeles and down to San Diego on August 10th. I officially move out of Southern California on August 28th. I officially return to New Jersey on September 2nd. I don’t want to do any of this (well, maybe San Diego, because it is beautiful, but I do, in all honesty, prefer LA).

Los Angeles has captured my heart and my soul. I love my family and friends on the East Coast, and I look forward to unlimited (sort of) time with them, but it is going to be a hard adjustment to make. I have fallen head over heels in love with Los Angeles. The city. The proximity to the beach. The transit system. The backdrop of the mountains to the skyscrapers. All of it. The good and the bad. The homeless and the people walking by them with their Coach purses and Manolo heels. Skid Row and Rodeo Drive. The acrid smell of downtown streets and the fresh, salty air of Santa Monica. All of it.

I do not want to leave. But I have to. And it makes me extraordinarily sad.

As sad as I am, I am also very excited to start a new life for myself, to show the people I grew up around how much I have changed, to really have people take notice of my skills and my intelligence and my passions.

Despite all of this, I know I am going to have days where I am absolutely miserable at home. I’m also going to have awesome days. It is hard to be rational and emotional at the same time.

A more concrete example: Leaving Ireland was probably one of the hardest things I have had to do in my lifetime. I found love. I found friendship. I had immediately found people who just “got” me. I had never had that. I had companionship. And even though I’m glad I left when I did, both because of the experiences that came from leaving early, and the knowledge that the longer I stayed, the harder it would be to leave, I’m still getting tears in my eyes writing about it.

The fresh air of Ireland. Not a single building above three stories (in Galway). Truly being on my own, to cook, to clean, to do laundry, to take care of myself. Truly feeling like an adult, like I had a responsibility to myself to make up for how juvenile I had been when I went to Germany as a freshman in high school. And Niall (HI! I know you read this sometimes!).

Falling in love in a foreign country is a downright dangerous thing to do. Leaving love in a foreign country can be even more dangerous, for your heart, for returning home, for your dreams and wondering what could have been if you had only had the courage to leave all of your attachments and follow your heart. Even though I am far too sensible for that, it still crosses my mind. Love so intense that it produces an eight-page poem that just keeps getting stanzas added on.

Falling in love for the first time in a foreign country is even more dangerous. I had never felt companionship like that. Being taken care of felt amazing. Waking up to see his face in the morning, smiling. Getting used to the feeling of warmth on your back as you cuddle, of always having somebody around who will do whatever you want to do because they want to see you happy, of having somebody to adventure with.

Facebook. Twitter. Letters. Email. Blog entries. We can still stay in touch, and yet we’ve moved on.

Goodbyes are a funny thing, because sometimes you think you have forever and you go slow, and sometimes the goodbye looms eminent, always threatening to pierce your happiness. Either way, they are always the hardest when you don’t want to let go, whether you have fallen in love with a person, or a place.

That is why I both love and kind of dislike airports. So many hellos after a long time apart, and so many goodbyes that leave the air heavy.

I hope your weekend is going well so far.

Terrible Travels, Part 1

The first time I flew to USC, to actually go there rather than go to orientation or go to see it, was a terrible, terrible experience. My beautiful, wonderful, amazing friends had decided to throw me a surprise going away party to say “goodbye for now.” It was great! They signed posters, made me a cake, everything. The only problem was that my flight was the next morning, so early that my mom and I were leaving the house at 4am so that we could make it to the airport in time for our 6 or 6:30am flight (I can’t remember the exact time). My friends stayed until 2am…

So I had to rush to pack everything I would need for the first four months of school, ended up falling asleep for a little bit, and then we finally left the house around 4:45 or 5am, way too late to even begin to be on time.

When we got to the airport, the line was incredibly long for so early in the morning. Needless to say, we missed our flight, but only barely. Meanwhile, my mom is yelling (that is her go-to thing when she is frustrated) and I am crying (that used to be my go-to thing, not so much anymore) and there are people staring and it just felt awful.

So the airline nicely rescheduled our flight for an hour or two later, and we were on our way to Phoenix in no time. Oh yes, Phoenix, because we had to fly to my grandmother’s, where we then drove her car from there to Los Angeles. It wasn’t too bad, except for the fact that we got lost on the highway because if you do not know Los Angeles freeways, they can be pretty darn confusing. Now, I can’t imagine my life without them. Then, I couldn’t believe they were so huge!

We got lost, but we found our way anyway. Then, there was major traffic because EVERYBODY was moving in, and then we couldn’t find my apartment building. After that, it’s not too memorable, so I’m sure it was uneventful.

The trip started out terribly and ended normally. If you ever feel frustrated, just think of how much worse it can be, or how much better it can get!

Have a great weekend!

PS – I submitted the first part of my Peace Corps Medical Packet today!

There is nothing quite like... (a list)

There is nothing quite like…
- the view of downtown Los Angeles from the 10 freeway on a clear night
- the smell of Galway, Ireland after a rainstorm
- the feel of the sand between my toes at the base of the Santa Monica Pier
- the view of the sunset over the mountains from the top of the hill in Babati, TZ
- the smell of authentic Nicaraguan food being served in from of you
- the taste of homemade peanut brittle sold off the side of the road by the woman who sits there day after day
- the smile on my family’s face when I return home
- the laughter that rings in my ears from my friends when we finally get the chance to go out
- the feel of a strange child’s hand in mine
- the flood of urine down a PJ pants leg because I was too scared to go to the outside outhouse alone
- the shame of confessing that last one
- the silence and darkness of a village street with only the moon as my guide
- the view of the stars in the middle of a field in upstate NY, in Manague, Nicaragua, in Babati, TZ… all different, but beautiful, patterns of pinpricks of light in the night
- the taste of a new food, a new country
- the taste of authentic Swiss chocolate, bought in Switzerland
- the beauty of a new language as it rolls off the tongue of a new friend
- the songs that you bring back in your heart
- the experience of Travel.

(Feel free to add your own in the comments! I would love to hear them!)