Is It That Obvious?

I was listening to the most recent episode of This American Life, at the point where refugees are talking about the most ridiculous things they had heard about America but could not believe, when I realized I was out of sugar. After being sick for days, I finally feel like my head is my own and my stomach is no longer revolting. In celebration, I decided to bake brownies. The chocolate was melted, flour reserved, eggs cracked. But I had no sugar. I paused the podcast and my baking to run down to the corner store.

The corner store in my neighborhood, which is referred to as Zalabi and seen in Kolín as the equivalent of living in Jersey, is much smaller than any I've experienced in Prague. It's a lot like the shop across the street from my flat in Daegu, except there's no pampered yappy-type dog to step over. There's barely room for one person in each stretch of the U of shelves. But at six-thirty, after the local grocery has closed for the night, the place is usually packed. There are weary workers buying frozen foods for dinner. An old woman is buying bread. A boy pops in to grab a candy and drop a crown on the counter without waiting in line. I listen to the Czech all around me and feel content with my understanding. "How many here?" the shop keeper asks the worker about a bag of rolls.

"Seven rolls and three buns," he replies.

I realize, suddenly, that as far as most people know are concerned, I look the most Czech of anyone in the shop--being neither Romani nor Vietnamese. I am thinking about the refugees on the radio show. Half of these people might warrant asylum because of the way this government treats them while the other half came here in the past in search of a better life. I am not a refugee of any kind. I did not escape the oppression of my government. Yet, I came here seeking something, too. Adventure, maybe. But I have also come a great distance to find happiness. We speak about the same amount of Czech, you and I, Mr. Shopkeeper, I think. This feeling of being an outsider, it's something we share.

As I place my sack of sugar on the counter, I begin to count out eighteen crowns. He asks,

"Vere you from?" in English.

Thoroughly taken aback, I say only, "New York."

"Ah."

I wonder how he knew. Did I look at my coins like a puzzle in my hand? Did I pause somewhere I shouldn't have? How did he know? And while it may seem irrational, a small part of me believes he felt my sympathy and understood all that was going on in my head while he rung up the customers ahead of me in line. This feeling of being an outsider, it's something we share. I thought it so loudly, he heard it.

An Expat's Hierarchy of Needs

Based on Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, I was having a discussion with a friend on Wednesday about how now having some semblance of stability in our lives leads to us having to worry about all of these things that we had just ignored before. The conversation went something like this:

"I'm having an existential crisis."

"So, what's going on?"

"I'm lonely."

Having a place to live, a stable job, a visa, a forbearance on my student loans, and most other things off my shoulders, I have the time and energy to realize that I'm lonely. I don't have a whole lot of friends here, and even fewer whom I feel like connecting with because I know they'll be here more than another month or two. So, it seems, I'm on level three. Let's take a look at each level.

Level 1: The basics. All those things like health, food, and shelter which are crucial to continuing to live.

Level 2: Stability. Once you have a place to live and food to eat, you need some stable income in order to continue to eat and dwell. For expats, we also need a visa to keep our jobs and stay in this country. This is the level at which most expats in the Czech Republic live for their first three or so months.

Level 3: Community. All people need to have some connection with other people. I believe that people, in general, need connection with like-minded folks. And I don't just mean people who like the same pubs. Community is about more than Friday night, it's also about Tuesday morning or Saturday afternoon, whenever you need a friend. This is particularly difficult to find when people are always coming and going from the expat community. This is where I am stuck and I bet a lot of others are too.

Level 4: Sense of Fulfillment in Your Work. This seems simple enough, but so many people I know are completely unhappy with their jobs and this unhappiness distracts them from everything else in their lives. You don't have to love your job, but you gotta' enjoy the little things at least.

Level 5: Cultural Fulfillment. This is different for everyone. It might be studying Czech or learning about Czech culture. It might be art, dance, or yoga (definitely spelled it joga and couldn't figure out why Safari didn't like this, oh j/y confusion).

I've left out some big things because I can't figure out where they fit in. Dating? Should expats even be allowed to date? Overcoming homesickness and/or wanderlust? Connections with people back home and/or freedom from people back home?

A Very Ex-Pat Christmas

I spent Christmas Eve, which in this country is Christmas, with my Czech friends having a very civilized dinner. We had a Christmas tree, presents, a beautifully set table with floating candles as a centerpiece. While we did play Go Fish, it was still quite a classy affair. Then I went to Christmas with the expats. It was more like Christmas as I know and love it.

We didn't have a Christmas tree, but this tree outside of the flat was decorated with a pool tube and a jock strap. Merry Christmas!

In order to fit everyone at the table, we had to put together tables and desks and overflow into another room. In order to get from one side to the other, one needed to do the Under-the-Table-Shuffle, as demonstrated here by my most nimble self.

We may not have had glasses to drink our wine out of-- but who needs 'em when we each have our own bottles? Also, we had quite the spread! There was not one Christmas feast item that was lacking. Wait... maybe a goose? Do people still do that?

Another example of the Under-the-Table-Shuffle, done the other direction.


Climbing out...
I made it to the couch which was used instead of chairs.

Begin gratuitous posed photos! Aww, friends!

The expat ladies all have some power animal. Mine is danger mouse. I may be small, but I love me some danger?

And what would Christmas be without a little post-wine sing along? There was no "Jingle Bell Rock" but we did sing a rousing rendition of "The Wild Rover" and other unmentionable melodies.



And what is Christmas without a little love?

I couldn't have asked for a better orphan's Christmas celebration!

Chapter One: On the Street Where You Live

Welcome to Daegu.

As most people know, I've decided to stay in Daegu only a few months because of the Korean teaching style. But I'm not going to let that stop me from enjoying everything I can here. I'm going to post a photo blog here to show what's going on in my life and what this place is like. You enter here: on my street, where I work and live. Above you see the gross roadwork that will apparently continue for the entire time I'm here. I'm amazed at how gross and smelly it can be. And the old people... old people everywhere.

The other direction down my street, my school on the left.

The "garden" or "playground" at my school, which, isn't much of either even if it might look like it. It's very small and primarily unused. Sad.

Self-Explanatory.


The Street Market

My building

Now entering...
The apartment:
My "porch" complete with washer and... drying rack.
The view from my porch
Bathroom (better shots of it to come)
Entrance way and my desk, with wall art that, no matter how nice, cannot balance out the smell of a year of smoking in here.
My bed in front of my kitchen

The entertainment center
Since my entire bathroom is my shower, the necessary shower slippers.
I didn't mention that Korea follows the Asian tradition of taking off your shoes when you go indoors. At school, I teach in slippers. It's pretty surreal.

My kitchen

My one burner, and no, there is no oven.
Another reason I could not be here for a year.







A view from up top:






Our little roof paradise