"Kylle, Kylle!" says the Påskebryg

Spring has spring in the Cope! For a couple of months there, I had truly forgotten what the sunshine looks like, and become as white as Gollum to boot! You can’t quite call it warm yet in Scandinavia, and yet there is this general sense of exciement and energy that’s taken over the city. A couple hours of sunlight and suddenly everyone flocks to the parks, the harbor; really, any open space will do. There is no open container law in Denmark, so it’s pretty common to see someone heading down the street casually carrying (or biking with) a six-pack…or two.

Yesterday was Easter Sunday, and if I had forgotten, I’m sure the church bells at Marmokirken down the street would have reminded me, as they rang for twenty minutes straight. It wouldn’t be Easter without candy and surprises, so I decided to hide chocolate eggs around my flatmates' bedrooms. Highlights of the morning include one flatmate asking if “anyone has lost an egg?” and another inquiring if he had to hide the egg again after discovering it under his pillow.

I celebrated by meeting another Fulbright scholar for brunch at the best little café we’ve discovered outside of the city., where she surprised me with not ONE but TWO Reese’s PB Eggs! Peanut butter isn’t typically used in candy here in Northern Europe, with marzipan (sweet almond paste) preferred instead. Since Europe invented Nutella I can’t fault them too much, but I would trade 30 marzipan eggs for one PB egg!

Then it was off to a friend’s apartment in Norrebro, where we gorged ourselves on chocolate bunnies and raspberry sparkling wine, which helped set the mood to paint Easter eggs. I have the art skills of a 10 year old, so my flowers came out a bit …interpretive, but Martina wisely stuck to painting polka dots, which you can never go wrong with. We decided on a stroll by the lakes to admire the sunshine, and it was one of the best afternoons I’ve had yet in Copenhagen.

Oh, I also saw the Hunger Games movie! Luckily, my sole American friend, Kristen, is also obsessed with the books and insisted on going to see the movie adaptation ASAP. My roommates were not so easily convinced, questioning, “Why is it called the Hunger Games, who would want to play that game?” Our seats were located next to two Danish men in their thirties, whose reasons for being at the movie screening still escape me. Their sole goal seemed to be drinking as much beer as possible before the end of the film. Their timing for opening said beer cans was impeccable – in the middle of a particular moving scene, the only thing you could hear besides Katniss’ sobbing was the hiss of beer tabs opening. Stay classy, stay classy.

I actually have a lot of updates to give about my classes, research, and plans for next year - so after finals this week, I'll try and do another post. Happy Påske, everyone!

Finally

Ok, so this post has been a long time coming. How long? Try six months. First visa issues, then visa denial, then a total change of plans, and now I finally find myself embarking on a great crusade, toward which I have striven these many months (a little nod to Ike). I’m here in Belém, Brazil preparing to teach English for the next 9 months of my life. That’s right, Venezuela is history. No socialist anti-American regime for me, just caipirinhas and balmy beach weather. Or something like that...

Why the delay in posting? Well, I could have bored you with the day-to-day ins and outs of an unemployed Fulbright Fellow in the making, or I could have waited til something post-worthy occurred. I think I’ve reached the acceptable amount of material for that now. Something needed to happen, something interesting enough to me that I thought it would intrigue my readers. It was tempting to write when I first got to São Paulo for orientation. I had plenty of down time then, and there were numerous events that were noteworthy. But post-worthy? I think not. The arrival in Belém itself was noteworthy, with my director picking us up at the airport with a whole contingent of (one of the ETA’s) future students. But again, not quite enough. What had to happen to make me want to write and give some detail about my journey thus far? A child, of course. I needed a muse, an inspiration! And young Marcus was it.

It goes like this: my two fellow ETAs and I had just come back from the supermarket with a couple of beers. The night was perfect for chillaxing (pardon the terminology). It had stopped raining and we had cold pizza in the fridge from the previous night. Honestly, what more was there to do? So we moved our feast to the courtyard and settled into some wet lawn furniture for an easy dinner and a nice chat. It wasn’t too long before we noticed that a young boy was poking his head out of the adjacent kitchen watching us intently. We caught each other’s eye, he and I, and I saw the laser sight on his Nerf gun light up just a tad too late. I went for my trusty finger pistol, but he had me. The compressed-air puff! of the toy told me that if this were the Wild West, I’d be pushing up daisies. Luckily the phrase “Não tem bala” (it’s not loaded) was what followed when I tried to express in broken Portuguese that he was a dangerous gunslinger.

What followed was an hour of intense conversation, the kind that can only occur between curious youth and strange foreigners. It started with a measuring up of one another’s respective Nerf arsenals and stories of glorious Nerf combat with brothers and friends, but quickly progressed to more serious matters of age-guessing games and learning English at school. Now usually I find it disconcerting to speak to children in a foreign language. They sound funny, have a perplexing lexicon and generally intimidate with their superior grasp of the language despite their limited years. They sense the intimidation, (because as any good camp counselor and uncle can tell you, kids are quite perceptive), and so they too often shy away. Little 10-year-old Marcus, however, was damned persistent. He kept us going with question after question of US music trivia, and was determined to find more interests we had in common.

We talked about his sisters and his family in general. It was a full half hour before we figured out whose kid he was. Apparently he’s the landlord’s youngest. Back on the subject of music, he told us he cried when Michael Jackson died. What was he, like 7? He asked us if we liked DJ David Guetta, Linkin Park, among others. We gave a short rendition of Numb for him, which he seemed to enjoy. My favorite moment, however, was when he said “Tenho algo que quero falar para você (I have something to tell you): I will never say never!” We almost fell over. The Bieber fever can strike across all bounderies of geography and language.

In short, talking with this very intelligent and expressive young man made my day. It made me forget all about the disastrous laundry incident and ant infestation in my room. Those were worries of hours long past. It reinforced in me the knowledge that though I am far from home, I am not far from friendly people. This whole country is full of them! I haven’t met a person yet who wasn’t extremely nice to me and helpful in whatever way they could be. Even our consulate security guy in São Paulo, who was supposed to scare the bajeezus out of us, had this to say: “Brazilians are friendly. Even the thieves. Hell, in Liberia they’ll blow your head off with an AK for some pocket change. But here, here you can practically make friends with the guy holding the knife to your throat.” I’m paraphrasing, but it’s not far off. Little Marcus exemplifies all the best traits that I have seen in Brazil so far, and oh what a long list it is.

This year is bound to be great. Or should I say, ótimo!

My Bags Are Packed (ish)

It’s a weird sensation to be packing my bags right now. My first semester has screeched to a halt, and I am left realizing that what standard Western measurements of time would define as the last four months, to me, have been nothing more than a blur of chaotic attempts at English class, trips to new places with colorful people, and more offers of dancing and whiskey than I ever thought imaginable. A pool of sweat has permanently formed on the nape of my neck and an air conditioning induced cough that won’t go away indicate that the Thai summer, somehow, is indeed upon us.

One of the most brilliant parts of Fulbright’s ETA program is how summer vacation is handled. Understandably not so keen on letting a bunch of twenty-somethings run free with little direction for an entire two months, Fulbright requires that its ETAs spend March exploring an interest, or perhaps developing a passion, that might, how shall I say, deepen our cultural experience. In our perfectly polished applications, I’m sure we proposed doing things such as saving children and equally cute elephants from burning buildings and exotic diseases, writing anthologies of poetry that heroically describe the quaint life of farmers living in the country side, and working tirelessly as research assistants for the premiere scholars of the country’s most prestigious universities. And that’s exactly what we are doing. What can I say? This program is full of go-getters.

For my internship, I’m leaving the land of sticky rice and somtom and heading back to the big city of Bangkok where our orientation was held in order to intern with Fulbright for the next couple of weeks. While I might have just joked about the intent of the internship, I will say that even the seemingly simple task of deciding where to go and what to do with myself ended up being a pretty useful, self-reflective exercise. A string of panicked emails with the subjects lines reading something to the effect of “HELP, I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO DO” to our program’s director, P’Tip, forced me to think about what interests me the most right now. In response to her simple question, “What are you looking for out of your internship,” I found myself somewhat vaguely responding with buzzy phrases such as “applied linguistics,” “educational research policy,” and “opportunities to write.” When she responded that Fulbright could offer me an internship that would give me the chance to contribute to its newsletter, attend a conference on international education, and help develop networking projects for current program participants and alumni, I knew she had me, hook, line, and sinker.

Anyways, back to my suitcase. It’s open and in front of me. There’s clothing around it and sort of in it. Everything’s folded, at least, in my own abstract version of what folding looks like. I have a mental list started of what things I’m probably going to forget but shouldn’t, like my toothbrush or my towel that’s still drying outside on the laundry line.

I refuse to say that packing for Bangkok and beyond has been fun, because it hasn’t. Packing sucks. I do have to admit, however, that there is something strangely cathartic about it. The act of trying to fit everything that has been part of my life since November back into one bag has become a clear and exciting indicator that times are changing. Shirts, skirts, and nude colored heels that were once new and completely unsuspecting of what they’d be be going through, I now throw into my luggage worn, torn, and stained with fish sauce. My suitcases aren’t only filled with clothing but also my experiences.

Though I’ll be in a familiar city with a familiar organization, I’m bringing with me a brand new perspective that only four months of teaching in my beloved Yang Talad Wittayakarn could have given me. I am so excited to carry that with me into the next part of this adventure and am equally excited to see how these next two months will change my perspective for when I return to Isaan and embark on semester number two. Like everything in Thailand, I have no idea what to expect to happen in the month of March. Though it’s impossible to know, I can, and will, speculate. I think I’m going to need a bigger suitcase.

From the Desk of Teachah Gracie:

Once upon a time, probably in my Introduction to Japanese Culture and Society class, which was full of curriculum requirement seekers, anime junkies, and very few of us in between, I learned that a true haiku always makes a reference to nature. Or maybe it was to a season?

Once upon another time, probably from my own experience or maybe from some novel, I learned that following all of the rules makes you pretty boring. With that being said, I present you with some original haikus that may not be very Japanese but have 5/7/5 syllables, more or less (seriously, sometimes more, sometimes less).

Good morning, students,

How are you today? We are

Fine, fine, always fine.

I’m speaking English.

You are speaking Thai, I think?

Isaan? Loa? Chinese? Not sure.

TEACHA BEAUTIFUL!

You like my skin white, nose big.

You are lovely, too!

Mattayom one nine,

Loud. Crazy. Sometimes amazing.

My little monsters.

Have you eaten yet?

Before there’s time to answer,

Fruit, snacks, noodles, kanom.

Happy Monday!

A Very Parisian Christmas

When I was in second grade, our class did a unit on French art and culture, with a special focus on the Impressionist painters. I couldn’t have cared less about the historical context at the time, but I was mesmerized by the images of the paintings we studied, especially those by Monet and Renoir. My teacher brought in baguettes and brie cheese several times, which we ate in the garden outside, listening to her read Madeline and dreaming of picnics along the Seine. Ever since then, I have dreamt of visiting Paris during the springtime, strolling in the in front of the Eiffel Tower with the coolest beret ever perched on my head. Well, I finally made it there, but not during the spring. It's the most beautiful city I've ever seen.

I spent this Christmas in Paris with my friend Elise, as I had put off buying a plane ticket home until prices were at the point where I could have taken two trips to Paris for the cost of a round-trip flight. We flew in on Christmas Eve (myself at 9 AM, Elise at 8 PM), and left the morning of December 28^th. It was a strange Christmas, but a very good one all the same. My trip to Paris was by far one of the, if the, best trip I have ever on. I’ve been to some pretty amazing places in the last few years, but those trips never went as smoothly or were so relaxing.

I was really nervous about being in Paris by myself for a day, although I have no idea why. After my passport fiasco in Prague and the ensuing craziness until arriving in Budapest, I thought could no longer be fazed by travel nerves, but I was wrong. Maybe I was just anxious about being away from my family on Christmas for the first time? Anyway, I was kind of a mess when I arrived at de Gaulle, mostly cause I was so excited I couldn't fall asleep, then overslept and took a taxi to the airport looking like a hot mess. After a train ride into the city, I wandered around Montmartre a bit with my huge backpack looking like a confused version of Dora the Explorer before arriving at our hostel, aptly named “Le Hostel.” That is only one of the reasons why I loved it so. Located one block from the Anvers metro, our window had a spectacular view of Sacre Coeur that took my breath away when I drew back the curtains for the first time.

After freshening up a bit -this is Europe after all people, you can’t wear sweatpants in public here and get away with it! – I made my way toward to the Louvre for some quality time with the world’s art treasures. The Louvre was perfect to see alone, because it is really, incredibly huge and I kept getting lost. I can’t imagine trying to keep track of someone in it, especially if you like to look at artwork at your own pace. In short, I can’t think of a better way to spend an afternoon, especially on Christmas Eve. I’m not sure if the reason I enjoyed the Mona List so much was because it is truly a great work of art or because I had built up so much anticipation, though.

I won’t go through the trip in too much detail, so here are some highlights...

Coming out of tunnel while on the Metro and seeing the Eiffel Tower for the first time. Thought process: like wham BAM hey EIFFEL TOWER WOW. Eating the most creamy, smooth goat cheese I’ve ever tried at La Coupole on Christmas Day. Coming around the corner at Trocadero and seeing the Eiffel Tower light show - then having a mini-picnic with champagne with that as our dinner entertainment. Accidentally tagging along with a French tour group at Versailles into off-limit areas...then getting escorted out of the room while 250 + tourists look on. Trying to get a picture of yourself in the Hall of Mirrors without a bunch of other tourists walking in front of you (which is impossible, btw).Gazing at the different brushstrokes in Monet’s paintings at the L’Orangerie. Biting into a multi-colored macaroon at Laduree, and testing numerous French perfumes I can’t possibly afford at Guerlain and Annick Goutal. The smell of decades of old books at Shakespeare and Company; biting into a Nutella and banana crepe while gazing up at Notre Dame. Waking up to the sun rising over Sacre Coeur and Montmartre. Eating at least two more crepes, because hey, why not? It’s Christmas after all. Completing the ‘Tour de Chocolat’ dessert tray with a pear topped with Valrhona white chocolate whipped cream. Exploring a new city with a new friend and feeling so lucky that you have the opportunity to do so!

Happy New Year!

New Year’s Eve in Copenhagen is vaguely reminiscent of what being an extra in Apocalypse Now or Saving Private Ryan must have been like – exciting, but loud and uncertain, with the slightest chance that you might not make it out alive. Unlike in Pennsylvania, people here can purchase full-size fireworks. As much as I love the Danes, their ability to put away large quantities of alcohol already scares me a bit. Adding large explosive objects is maybe not the best idea? Come New Year’s Eve, my street was full of revelers in tuxedos and sparkly dresses, setting off fireworks in the bike lanes and allowing me to see fireworks from 100 meters away. Was it beautiful and wonderful? Yes. Was I convinced a firework was going to come flying through my window? Yes. Happy 2012!

Entries about my Fulbright project and Christmas trip to Paris are coming tomorrow, but for now I wanted to post something I wrote a while back about the meaning of the Fulbright program. Funding is under threat of being cut in the United States. Did you know that the Danish government provides more than half of my grant money? Thank you, Denmark, but I don’t think that’s quite fair to you. You may agree or disagree with some of the things I say here, but I just wanted to express my opinion about the value of my experience – it is more than just being an “academic tourist,” as some have critiqued it. I’d also like to add that the sum of my experience is far more nuanced and complicated than what I’m describing here. It would honestly take me days to try and fully explain what I’ve learned and gained from my time in Copenhagen.

I’ll try to elaborate on this more later. In the meantime, something that I am better coming to understand is that a Fulbright experience is not always something clear cut – one cannot always say: today I accomplished this, I learned this, I resolved this. What I do here in Denmark is not necessarily something that will be completed in 10 months, although that is not to say I do not plan and hope to have something concrete to show from my time here.

The purpose of the Fulbright program is to foster understanding between Americans and citizens of foreign countries. I don’t believe that the need for Americans to connect with people from other countries has lessened in the years since the program was created, although the reason for fostering those relationships may have evolved with the times. Some might ask why Congress should continue to fund the Fulbright Program if America is no longer concerned about going to war with Europe? This is why.

Americans are told that they live in an increasingly interconnected world – and while this may be true digitally and even personally for some Americans, many of us will never have the opportunity to truly interact with people from around the globe. Ironically, we live in a nation whose actions have the ability to impact the entire world. For that reason, it is vital for Americans to try to understand and relate to our international neighbors.

And this is where the Fulbright program makes an important contribution. Upon the completion of their grant periods, Fulbright recipients bring back a level of understanding and experience within their host country that you would not be able to gain through a year of simply travelling. Depending upon their project, Fulbright scholars learn, teach, and work in the institutions of their host country, interacting with the native people and other international scholars in ways that a tourist could never hope to achieve.

Not only do Fulbright scholars bring back understanding of other cultures, but also an understanding of how those other cultures can influence America for the better. Fulbright scholars also have the potential to help the citizens of other countries understand what knowledge Americans can bring to the figurative table, in both a more personal manner and a less intrusive one than our government has often taken in the past. It is part of our role to put a face to America while abroad, or conversely, give our fellow Americans stories and images that illustrate our host country on multiple levels.