The World is Your Oyster

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It's July 4th and I spent the day recovering from Germany's loss to Italy in the semi-finals of the World Cup. Although I'm disappointed not to see Germany win it all on their home turf, their loss today is no grand matter as I'm still on a giddy high from France's victory over Brazil on Saturday. Enough of the cup, and on to Taipei. I was there May 1st through 7th, a good two months ago, but it's never too late to share.
Taipei, Taiwan... the land where wine flows like water, where travelers instinctively flock like the swallows of Capistrano... NOT! (I'm trying to bring the early 90s expression back. NOT! Sorry this must be annoying to read, I'll get back on track.) Taipei, admittedly, has its share of smog and perhaps too many people to retain my American standard of personal space. My brudda Michael has lived there and taught grade school for 3 years (demonstrated in the above photograph), and I was delighted to see the land he discovered. He and 2.63 other million people, that is. We had so much fun together. Not only was it wonderful to reconnect with my one and only sibling after spending years apart, Michael welcomed me warmly into his life in Taiwan and I treasured every moment of it. He's a Uvelli, meaning he loves food, meaning we get along great. M has several regular breakfast places he frequents, and conversed in seemingly fluent Mandarin with the shop keepers he knows always ordering an interesting dish (for breakfast I came to love the tuna burrito type things, they were much more Asian tasting than the way a "tuna burrito" sounds, however), and introducing his "mei-mei," the Mandarin word for "little sister." I say he was"seemingly fluent" because I'm no authority on Mandarin, but Michael spoke and listened without straining or hesitation. I was impressed to hear Chinese coming out of his mouth! And even more impressed when people responded to what he was saying! Everyone was incredibly warm and kind and thought Michael and I look very much alike, except for his beard which they didn't seem to be fans of. But we laughed it off.

Taipei, as I alluded to previously, is not a typical tourist destination in Asia. But I would go back to visit Michael in a heart beat. He took me to his Tae Kwon Do class twice in the one week I was there, and I received special instruction from his teacher and classmates. As you can see in the photo to the left, I'm working on my kick. Although my technique was miserable, I AM wearing a gi, the pants portion anyway, and that made me feel like I was good. I'm not sure how to put this exactly, and I'll be modest in saying this, but M's Tae Kwon Do instructor is the greatest person in the world. He's an approachable father-figure-like TKD expert, with a great sense of humor, patience for and love of foreigners (thank goodness), and an overall delightful character with whom Michael has grown fairly close. Lucky Michael! On the right is a picture of the three of us. In the photo from left to right is Kate, GOD, and Michael.

That's only the beginning of the Uvelli (x2) Taiwan adventures. Stay tuned another few months and perhaps I'll get the patience to blog again. Until then!

Made it home safe and sound, and incredibly happy to be here. For the past week I've been experiencing an immense amount of culture shock, not only by returning to a first world country, but also by being surrounded by familiarity for the first time in months. My dad and I went to the cabin in Eastern Washington this weekend and every time I go there I am reminded of how lucky I am to have grown up amidst natural beauty. There are many pictures to show of my trip, and I will, I promise. I'm happy to be home but I know that in many ways I'm a different person than when I left. In a good way. It all feels very good.

I'm way behind on blogging, of course, I always am. But who says a blog should be a consequtive log of events? In good time I will give my wonderful days in Taipei with Michael their proper due, but for now I'll share a limited set of pictures from Cambodia. In Siem Reap, Sunny and I rented bicycles during our four-day stay, and found them a handy way to travel throughout the city. Of course, it's currently the rainy season in Cambodia, and more than once we were caught riding in the rain. It's not Seattle rain, the light mist we experience constantly from September to May. No no, the "rainy season" in Cambodia means a sheet of water dropped from the sky, heavy enough to soak a person in several seconds. It's astounding! I love it!

OK change of plans. As you can see, there are no new pictures. Sorry to disappoint, please file a complaint with blogger.com, which is the most inefficient and frustrating blogging system I have ever used. It is also the only one. I imagine someone from blogger is reading my complaint right now and my blog will be put on some sort of blog black list. Maybe it already has been, and that's why I cannot upload pictures. Or perhaps it's this archaic device I'm sitting in front of, which in 1995 would resemble a "computer" but it has a slower processing speed than my TI-83. Yes, you remember, TI-83 Tetris was the only way to survive calculus in high school. That calculator would be an impressive addition to the hardware collection in this Cambodian internet cafe. I won't complain further, considering the Khamer Rouge Regime killed nearly 30% of the Cambodian population from 1975-79. The country is easily forgiven for being a bit behind in computer technology. Speaking of obvious segues, I have been astounded to learn of the horriffic history of Cambodia, and knowing how much occurred in my life time only opens my eyes and frightens me even more. In high school, my progressive history teacher (is that an oxy moron?) Ms...dear god I can't remember her name. Have I been out of high school that long? Regardless, this idealistic and hopeful teacher of mine, who I shamefully had for two years and absolutely adored because she had bumper stickers that said "Free Tibet" and "Whirrled Peas"and I STILL can't remember her name, was always trying to raise our awareness of world events. We watched a film called "The Killing Fields," an account of two reporters during the Khamer Rouge take-over and the subsequent events in Cambodia. I remember thinking "Where's Cambodia?" That's embarrassing. At least I now know where Cambodia is.

Tomorrow I head East to Thailand for a few days, then fly to Taipei to see Michael's new apartment and his beautiful girlfriend Shiho for one evening, and on May 30th I land in Seattle. Traveling is wonderful, but I will be very happy to be home.

If you're looking for a place to shamelessly seek sexual relations with easy hot foreign women, Bangkok is it. Despite the big buddha and a boat ride up the Chao Phraya river, Bangkok didn't really appeal to me. I got out of there after only a day and went to Sihanoukville, Cambodia and spent a week on the beach. I'm currently in Siem Reap, Cambodia visiting Angkor Wat (grand ancient temples - love them!) and instead of returning to Thailand immediately (which I was secretly dreading), I will try to make it to Vietnam. Stay tuned...

Books I've read on my trip:
Mountains to Mountains - Tracy Kidder. Highly recommend it. I'd write a review but you know how to use the internet.
Tuesdays with Morrie - Mitch Albom. This book is so choice. If you have the means, I highly recommend you pick one up. It shares many of life's valuable lessons and is overall uplifting and inspirational.
The Fountainhead - Ayn Rand. Not my typical choice of author, but this book was recommended to me and overall I'm glad to have read it. The characters are dispicable but I learned about architecture and the importance of integrity. Plus I was so absorbed in the plot I could hardly put it down.
Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte. My mom has been trying to get me to read this book since I was 12 years old and I regret having put it off so long. I loved this book page in and page out. Jane Eyre is strong, smart, and self-aware, a true heroine.

I'm currently reading: Foreign Babes in Biejing by Rachel DeWoskin, a great recommendation from my brudda about a Western woman's 5-year experience in Beijing. Quite funny. On tap is: The Know-It-All : One Man's Humble Quest to Become the Smartest Person in the World by A.J. Jacobs. I picked it up in an English bookstore in Hong Kong (I was in heaven! Books in English!).

I'm sad to leave my bro, who I've been with for the past week and a half in Hong Kong and Taipei. We've had some great moments. At the rate I'm going, I'll blog about them maybe a month from now.

On to Thailand!

I haven't much time to write at the moment, but I am making an effort because I imagine this will be my last blog update for a while. Michael and I spend 4 jam-packed days in Hong Kong (and I've subsequently realized that everywhere in Asia is jam-packed, with people). There are many fun stories to impart, but for the sake of time, the highlight of my Hong Kong experience:

I made the news.

My 15 minutes of fame are up, I suppose (ok, I was on air maybe 15-seconds, but in a city like Hong Kong with a population of 10 million people, I figured it's equivalent). A reporter was conducting a story on tourism and fundraising at the Giant Buddha just outside the city, and she targeted her perfect tourist victim to interview about my thoughts on the tourist destinations of Hong Kong. The first question she asked, as she glanced over my blond hair and sunglasses was, "Excuse me, miss, are you a tourist?" Was this woman mocking me? I gave what I thought were decently eloquent responses to her questions (Michael was standing by and will attest to this statement), but in the snippet that aired that night, I thought I sounded like a ditsy valley-girl. I almost wish I had played the part entirely and said "It's, like, really great to be in Hong Kong in the Republic of China, looking at this big statue of the emperor. " At least that was I would have made Leno. No matter how I actually appeared on TV, I was happy for the experience. In the least, it makes for a decent blog entry.

Michael's Comment: For the sake of geopolitical accuracy, it must be noted that the correct full name for Hong Kong is: Hong Kong Special Administrative Region. Don't forget Sucka!

Alas, I sign off. Tomorrow I leave for Thailand for three weeks and will doubtfully much chance to blog. I apologize in advance and will make my best efforts on your behalves, dear readers.

I haven't blogged in a long time, and I'm beginning to feel guilty. Again and again I have experiences worthy of a blog posting, and at moment of the happenings I think "wouldn't this be grand on my blog?!" Subsequently I'm amused for the proceeding half-minute I try to out-do myself with clever ways of recounting my stories.
Unfortunately for you, reader, these musings occur mostly in my head and rarely make it to the world wide web. Unfortunately for me, my sporatic blogging has caused me to feel guilty about 1. leaving my devoted readers in an undesired state of suspension and 2. the possibility of leaving out something or someone meaningful I have encountered on this trip.
It was unfortunate timing that my impatience with blogger.com grew past its tolerable threshold during my time in Germany. I loved my week with Ulrike in Hamburg. She worked during the day at her neuroscience lab where who knows what she really does. I like to imagine her with a Mary Shelly mindset: potions brewing in flasks and test tubes in musty dark cave with only the sound of electric current buzzing to muffle the screams of mercy of her "patients." Our evenings were some of the happiest times of my entire trip: we'd run or rock climb and henceforth celebrate our sporty and diciplined lifestyles with elaborate homemade salads and of course, red wine. Our philosophical yet analyltical conversations went late into the night, and many of the world's problems were discussed and resolved. Unfortunately I neglected to write down our brilliant solutions so sorry folks, George Bush will be president until I can come up with something else.
Uli and I traveled to Berlin to visit mutti, my German grandmother and Ulrike's real grandmother. Although many fun times were had during our weekend get-a-way, the highlight just may be when I discovered that street vendors sell pickles to eat on the spot. Walking down the street eating pickles in Berlin. Life ain't bad.

There are many stories from my two weeks in France, but I especially loved one lunch with Krystel, Dominique, and Krystel's father, who is 80 years old and incredibly old-school French. He spent several years in the US just after WWII, so clearly he was an expert on the US and had plenty of things to impart to me about my home country. Everyone at the table, other than myself, roared with laughter when he mentioned his experience with "mees keen-too-kee." I had no idea what they were talking about. Think, Kate, think: if you were French trying to communicate something, what would you mean by "mees keen-too-kee?" It dawned on me: he was saying "Miss Kentucky." He had dated Miss Kentucky while he was in Louisville in the 50s! A hilarious round of questioning ensued, but mostly I gathered from the nostalgic twinkle in his eye that Miss Kentucky of 1950 was quite a looker with a cute Southern accent, and this Frenchman before me still thought about her from time to time. Classic.
I also loved the moment when my 12 year-old French sister, Celia, discovered that I wore contact lenses. The conversation went something like this:
"You wear contacts, Kate? What is your real eye color?"
"Same color you see here, they're not colored contacts."
"Why not?
"I don't know, I guess I thought it was ok to have my own eye color."
"But if you don't change your color, why do you still wear contacts?!"
I guess sweet Celia hadn't been educated about secondary reason for wearing contacts (just a positive side effect): to help with vision.
One afternoon I went mushroom hunting in the woods near Thonon. We were searching for "morilles" which are rare and delicious (so I hear). We were a team of two guys and two girls; the guys knew how and where to find the mushrooms, and Stephanie and I mainly wandered around fields after them. When she and I discovered the abundance of pretty wild flowers, our nearly non-existent interest in finding mushrooms vanished altogether, and the rest of the afternoon was focused on arranging boquets. Sometimes I truly love to be a girl. The boys didn't find any mushrooms anyway.
I swam with the Club de Nageurs de Thonon twice during my stay, and although it was nice to "workout" (in quotes because hey, this is France. No offense to my fellow CNT swimmers), I was mainly there to gossip with former teammates whom I haven't seen for 4 years. I also enjoyed 2 days in Lyon to visit an old swimmer buddy, and although I don't particularly love large French cities, this one has its appeal. Not only was the weather flawlessly sunny, but Lyon has an unusual public service of renting bicycles! With many different locations to pick up and drop off, the bicycle service provided amusing outings mainly focused around my careless and directionless riding and Nicolas' continual state of agitation and stress (I don't think he appreciated my riding one-handed looking backwards simultaneously talking and taking photographs). I traveled to Lyon easily - only 3 hours by train from Thonon - and stayed in the apartment of my friend Nicolas and his girlfriend Audrey. I spent my two days there making a mission of embarrassing Nicolas with my American antics. I used to think that in France I fit in relatively well. However, according to Nicolas' reaction it seems I was nearly the cause of an international disaster because I ordered something salty at the boulangerie for breakfast. "We only eat sweet things for breakfast in France." He said it quite seriously. I thought it was hilarious that he would even care, let alone mention it, so naturally, the entire duration of breakfast I shared over and over again how well my salty quiche went with my sweet coffee.

The park in Lyon, my favorite place! Nicolas fortunately still spoke with me even after the quiche incident.

What I love MOST about traveling (other than learning the food, people, and culture of new places) is the exposure to new and different things to laugh at. In my head, of course. I am as outwardly respectful as possible, as I feel the only way to know a culture is to be part of it. On the other hand, I have this blog as my comic release. I am reminded of one of my favorite Jack Handy quotes:

"We tend to scoff at the beliefs of the ancients. But we can't scoff at them personally, to their faces, and this is what annoys me."

• I took a 12-hour night train from Vienna to Germany which arrived on the minute, exactly at its scheduled time at 7:51 am. 12 hours of driving and the arrival is synchroinized to the second! 2 weeks later when I arrived in France, however, the clock at the train station was an hour and a half off the correct time. After seeing that I was thrilled that my train ended up in the right city.

I am having a marvelous time with my lifeguard friends and have especially loved swimming with the swim team this week. I feel very at home here and several times a day regret not staying longer. "Longer" being "forever" in this case.

(By the way, I would put up photos but cannot because the computer chez Krystel runs on Windows 98. Windows 98! Does anyone remember it?!)

Thonon-les-Bains, France, in summer.


I can't believe myself. In the original itinerary of my circumnavigational trip, I hadn't incorporated my true love, France. Luckily, I added a month to my overall trip and am spending nearly two weeks here near the French Alps, on lake Geneva. The beauty of my current surroundings rival that of Seattle - a wonderful and bustling city set among mountains and water. Yet this place has baguettes, French wine abound, and cheese. Can life be any more grand?

With my French grandma, Marie Madeline, out on a walk.
I spent Easter weekend in the sweet country home of my friend Krystel's mom's boyfriend, Mike. Don't you love having connections? Mike is an Englishman, well, a Chech whose native langage is English, who has lived in France for nearly 30 years. I do believe he was delighted to host an Anglophone, as he sought me out for conversation throughout the weekend. All together we were 10 people, all family save Mike and me, yet we were of course treated as though relatives. We went for walks in the countryside with Mike's two dogs, who understand only English. It was incredibly amusing to hear the kids commanding the dogs "zeet!" instead of "sit," and "cuhm ere." The holiday, as all good holidays are, was focused around eating. When we weren't eating we were preparing the next meal. Accostomed to my gauche American customs, I filled myself up when we we sat down for the meal. "What a good appetite the American has!" they would laugh. I had forgotten that there were several courses still ahead of me. I was content with the large amount (and large variety, I might add) of food from the first course, and then oh là là, they brought out MORE food. I ate again. And then MORE food! It wouldn't stop! Not to mention, Krystel's mom practically force fed me; she's one of those women whose sole pleasure in life, it seems, is derived from watching people eat. We ate tartine, chicken, salad, potatoes, cheese, beans, several different kinds of dessert, lunch and dinner, 3 days in a row. I make it sound easy and simple, but do remember this is France, and these dishes have the innate French complexity you'll find in a good wine: 10 different flavors at once. The others were stragetic and ate little in the morning; but waking up to coffee, croissants, and pain au chocolat, how can you ask me to eat a light breakfast? Perhaps it worked to my disadvantage that I was willing to try everything and liked everything, because at each meal I'd leave the table uncomfortably full.

I have recieved several complaints about not having updated my blog. I'm shocked. Does this mean people are reading it?! My dear friend Laura noted that the last entry I had I was about to enter a pain experiment, and then she hadn't heard anything for weeks. In retrospect, that IS bad practice to leave everyone desperatly awaiting the results of an unknown venture. I'm alive folks, I actually didnt know what to write for a while. I did make an entry at some point but didnt post - I wasnt confident about the entry. But now here I am, worrying my loved ones, now forced to type on this horriffic French keyboard. Why do the French insist on changing a keyboard that is functioning and good? My life is so difficult, I have to press shift to make a period, the question mark and apostrophe are hidden somewhere and it takes forever to find them, and they took the letter "a" off the main row of keys. What are they thinking? Here's the blog from last week that I didnt post:

I know there are many desperate fans impatiently awaiting my next blog entry (many, in this case, indicates my mom and dad), but I'm sorry to say I haven't come up with any profound and witty musings to report in the past week. Perhaps you'd like an update on the pain experiment?

Falk, the experimentor, placed a metal device on my arm that could, in a controlled way, increase and decrease rapidly in temperate. The first part tested my pain limits, by which I pressed a key at the point of 'unbearable pain.' Then we went through a series of random temperatures and I guessed what temperature I was feeling. And, strangely enough, Germans use the METRIC system, so every time I felt pain on my arm I'd have to quickly calculate the temperature into degrees centigrade. That was fun, a little math project! Then we measured how accurately I measure pain: every 20 seconds the device would heat to a random temperature for a duration of 3 seconds. I indicated how much it hurt, on a scale from 'Is this thing even on?' to 'My arm is burning, turn it off! Turn it off!' Of course, it wasn't all that bad. The test was kind of fun really.

I got to thinking about pain. There were times when my arm was incredibly uncomfortable, my face would wince, my arm muscles contract. Yet I was always ok with it, because I knew that the pain would be over in less than 3 seconds. Imagine how wonderful life would be if only we knew how long we'd be experiencing pain! Having an end point in sight made, in this case, a remarkable difference in my level of comfort. Think about it. Your cold will end on Sunday night at 7 pm, you'll be sad he dumped you for two weeks exactly. Actually, think of it in another way. You're in the sun and you risk a sunburn (clearly this isn't meant for you, Craig), but it'll be gone by tomorrow at 4 guaranteed. Would you spend your afternoon surfing then? Yes! Well, no, not me, I can't get a sunburn because I worked at Island Dermatology and now have a paranoia complex about sunburns. But it works for other people. We'd be so much more willing to take risks if we knew ahead of time what pain we'd feel!

In Tuesdays with Morrie (wonderful recommendation from my beloved friend Cheryl), he talks about feeling pain, how everyone is afraid of pain and does his or her best to push it away. In my humble life I have discovered that if the pain is there, I'll feel it one way or another, and that it's never really possible to push it away. So I have been working on feeling all of my emotions, whatever they may be, give them their proper time and effort. Overall it work much better than trying to hide or change them, I do believe.

This entry is rather sad, I feel. I will soon write another entry about my current life in Thonon-les-Bains, France, where I am spending two weeks at the home of my friend Krystel and her 12 year old daughter Célia. Life is so funny here, such wonderful observations to be made.

What have I gotten myself into? At the Neurology department they're looking for volunteers and for some reason I volunteered to be part of a pain study. They'll be collecting me in a few minutes. If I have dexterity left after the experiment, I'll let you know how it goes.

Here I am in Hamburg, writing from the distinguished Neurological research department at the University of Hamburg, office of Dr. Ulrike Bingel. Many important discoveries in Neuroscience are occurring all around me, and I'm sitting in the office corner blogging about things like 'Hamburger Bank.' I'm STILL laughing about it. Remember the Hamburgler? I just read he is responsible for the pickle mutiny of 1932 and heisting millions of Hamburgers from the McDonalds archive. I had no idea. According to a reliable web resource, mockingword.com, the Hamburgler has contracted Mad Cow Disease. Such a tragic life. Please read for more information: http://www.mockingword.com/brief-mockery/hamburgler-mad.html

This is the first time in a while I've had the opportunity to share photos. The ones you see here are a scattered mixture from my week skiing in Hintertux, my several days in Vienna, and Hamburg. Let's go on a photo adventure!

Check out this guy's sweater! Is he Norweigen or what? I had to chase him down the mountain to get a decent shot. Well worth it, don't you think?










Austrians! Love em to pieces. I can't get this photo to align itself on the left of the page. It's driving me Crazy.








Vienna Choir Boys. They are so little!








What would Austria be without fur? Imagine the protestors surrounding THIS store if it were in the US? These coats make me think of the Baronness in the Sound of Music.






Things I love about Austria: Sausage and Cheese!


I'm growing very frustrated with the computer so I have to go eat some brötchen and calm myself before I continue the stories of my adventures. Acutally I probably won't eat brötchen, it's a breakfast food, I just wanted to use the ö letter.

I realize in my last entry I didn't distinguish what I love about Germans. I'm in Austria so I can't comment on Germany, per se. But the Austrian/German culture by which I'm surrounded has much to love.

First, I love the assertiveness, everyone talking at once when we're ordering at a restaurant. I quietly and shyly await my turn for the server's attention, searching for her eye contact while I repeat in my head over and over the right way to pronounce whatever it is I'm about to order (freakishly long words, I know they do it so they can laugh at Americans pathetically trying to speak German). Everyone orders and the server begins to turn away before I realize I'm just supposed to SAY what I want, rather than expecting her to coerce the words out of me. OK, this method makes sense; say what you want when you want something. My friends make me laugh; they cheer when I prounounce something correctly. Thank you, thank you very much.

The German sense of humor is wonderful, something I've connected with immediately. I only wish I spoke better German so I could get the jokes. If you're familiar with my own sense of humor, you'll understand why I'm very in synch with Markus as his philosophy behind joking is "Better to get the joke right and lose a friend." It makes me think of my dear roommate Adam November, and how our best moments are spent making fun of each other. Miss you Adam.

Next, I LOVE SAUNA. I can't believe it's not more popular in the US. Oh wait, yes I can, Americans have uptight Puritan traditions and can't tolerate the idea of being naked. I do like the German mentality about nakedness - it's ok that you have skin, that you're male or female, that you are a human being. There's no sense of showing off or embarrassment, the sauna is about the SAUNA, no one creepily stares or worries about being looked at the way Americans worry. Fabulous, I think it's a great. And when in Rome...

I'll walk you through it. Shower, sit in the hot tub for a while if you like, then get ready for the sauna because it's a 'hell' of an experience. Water is poured onto the hot stones, the steam rises, usual sauna procedure. Then, the 'Aufguss' begins. The Aufguss master waves a towel in the air to spread the heat, then he/she waves the towel several times at each person so you can have your own individual wave of excruciatingly hot air in your face. This happens again, more steam, more Shaharan heat waves. WHOA, no wonder the Germans were able to take over Europe, these people are intense. The air got so hot I thought my skin was burning. That's no exaggeration. My first Aufguss I thought I was going to die, but over the week we'd go every afternoon and I really enjoyed it. We spent the entire day on the mountain, the wind blowing snow and ice, burning any microscopic morsel of exposed skin. I was miserably freezying, but it seemed as if my friends hardly noticed the inclement weather. They noticed, they just didn't complain, that was the difference. Once I stopped focusing on the cold, I had such fun. Peer, Axel, Annette, and I practiced deep snow skiing but I stopped long before they did since I was falling so much and I'd take so long to dig my buried ski equipment and body parts from the snow. Freezing fun ski days, hot fun sauna evenings. Couldn't be better. Thanks Suse, Andreas, Uli, Peer, Annette, Markus, Michelle, and Axel for the ideal ski vacation.

I'm currently writing from Vienna. Lovely, hope to see the Vienna Boys' Choir tomorrow at Sunday mass. You know me, I never miss a chance to go to mass.

There are things to love about all places. Some just take longer to find than others. Brazil and I had a curious relationship. Maybe it was infatuation - it was easy to adore, with so many instantly applealing traits: sun, beaches, warm friendly people, dancing, parties...It's the immediate satisfaction sort of love - exciting, thrilling, new. Germany, I must say, has a different appeal. One might question my motivation for leaving Brazil to come to a country where the sky is permanently gray and the language sounds like an overexaggerated coughing fit. I came to visit loved ones, of course. Believe me, these people make it worth leaving Brazil. Regardless, Germany...the country where I'm scorned for asking rhetorical questions (I'm wasting tmie by doing that, I guess?) and where everything has a reason for being or else it's schtupid. Today I was told an American football is not a ball because it's not round, and balls are round. We're schtupid to call it a ball; it should be called an egg, like it is in German. I responded 'What about a ball without air, it's not round, is it still a ball?' Of COURSE it's schtill a ball, it's SUPPOSED to have air and be round. Don't ask rhetorical questions. (Silly Americans, we've been misnoming the football all this time! We should have just asked the Germans for their help.) I feel bad because I'm exaggerating a real conversation for dramatic effect (no, I'm just saying that to be nice, I'm hardly exaggerating at all), and I wouldn't want my beloved German friends to think I'm making fun of them. The foreigner's perspective on German culture has an enormous potential for humor, and that's what I'm trying to convey, hopefully not at the expense of any German individual, but at the expense of all the efficient, logical, emotionally-controlled people of Germany, as a whole.
We're currently in Hintertux, Austria for the week on a ski vacation. I decided devote my trip as a time in my life to 'develop alternative skills' (strategic interview language). Stuff you can't learn in school, you know what I mean. This week, it's my ski form, which is rapidly improving.

I've decided to take a two day side trip to see Vienna. It has been my dream to go there for many years (but I didn't realize it was my dream until yesterday when I realized it would be possible to go). I'll be there Saturday night staying with a friend of Ulrike's, a fellow neurologist. I can hardly WAIT to see it, I bet it's the most romantic city in the world.

I changed the view of my blog so it'd be wider. I'm undecided about it, any strong feelings?

During my short stay in New York, I had lunch with two friends from Penn: Robyn Bald and Rachel Silverman. It's good to catch up with old friends. I'm jealous they live in NYC, they're jealous of my travel opportunities. I consider us even. I bought a different journal. I needed one with thicker pages and no lines (who wants to be restricted to writing straight? My writing naturally curves and slants so I felt it needed to be liberated). My apoloigies, the information about a new journal may not keep all my readers at the edge of their seats, but I bet there's someone who appreciates my mentioning it.

I had two notable observations during my visit to New York. One, I look at the North American fruit with an air of South American elitism after 3 weeks of abundant Brazilian fruit. It'll be hard to readjust. Two, the annual elevator maintenance chart in Robyn's building dates back to 1983; someone has inspected it every year since that date with a four year hiatus between 1994 and 1999. Made me laugh.

I stocked up on peanut butter and American candy for my German family while I was in the city, and then stood on the packed E train during rush hour for 50 minutes, only to get to JFK so the security guard could violate my personal rights in making sure I wasn't trafficking anything forbidden to Germany. "How much peanut butter ARE you carrying, ma'am? Wait a minute, what's this, aren't you aware of the 15 lb. international Reeses limit?" Maybe they didn't ask me exactly that, but they may as well have. We boarded the plane on time, then sat patiently in our seats for 3.5 hours while the Delta maintenance crew tried to fix the plane. They decided it was unsafe to fly, so luckily they had a spare plane (a spare 767?! How is that possible? Think about it), and we took off for Frankfurt a mere 4 hours late. I didn't mind too much, I was just happy to be on an airplane that Delta airlines felt confident flying. Plus they make the seats in coach so comfortable, I though I was sitting on air! Poor Suse waited in Frankfurt to pick me up. She hardly noticed my plane was late - you know those Germans, so patient and laid back! Well, she might have noticed I was a little behind schedule. We cruised the happenin' Zoo area of Frankfurt and tried see some animals (they're German animals, totally exotic), but it was closed. I hold Delta Airlines accountable for my ruined German vacation. Lawsuit potential, anyone?

Suse and Andreas are working today, so I'm enjoying an afternoon of Internet access at the law office of Linten und Wieser, Rechtsanwälte. Tonight we leave for Hintertux Austria where we will ski for the next week with the rest of my beloved German friends, Ulrike, Markus, Annette, Peer, and many more. I'll post when I can!

By the way, I have decided to entend my trip by several weeks to spend some time in France and a few extra days with my brother. I will be returning to Seattle on Tuesday, May 30th.

Since I haven't had computer access for a while, I'm transcribing these entries from my journal. I'm typing on a German keyboard, so please excuse the mistakes.

22 March 2006.
"Good maw nin" - the first words spoken to me upon arriving in the US today. The bathroom attendant, who these words belong to, was saying "Good Morning" to a group of us at the bathroom sink, and everyone but myself uttered a friendly response before I understood the woman was speaking English. I'm so out of place in the South. But I like the friendliness.
I'm sitting in the Atlanta airport waiting for my flight to New York and I notice everyone wearing coats. I almost dread the reality I'll soon face - that after three weeks of being overheated in shorts and tank tops, I'll go back to feeling cold in my parka. Oh well, I love cold weather too, it feels like home.

I'm sad to leave Brazil; my time there revealed only a glimpse into Brazilian culture. In many ways I love it, in some I'm confused. For example, Rodrigo shared with Craig and me how the athletes in Brazil have respect for the games' referees, unlike the US where testosterone-driven athletes raise their tempers every time a call doesn't go their way. I considered Rodrigo's proud words as I watched a Brazilian fan throw a beer can at a police officer and revisited my earlier observation of a fan peeing on the stadium steps even though there was a bathroom 10 yards behind him. I'm not kidding, 30 feet away. So yes, the soccer players in Brazil won't get heated over a questionable call (very good, we can learn from this), but the fans in the cheap seats (on the lower level) get dripped on by half-time from run-off of beer and urine from the fans above. Hm...
Actually I loved going to Maracana for the Soccer game on Sunday. The crowd had the unified energy of fans in the nosebleed section at a Redsox/Yankees world series game. Time TEN. The fans cheer with the energy of WTO protestors, and with the same vigor and animosity, yet with rhythm and drums. And this is was a regular season game. Undoubtedly fights start among the crowds. We were in a lively area and then decided it would become unsafe and went to a place with more families (we were 2 guys, 2 girls, the guys would have stayed there but if a fight breaks out there are so many people and no where to run, hence you have to stay standing in your seat and protect yourself in the fight. The guys didn't think we needed to be doing that, thankfully). We watched the rest of the game in the family area, and even though there wasn't as much cheering, I was happy we left because Rodrigo's sister called not long after we'd changed seats to ask if we were ok - she had seen on TV that BIG fight had broken out in the section where we were. And yes, we were all ok thanks to Rodrigo's thinking ahead.

There are so many good things to write about but I know if I write too much, no one will read it. Wait, that's not true, my mom will. Love you mama!

• In a country where the concept of time seems to not exist (I'm convinced watches can't even tell time, they're worn for aesthetic purposes only), the bus system is amazing. There are so many buses that it was always easy to get around. I especially like that certain buses are designated only for students and they ride for free (or at least it looks that way; they didn't look like they were paying, but what do I know).
• The women have visible tan lines and it's cool. On some people the lines are so distinct that it looks as though they're wearing a white tank top underneath.
• I love that Rodrigo's dog is named "Mike." Pets with people names! So much better than the many Fifi's of France.
• One very important Porguguese phrase for me: mal prasada (sp?), which is how I like my meat (rare). The Brazilian Churrascarias are delicious, fabulous, out of this world.
• There are an immense amount of leaf cutter ants around the city. Those critters work hard! Costco should find a way to exploit them for cheap lifting labor. That was a very American thing to say, shame on me. In discussing the leaf cutter ants, Rodrigo joked he once parked his car on the street near a colony, and when he came back, the car had been moved 5 feet away! Rodrigo is very funny, I like his sense of humor.

Craig and I went to Teresopolis, the hightest city in the state of Rio de Janiero, last Wednesday through Friday. It is a decently-sized, somewhat dull city surrounded by a beautiful (Michael, pronounce it the way grandma used to: be-uuuu-tiful) National Park. We hiked some, enjoyed the lush vegetation and the bugs. Scratch that (pun intended), didn't enjoy the bugs.

On Friday we spent the afternoon at the Teresopolis home of the family of a friend from Seattle, Bea. The house belongs to Bea's grandmother, and surrounded by the national park, it is be-uuu-tiful as well. We swam in the pool and ate the $4 (I can't believe this German keyboard has a dollar sign) worth of fruit we'd bought at the local fruit market. $4 will buy a juicy watermelon, 3 perfect mangoes, and many bananas. Delicious juicy plentiful fruit, how I miss you. I loved our afternoon at that house, especially our watermelon fight. See more pictures here.

Bea's mom, Christina, invited us to her home for dinner when we returned to Niteroi. A delicious meal with good company: Bea's beautiful little sister, Marina, had invited two friends from school. We all practiced speaking English. I feel my English is progressing well. Christina and Marina are so warm and welcoming, I'm so happy to know them.

There are many pictures that would enhance your blog experience, but alas, I cannot show them to you at this time. I am patiently awaiting them to be put online by my Brazilian contact, because I was too lazy and impatient to do it myself. Soon, I promise.

These are on Craig's Flickr account. But I'm in some of them.
Pictures from the daycare at Morro do Cavalão.
Pictures of Churrascos.
Craig's blog: www.selfexploration.blogspot.com

On Monday morning we got up very early (7:45 am is very early when accostomed to hitting the sheets no earlier than 4 am) to go to the daycare at the favela near Rodrigo's house. Always the life of the party, Craig made balloons. "Marcel, make me one!" we'd hear again and again. The children were beautiful, as children always are. How is it all humans look the same when they're young? Although these kids live among streets contaminated with sewage, they run after a soccer ball with the same vivacity as my little cousin Patrick, who contrastingly is fortunate to have (and very thankful for) his very own set of bunk beds and extensive collection of toy cars. With my limbs awkwardly folded I sat in a chair the size of a toaster oven, and amidst the eager cries of the Brazilian kids pining for balloons swords and flowers, my mind wandered back to my life in Seattle two weeks prior. At that time I had moved a car-full of my own stuff from a big house full of stuff to another big house full of stuff into a room already full of my own stuff. Twenty houses of families living in the slums where I sat in the miniscule chair would fit into the house in which I grew up. Back in Seattle I feel sorry for people who don't have Tivo (99 out of 100 Americans still watch commercials), and two weeks later I'm surrounded by children who have never worn shoes on their feet. It was shameful and humbling moment.

A lot has changed for me in the past few months. You could say I've had one of those changes in life that people call "perspective." I do have a new perspective, a stronger and more optimistic one than ever before. I realized in the past week that perspective can't be handed down through wise words or be derived from observing others around you. Your own perspective comes not only from living the life you're given, but enduring something that challenges what you know and trust. This is how I have become more sure of my life and who I am than ever before. That's only part of what I've realized about perspective. I can watch the small Brazilian boy scan the dirt play field for anything round to kick because no one can afford a ball to give him, I can feel sorry for him. Watching him and realizing the world can be a tough place doesn't mean I know how this boy lives and feels. As sad as I feel to consider his way of life, it's good for me. In the least I realize how everyone has his own perspective. Now knowing a little bit about life, a little bit about how MY perspective can change and how powerful its control is, I respect perspective a lot more. As I encounter different cultures I must keep this in mind. In fact, I'm beginning to see how understanding perspective gives incredible insight into humanity.

Things I like about Brazil:

• Saaaaamba! I don't speak much Portuguese, and Brazilians are kind to speak to be in English when they can, yet I've never communicated better here than when dancing with the girls. It seems every Brazlilian woman knows how to dance, and WELL. I can't dance like they do, not nearly, but they seem to love it when I try. And I love it too. Samba is rediculously fast, I can't even see what they're doing with their feet. But pretending works ok, just move to the music.
• The cereal aisle at the supermarket has one kind of cereal: Frosted Flakes. An entire aisle of Frosted flakes. I wish I'd had my camera when I saw this. I'll try to get a picture before I leave.
• Juice. Suco. I've said it before, but my oh my, it's soooo good.
• Churrasco: Two nights in a row we had friends over for this Brazilian type of barbeque. The grill is going all night long - filet, sausage, garlic bread, goat cheese with oregano are made and served hot off the grill, everyone munching for hours a bite or two at a time. Music plays, some people dance, many talk, a select few may be kissing in the middle of the party or swimming in the pool. I think I'll have to resign to the fact that morning people like myself don't have the inherent late night energy of young Brazlians - both parties went past 4 am.

Yesterday we hiked to the top of a hill at Itacoatiara in the blazing sun, then waited for the sunset. Well worth the wait as you can see from the picture above. The past few days we have spent the morning and a good part of the afternoon lounging around Mirante de São Francisco, one of the houses that Craig's friend Steve Waters rents for vacationers. If you're interested in coming to Rio, stay at one of his houses, I've seen two of the four and not only are they breathtaking, they're a fabulous deal. Don't you want to live a life like this photograph? Check out his website at www.rioholiday.com and add Rio to your list of places to visit. But learn some Portuguese, it's not just the sun and the views that make this place great, it's the culture.

Before Brazil, I had never traveled to a place where I stand out as a foreigner. I think of Michael walking the streets of Taipei every day and how he must stand out from (and stand above) the locals. I wonder how long it took him to get used to that. Nearly everyone I encounter in Brazil comments on my light skin, blue eyes, or blond hair. It has become a running joke among Rodrigo and Craig (i.e. "Let's have Katie walk in front of us at night because her skin will light the way"). Rodrigo's mom Clarice says think I look like Barbie. Other friends at a barbeque said I look like Lady Diana and henceforth dubbed me Lady Katherine. I was fumbling with my contact lens and someone said "I knew it, contacts! Your eyes aren't really blue!" It's funny to be categorized with certain people, like Diana and Barbie, because it shows what stands out to Brazilians. I KNOW that in Germany, I'll fit right in, and I'll probably miss all the attention.

Yesterday was International Women's Day, the international holiday celebrated only in Brazil. Have any of you Americans heard of this day? Maybe in the US they're politically correct enough to call it Appreciate your Secretary Day?

Like the ancient Romans, the Brazilians find any reason to have a party. Thus, in celebration of International Women's Day, a band played and crowds gathered on the beach below the house where we're staying. Steve, the house's owner, had a group of friends over for the occasion. We drank, played ping pong, attempted the strange and warped Brazilian version of pool, talked, danced samba, and of course, thanks to Craig, were entertained with balloon animals. A highlight, in my opinion, was the swan that he floated in the pool. Unfortunately I didn't take a picture which in my now-sober state I regret not having done. But I don't worry as I'm sure there will be many balloon swans in my future.

I was chatting with Livia (and please keep in mind that most of the conversations I have with Brazilians are a choppy mixture of broken English and hand gestures), who, lucky for me, speaks English and French very well. She and I were talking about her experience in Paris, how she had studied there for several months last year. I asked her how she liked it, thinking of course she liked it, it's France, my motherland, my true love, wine, fromage, baguettes... To my surprise, Livia's face fell as she said she hadn't had a positive experience there. She explained as follows: "I didn't like the French way of life, it was too fast-paced. The French live to work." I was astounded. How much do you now know about the Brazilian way of life if Brazilians think the FRENCH live to work? I later told Craig what Livia had said and with a laugh he simply replied, "I love Brazil." So do I, so do I.

Click here to see the first set of photos from Rio.

This is my first ever blog. To all of those to which I have proclaimed I'd never start a blog, this is my shameful disclaimer that you were right, I gave in. Having been in Brazil for a week and experiencing many delightful life moments, I feel compelled to share them on a worldly level. Simple as that.

Memories of my first seven days have been dissolved into a whirlwind of samba music, sun, and the nasal and breathy sounds that make themselves into the Portuguese language. I have learned a few necessary words: oi, por favor, pão de queijo, obrigada. Translation: Hi, please cheese bread, thank you. It's all I really need for a complete vacation. Craig's Portuguese is very strong and I like to hear him talk. I have been studying his intro to Portuguese text book and try to follow conversations, but it doesn't prevent Craig from making fun of me without my knowing. Perhaps by my third week here I will catch on.

We stayed with Craig's friend Rodrigo and his family for 3 days last week. His mother Clarice is the Portuguese equivalent of an Italian grandmother - she cooks a LOT and finds pleasure in watching her guests eat, and eat, and eat. Yet instead of tomatos and pasta, she makes (among other things) rice, beans, meat, fried bananas with cinnamon and sugar, and juice. She made mango juice from...get this...actual mangoes! In fact, juice is very popular here and around town are juice stands scattered nearly as frequently as Starbucks in Seattle. Ones I've tried and liked: abacaxi (pineapple), laranja com acerola (orange with acerola, a fruit we don't have in the US), açaí (same story, don't have this fruit).

Saturday night Craig, Rodrigo, another friend Stella, and I went to the Parade of Champions - the 6 best samba schools who competed during Carnaval once again perform for an all night party for the Cariocans (people from Rio). The number 6 school plays first, drumming to and singing the same song for over an hour. Elaborate floats with dancers parade through the huge crowd. Each school played for at least an hour, some an hour and a half, so we were danced from 9 pm until 5 am. As the night goes on, the better schools come out, and the floats become more and more elaborate and lavish. Several dancers after performing come to the stands to watch the rest of the parade, and seeing the costumes up close we realize how much tedious and painstaking work is involved in making the costumes and floats. Thousands of ensembles are hand-sewn and decorated with beads, feathers, sequins, glitter, anything to catch the eye. As a concequence the show is both magnificent and astounding, especially to the eye of a foreigner. But the visual effect is only part of the experience, the music plays non-stop, the crowd dances and sings with the energy Americans would have only if Nordstrom had a half-price close out sale.

In Brazil, life moves both slower and faster than in the US. Here, life slows down during lunch to spend hours talking with family, and to meet friends at the beach not to read, swim, or tan (although it's a nice by-product) but to visit and catch up with friends. I haven't worn a watch here because there's no reason to know what time it is. The day moves as fast or slow as you make it, it doesn't depend on the time of day. On the other hand, Brazilian life has an energy that I haven't felt elsewhere, maybe it's the optimism that you sense when you're surrounded by those who prefer to live "the good life" over making money. A strange and unfamiliar concept for many Americans. This Brazilian energy is spent laughing and dancing (and boy do they dance!) . It's great to be absorbed in it for a while. Certainly I'm finding some things I want to bring back with me.