A Streetcar Named Desire

Two weeks ago, I went on a work-sponsored trip to the Big Easy to plant things and build stuff. Arriving on Sunday evening we went straight to business at Franky and Johnny's with alligator nuggets. That's right, delicious fried reptile. Mmmmm. I never knew what I was missing living in NY where alligator is not readily available. Moving on to other items in the Nawlins repertoire I ordered red beans and rice which you are evidently only supposed to eat on Mondays. Don't ask.

Have you noticed that thus far I've only talked about food? I'm afraid it will continue as cuisine and New Orleans seem to inseparable. If anything can be made bigger, better or deeper fried, it can be done there.

Day 1: Donning our waders and braving poisonous stinging caterpillars we set out to City Park to plant trees, dig up marshgrasses and just get dirty. At 1300 acres City Park is one of the largest (and oldest) urban parks in the world. It has an amusement park, golf course, botanical garden and so so many big beautiful gorgeous 600 year old live oak trees. After Hurricane Katrina, the whole park was under water and much of the vegetation was destroyed. Five years later, the Park's staff still works out of a trailer. But they are a few hundred trees closer to being restored after our work day!

It's gonna eat me! These suckers dropped out of trees and lurked everywhere waiting to sting the unsuspecting.

A spring chicken of a live oak tree. Their branches can reach lengths of 40ft!

Night 1: When most people think of New Orleans they think of Bourbon Street: the traditional center of drunken debauchery where open container laws hold no stead. But as upstanding young citizens we opted to go for sno balls instead! According to several culinary websites, sno-balls are an institution unto themselves not to be confused with sno-cones. Sno-cones are made with crushed ice. But a snow ball? light and fluffy shaved ice. Made with the one and only Hansen's Sno-Bliz and you can get just about anything you want on top, including sugar syrup, sweetened condensed milk and chocolate sauce.

...And then we went to Bourbon Street. At the Gumbo Shop I ate my first crawfish ever and drank my first hurricane of the trip. Actually four of us girls split a hurricane because we might be a bit lame for New Orleans. After dinner we popped into a voodoo shop selling Virgin Mary tokens (that looked an awful lot like Frida Kahlo), charms (unfortunately all for fertility) and a wide variety of cigars. I was tempted to peek into the aura reading happening in the back room but the posted signs promising death and doom to those who looked without paying scared me back on to the street. We moved on to souvenir stores selling beads, boas and bourbon and walked by Big Ass Beers several times. And then headed to bed.

All right ladies and gentleman, please watch Spike Lee's When the Levees broke before reading the next installment of Nawlins for lame-os.

dispatch from the big bad city

I've lived in the big bad city (NY, the original big bad city) for over a year and haven't written nary a blurb on it. Perhaps as a native NY-er I tend not to feel a need to remark on the weird that has become the everyday. Or perhaps the big bad city isn't as weird as outsiders think....no. that can't be it.

This weekend was an umbrella killer. Facing the rain and some terrific gusts of wind my umbrella promptly turned inside out and I decided that I had had enough. I disposed of it and bought a new one for $3 at the corner store; umbrella #2 bit the dust pretty much immediately. Screw it, I headed back to the apartment to nap and watch reruns of Gilmore Girls...more appropriate rainy day activities.

But Saturday nights are flamenco nights! So that evening, against better judgement, I grabbed umbrella #3 and headed out to Chelsea. According to the New York Times' neighborhood profiles (a thinking girls' bible) Chelsea is "charming in some places, and less so in others, including some pockets of high crime." I was likely in one of those areas where the two meet.

Because after the wind had destroyed yet another umbrella and the rain had soaked me through I realized I didn't have any cash. No, I wasn't pickpocketed just cash-less. The flamenco lady recommended that I go to the bar across the street to use their ATM but unfortunately she wasn't quite accurate. The ATM was in the store next to the bar, where surrounded by fake lady parts I withdrew some cash. I was in a porn store. But it was warm and dry and the staff was friendly, although a bit sad that I didn't make any purchases. Perhaps for Christmas. Sensual love toys for all my friends!

On the way home the subway was closed due to "smoke conditions," I saw a rat as big as a bobcat and a man in a dress called me beautiful.

Oh and the flamenco show was sublime.

2009 in review

In 2009 I...
...drove or walked across the george washington, throgs neck, triboro, 49th st, manhattan, brooklyn, and verrazano bridges and through the midtown and lincoln tunnels. Only the whitestone bridge and the holland tunnel remain.
...finished 60 books including War and Peace, the Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, Wild Card Quilt, What is the What, Mountains beyond Mountains, Half the Sky, and Animal Farm.
...planted 45,000 trees (with the help of 3000 volunteers).
...had 5 first dates. Sigh.
...set foot in 7 states.

El Reino de Espana - por fin!

If you don't mind I'll squeeze the last three days of our trip into one posting. Day #2 in Sevilla we decided to maintain our long-standing tradition of visiting museums off the beaten path...so off the beaten path in fact that we spent much of the morning wandering lost in the haze of a 100 degree day. Finally we stumbled through the oasis that is Parque Maria Luisa where Chachi lectured us on the finer points of urban planning and forestry. According to Wikipedia the park "tiene una particular característica, sus palomas, que al agruparse forman una blanca alfombra cuyo apetito resulta difícil de saciar." Fighting off a white carpet of insatiable pigeons we arrived at the Museo de Artes Populares y Costumbres which had an extensive collection of doilies. Even the display on sausage-making did not make it worth the threat of a fowl death. (Ha?) Next we hit up the Museo Arqueologico de Sevilla where we learned all about the history and culture of Spain from trilobites to tapas. I was perhaps more fascinated than my lovely companions but generally our indomitable tourist spirit was lessened and we spent the rest of the day eating anything but tapas, swimming in the hotel pool and shopping.

Sevilla from above (duh?)

Day #3 in Sevilla we actually spent on the beach in Cadiz. Due to some quirk in train reservations Mary and I were seated in a diffferent car than Chachi and arrived sans our favorite tall redheaded companion.

The woman at the information desk in the train station convinced us that no trains would arrive for the next few hours and that we should probably just go to the beach. We hopped on a bus, stopped at the grocery store, tried calling Chachi several times and finally settled on the beach hoping against hopes that we would run into the boy eventually. A mile or so and the beginnings of a good sunburn later we spotted our fair (literally) friend who had gotten off at a train stop closer to the beach, didn't see us, took the next train to where Mary and I had gotten off, spoke to the same woman who evidently didn't absorb that the three lost Americans were together, took a bus back to the beach and in the mark of a good traveler also bought some groceries and settled himself. Reunited, we continued to work on our sunburns until we headed back to Sevilla. here, Chachi left to meet up with a friend of his and Mary and I ventured out to a flamenco show. Unfortunately I don't have any photos so this one will have to do:

The next day brought the end of our trip. Mary and I, erratically and uncomfortably sunburnt (I still bear marks today) traveled back to Madrid and in the whirlwind typical of the last day of vacation visited the Archeology Museum, ate McDonalds, bought souvenirs, took photos of the train station...
...and then sat in the airport for three hours due to mechanical difficulties.

We are now home safe and sound and are planning our next vacation which I won't write about until six months later. Bueno pues nada.

El Reino de Espana - melting in Sevilla

Competing in the Amazing Race demands some athleticism. Mary runs marathons and I can plod along for hours....and honestly this was our downfall in Sevilla. It was sooo hot and we walked sooo far each day getting sooo lost when honestly we should have sprung for cabs all the time. (Not that cabs always helped. At least twice we got dropped off at the wrong place and still had to walk further.)

But let's start at the beginning. Bright and shiny early Mary and I hopped on the train to Sevilla and upon arriving somehow navigated our way to the hotel. (I seem to recall taking a bus. Could that be true?) While checking in, I turned to see Mary being hugged by a tall red-head who turned out to be my friend Cody. Cody served in Peace Corps Bolivia and had the poor fortune to be in my Spanish class for 11 weeks. He is now in grad school in Europe and agreed to spend a couple of days with us.

For some bizarre reason we decided to cram all of the Seville sights into one day...and started off by ducking into a church to check out the relics (bits of dead saints).

Finally we made it to the Cathedral which, according to the Guinness Book of World Records certificate inside, is the largest in the world. I take nothing at face value so I googled it; it's the largest Gothic cathedral in the world and third largest cathedral cathedral.

I have a bad habit of attaching myself to tour groups and eavesdropping on all the exclusive juicy historical details so I was pleased to note that Cody had the same habit. As an added bonus he also speaks French which allowed us more range in our tour group joining.
Unfortunately all he understood from the description of the altar pieces were a bunch of numbers which we assumed to be dates.

The cathedral has a bell tower or giralda that you can climb.

It does not have stairs but rather a 36 story ramp. (For those wondering: they were numbered. I didn't count the floors.) Many of the floors have windows which provide welcome opportunities to rest and check out the drainage system.

Each individual bell was named after a different saint but to my disappointment they were controlled by an electronic timer.

Throughout the trip I was interested to note what aspects of Spanish culture made their way over to the Americas. Hmmm.

After a lunch of overpriced sandwiches, instead of resting like normal people we went to the royal palace and gardens. Evidently the royals still live there although probably not in the summer. If you are insane enough to go in July (like us), there is a poorly calibrated fountain in the palace that sprays water on passersby. Totally worth the admission.

I took thousands of bad pictures that do nothing to show off the scope and scale of the palace... And we left when Mary got the hiccups and I was laughing too hard at her distress to be able to breathe.

Still to come: the boring museums of Sevilla which aren't highlighted in tourist guides for a reason.

El Reino de espana - in which we go to Cordoba and it is closed

After a few days in Madrid, we decided to take the show on the road and start the trek southwards to Sevilla. First stop: Cordoba. Status: closed. In yet another example of not reading the guide books we arrived to Cordoba on a Monday only to be told that almost all tourist attractions in the city were closed on Mondays. We made the best of it.

We didn't stay in this hotel. But I liked this particular street in the Jewish quarter of town-- and so we ate lunch there which presented for the gazillionth time another impediment to our Amazing Race debut. Flaw #3: my dear sweet sister is allergic to a variety of meat products, many of which are served with regularity in Spain. My translating skills were the only thing standing between her and certain death! After lunch we continued wandering, stopping into a variety of artesenia stores before coming to the mosque. While Mary was using the bathroom outside of the mosque I ran into a nice Canadian Mennonite couple on vacation from Bolivia. Poor Mary came out to find me chatting animatedly with strangers yet again; they recommended a good flamenco place and we parted ways.


The mosque and gardens were lovely. They are of course a Catholic church now. After meandering through the grounds and gigantic building we walked over to the other side of Cordoba to the only other open tourist attraction.I haven't yet mentioned but Cordoba was really frikkin hot and sunny. We spent much of our time applying and re-applying sunscreen and scurrying from shady spot to shady spot. This bridge presented quite the barrier to that plan.

The bridge ended in a tower that had several interactive displays that described the history and attractions of Cordoba with audio tracks piped through to stylish headwear.

You could change the tracks to your particular language at will and at one point I even tried German in one ear and English in the other. After an hour or so there we returned to the main city, ate ice cream, sampled horchata and looked at all the lovely building from the outside. For a bust of a day it wasn't too bad. We then went to the train station to reserve our tickets for the next day. Unfortunately it looked like everyone else wanted to leave too...
In the next installment: we get lost in Sevilla and avoid haircuts.

El Reino de Espana - Toledo for no apparent reason

Before going to Spain Mary and I divided the financial and planning responsibilities. I bought the plane tickets (because I harangued American Airlines into crediting me for a flight I purchased but never took. That's a story for another day.) and the EuroRail pass and Mary reserved the hotels and was generally the cash-cow (moo) in-country. I decided on what cities we would visit and Mary was going to plan the individual days...or so I thought.

So Sunday was blocked out to take the train to Toledo for the day. According to Wikipedia and the guide books we consulted Toledo was named a UNESCO World Heritage Site for its "extensive cultural and monumental heritage as one of the former capitals of the Spanish Empire and place of coexistence of Christian, Jewish, and Moorish cultures"...until they were expelled from Spain of course. Sounds dreamy no?

And so it is, See?.......ok perhaps not the best example.

We arrived at the Madrid train station and went straight to the information office to figure out how in the heck to use our EuroRail pass. Here I will give one of the only useful travel tips you can glean from my blog: The EuroRail pass is pretty much useless, or at the very least not cost-effective, in Spain. EuroRail requires reservation fees in addition to the cost of the pass for trains that are high speed. Wait for it, wait for it...pretty much all the trains in Spain are high speed and, as it turns out, the reservation fee is often more expensive than just buying a normal ticket sans EuroRail.

We did make it to Toledo finally and tooled around the town. Unfortunately many of the the touted cultural sites were closed for renovation. That's ok. There's always the Torture Museum!

A note on this photo in the spirit of oversharing: like many women I am prone to retaining water during certain points of the month. Generally that bloat contributes to distractingly large boobs but sometimes, due to large amounts of water consumption and/or trans-Atlantic flights, I can expand in all directions. So yeah, that's what's going on.

Afterwards, we basically went to whatever was open. The cathedral:



The monastery church:

And several other churches that were churches and several synagogues and mosques that were churches and castles that had churches.

Then we got tired, and perhaps a little heat-stroked after all the walking and started taking cheesy photos. Mary with the Spain beer guy:

And me with Cervantes:

Then we headed back to Madrid for dinner at which point Mary, who up until that point had made no indication of reading the guide books, mentioned that most restaurants were closed on Sundays except those that catered especially to Americans. (another travel tip! Amazing!) So we entered a restaurant in a parellel universe where the typical American dish was enchiladas, Michael Jackson was dead, and Brazil lost a soccer game to the USA....and the day ended.

Still to come: We travel to Cordoba but it's closed!

El Reino de Espana - in which we are cultured

Day two: Still swollen. Mary and I decided that if we had time we would see the art museums that Madrid is famous for: El Prado and El Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza. The two of these museums hold the largest collection of Spanish paintings (duh) including great works of Dali, El Greco, Goya, and Velazquez. Makes sense since The Prado is the largest gallery in the world.

But as I type this I get a kind of twinge because... we didn't go there. Instead, Mary and I went to see what really interests us... shrunken heads and codpieces. Bright and shiny early we trekked to the university district to visit el Museo de America because honestly it elicits more of a reaction from me than a painting. Instead of an "oh pretty" prompted by a painting that I don't really understand I can expound for days on the cultural legacy of Spain in the Americas... or something. For example, this photo is of some guy with a bola of coca that would get him kicked him out of Peace Corps for sure:

And this guy had an unfortunate run-in with some dessicating agents. I actually recommend that you google "shrunken head." The results are fascinating and include ones for sale and a how-to.
But seriously folks. The below is a traditional Bolivian costume worn for Carnaval. The flowers on the skirt are kantuta, the national flower because its petals are red, green and yellow, the colors of the flag.
Next we moseyed over to El Museo del Traje which had (according to some tourism guide or the other) the best Basque restaurant in Madrid on the premises. The menu was fashion themed (because traje means clothing...yes we went to a clothes museum and there was a whole display on stillettos) and I accidentally ordered liver or oxtail or something weird. Luckily portions in Spain are small.

The museum showcased a history of clothing from the fig leaf to the harem pant (which is way popular in Spain right now) and included several opportunities to try things on. We took full advantage of this opportunity to take embarrassing photos of each other:

Oh yeah baby. You're too sexy for your ruff. Too sexy for your ruff. Too sexy.

After this we started walking back towards the center of Madrid, through the University grounds and Parque Bombilla. Unfortunately I miscalculated the distance to the nearest Metro and we had to stop in a department/grocery store to refuel. Tidbit: they don't let you touch the fruit and vegetables. Don't touch them!

While at the store I redeemed myself by successfully finding the correct adaptor for gringo appliances...which required asking more questions than one might think necessary. Then, as far as I recall in my hunger haze, we sat on a park bench and ate Nutella on crackers and several nectarines before hopping on a train to the Prado.

Generally, a Prado is a glorified, vegetated median strip dividing a main thoroughfare (not just a museum). We sat there looking at a map to determine where dinner might lie. To be more specific, Mary looked at the map......and I took photos of random thingsAs you may have determined, there is another barrier to our successful participation in Amazing Race. Flaw #2: We get lost a lot.

The next installment: We go to Toledo for no apparent reason.

A Bolivian interlude

Although I left off in the middle of my Spanish vacation (not like I've written more about it) I wanted to share some photos my friend Chela sent me yesterday. She just magically knows when I'm wistfully reminiscing about the simultaneously frustrating and inspiring country of Bolivia and the simultaneously frustrating and inspiring people that inhabit it.

Peace Corps was a constant state of confusion and misunderstanding, and it was in that state that I first met Chela. It all began when my friend Jimmy asked me two questions: "You like kids right?" (yes) "Do you know how to make puppets?" (yes). I didn't have time to wonder about this strange line of questioning when he pulled me out of my house and down the street to introduce me to Pedro and Gloria with, "This is Jelen. She can make puppets." And off he ran to catch a bus as Pedro and Gloria led me to their friend's house as if this was completely expected. (It may have been. As an American I am not completely fluent in the subtle, indirect and often non-verbal communication that happens in other countries. Kind of like in the mid-west.)

So a short time later I was sitting in a stranger's living room (Chela's) making a papier mache Jesus head. I soon realized that my new buddies ran Oratorio (defined by Wikipedia as place for at-risk youth to explore their intellectual and spiritual development in the spirit of Don Bosco) and I was welcome to help out. At first I just showed up to meet the kids and drink milk with sugar. Soon I was leading activities and expanding my repertoire of ice-breakers and camp songs....but this time in Spanish. I had plenty of adventures with Gloria, Pedro, Chela, Fatima, and the kidlets who participated. They ranged from the usual --birthday parties, hikes, visits to the sick, and lots of singing-- to the odd --a wake, singing about Jesus in front of 100 high schoolers, and giving vaccinations.

So you can imagine that an update on these kids brightened my day and I'd like to introduce you to them:


This is Vero. She and her brother Jhonny practically lived at my house. We played millions of games of war and she always forgot to take my food scraps home for the pigs. Like a good big sister she teased her little brother constantly but she would beat up anyone else who made fun of him. I hesitate to admit that we hung out so often because their mother was the woman who supported my Oreo habit.


Meet Edson. This is the boy who used to stand outside my house every Sunday at 7AM singing "Ojos de cielo" at the top of his lungs until I stumbled downstairs. Generally I would feed him and we would mosey to the plaza where we would gossip about all the middle school happenings. He was that friend that every Peace Corps volunteer needs: 11 years old, patient, who will explain words to you and try not to laugh when you sound like an idiot.


These are all the kidlets and Fatima. I'm not sure how many I could name now. Please note the non-smiling faces as is typical in a Bolivian foto.


All of the kidlets and Gloria. And yes it was usually all girls. Probably for the best.And to end...one of our favorite activities. The tobogan!

El Reino de Espana - but first...lunch!

I know. I went to Spain in July. It's October. You, loyal reader, have been more than patient but unfortunately I do not have exhaustive notes on my trip. Although I carried my notebook through museums, markets and public gardens and toted it on planes, trains and buses I did not really use it.

This is a common problem for me. Walking and writing at the same time tends to aggravate my clumsiness and after long days of trekking 200 miles in 900 degree heat I found myself too exhausted (and prone to exaggeration) to document my day. So perhaps a photo essay will suffice.

We flew to Spain. We flew on a plane. It was fun. There was a camera on the tail. We saw the plane take off and fly and land from the inside. I retained water. Lots of water.

Day 1: Still swollen. Upon successfully navigating the Metro and getting directions to our hotel (Vale?) Mary (my charming elder sister) and I set out to see the wide and wonderful city of Madrid. But first! Lunch!

Perhaps some explanation is needed: Mary and I have a shared fantasy of being contestants on the Amazing Race. We have similar travel styles, are relatively low key, culturally sensitive and realtively good about talking to strangers. However, this trip pointed out some of the flaws in our dream.

Flaw #1: We are very Id-based beings. Immediate needs, usually food, are a priority for both of us. Several times throughout the trip we made great plans to see museums and plazas, castles and mosques...only to postpone them for food. "But first....lunch!"
If we were Amazing Race contestants they would take away our food as the first challenge and we would crack. We would crumble into cranky, silently crying messes.

So anyhoo, after a hot lunch of paella and Coke we tooled around Madrid and avoided creepy buskers in the Plaza Mayor.

Then we took artsy photos of doors and doorknobs...

...and visited several churches furnished and gilded in beautiful gold and silver filigree stolen from the poor oppressed Indians toiling away in South American mines. ahem. In this particular church we visited the catacomb where I asked the guide guy so many questions that he (naturally?) assumed that I wanted to buy a burial plot. I'm sorry Mom and Dad. In my botched Spanish I've purchased a crypt in the Catedral Almudena.

Then we went to the Palace, imaginatively named "the Royal Palace" and built crooked. Really. I can't say more about it beyond:
-There was lots of art.

-There was lots of armor.

-The Royal Pharmacy was awesome.

-The royal family were unfortunate looking people.

-Some poor chick passed out and conked her head on the marble staircase.

-Mary stayed in the bathroom for forever and the guards were trying to close the palace and I had to explain why I was still sitting in the gift shop when they were trying to kick me out. Id I tell you.

-I didn't use the bathroom even though I was still very swollen. I didn't have to explain that to the guards.

-even the fountains were crooked!

Next up: Our second day in Madrid. But first! Lunch!

The Care and Maintenance of Your Returned Peace Corps Volunteer

When choosing a returned Peace Corps volunteer for your household remember the following rule of thumb: returned Peace Corps volunteers from Africa are smiling, warm and friendly. Those from Asia are zenlike in their calm and introspective nature. And those from Latin America are revolutionary and reactionary (and often somewhat socialist). Please be supportive of your newly returned volunteer as she readjusts to this new and traumatic situation. Below you will find some useful guidelines and behaviors to expect.

Nutrition: In the beginning, you may notice that your returned Peace Corps volunteer has a compulsion to drink water from all available water fountains. She may also adamantly refuse to drink bottled water, to the point of crying in the grocery store over all the varieties available. Your returned Peace Corps volunteer will most likely want to gorge herself on dairy products (especially ice cream and cheeese!) and Mexican food. You may want to limit her intake. Too much dairy is bad for any newly returned volunteer. Your returned Peace Corps volunteer may have a strong aversion to potatoes or rice. She may insist on putting salt on everything, cutting her salad into small pieces and wiping her utensils clean. Please be patient with her bad table manners until she is re-trained.
After she re-adjusts to her new home your returned Peace Corps volunteer may crave potatoes again or a salad made entirely of tomatoes and onions. She may also bring home exotic foods like api, humintas, and haba tostada. This is normal; you should make a gesture of acceptance.

Behavior: Your returned Peace Corps volunteer may no longer recognize socially acceptable limits to conversation. She may speak inappropriately about bowel movements, digestive problems or sex. Encourage your newly volunteer to talk about these issues with other newly returned volunteers...rather than with her co-workers, neighbors, or parish priest. In addition, it is likely that the large majority of her conversations will contain "when I was in Peace Corps..." or "In Bolivia they..."
When beginning a new relationship with your volunteer, you may notice that she expects to be friends immediately and may be surprisingly gregarious when talking with strangers.
You may notice that your returned Peace Corps volunteer kisses on the cheek as a greeting. Even kisses same sex. For heaven's sake...get over it.
Your returned volunteer may be addicted to telenovelas. This appears to be incurable.She may also be super cheap, be very careful about sun exposure, not go out in the rain, be exasperatingly patient, and take mid-day naps. She may not care about superfluous details.
Your newly returned volunteer might be homesick.

Communication: Your newly returned Peace Corps volunteer will not be proficient in English. She will speak a strange mixture of languages, use an overwhelming amount of acronyms like PCMO, RPCV and STI, profess to "not know it in English," and may insist on referring to you as che.

Be loyal and patient with your faithful companion, the returned Peace Corps volunteer.