A very short post from Norway

The Norwegian culture and the Turkish culture, at least as far as I can tell after three days, couldn't be more different. A Norwegian joke:

Two men are skiing in the middle of the woods. They spot one another, and as they pass, the first man says, "hello". The second man looks at the first man and says, "hello." Then they ski away.

Weird things, at least for me

Right now, I’m actually a little mad at my host brother. We are going to Norway tomorrow to visit friends, and he’s currently sitting in the living room, playing Pro Evolution Soccer and generally doing absolutely nothing, while my mom and I are busy packing. Now, I know that this really isn’t his fault – the idea that he should help just isn’t going to enter his mind. Part of that’s my individual family, and part of that is Turkish culture in general. The idea that your mom still packs your bag for you at 16 years old would be a little strange in America. Yes, I suppose there are some people who enjoy this slothful privilege, but I sure as hell am not one of them. Bulatcan will wake up tomorrow to find his bags already packed and ready to go. I will spend tonight agonizing, as I normally do, over whether I forgot anything important for the trip.

Ah, yes, the age-old packing dilemma. Bring too much, and you have to lug it around, plus you look like about as graceful as a beached whale. Pack too little, and… well, I don’t really know, because I’ve never actually packed too little. I tent to err on the side of bringing just about everything I can think of. I remember when I went to Morocco I brought a pair of binoculars, which left the bag just long enough to get saturated with Saharan sand, which lingers there to this day. But I have the image of not packing enough, and ending up stranded in some horrible situation, cursing myself for forgetting to bring enough AAA batteries or failing to bring enough of the 100 mL airplane-approved tubes of toothpaste. It’s a risk I simply refuse to run.

Packing is also annoying and stressful for me, because we don’t have a clothes drier. Normally, this isn’t a huge problem. But right now, it’s rainy, and all my clothes are sitting under the heater. It’s basically a race against time to see if enough clothes will be dry by tomorrow.

It’s amazing how many little things whose presence I take for granted in every house in America are abscent in Turkey. Peanut butter. Clothes driers. Zip-loc bags. Can openers. Trash bins. Stoves. Re-usable water bottles (I probably use about 2 plastic water bottles a day… somewhere, Al Gore is weeping).

One of my AFS friends, a Kiwi, recently mentioned to me on Facebook how ironic it is that Turkey is a country full of engineers, yet so many things are badly designed. And he’s right. Everyone in Turkey wants to be an engineer. If you ask someone what they want to be, they will frequently tell you exactly what kind of engineer they want to be. It’s a job that carries a high amount of social status, although the job prospects aren’t really better than any other profession in Turkey – that is to say, not all that great. Still, pretty much everyone in Turkey wants to be an engineer (wanting to be a doctor is also an acceptable choice).

So, despite this overabundance of engineers, why is it that no one in Turkey has discovered housing insulation? Even in the frigid north of Turkey, houses and apartments are basically concrete shells. It’s cool in the summer, but has absolutely no ability to hold heat. And central heating systems are rare as well – we heat our home by using air conditioners (very inefficient) and electric space heaters (probably more inefficient). These also serve as clothes driers.

It poured today. I’m not sure how much rain we got, but the driving was terrible. Turkish people are terrible drivers anyway. AFS espouses the belief that “it’s not right, it’s not wrong, it’s just different.” Most of the time, I agree with this. But when it comes to driving, I have to put my foot down. The Turkish system of driving is just plan wrong, and people are horrible, horrible drivers. Also, there are traffic lights in the middle of rotaries (roundabouts). It’s ridiculous.

Because of the rain, in some places there was about a foot of standing water in the middle of the road. There simply isn’t any drainage system in place. The roads in Turkey are almost always divided, meaning that there are raised curbs everywhere and consequently the water has no place to go.

Another thing about Turkey: doors with round handles are called “American doors” and are pretty posh. In our house, we have door handles, not knobs. Every time someone enters a room you can hear it with a giant “clunk-clunk” as they unlatch the door. It’s the weird things like hearing that noise that frustrate me. Being an exchange student, at least for me, is more about dealing with the little things – like annoyingly loud doors – rather than big things, like learning the language. I’ll learn Turkish eventually, or at least enough to not feel like a failure. (High standards I’ve set for myself, I know.) But sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever get used to the tiny, mundane aspects of every day life here. And it’s weird to think about this, because I’m not really sure if these things are culture or not. Perhaps these are just material characteristics of Turkey that don’t really have a whole lot to do with the culture. After all, if you took Turkey and dropped it in the middle of the US, it would still be Turkey, right? Would the culture be any different if there were central heating and can openers?

I don’t think I’m being so articulate – I’m writing completely off the cuff here. Normally, when I write a blog post, I’ve pretty much planned out everything I’m going to write ahead of time. Sometimes, at night, when I can’t sleep, I write blog posts in my head, and usually these find their way into whatever I write next. This time, this is all completely spontaneous.

I haven’t written for a very long time, I know. I guess I’m just not great at blogging. As someone who doesn’t really like reading blogs that much, I know that short, frequent posts are infinitely better than long, infrequent ones, so I apologize. But I guess it’s easy to justify not writing when I’m pretty sure that the only ones who reads the blog are my Mom and Dad, who pretty much know what I’m up to anyway. If you’re not my Mom or Dad and have made it this far through the post, it’d be awesome if you felt like leaving me a message so I’m a little more motivated to right in the future. Also, if anyone has any questions or things you’d like me to write about, I’d be happy to take a crack at it. Facebook also works.

In Lieu of a Real Post

It's been so long since I actually wrote. I'm aware of this, but I haven't been able to muster up the energy to post. I still don't have the energy right now to make a decent post, so instead of writing about my life, I'm going to offer this gem from my English textbook, "New Bridge To Success II":

Question: Which original black ghetto music was sung by Americans?

My answer: Jazz

Correct answer: Hip-Hop

I also have this lovely pseudo-English rendering in my residence permit:

If you reject to obey these rules, you may meet with sanctions.

Sorry about the wait....

It’s been a while since I last blogged. I have a couple of reasons for that.

The first reason is that I simply haven’t felt like blogging very much. School is draining, and by the time I get home usually all I want to do is sleep or eat, and frequently both. I’m no longer the celebrity at school I once was. Random people still wave hello to me, but a wave is where it stops. I’m no longer invited to people’s homes at every turn, or constantly followed wherever I go.

In my mind, there are a lot of random people at school. There are thirty-one people in my class, and I probably know about six names. Turkish names are very hard for me to remember, so I see the same people every day and recognize their faces, but I never have names to associate with them. Asking for people’s names makes me feel really stupid, because usually it’s someone I see every single day, and frequently have conversations with. Occasionally people realize this and ask “do you know what my name is?” It’s really embarrassing, but at least they usually tell me what their name is. Today a girl who rides my bus asked me her name, and I muttered “oh, shit” before finding another friend (whose name I do remember), and getting him to tell me. Catastrophe averted.

Another reason is that I was actually gone for a week. AFS Turkey had a camp in Izmir, ostensibly to learn Turkish but actually just a great excuse to see all the other exchange students. There are 35 of us, and it was hard to leave them. The day we all left was incredibly hard – nearly everyone was in tears. I’m not sure whether that’s because we all genuinely liked each other, or just because 4 more unbroken months with our host families is really, really scary.

The camp in Izmir was jam-packed with AFS sessions. They’re the kind of activities that seem really corny and stupid when volunteers in the US try and do them with students before they depart. Now that we’re here, however, they make much more sense. It also helps that all of the volunteers at the camp were younger than 25, whereas in the US nearly all the AFS volunteers are 40-ish or older. Most of the volunteers, in fact, skipped a week of university to go to the camp.

The camp was interesting, yet also frustrating. We’d stay up until 2 or 3 in the morning talking about things that seem ridiculous when brought up over breakfast the next day.

“What did you talk about last night?”
“God.”
“Uh-huh… anything interesting?”
“Yeah, kinda… I don’t really remember what I said.”

I could write for days about the camp, but… this looks like a good segue into another reason I haven’t updated my blog as often. College apps are still going on, and they’re stressful (surprise, surprise). I’m writing this instead of working on college essays, which, I am now promising myself, I will work on tomorrow or Sunday. I’m not sure which, because on the weekends my host family usually decides to surprise me with plans. Things aren’t planed ahead in Turkey.

And finally, the reason I’ve been saving for last. Blogger (the website that hosts this blog) was banned in Turkey for a few days. I don’t really know why – all I was able to glean from the Turkish notice posted in place of the site was that there was/is a court injunction against ISPs displaying the webpage.

This isn’t that uncommon in Turkey. YouTube is also blocked, although everyone has ways of getting around it. There are also knock-off Turkish versions of YouTube. If you’re interested, you can always read articles in the English press about this, but keep in mind that you aren’t getting 100% of the facts. I read an article in the New York Times (online) about Turkey three weeks ago, and it seemed almost designed to make Turks angry. Three months ago, I wouldn’t have thought twice if I had read the article, but I can now appreciate how hard it is to write impartially about Turkey for a non-Turkish audience.

I was thinking about explaining Atatürk and what he means to the Turkish people, but I’m a little tired. If I decide I get tired of writing college essays tomorrow, maybe I’ll post about him. Anyways… sorry about the wait, and I hope everyone is enjoying myself, wherever they may be right now.

Dreams

I’ve been dreaming a lot lately. My best guess is to why this is happening is that I’m not able to share everything that’s on my mind – or, during school, basically anything that’s on my mind, other than “where is my German book.” There are thirty German books, and thirty-one students. Since I was the last to show up, since I don’t speak German, and, most importantly, since I don’t speak Turkish and thus can’t complain to anyone who can do anything about it, I don’t have a German book. This makes the lessons kind of hard, because language classes (German and English) rely exclusively on the book. Any other class I could get by without the book, but German, no. German is one of the few classes I’m actually interested in, but I can’t follow it (it’s all in German and Turkish). While I’m interested in learning German, the last thing I need is another language to confuse me.

I wrote that last paragraph last night, just before I went to bed. Sure enough, today at school, I got my German book. My elation didn’t last long, however. I quickly realized that – shockingly – the book didn’t confer upon me the instant ability to speak German. So I went back to doing what I do in every other class: reading, reviewing flash cards, and sleeping.

Anyways, I started this post writing about dreams. (I just put on “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac.) One of my most vivid dreams occurred while I was in Ünye. I was with all the kids I used to ski with, most of whom at CVA now. I had just finished a half-marathon. I remember really distinctly that my time was two hours and sixteen minutes, and I was extremely excited by this. I didn’t remember doing any specific training for the race, I just ran it and finished. I don’t know anything about running. 2:16 isn’t that great a time over 13 miles, I understand. An Ethiopian just set a new (full) marathon world record of 2:03 – thanks, Wikipedia News Feed for that tidbit. I was so proud and excited to have run it that I didn’t want to wake up. Then I did wake up, and I was depressed to realize that even in my dreams, my subconscious realized that the odds of me running a full marathon are basically nil, and settled for the half. It’s kind of like Sarah Palin saying women are going to break the “highest glass ceiling of all”: Vice President, of course.

I just ate Burger King for the 3rd time since I got here. I probably have gone to Burger King three times in the past three years back in the US.

Alright. I’m writing this to put off writing more college essays. I need to get back.

Bayram, cont.

I’m taking a break from college essays at the moment. It’s not exactly what I want to be thinking about right now (especially given how beautiful it is right now in Antalya), but I knew that this was a reality I was going to have to deal with. The fact that the American economy just took a gigantic nosedive makes the prospect of a $160,000 investment in my future that much more dicey. I’m not overly worried about the economy, but it’s nice to have something to talk about with people here. Everyone here is pretty concerned that the crisis is going to hit Turkey hard. Credit rates are already extremely high here in Turkey. The common wisdom here is that “when the US sneezes, the rest of the world will get the flu.”

The only good news on this front is that even as the US dollar slumps, so does the lira. In fact, the dollar has actually climbed slightly against the lira since I’ve arrived – wow! It doesn’t really matter because I almost never withdraw money, because I never actually spend money. Like Bulatcan, I get a little allowance for lunch and that’s enough to get me through the week.

I forgot to mention that one of the Bayram traditions is giving money to children. While I’m a little too old for this (I think the age cut-off is about the same as Halloween in America), I still managed to shake down my host father for some money. Yay! The way to do this is by kissing the hand of an elder and pressing it to your forehead. It’s a gesture of respect that, in Turkey, also confers upon the kisser the right to ask the kissed for money.

I recently read the book Snow by Orhan Pamuk (in translation, of course). Pamuk is probably Turkey’s best known modern author, and when I was flying to Ünye I saw plenty of people with copies of his latest book, The Museum of Innocence (I don’t believe an English translation has been released yet). Pamuk, however, has gotten in to trouble in the past for some of his political comments. I believe he holds a professorship at Columbia.

Anyways, Snow was incredible. I highly urge anyone and everyone with even a modicum of interest in Turkey to read it. One line really stuck out at me. The main character is asked his opinion about the city of Kars, where the book takes place. “Very beautiful, very poor, and very sad,” is how Ka, the main character, describes it. I then spent the next four days trying to find some place that reminded me of that description, to no avail. There were beautiful places and there were poor places, but they usually didn’t overlap. And there weren’t very many sad places at all. Still, though, the book was one of the best I can remember reading recently.

Bayram

This past week was the Bayram holiday. Calling it “Bayram holiday”, though, is slightly redundant, as Bayram means “religious holiday”. To Arabs, the end of Ramadan is known as Eid al-Fitr. Here, Ramadan is called Ramazan, and the holiday marking the end is known as Şeker Bayramı. Şeker means sugar, and the entire festival is basically a bacchanalia of eating sweet things. The actual date of the holiday changes every year in accordance with the lunar calendar, so I was lucky to get an entire week off. Depending on what the religious officials in Ankara deduce through their telescopes, the government decides how many days the holiday lasts. What’s kind of amazing for me is that this decision-making process takes place only a few weeks before the holiday begins – imagine trying to plan Thanksgiving while not knowing when to make your travel reservations until two weeks before.

Traditionally, one travels and visits family for Bayram. My host family and I went to visit my host father’s family in Ünye, on the Black Sea coast. Ünye is a town of about 70,000 people (which, in my book, makes it a city, but not in Turkey). We stayed with Bulatcan’s aunt and uncle in a big, cold cement block. Like many of the houses in Ünye, it seemed half-finished. Bulatcan’s grandparents lived on the second floor, and Bulatcan’s aunt and uncle lived on the third. The first and forth were literally just bare concrete.

Turkey follows the same convention on floor numbers as France, so I live on the “first floor” even though I have to climb up a set of stairs. The floor you walk in on is “zero”, but for the sake of simplicity I just used the US way above. The process of mental metrification continues apace. Length and weight aren’t very difficult – I can estimate things in meters and convert to kilograms without breaking a sweat. Temperature, however, is still difficult, and I don’t even try to deal with gallons and liters, much less litres. In my opinion, here’s why: when you think about length or weight, even if you are given a measure in feet or pounds, you still have to think about what it truly means. If you are wondering if you can lift the suitcase and someone tells you it weights forty-one pounds, you still have to think what exactly does 41 pounds mean? With temperature, however, 78 degrees is a much more visceral and absolute measure, one that can immediately conjure the appropriate mental image.

But I’ve digressed slightly. The Black Sea region produces about 70% of the world’s hazelnuts. We went to see “my” village in Turkey, where the hazelnuts are grown. (I’ll try to get some pictures up.) Bulatcan’s great-grandfather still lives there. It was pretty cool to see four generations of Bulats sitting together. I found it very amusing to see Bulatcan’s grandfather, who is probably 70, smile and yell “baba!” (“dad!”) when he entered the room.

Bulatcan’s great-grandfather is probably over 90, but he doesn’t know exactly. When you look at old tombstones, it’s a bit confusing because the Ottoman Empire used the Islamic calendar and the Turkish Republic uses the Western Gregorian one. Thus, one can frequently see birth-dates in the thirteen-hundreds and death-dates in the nineteen-hundreds.

I’m going to try and upload some pictures. I still need to find something to use for a senior photo, although I’m sure that I’m ridiculously late by now. The next month is going to be a little rough as I have a bunch of college applications, so I probably won’t get to the blog as often as I should.

Pictures

I started to add a few pictures, but the upload speed here is very slow and my connection keeps getting reset.

http://www.new.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2003538&l=169c5&id=1218840221

You should be able to access the pictures even if you don't have a Facebook account, although this means that anyone who wants to access the pictures at FHS (anyone, anyone?) will have to wait until they get home. I might try and upload my pictures somewhere else, because Facebook is slower than death.

I'll write more tomorrow?

EDIT: Ta-da! I have a new image for the head of the page. It was taken on the road to Kemer (the next town along the coast) while a storm was brewing.

More School

It’s been far too long since I last wrote, I’m afraid. I’ve come to realize that writing a blog is extremely difficult. Of course, this is true of any writing. It’s not the physical act of writing that’s difficult, at least not for me. It’s the preparation and self-motivation that is problematic.

Anyways – today was my first full week of school. Last week, I only went for three days because I was feeling a little ill Thursday and Friday. I can’t emphasize the “little” enough. Thus far this trip (with my fingers knocking on wood as I write this), I haven’t gotten sick.

School is… boring. Imagine the most boring day possible, and then multiply it times five. Even in the classes where I can barely make out what the teacher is talking about – Chemistry and Geometry – I’m totally screwed when it comes to any sort of homework. Most work that we are assigned is practice problems for ÖSS, which is the Turkish equivalent of the SAT. Unlike the SAT, which our guidance counselors are constantly telling us not to spend so much time worrying about, the ÖSS will basically determine a Turkish student’s entire life. If you do well, you get to go to university, and if not – no school for you. Most students attend after-school prep-classes, especially those in 11th and 12th grade. It’s tough.

I’m in 10th grade. The reason for this is the aforementioned ÖSS. Students in 11th or 12th grade don’t really have any time for socializing and indulging someone who doesn’t speak Turkish. My class is 10-C. (‘C’ in Turkish is pronounced like ‘dj’.) Except for laboratory periods and physical education, every lesson takes place in the same room, with the same group of students. The rooms are completely Spartan – the only adornments are a picture of Atatürk, Atatürk’s “Message to Turkish Youth”, and the words to the national anthem. All three also appear at the beginning of every textbook.

Every morning, the entire student body assembles in the playground while the headmaster imparts words of wisdom. Of course, no one listens. On Monday mornings and Friday afternoons, we sing the national anthem. Luckily for me, many of the students just mumble their way through it, so as long as I move my lips I can stay out of trouble. That’s a good thing – I’m probably the tallest student in my school, so the headmaster can stare directly at me while I pretend to sing. I really have to sell it.

Once the morning assembly is done, we file in to the school, one class at a time. The teachers form a gauntlet, and as we walk through the doors, the pick students at random from the line, haranguing them about the many ways in which their uniform is improper. I say “at random” because no one wears the uniform properly – no one tucks in their shirts (unless the headmaster is coming), no one wears their tie, and most of the guys don’t shave as often as the teachers would like. It is by far the most nerve-wracking part of my day, but most of the teachers know I’m American and don’t waste their time yelling at me if I roll up my sleeves.

We have a week-long holiday now, so I’ll have plenty of time to write more. Later, I’m going to try to upload some pictures. I have so much more to write, but I’m tired and will try to continue later.

School

Today was my second day of school. Turkish schools are… different, I suppose, is the only way to describe it. I’m trying to go at it with an open mind. While, in my mind, I can see every single American teacher cringe when they see my tiny classroom with 31 students, the truth is that it isn’t that bad. The one complaint I have is the desks, which were clearly not designed for someone as tall as I am. For that mater, they weren’t really designed with any consideration for the human body. In America, we have our nice molded plastic chairs, and each student gets a two or three foot bubble of personal space. Many rooms at Freeport High have the tables arranged in a rectangle, to encourage discussions. Not so in Turkey. My classroom has three columns, two desks wide, five or six deep.

While I can’t understand what’s going on most of the time, I’m impressed by how quickly the lessons go. The teacher’s don’t mess around – they stand and deliver, and the students take notes. Actually, they copy exactly what the teacher puts on the board. Exactly. It’s kind of eerie. I think that Turkish students learn far more than we do in America, but American schools focus more on output (i.e. papers) than on input (i.e. memorization). I’m not taking sides on which is better.

What else? Today I had “National Security” as a class. I wish I could have understood what was going on. Basically, an officer (three stars – a general?) glared at us, while everyone tried not to giggle and he lectured on what I can only presume are serious subjects of the utmost importance.

It’s weird being a celebrity at school. Everywhere I go, I can hear people saying “Amerikalı”. Also, everyone has decided that because I’m tall and American, I am some sort of basketball god. Never mind that I haven’t played since I was about six, and they’ve never actually seen me play for more than 30 seconds. Today, in physical education the gym teacher tried to make us march for about ten minutes, gave up, and then we sat around and shot hoops. One of the other gym teachers called me over and asked me if I would play for the school team. Now, I never actually touch the ball when we were playing – presumably I wouldn’t deign to play with mere amateurs, or else it would be unsportsmanlike to the other team.

All in all, I guess I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s only been two days, and school is still pretty strange. I’m enjoying myself, but I’m waiting for things to settle down and for my life to approach something like normality.

Fire on the sea

I’m writing this on my own laptop. What a relief. Bulatcan and I just went to S’hemall (don’t ask) and picked up an Ethernet cable. I gave up trying to get my computer to work wirelessly and am just glad to be online, using my own keyboard. Thus far the only thing I’ve spent money on has been my uniform. It’s at the tailor right now.

My days have settled in to a fairly predictable pattern: sleep in until 10 or so, get up, eat, study Turkish, eat again, go to the beach, come back, eat again, watch television with the family, study more Turkish, eat more, and then sleep. It’s a pretty pleasant life. If only it wasn’t so hot. Any time I have free time I try and review my flash cards. My host mother Filiz helped me study for a while today. She was an English teacher, and though she’s never taught Turkish she did an excellent job. Unfortunately, many of the sounds are completely foreign for me and I have a hard time stringing words together.

Tomorrow I will go to the Antalya museum, and I think my camera will finally get some use.

Antalya

To my great relief, I ended up flying to Antlya. Filiz, my host mother, had previously told me that she thought that I would be traveling by bus. İstanbul to Analya by bus is about twelve hours, whereas a plane is barely one. We traveled yesterday to Antalya airport, which had a high concentration of jets flying the flags of Russia and the -stans.

I met my Filiz and my host brother, Bulatcan, at the airport, and before I knew it, we were motoring away towards their flat. I needed a nap. I remember from studying abroad in Egypt that I was seemingly always tired. Something about being an exchange student is exhausting. Perhaps it’s the heat or the walking or maybe just the adrenaline.

Speaking of heat: Atanlya is hot. So hot. Bulatcan and I went to some cliffs near my house to cool off, and saw a cruise ship go past. The Mediterranean is much saltier than the Atlantic, I think, and it’s far easier to stay afloat. Bulatcan and I both have our hair cropped fairly shortly, and two people asked us separately if we were military students.

I’m writing from a jury-rigged internet connection. The wireless setup isn’t working for me here, so I think tomorrow I will buy a cable. I wish I’d thought to pack one. I was a little depressed yesterday when I unpacked because I realized what a profoundly awful job I did at packing. I managed to somehow end up without a single sweatshirt but I have a big winter coat which I know I’m never going to need. We have a mid-year camp in February where I will probably use it, but I feel a little stupid having brought something that I am going to wear for a grand sum of about 2 hours whilst in Turkey. Ah well. There’s nothing I can do now save shop, and Antalya has shopping galore. There are two malls within walking distance of my house and tomorrow I will meet my counselor and Wednesday I will go shopping for school supplies and my uniform.

Filiz and I checked out my school today. I was a little overwhelmed because we went at the end of the day, and students were milling about without any semblance of order. School starts today, but I don’t have to start attending until next week.

Bulatcan and one of his friends want to go to mall. I’ll write more later when I’m feeling more erudite and composed. Life is good, and I’m so glad to be here – now comes the hard part.

Random Blog Stuff

I think I'm going to try to get an image to use as a banner for the blog once I'm in Turkey. True, I could steal someone else's image, but this seems a failure of creativity and imagination, not to mention an act of dubious legality.

Anyone have any cool ideas for titles? I kinda came up with the one I'm using, "Nice Looking Brochures" on a whim, but I'm not completely wild about it. Of course, I'm also bad at coming up with blog titles, so... for now, what you see is what you get.

First Post

Thus, with an inauspicious tappity-tap on a keyboard in an anonymous Queens hotel does my blog begin. It isn't quite On the Road, but in today's day and age, you take what you can get.

I'm a little reluctant to commit myself to the whole idea of maintaining a blog. The blog reminds me a little bit of my role in Little Shop of Horrors (I attended an all boys summer camp and played Audrey), with the blog rapidly becoming the beast. Unlike in the movie, the play ends with the plant eventually destroying the whole world, so I'll try my best to keep the blog under control.

Another problem I have with travel blogs: a lot of them aren't that interesting. I'll try my best to keep the reader engrossed, but much of this is inevitably going to be personal anecdotes that aren't particularly accessible to those outside a select few.

Disclaimers aside: let me begin.

I awoke early this morning and flew JetBlue from Portland to JFK. Easy flight: one hour, about 80% full, no mephitic neighbors. An interesting question entered my mind during the journey: why is it that people feel that sleeves are optional whilst in public? Yes, a wife-beater might be great for those hot summer days, but when you're on a plane, at the ballgame, or walking around Freeport, show some dignity America.

On the subject of dignity and America, I feel bad for the AFSers from Alaska. A typical interaction:

"Hey, where are you coming from."
"Umm, Alaska?"
"Sweet. Pretty cold, huh?"
"Yeah."
"So... how do you feel about governor Palin?"
"Same way I felt when the last twelve people asked me."

The states represented by AFS tend to shadow the more, shall we say, "blue" states. It's pretty bi-coastal.

What else? Orientations were not the most exciting things, but for those of us who paid attention there were some useful nuggets of information hidden within the talks.

Oh, one last serendipitous encounter to share. One of the AFS volunteers was a counselor at Takajo back in the 1990's, and he knew Nick Andreacci, one of my bunk counselors. He sent Nick an email and, of course, he remembered me. Remarkable. Even more remarkable is that a girl from Ghana is going to be living in Naples. (Naples, Maine, not the "real" Naples.) She'll be in for a bit of a shock come Thanksgiving-ish.

I'm going to turn in. I need to get up early and re-pack my computer and whatnot. Love to the family, and my condolensces to FHSers that school lunch went up ten cents. I'm as outraged as you are.