Гроші For Nothing and Some Perspective For Free!

I had a chat with my old PCBG buddy, Tim D. Wade, about how much I was paying for a gym membership in my village community. The answer is 320 UAH. That, of course, means nothing to him. It's actually quite expensive for my community, and strangely more expensive than other gyms in Ukraine despite its lack of toilet, showers, and locker room. I thought it might be fun to put some expenses and costs in perspective for my American audience. I'm partial to the Portland area on account of having roots there so I'll compare to there.

The Peace Corps gives me a stipend of 3600 UAH each month on which to live. This amount is meant to mimic the average Ukrainian salary (which is actually closer to 5000) so that Volunteers live at the same level/standard as their colleagues - and will have an easier time integrating with them. This 3600 UAH is my living allowance for food, drink, fun, and whatever else, like a gym membership.

If I go and blow 320 UAH of my 3600 UAH on a gym membership, that's 8.9% of my take-home pay. If an average Portlander (who's average in Portland?) blew 8.9% of their take-home pay on the gym, it would be 240 USD per month! I used to pay 15.00 USD per month for a 24 Hour Fitness membership, and it had a sauna! That's a pretty big difference in ratios of costs to incomes between my two homes.

To get my "averages" I consulted government websites, data nerd websites, crackpot websites, news websites, and fake news websites for their interpretations of an "average salary" in Portland. For 2016, the numbers varied and no two websites had the same number. So, since I'm not a professional numbers guy (just a hobbyist), I'm gonna say that the average salary in Portland for 2016 is in the ballpark of 53,000 USD per year. More or less. And the average take home bit, minus taxes and 10% into savings, is roughly 2700 USD per month.

The average salary in the two Ukrainian places (city/village) in which I've lived so far, is right around 2,300 USD a year. Using some math to pull that down to a monthly level makes it right around 190 USD per month. Ish.

The local currency here is a called a "grievna" and is represented by UAH. Every time someone tells me the price of something, I hear Ryan H. Haberlache in my head yelling, "Grievance!" Now-ish, each USD is worth about 26 grievances.

For comparing things a bit more fun, I'll start with beer. It would be easy to look at a menu here and see a beer listed for 20 UAH and think, hot damn, that's less than a dollar and it isn't even a happy hour price! In fact, I've heard many Americans insensitively exclaim, "It's so cheap here!" It's really just cheap for us, and comparing local costs with local earnings tells a very interesting story. The 20 UAH for a beer here would transpose to Portland pricing at 15 USD! Can you imagine paying 15 bucks for a beer in Portland! The cafe in which I'm typing this up and flirting with waitresses is charging me 17 UAH per basic black coffee. That would be like 12.75 USD in Portland. I've only been gone a few months, is Starbucks close to that yet?

The following are what things cost for the Ukrainian people I know. They're not paying 15 bucks for a beer, but they're paying an equivalent to 15 bucks for a beer because of the percentage of their income it takes to purchase a beer. These prices obviously vary slightly from store to store, and stand to stand. And probably city/village to city/village.

Beets are 12 UAH per kilo → 4.09 USD per pound

Onions are 15 UAH per kilo → 5.11 USD per pound

Carrots 18 UAH per kilo → 6.14 USD per pound

Milk 28 UAH per liter → 84 USD per gallon

Wine (the ones I like) 70-90 UAH per bottle → 52.50-67.50 USD per bottle

Gasoline 24.56 UAH per liter → 73.68 USD per gallon

Toilet paper 7 UAH per roll → 5.25 USD per roll

Sunflower oil 35 UAH per liter → 26.25 USD per liter

Bread 8 UAH per loaf → 6 USD per loaf

Pepsi 22 UAH per 2-liter → 16.5 USD per 2-liter bottle

Whole Chicken 50 UAH per kilo → 17.05 USD per pound

Chicken Breast 70 UAH per kilo → 23.86 USD per pound

Pork 125 UAH per kilo → 42.61 USD per pound

Movie ticket 70 UAH → 52.50 USD

Protein Candy Bar 30 UAH → 22.50 USD

Unlimited internet (if you can find it) 150 UAH per month → 112.50 USD per month

Installing an internet connection 5000 UAH → 3750 USD

Really Pretty Mountain Bike from a generic sports shop in the mall 15,000 UAH → 11,250 USD

MacBook 40,000 UAH → 30,000 USD for the same MacBook I brought with me.

With these prices, it doesn't leave much room to save for retirement, investing in hot stock tips, or buying a plane ticket to come visit me in Portland. This is an extension of the reason why people who don't make USA wages have a much harder struggle at affording life than we do. Not putting down anyone's struggle in Portland. I know there's a housing crisis and all. But, it's good to know that one of the luxuries of Portland/USA is its livability, wealth, and financial security - and to understand what that means in comparison to some other places. I remember complaining when my 24 Hour Fitness membership went up from $12.50 a month to $15.00 a month. I was so disappointed. That $2.50 a month was $30 a year! That's a full first date! (#gosmallandthengohome #alone) I used to think I'd be miserable with one less first date a year. I'll try to remember this perspective, after my service, every time I don't pay 15 bucks for a beer in Portland.

For a gram of further thought, my buddy Graham L. Bearden, found this interesting comparison between Portland and Lviv (the cultural/coffee capital of Ukraine) made by people who understand numbers better than I do.

Nobody Can Do (The Peace Corps) Like I Do!

I pulled up to my new home around two in the morning,

And I said to the driver, "Are we there yet? - I'm still learning."

Looked out at my village, I was finally there,

To declare myself to Shatsk, as the new Volunteer!

Well, I was allowed to swear in 🙄 and am finally at my permanent site. My assignment is the Shatsk Village Council, a municipality of a village of 5000 people. Shatsk is the most populous village in the NW corner of Ukraine, in the middle of the Shatsk National Nature Park. If I could climb a tree, I could see Poland and Belarus. The whole region has less than nine thousand people. 58.2% of the working-age population is employed, with an 8.75% unemployment rate, and 33.1% of the working-age population are economically inactive. The park has 241 species of birds, 150 of which nest here. And annually, the park sees one million tourists between the end of June and the beginning of September. The park has somewhere between 22 and 32 beautiful lakes, 60-ish lodges and hotels, 185-ish eco lodges and cottages! Tons of opportunity for fishing, swimming, canoeing, funning, and fighting off mosquitos.

My specific work/volunteer expectations, so far as I currently understand them, are working on large scale infrastructure and strategic business development. Specifically, some of the projects I'll be working on are:

1. Helping to manage the implementation of 96 km of sewage line and the construction of three waste water treatment facilities.
2. Helping to manage the implementation of 4 km of road improvement and the acquisition of an electric bus.
3. Helping to manage the implementation of a village-wide recycling education campaign. 
4. Helping to develop a project for alternative energy and solar water heating for my village.
5. Helping to develop a project to create a fire brigade and acquire two fire engines. 
6. Helping to develop a project to remodel and reprogram the defunct community center.
7. Helping to develop projects to extend the tourist season by offering other activities throughout the year.
8. Helping to develop a project to create a car-camping campground. 
9. Helping to develop a project to create a new border-crossing into Poland to increase European tourism.
10. Helping to implement a children's summer camp in a nearby village.
11. Helping my colleagues improve their English.
12. Teaching a class on pollution and resources at the Forestry College.

No big deal. It'll be interesting to see what of that list I'll be able to talk about at the end of my service.

Aside from that, there's been a lot of cultural shock to talk about. People here are absolutely shocked when I tell them I'm an atheist and that I don't want children. This society is surprisingly religious. I think while communism tried to kill it, it became a rebellious thing "to believe" and it's a symbol of resistance against communism. Also, family is an insanely high priority here and people just can't comprehend that offspring are not a part of my plan or desire. Literally. Like, dropped jaws, and breathing that stops, while they attempt to process what they just heard. I can see them thinking: it's more likely that Andrew doesn't understand what he just said than it is that we understood what he just said.

I have sufficiently established just how foreign I am, and there are also things foreign to me. The ones that make me laugh daily are the morning handshakes from the men. Guys, upon seeing another guy for the first time that day, shake their hand. Every day. For years and years. And women are not included... It's strange and I kinda like it. I wish the gals were included, though. The other is with the drinking. If you're not drinking alcohol, you're drinking water. Even if it's soda, juice, milk, whatever - it's called water.

The language is still a struggle... I learned it well during our training, but I'm now 15-ish hours away from my training site and folks here speak a different dialect, with a different accent. Most of the time, it seems like a completely different language from what I learned. They seem to understand me, but I can't seem to understand anyone.

There's an oddity in local language that I didn't learn on the other side of the country. It's a word meant as a prompt to continue or a validation of agreement. The word sort of translates to "well/so what/you bet" in English, and is academically pronounced as the English word "new" but in my new hood, it's accent-ally pronounced like the English word "no." So, I'll be in the middle of stumbling through my sentences, or have just made my point, or sometimes I'm just standing there, and someone blurts out, "No!" It throws me off my game every time. Such a strange thing, and it'll take me a while to get used to it. If I ever do. No.

Aside from telling me no all the time, the people here are amazing. I share an office with the lawyer, the financial manager, and the project development manager. I could not have asked for better people to be working alongside. They are overflowing with character and I love it! On top of that, they make me feel like I'm being accepted into their group (what with the 9 am shots, and the 30-minute coffee breaks with the great gals on the first floor, etc.) and it's pretty wonderful!

Here are a few pictures of where I'm living.

 First floor of the guys dorm at the Forestry College! 

 A kitchen without a sink.

 The water quality here is so poor, my counterpart commented that I'd be cleaner if I swam in the lake than I would by taking a shower...

My room! Only noisy when the drunk kids stand on my window sill to get access to the fire escape so they can climb up and smuggle in girls and more booze. 

Everything is awesome! No.

Peace Corps Shakes My Nerves And It Rattles My Brain

Peace Corps is hard.

One expects some hardships when jumping into an experience like this. Like when I got frostbite on my penis from jumping into icy-cold water in my first Peace Corps experience (that story costs a glass of wine). Discomfort here, confusion there. After a rocky first week, including being switched to a second host family and starting all over again, my stress levels were pretty high. When Friday finally rolled around, I looked for the best stress reliever I know, the one I’ve been without for far too long, my old friend, the gym. I found one 20 minutes away from my new home and bought a month’s membership for $13. I trained chest. It was magnificent! I felt like I was on top of the world! Thank you, Gym!

On my way home, I decide to buy 2-dozen eggs. Protein must be expensive in this country - or just not a priority because 95% of my calories since living with the first host family, and with the second, are carbohydrate based. I want meat! But I also don’t want to seem super princessy. So, I figure eggs are a good compromise. I fry up seven eggs, enjoy the long-absent protein in my belly, and go to bed. I consider showering before bed cause thats a good idea, but American showers are such a topic of conversation in our group and I don't want to seem so needy. My morning shower isn't so far away anyway. NBD.

I wake up on Saturday morning and feel like someone kicked me in the balls! I get up slowly, and carefully go downstairs to use the bathroom.

I look down and my immediate reaction is, "Awesome!" cause my special friend is huge! But then comes the "wait a minute" moment... It's only the left side that's huge - and it's also very red, and in lots of pain! Swollen like a painful boner! But just on one side. Hhhhh.... Well, shit.

I try to walk it off a bit, which is not the easiest thing to do. I ask my host mom if I can do some laundry. Not understanding each other very well, the simple, quick process is difficult and frustrating. Hanging my clothes to dry on the line outside, I pull my hood over my head and she mumbles something to the effect of, "some strong man you are." It's cold. 

I go back inside and it's still cold. A minute goes by and I realize I have a fever! I haven't had a fever in a long time. I also feel super tired so I go to my room and sleep.

I wake up at 2 pm and bust out my training manual to look for the Peace Corps doctor's number. It's not clearly laid out and after the first number didn't work, the second number got me one of the doctors who was off duty. He lectures me about calling him while he's off duty. I struggle to listen politely as he tells me to call someone else, but offers no number to call. I finally find the right doctor who recommends antibiotics. And showering.

The doctor has me convinced that I picked up something from the gym. Some funky bacteria on a bench - or on a barbell - and like an idiot, I forgot all my hazwaste training and didn't wash my hands properly enough before using the toilet before I went to bed. Embarrassing. How am I going to explain this?

It's 4 pm now, and I'm starving. I go downstairs and explain to my host mom that I have a fever and I'm super hungry. She asks about my condition as she's genuinely concerned. Ugh... How do I explain this? Very awkwardly, and uncomfortably, I tell her I have a skin infection. She asks where. Uhhhhh... All I can think about is how she's going to interpret my answer and all the assumptions she will make. I point to my lower abdomen, ashamed to tell the full truth for fear of further misunderstanding. She asks if I've been puking and I tell her it's just a skin infection. She asks if I'm nauseous and I tell her it's just a skin infection. She asks if I have diarrhea and I tell her it's just a skin infection. Please, may I eat something?! She tells me I'm sick because I ate so many eggs at one time. She makes me some carbs and as I'm eating, my host dad walks by. "Andrew has an infection," she informs him. "Why?" he responds, but doesn't wait to hear the answer. Host mom goes back to diagnosing me and interrogating me for more details. This is probably more uncomfortable than the physical discomfort. And then it gets more uncomfortable. My host sister walks in and her English is perfect, but she's only 15. An explanation of a skin infection on my dick would likely warrant further explanations that I'm just not ready to give. I claim fatigue and retire.

The next morning, Sunday, I join the family for breakfast. A big bowl of oatmeal, followed by a big bowl of potatoes. Dad informs me that he was a pilot for the military and a person can only eat two eggs in a day. He says if I eat 7 at one time, something bad happens to my stem cells in my spinal cord and that's why I have an infection. I explain that there's been a lot of research done on eggs and it's okay these days to eat eggs. He tells me I need balance. So, for lunch, I boil 6 eggs and eat them without shame. #takethat

My swelling, discoloration, and pain have only slightly subsided so I call the Peace Corps back and they send a driver to pick me up and take me to the capital for an examination. Host mom freaks out that they're taking me away and explains that she feels responsible. I try to tell her everything's going to be okay, to no avail. 

In Kyiv, the doctor examines me and says I have a twisted testicle (literally). She says we need to go to the urologist to confirm, but she thinks I need surgery. I'm "happy" that it isn't the funky skin infection from the gym that I thought it was, nor the stem cell mishap from eating seven eggs my host family thought it was. However, I don't seem able to enjoy this moment of relief with a potential nut surgery looming over me. 

We get to the urologist around 7 pm on Sunday night. She pokes and prods and grips and twists. And agrees. Fuck. As a final measure, we do a urine analysis and draw blood to check my numbers. While the tests are underway, why not head down to the ultrasound room for another scan. Some guy lubes up my sack and commences sound-scanning me for defects. My humility is long gone. I lie down and he goes to town. I stand up and he continues. I perform the deep breathing, coughing, and various other tricks so that the scan is complete. Both doctor and urologist receive and take calls while simultaneously staring at the screen. I feel like everyone in the hospital has fondled my balls, but I'm not enjoying it. Good news is, my testicle is not twisted and I'm going to survive. Hooray... 

I wipe up and we wait for the blood/urine results to roll in. We're sitting in the children's section and the doctor draws me a picture of the underwear I shouldn't be wearing, and then draws me a picture of the underwear I should be wearing - in crayon.

The urologist calls us back in to go over the test results. The doctor tells me I have an infection. No shit. She concludes that a lymph node has clogged and become infected as a result of an imbalanced immune system from being under such high stress and then suddenly relaxing. Thanks a lot, Gym. Some friend. Or was it the eggs messing with my stem cells?

I sleep in the Peace Corps office and a driver brings me back to my host family on Monday morning. We pass through a town called Brovary and it makes me laugh because of my aching brovaries. I try to explain this to the driver. I don't think it translates well. 

Back at home, my host mom wants all the answers and I want to give none. Host dad keeps checking on the temperature of my room and asking me if I'm cold. The awkward dial has been turned up to 11 all weekend. I'm in very good hands, literally and figuratively.  

Peace Corps is hard. If these antibiotics do their job, soon, I will be too. Week 1, complete. Week 2, I'm ready for you. #bringiton #igotthis #canihashtaginablog

Sorry, and you're welcome, for the lack of pictures with this post. #owmybrovaries

Good time to plug men's health? Did you know that 1 in 2 men will have cancer at some point in their lives? And that testicular cancer is the number one cancer in guys ages 15 to 34? Well, it's true.

I Was Made For Loving Peace Corps

I remember hearing a story about putting a frog in a pot of cold water and putting the pot on the stove. The story goes that the frog would just sit there, not bothered by the slowly increasing heat, as if it had nothing better to do. Maybe it enjoys the warmth? Did anyone ever think of that? Well, ultimately, I think the heat makes the frog not understand anything. It probably forgot where it was or how it got there. It might have pondered for a second why it ever decided to sit around in pot of water in the first place - until finally someone's eating its legs. So, here I am in Peace Corps.

I'm in a group of 77 rockin cool kids, who are spread all across the age, state, and experience spectrum. I've met some really wonderful people and had some fantastic conversations. One particular highlight for me came from an endearing southern boy who requested, "Yellow, please" when he played a Wild card in our game of Uno. 

Food has been pretty okay. Eggs and chicken seem common. They serve salad with breakfast, lunch, and dinner, all of which are a cabbage or beet base, supplemented with carrots and/or onions. At one point, I sat at a table with four other guys who had never before had beets! Welcome to Ukraine! In fact, I think I've had more vegetables in this last week than I had in all of 2016. I can already feel myself losing my hard-earned weight gains.

My anxiety has almost completely faded away as I slowly come out of my shell. I've so far gone through a very poorly executed staging event in DC and a pretty well done orientation in Чернігів to having just landed in the care of my host family yesterday. More to come on that. 

They picked me up in a car and as we pulled away from my new friends, KISS was on the radio singing I Was Made For Loving You! And like a frog in warm water, it felt pretty good. I think I want my epitaph to one day read: It's not as hot in here as I thought it would be.

In The 40th Year, I Cried More, More, More!

The first time I had sex was amazing! As I explored the full extent of my imagination, all the mysteries I had only just heard about suddenly became real. It was everything I wanted it to be, and more! And less... It was over way too quickly, for both of us, and all I could think about was doing it again.

When I joined the Peace Corps in 2005, I was lost in life and searching for excitement and happiness. I found it in Bulgaria. I explored culture, language, poverty, richness, struggle, success, food, friendships, relationships, running, and most importantly, myself. I grew more in those two years of service than in any other segment of my life. During those two years of service, I hit super high highs, super low lows! It was the best thing I've ever done and despite the lengthy-sounding 27-month commitment, it finished too soon for both me and my hosting organization. As it had become so much a part of my personal development, I set a goal to serve again!

At the tender and naive age of 30, I decided that I would serve again just after getting married - like a Peace Corps honeymoon, and again in retirement, when I'm old. I did two short Peace Corps Response projects to tide me over while I waited for "The One" to sweep me off my feet - but she seems to be dragging hers... So, like I've learned so many times before, I adjusted my expectations and restructured my goals! I arbitrarily chose to celebrate my 40th birthday while serving in the Peace Corps! And I have begun my adventure to accomplish my new favorite arbitrary goal!

I'm all packed to go to Ukraine tomorrow with a great group, but I'm not ready at all! I suppose this is something that happens when one makes arbitrary goals. There were so many things left undone in Portland, partly (mostly) due to my own foolishness. I took a two-week trip back to Bulgaria within a month of my departure - as if I had on my list to say goodbye to my Bulgarian friends and family, when I should have spent that time with my American friends and family.

I went for my favorite Bulgarian holiday: Trifon Zarеzan. It's a day to celebrate wine. February 14th. The Bulgarians say you celebrate wine all day, and then celebrate love at night. Well, I just love everything about it.

But, I woke up that morning at 4 am unable to breathe! I wheeze-coughed a hole in the blockage for about 30 minutes until I could breathe normal again. Texted my sister with my symptoms when I had calmed down and she told me I had pneumonia and that I needed to go to the hospital. I waited for Iliyan to wake up cause I didn't know where the hospital was.

As we marched through the town square, the mayor was giving a speech. The gals were all dressed up in their traditional clothing. There was music playing. There were people dancing. Everyone was drinking wine. And we had to walk through all the action. I sunk. Got to the "emergency room" which was a concrete, drafty, cold cube. Waited there for 45 minutes before seeing the doctor. I had those 45 minutes to construct my sentences instead of mope about missing my favorite holiday so when I did get to see the doctor he was blown away by my Bulgarian.
"Your Bulgarian is really good!" he said (in Bulgarian).
"Thanks!" I responded, "yours is, too."
They all laughed.

He looked me over, listened to my parts, and concluded that my lungs were clear, I was not dying, I simply had laryngitis. He also told me that I wasn't contagious, that I could be around old people and infants - and that I could drink and celebrate the holiday! Well, hot damn!

I was pretty sure they wouldn't accept my Kaiser card for health insurance and I was really nervous about the cost of the office visit. I asked. The doctor looked at me, looked at Iliyan, looked back at me and told me not to worry about it. He then turned to Iliyan and said, "Have your mom bake me a cake."

With that, I was free to go enjoy the holiday! And I did.

The Peace Corps brings me so much happiness on so many different levels. Of course it's difficult and challenging at times, but so am I. And I'm pretty great!

There's nothing else like these experiences - and like the people I'm sure I'll meet. I'm quite ill-prepared for this trip. It's intimidating. My anxiety associated with this big, new chapter in the Words of Magnificence is through the roof! I think I know what I'm doing. I'm sure I'll get in there and start having fun - and this, too will be over far too quickly. Leaving me wanting more! I feel like I'm #winning at life, and I just can't get enough!

House of the Rising Stress

Woke up at 4:30; stoked to ride my bike in to work. I've got a big running race this weekend and I've been tapering my training, meaning that I'm not getting enough exercise - or not as much as I like so that I'll be ready to rock for my race! But today, I get to ride my bike to work and I'm really excited to sweat a little bit! I get everything ready; helmet and headphones on; and I head downstairs to grab my lunch before I mount my steel steed!

I notice a strange humming noise when I get into the kitchen that I can't place. I try for a sec to figure it out and poke my head outside to see if it was someone else's noise. Nope. It is mine. I go to the fridge and open the right door. Nothing weird. I open the left door, the freezer, and quickly understand there is a problem as a pint of water comes pouring out onto the ground into the gallon-ish-puddle that I didn't previously notice. Shit. I start poking around at the ice-maker, which is still dribbling water out. It's warm, but the rest of the stuff in the fridge still seems to be frozen. I can't pull the fridge out cause there's a 300-pound kitchen island in the way and I've got 4 people in the house, sleeping. But I have to stop the water! Reluctantly, I slowly drag the heavy-ass island across my beautifully polished hardwood kitchen floors; cursing to myself all the while.

With the island out of the way, I quietly yank the on the fridge to get it pulled out of the custom cabinets that were built around it. Water spilling everywhere as I go. I identify the copper tubing that is surely the water line. Unscrew it from the fridge and watch it dribble at the same rate that the freezer was. All of a sudden, the freezer springs to life and starts chilling things. Surely freezing all the water that's pooled on all the shelves inside the freezer. I stick the end of the copper line in a bucket and run downstairs to find a shutoff valve.

The laundry room is directly beneath the kitchen and there's about three gallons of water beneath where the fridge sits on the floor above. Great. I can't find a valve anywhere, but I find what I think is the water line. It's buried beneath old insulation so I start ripping it apart and digging around to uncover the water line. Brown, discolored water is pouring out of the insulation all over me, all over the floor. My nose, which never really works very well, starts detecting a strange, putrid odor. I look closer at the brown water, which I had first took for being dirty from the age of the house. I was wrong. It's the color of shit, mouse shit, specifically. I look closer at the insulation I'm tearing apart. It's completely saturated with mouse feces and urine... Vile. I throw some gloves on and keep going because I need to find a shutoff. I find nothing.

Frustrated, I head back upstairs to the kitchen. Maybe under the sink? My bucket's filling up and it's now after 6, which is when I was supposed to start work, following my epic bike ride. Under the kitchen sink is a confusing cornucopia of valves and pipes and filters. There's a copper pipe similar to the one I disconnected from the refrigerator but it's pointed in a different direction and doesn't look like it connects to the fridge. The copper tube under the sink is connected to a plastic pipe that heads in two directions. One direction is a valve of sorts with two handles with filters on the other side. The other direction leads to the filtered water spigot at the sink. Make sense? It didn't to me, either. I fiddle this way and that with all four of the valves I can see. Nothing has an impact on the flow of water still filling up my bucket, which is now spitting out water at random times and in random amounts.

Back down to the basement laundry room. The rank smell of decaying biological matter is now overwhelming. There's a window in the laundry room and I decide to open it. It's old so I pull hard and the whole fucking thing came ripping out of its concrete housing. Glass, wood frame, and all. Ugh. I set it down without thinking twice and go back to looking for a shutoff valve. With the contaminated insulation removed, and spread out all over the floor, I trace one end of the copper tube, which I think is the water line, directly under the where the fridge is, but it doesn't go up through the ceiling to the fridge above. Instead, it continues passed, on back toward the bathroom. The other end leads directly to the breaker box. Confounding. Fuck it. I'm done. Backup plan.

Back upstairs, I reroute the water line up and over the fridge; hang a right and head toward the sink. I use a 10-pound dumbbell and some bailing wire to mount the end of the water line to the cabinets directly over the sink. Water now dribbles out of the water line, falls 5 feet to the sink, and safely drains down the sink without destroying my house or making any more mouse poop soup.

With a sufficiently white-trashed kitchen, I'm off for my bike ride.

Me, Mysunburn & I

I've experienced some epiphanal moments this last week. It started with dining alone and finished with a sunburn. So, to inform folks back home on what a sunburn is, I thought I'd tell a little story about how I continue to develop as a magnificent person.

I went to a cafe for breakfast, alone, and sat there to read a book! Whaaaaat?! Obviously this is out of character for me. I don't like reading and I don't do things alone on account of my insecurities. I usually get uncomfortable when everyone around me is constantly watching every move I make. And, I'm acutely aware of everyone's stares, even when I turn my head to catch them and they pretend to not be intently studying me at that particular moment by acting like they're engaged in whatever conversation they've put on for show. They can't fool me, though. I know they're judging me. But, I'm exploring new territory south the equator, so I went to a bar to try it again, just to make sure. Had a beer, alone, and read my book! I felt invincible!

Two days later, I went to the most amazing place, Coogee beach! The sand paled in comparison to Oregon beaches. Paled in that it was much less impressive, not that it was whiter, cause it wasn't. Oregon is the best and whitest. In terms of its beaches, I mean. But the water at Coogee was the best water I've ever been in - anywhere! The temperature was perfect - warm enough that I could stay in and splash around for hours without getting cold, but cool enough that it was still refreshing to be in it, away from the hot, breezy air. It felt perfect! It also looked perfect.

The water was clear - like, super clear. I could see to the bottom everywhere I was, as if I was standing in air. I could see beautifully refracted light (from the sunny day) coming through each giant wave that pummeled me in the surf. The waves were big, bigger than Oregon's, and they were so much fun! It was like the perfect water you'd see on the travel channel, or a travel brochure, or written about in a book by a real writer - except this wasn't on a screen or in a book - it was on me! I was in it! I was splashing around and giggling so hard that I was getting weird looks from the other tourists who were there just to watch me. I know, they were playing around, too but that was just an act. I could tell by how much they sucked at catching waves. I bodysurfed the crap out of those waves and no one else could figure it out, even though they pretended to try. In fact, one little girl just stood there, "crying and screaming" for her parents, I mean, observing me. Amateurs. Anyway, I kept catching awesome waves, and splashing about, and giggling until I felt things start to hurt. I thought maybe it was a jellyfish sting on my scalp and shoulders but changed my mind after one of the other tourists said, "you're looking a little red there, chief." Well, I don't play in the waves with racists so I left.

When I had arrived to the beach, I took my shirt off, giving everyone a show. I rubbed on my 50 SPF sunscreen while smiling and staring back at everyone else. Not weird at all. But when I got home to wash the sea off my body and out of my still-crying eyes (it was really salty), I felt a terrible sting!

They say that direct sunshine-to-skin contact is a common way for a sunburn to occur. That logic seems sound, as I had been exposing my shoulders to the world for the entire day. And when I looked in the mirror, I was red like a tomato. Or a cooked lobster. Everyplace that wasn't covered seems to be in pain. It's a pain I would definitely associate with the word burning. When I touch myself, I feel hot, which is validating because I tell people I'm hot all the time. I've been applying aloe vera, which feels great - but then I'm sticky, which is not so great. I expect this will pass, but I'm bored while waiting. Bored and hidden because I don't feel like going back out into public. Really, I just don't want to put clothes on, but that means I probably shouldn't go outside. I'll not forget my newfound skills of dining and drinking alone, but I should wait till the pain stops before I continue with that adventure. And that's what a sunburn feels like. #ouch

End of the Month Update
I went back to Coogee beach for another sunburn today. 4th sunburn in 5 weeks. The water conditions weren't as magnificent as last time. Each wave was filled with seaweed. Well, there's never been a weed that's ever slowed me down (okay, one in particular slows me down a lot...) so I got right into that water, determined to have fun! And by "right into" I mean that I watched the lifeguards make three saves before I had the nerve to give it a try. Those waves were pounding people, and there were stinging jelly fish that were paralyzing people, and there was sooo much seaweed - but it was time for my date with fun.

I was complaining about the seaweed right out of the gate. It was like floaty sandpaper that wrapped itself around my legs and inhibited my fluidity in the water. I came in and out of the water several times throughout the day, trying to dodge the seaweed - and failing.

After I was significantly sunburned, I called it a day and headed out. Stopped at the public bathroom to take a leak. Posted up between two lads at opposite ends of the big, stainless steel, trough-style urinal and pulled out my package. Well, the whole damn thing was covered in bits of seaweed and sand! So, I start shaking it around to try to get everything off. To and fro and all about, but it was really stuck on there. Had to start rubbing it off with the other hand until I realized how I must have looked to the other guys. You know, really going at it - with two hands and all! Ugh. Oops. Did my thing while using my wishing skills to remove the bits and pieces instead of physics. But, my wishing skills suck ass. Shook a bit more, until my humility was at its max capacity, and before putting everything away, I noticed a big piece of something caught in the secret-underpants-lining of my swim-trunks. I pull the waist-band way out to get a better look. As I'm staring inquisitively at my crotchular area, I see a big ass piece of seaweed, hanging out in there like it owns the joint. So I reach in with the other hand and pull it out. Threw it into the urinal - right next to my modesty.

I kind of made myself sound too awesome at beginning of this post, so I decided to add this update to the story. You know, to balance things out a bit.

Walk Into The Pageant Like, What Up? I Gotta A Big Thought!

I went through a phase of being a pretty awesome straight edge punk rocker. Blue mohawk, pyramid studs on my leather belt, and a 'fuck you' attitude. I enjoyed my moral superiority of thought. I condemned things like alcohol, smoking, and fun. I condemned people for conforming, for operating within the system, for supporting "the man". I was a judgemental jerk and I hated "perfect people". I didn't really have major goals of my own, but I criticized people who made goals that I thought were dumb.

The epitome of the perfect people I hated were highlighted in beauty pageants. I was a hater way before it became trendy to spotlight beauty pageant fails.

We laugh at how stupid they must be, as if we would never make a mistake, or succumb to nerves during an elite competition, in the spotlight, in front of thousands of judging eyes. Their intelligence failures reinforce our ignorance that the contest is purely for gawking, when the hosting organizations clearly give a criteria for judging that is beyond just physical appearance. There's no doubt that these organizations are corrupt and terrible, but why criticize the competitors?

While most people may not understand the criteria for judging a beauty pageant, they most certainly are goals that these competitors set for themselves, work extremely hard towards with ferocious tenacity, and then present their accomplishments in front of thousands-strong audiences to be judged.

Judging is not criticizing; and reiterating our ignorance that these pageants are only about physical appearance is not accurate. If you want to criticize, be accurate. In fact, only two-thirds of the competition is based on physical appearance.

I know another competition that is 100% based on physical appearance, but it doesn't receive the same social outcry of condemnation. Fitness and bodybuilding competitions.

Be that as it may, I think what is forgotten in these competitions that incorporate physical beauty is the training involved to be a competitor. These are wonderful examples of people setting goals, working toward them with a capacity that most people can't understand. Most people have no idea what kind of training and dedication it takes to compete in one of these competitions. It takes more mental fortitude to achieve that physical appearance you see on stage than any critic displays in presenting their shallow opinions.

Yet, to someone who doesn't understand the criteria of the competition, or the dedication necessary to compete, a pageant still looks like an outdated contest about looks. How do most people miss the countless hours and sacrifices that were made in order to master one's own body? And why isn't the mastery of one's body not more impressive?

In my eyes, this is all about setting goals, working hard toward them, and conquering them. However, naysayers will maintain that beauty pageants objectify women and some might add that bodybuilding competitions objectify men. But, these participants aren't competing to objectify themselves. And if you objectify them: the problem is with you! Someone recently told me that when she was just 16, an older coworker (30s male) told her that she was the reason guys do bad things (rape). You can't blame a woman for being raped because of how she looks. Anyone can wear whatever the fuck they want - it's the person raping that is at fault for raping! If we're objectifying beauty pageant competitors, we're at fault - not the women competing! So why are we harshing on them? Aren't they simply examples of people setting extreme physical and mental goals for themselves - and then conquering them?! We should be praising their success! We should be inspired by them! We should respect them!

There are other examples of physical success that we do praise that came from the same extreme, laborious training and dedication. Gymnasts, for example, make the same sacrifices in order to master their own body. We all watch that and say, "Holy crap, that's awesome" without the objectification!

Or, going back to corrupt facilitating organizations, we can look at FIFA. Soccer players are equally, unimaginably amazing athletes but there's no condemnation of them for trying to achieve their goals (pun intended). In the case of FIFA, they're berated for what they are, as they should be, but the competitors escape this deluge of criticisms, as they should - and so too should beauty pageant competitors.

I've explored several phases since my straight-edge punk rocker days. With New Year's Resolutions upon us, I'm currently exploring a phase of appreciating peoples' goals, no matter what they might be. I am inspired by their dedication to whatever, and am not lost in superficial judgements. I am in awe at their accomplishments, and not belittling of their motivations. I am humbled by their sacrifices to achieve what is important to them, and not critical of what I think should be important to someone else.

I may not understand the world of physical appearance competitions, and I certainly never thought in a million years that I would be defending beauty pageants. I do understand goals and hard work, though. If a little girl (or anyone) sets her sights on a goal, and is willing to work toward it, who are any of us to denounce her passion? Get it, girl!

Bottle of Wine, Fruit of the Vine! Bulgaria won't let me be Sober!

Well, February was just wonderful! Ian came to visit for my favorite holiday! Wine Day! I filled our schedule way too full for his time here, but that has kind of been my experience, too. We went to see monasteries and churches, we hiked in the mountains and over Roman ruins, and we ate and drank till we were crazy! It was awesome!

My Varna friends postponed their annual wine tasting until Ian could be here. Every year, they bring wines that they've made or their friends have made. On this one night, they gather and do a wine tasting and rating. The idea is to try them all (a glass of each) and then continue into the night with the one you like the best, but I think I remember there being 10 or so different types of wine. After I had tried them all, I needed to pass out!

The very next day was Wine Day. Ian and I headed out to a small town for a festival and then opted to head out to meet Kuncho at his villa! He walked us through the Bulgarian tradition. We took a sip of wine, cut the vine, poured out a sip of wine on the plant, and then made an awkward necklace from the vine we'd just cut. And then we feasted for hours!

The food and wine were great. Everyone got a kick out of seeing Ian afraid of partying with communists. They made unending jokes about who was the dirtiest communist, and who was a fascist. They also got a kick out of Ian's reaction to old people dancing. But the biggest kick was Ian's story about needing a rabies vaccine in Bulgaria. It's a typical Bulgarian story, but funny for them because it was happening to a foreigner.

Running through the forest in Portland, Ian got hit in the face by a bat. The mammal kind. His thought he must have rabies and was to receive the fourth shot while in Bulgaria. His doctors told him it would be okay in Bulgaria but I tried to get things lined up anyway.

Iliyan called his friend, a doctor, to ask about administering the final shot. His friend said that Bulgaria stopped carrying the proper vaccine two years ago and that Ian needed to bring it with him. Of course that wasn't going to happen so we called the same doctor again who then said he could order the vaccine.

Now that we had a plan, everything was okay. Ian came, we traveled a bit, and two days before he was to receive said shot, the doctor called and said he needed 10 days for the shot to be shipped to him. Hhhh... We were in Sofia at the time and changed our plans to find another option in Sofia.

The hostel folks called the local infectious diseases place which said they had the vaccine. What they meant was, they had a vaccine. Another typical experience of someone not listening to the whole question - this stems from a genuine disinterest in anything.

When we arrived and presented the problem, the got really angry, really quickly and told us to go away. They had a different vaccine and didn't want to mix vaccines. I thought this would be our only option so I used my tricks and convinced them that Ian's doctor had approved the Bulgarian version. Once we got passed that, they saw that he was one day early according to his schedule.

They again got angry and told us to leave. We said we had to be in Varna and that Varna didn't have an option for vaccines. They said he could get the vaccine in Varna. I asked where. They said somewhere. And then they kicked us out. Fail.

In Varna we played the same game at one hospital reception. The gal sent us to another reception in a different part of the hospital. That gal sent us to the third floor, room 304! Woo hoo! Got to the door at 13:30 and saw a sign that said the working hours are 7:00 - 13:00... I knocked anyway and a nurse came to the door. I went through my spiel and she told me to come back tomorrow morning. They were closed. I really emphasized that he had to receive his shot today and they were the only place. She said go find somewhere else.

Back to the first reception for more arguing. Found a doctor that was sympathetic to our situation and told us another place in the hospital where we could ask. Went there to find another angry nurse. She listened to our spiel and asked us why we didn't get to the right place before 13:00... Hhhhh... She said there was one doctor that gives these shots and if she's not here, then tough luck. She left and came back 5 minutes later with a doctor!!!

The doctor wanted to know all of my information (?) because I had been translating the whole time, but eventually she just nodded her head and left. Then the angry nurse gave Ian a shot! Woo hoo! Didn't matter that she had said there was only one doctor that gave these shots. We were happy to have accomplished a rather difficult mission.

I asked her for a receipt to know how much he owed. She asked why. I told her has to pay, right? Then she berated us for being late to room 304, and said that we were supposed to pay there, but since we didn't, we couldn't pay. She said that if we wanted, we could leave a tip if it was from our hearts. Ha ha. Okay. Ian left her 20 levs and she said she'd have coffee with the doctor.

Pretty odd situation for us to experience, but it's so absolutely normal in Bulgaria. This is why our party friends thought it was so funny.

Anyway, fun stories and jokes, great food and wine! It was the perfect way to celebrate for hours. And it finished in a beautiful fashion with the dirtiest communist of them all singing a beautiful song! What a voice! This video doesn't do it justice. In the moment, it was really incredible!

So Tired Of Working, But I'm Out, I'm On The Road Again!

Aside from my long, dirty days of collecting waste paper and late nights in the office planning a community resource center, I actually got to do a quick bit of backpacking this year.

Went to Berlin for New Year's Eve and met some friends for an amazing celebration! I think Germans take a lot of canned heat for suppressed emotions, but a party of 1.5 million people tends to open up a can of excitement! German sausages and beer booths for as far as your eyes could see! Which actually wasn't too far on account of said beer. But trust me, it was an incredible display of festivity!

There were three or four stages along a 2-kilometer strip. In between each stage were all the opportunities for food and refreshments. We tried listening to the bands and really getting into the music - but the bands were awful! We weren't in their moment - because we were laughing too hard in ours. I think our favorite band sang a rap song with the following chorus: "If you don't want to party, then you should go home." Those lyrics were the bulk of their song, repeated over and over again. And people loved them. Ha!

In any case, after midnight, I seemed to have lost my friends, but was having a ton of fun with one Russian guy and a German girl. We danced and danced, and drank, and then the Russian guy stole my hat. The German girl gave me hers cause it was pretty cold. And now I have a very cute hat.

After Berlin, I trekked a bit and saw some beautiful European cities, with all their glorious art and architecture. Wearing my life on my back was a feeling I'd not had in a while, and I really, really enjoyed the thrill!

I think my favorite experience was at one of the public baths in Budapest. There were many different pools, each with different temperatures. We started in the giant outdoor pool that was loaded with lots of people. It wasn't very hot, though so we went to explore the indoor pools. Inside, I also found a sauna! I love saunas so I was hanging out in there a lot.

At one moment, it was just me and a crazy looking little old man. He asked in very broken English where I was from. I proudly told him, USA! And we had a very rough conversation about his time in Portland. He was from Romania but living in Hungary for his construction business. I told him that I'm living in Bulgaria at the moment and he switched to speaking to me in Russian. In Bulgarian I told him that the two languages are pretty close and he waved off any differences and told me they were absolutely the same. =)

I couldn't completely understand our conversation because his English was not very good and I don't speak Russian. We made do, though, between the three languages. He told me to follow him out of the sauna to a small pool and we went in. It was freezing! He told me it's important to go in the cold after the hot, but didn't explain why. Just that it's good. In the freezing pool, his fat friend joined us. He was like an old bull in Budapest bath! The original guy told his buddy that I spoke Bulgarian, and the fat one proceeded to tell me that he speaks Italian, Hungarian, Romanian, and Gypsy - but he stressed that he wasn't himself a Gypsy. Just that he could speak the language. And he's telling me all this in German. Ughh.

We all went back into the sauna together and talked about life. I was getting a pretty strange vibe from them, but I was loving the situation. The little crazy one asked me about my religion. He couldn't understand my answer of not having a religion. He asked if I was an Atheist, and I tried to explain that I was agnostic. He showed me his confused look, and then directly asked me if I drink alcohol! There we go - the bottom line of any conversation with old men in any country!

We took breaks from the sauna to take shots of their homemade plum brandy. It was impressively smooth and deceptively strong. I loved every second of the experience! So unplanned, so unexpected, so pure and fun! They were good guys just out doing their weekly public bath routine, and for whatever reason, they decided to include me in their fun! It was perfect!

I spent the rest of my very little time on the road by visiting friends in different places. Friends I'd not seen in many years. Friends from my travels, with whom at one time we were on the same page in life. My, how time and experiences change that page.

They're still beautiful people, and I'm very happy to call them my friends, but finding other common ground was a bit more difficult than it had been when we met. But, as I learned from the drunk old men in Budapest, you don't really need too much common ground to have a great time with someone.

Two of the friends I visited lived in very small, super cute villages. Far away from pretty much everything. It was incredible! Just like the Bulgarian villages - but clean!

I kept bragging about the benches I've been building out of waste pallets and how I've started gifting them to schools. Well, my German buddy called me out, and pulled out an old pallet he had covered behind a shed. So, we spent a couple days making it into a bench. This one had a German-inspired innovative addition: two beer bottle holders!

In the last month, I've gotten food poisoning twice, and have been twice otherwise sick with normal winter bugs. I'm hoping my remaining days are nice to me as I try to get through all the projects I started!