Question: What will happen if we place a PCV in a classroom with 18 non-English speaking 5 year olds?

Hypothesis: If the PCV is placed in a classroom with 18 non-English speaking 5 year old, she will be very successful, after all Americans can do anything.

Materials:

18 non-English speaking 5 year olds1 Peace Corps Volunteernothing elseProcedure:Ask the PCV is she will go play with the ECE (Kindergaren) because their teacher had to leave to take care of a sick child.Do not give the PCV any lesson plans, or ideas of how to entertain said studentsHave 4 or 5 of the students parents sit nearby and observe all of the mayhem going on in the ECE classroom.Arrange with PUC to cut the power so there will be no lights or fans in the classroom.Observations:PCV seemed to do well entertaining the children for the first 10 minutes with a known favorite of their, Chicka, Chicka, Boom, BoomPCV then led the children through renditions of Head, Shoulders, Knees, and toes in both languagesPCV sang several rounds of Ring Around the RosiePCV then joined the students in a local circle gamePCV looked astonished when she looked at her watch to see that she still had 40 minutes to fillPCV had children hanging on herChildren started fighting over who could violate the PCVs personal bubble the most completelyPCV continued to sing a variety of songs in both English and Pohnpeian, and continued to looked exasperated when there was still huge amount of time to fillConclusion:It is fun to torture our Peace Corps!

Here's something else I started today:

First, you’ve got the broken-down coral. It’s not really sand. It’s been finely grained, rubbed and broken and rubbed some more—over other coral, over rocks, rolled and rolled like laundry on the surface of land. This is the strong stuff. Ground into a powder, it’s pwet—white—otherwise known as lime. You sprinkle it onto a beetelnut before you chew. That’s the stuff that cuts into your mouth. No matter how far you ground it down, it’s still sharp. Sharp to the smell, to the taste, and it allows the drug of the beetelnut to find immediate access to your bloodstream.

It's been too long since I've blogged--9 months now.

I'm hoping to publish some of my writing, maybe even a book about my Peace Corps adventures. Any advice would be much appreciated.

Here's an excerpt from something I've been working on about sakau (this passage is about the singing on one particular night):

Imagine a black Baptist choir doing a rousing rendition of “Go Tell It on the Mountain” on a beautiful Sunday morning. Then change it. Remove all of the congregation, all of the women, and most of the choir. Make all of the men over 40, shirtless, and only partially employed. Imagine they’d imbibed a bottle of whiskey and were in that mellow, quiet, bluesy stage of drunkenness. Make it dark outside, with starlight, moonlight, and a single fluorescent bulb the only illuminations. The men are sitting at a table under a guava tree. The linoleum-covered wooden table has been chewed by termites and mold. It is crawling with tiny sugar ants. The men’s 88-cent flip-flops are all that’s between the dirt and their gnarled toes. One of the men is strumming a guitar with long dirty fingernails. A couple are chewing beetelnut; one is smoking a cigarette. All have plastic cups of sakau in front of them. The beauty of the notes, the soulfulness of a Baptist choir is still there… but quieter, subdued.

The Chuukese folk are avidly religious. The Church is the center of life and steers the beliefs and actions of most of the islanders. The Church’s influence has been so profound and widespread that it has succeeded in supplanting almost all traditional beliefs. The locals have no remnants of ancient religion or pre-colonial belief systems. Traditional island clothes, dances, stories and cultural practices can sometimes be spotted masked in a Christian sheath of censorship. But even that is rare. For the most part, the Chuukese have done away with ancient beliefs and adopted the western ideals of Jesus and ecclesiastic system of thought. However, there is one archaic conviction that has not been tossed by the wayside. There is one thing that they have continued to believe and continued to fear for thousands of years. They have accepted the Christian God and its conception of reality, but they have not allowed this singular legend to slip through the cracks. The fear of this thing has been so deeply engrained that they have refused to throw it in the pile of defunct traditions. For some powerful reason, this belief has endured. I am speaking about ghosts. Specifically the sea ghost, locally referred to as a Chanuukun. I heard stories of the sea ghost from the first week that I arrived in Chuuk. I enjoyed the stories and listened with interest as old men recited tales of the horrible fates that have come to foolish water goers. There are many versions of stories involving the Chanuukun, but most of them involve somebody getting punished for disturbing the peace of the sea. If you upset the balance of the ocean, the female sea ghost may come to you and work its deadly black magic against you. I liked hearing these stories, but I didn’t really believe that they were true. I just thought it was fun to hear about some real indigenous beliefs. My overanalyzing logical brain has long since stripped away childhood fears of ghosts and monsters . A few months an ago incident occurred. There have been varying stories to explain the reality of the situation, but I will explain how it was relayed to me. A young boy was visiting the lagoon from the outer islands of Chuuk. He was out on a picnic on a small uninhabited island with his family and friends. The child was being kind of wild and making all types of loud noises and splashing around in the water. His mother warned him to quiet down, but he simply wandered farther down the beach and out of earshot so he could continue his frolicking in the ocean. That evening when they returned home from the picnic, the boy’s mother noticed scratches on his forearms and chest. She asked the kid what they were from, but he wouldn’t respond. She just figured he hurt himself on some coral and was embarrassed to admit his clumsiness. The next morning, the boy awoke and was terribly sick. He had a horrid fever and was too weak to rise from bed. This sickness wore on for days, but since the hospital was a lengthy boat ride away and is infamous for its shoddy care, they decided to take care of him at home. The family was grief stricken and didn’t know what could have caused such a severe onset of this horrible sickness. The boy became more and more ill, until one night he called his mother to his bedside. She sat near him and he beckoned her to come close so he could tell her a secret. The mother knelt down and bent her ear towards the boy. In a raspy and ailing voice, the boy whispered, “mother, I am scared and must tell you something. The other day at the picnic when I went to play by myself, I saw a woman. She came to me in the water and gave me these scratches for making too much noise in the sea. And then she warned me that if I ever ever told anybody about our encounter, I would die” The next morning, the little boy was dead. News of this disaster spread like wildfire and my host family was talking about it all the time. The boy died on my host mother’s home island, so she was particularly in tune with all the gossip. A couple of days later, I was preparing to go out spear fishing at night with a friend. My host mother looked at me with terror in her eyes and told me not to go. She said the Chanuukun is known for going after visitors or foreigners and it was unsafe for me to go in the ocean. Her reaction irked me a little bit, but in the end I disregarded it. I didn’t believe in ghosts and I certainly wasn’t scared of some imaginary mermaid lady, so I wasn’t gonna let it ruin an exciting spear fishing expedition. It was a moonless night. The blackness was overwhelming. Clouds covered the sky and not even a star could be seen. A slight drizzle trickled down, but it wasn’t enough to be cause for concern. I slunk into the liquid blackness and followed the stream of light beaming from my buddy’s underwater flashlight. We followed the far edge of the reef and worked our way eastwards away from the island. After a couple of hours of swimming, we were beyond the point of being able to see land in the stark darkness of the night. The rain picked up a bit and everything became bland with a blanket of black. I came up to adjust my mask after a deep dive and heard something as I peeked above the surface. It was a woman speaking. She was speaking faintly in Chuukese. Through the rain and confusion, I couldn’t quite understand what she was saying, but I was quite sure that it was a young woman’s voice babbling in Chuukese. I looked around in a circle and tried to get my bearings. Could it be from a house back on land? No, that was impossible because I was far away from the shore and the wind was blowing in the opposite direction. Could it be from a boat? No, women almost never go fishing. Especially not at night and especially not in the rain. I figured I was just light headed from oxygen deprivation and must be imagining things. I dove back down and continued my fishing. A couple of minutes later, I came back to the surface to take a big breath and reaffirm to myself that the voice wasn’t real. But it was. I heard the same voice again. This time it was louder. I still couldn’t figure what she was saying, but it was unmistakably real. Now I was scared. My mind began to race with a million explanations, but none of them made any sense. It could only be one thing talking to me in the deep dark night of the lonely ocean…Chanuukun! I spun in a circle and frantically searched for a sign of anything. I was fidgety and nervous. Was this ghost really coming after me? No, I didn’t believe in ghosts. It couldn’t be. I must be going nuts. I dove back under and rapidly swam towards the glowing figure of my fishing partner. I needed to ask him if he also heard the voice. I tried to get his attention, but he was busy doing his business below the surface and I couldn’t get him to come up and talk. I once again popped up above the water and brought my head into the warm misting air. The sound that greeted me will haunt me for years. Ahhahhhaaahhh …..eeehheeheee!! A witchlike cackle echoed in my ears and then faded into a girlish giggle. The evil undertones replaced by innocent happiness shook me to my core. I hurried to my partners’ side and refused to pull my head out of water for the rest of the night. You can interpret this story however you want. My rational brain is still trying to conjure up explanations, but nothing seems plausible. I have tried to disregard it as a hallucinatory episode, but every time that I tell the story I get shivers down my spine and my eyes begin to water. The ghost might not have been real, but the fear was real. Maybe the Chanuukan has refused to fade into forgotten obscurity for a reason. Maybe its presence has remained for a reason. Maybe pastors, parents and politicians believe for a reason. Maybe it still patrols the reefs of Chuuk Lagoon and preys on unsuspecting victims. Or maybe we are all just crazy!

Many things about my personality have changed during my island isolation. And much of this change has been due to how I spend my free time. Our work and responsibilities often take up the biggest chunk of our waking hours, but what we do in our free time really defines who we are and how we develop. The unfamiliar circumstances of my new life in Chuuk have shaped the manner in which I pass the empty hours and this has in turn influenced how I think, behave and live.One of the main purposes of leisure activities is to escape from the pressures of a difficult life. There are problems in everybody’s life. The extent and severity of those problems might vary greatly, but the emotions and feelings that are produced are rather universal. Whether it be desperate starvation or an annoying traffic jam, people all over the world share the same emotions that spur from problems. Anger, frustration, depression, anxiety and sadness are a part of each and every person’s daily life. If we accept the inevitability of these unfortunate events, we can surmise that the way that we deal with these inescapable issues determines our level of happiness. How we decide to internalize these situations and make sense of them in our minds is the key factor in our measure of life satisfaction. When faced with one of life’s troubles, we have the choice to attack (anger), accept (sadness), or avoid (?).Being a “glass half full” kind of guy, I usually tend to opt with the avoidance choice. I am not sure if this is the correct approach because the effects can vary significantly, but it has worked out for me pretty well so far. But the “so far” of my life has been relatively limited. I have lived a privileged life of comfort and joy with very few serious problems that have plagued my existence. However, during the last year and half I have finally felt some of the mysterious emotions that are a constant companion in many people’s realities. I have felt loneliness, frustration, depression and a million other things.Being in a strange foreign land, I have been forced to find new ways to deal with these problems. When the inefficiency of school frustrates me, or the social isolation depresses me, or the collectivism smothers me, or the failure of plans angers me, or the lack of luxuries disappoints me, I must find a way to pull myself out of the slump and back to a pleasant state of existence. I am not the type to brood or mope. If I am in a bad mood, it usually doesn’t last long. I scheme around until I find something that diverts my mind and makes me forget my troubles. In America, there are an unlimited number of ways to do this. Our society is built upon it. We slave all week at jobs that we hate and then splurge in fun activities on weekends and nights. Technology, infrastructure and the media make sure that we have plenty of options to block out our problems and float into a complacent milieu of happiness.But in Chuuk, none of those things exist. I cannot drink a case of beer when I want to relax. There is no Internet to distract me and pull me into its endless web of entertainment. I don’t have a TV to switch on and melt my mind into a contented blob of satisfaction. My family and friends are thousands of miles away and are unable to provide their cheerful company. My island is the size of a mountainous golf course and has no space for football fields, baseball diamonds or tennis courts. The standard leisure activities are simply not available for me. So as a result, I have found different ways to spend my free time and pump up my gloomy spirits. And I have now come to realize that these new ways of pulling myself out of the dumps are actually probably better than the habits I developed in the states. There are three main things that I have learned to do when I am at a low point.One of these is reading books. I have always wanted to be a book reader. I like books. I enjoy the stories and love letting my imagination get lost in the words of a fantastic tale. I also am a huge advocate of learning from books. There is an unlimited amount of information in books just waiting to be discovered. I am constantly striving to expand my knowledge of the world and absorb as many things as possible, and books are the really the best place to start. I have these romantic notions about books, but most of my life I have been kind of a hypocrite. I claimed to like reading, but never really did it. Sometimes I would read 10 pages before falling asleep at night, or skim over a class text to glean the important points. But overall, I was pretty lousy when it came to book reading. My problem was that there were just a lot of other options, and settling down to read a book was not on the top of my list. When an unfilled space of time came around, I would go through a list of possible activities depending on my current attitude. I might call up a buddy, or go play a game of basketball, or watch a movie, or play a video game, or shoot a game of pool, or hang out with the family. But reading a book was probably about number 9 on my list of fun things to do. Naturally it usually got ignored as an option and was demoted to the lowly position of “should-do’s”. All of that changed when I came to Chuuk. Suddenly all of my options from 1-8 were out of the picture. Book reading fell into the open slot and finally got its chance. And boy did it take advantage! I have been on a reading rampage. From fiction to facts, I have been pouring over dozens of books and filling my mind with a million thoughts. Having a kindle (before it recently broke) was a convenient helper because it allowed me to have a hundred books in the space of one. Also all of the classics (past copyright dates….before 1920 something) are all free. So I can peruse the famous passages of literary distinction and load up on tidbits of all the so-called required reading. Besides the old books, I have also been running through a good selection of new stories and non-fiction. I try to balance my reading between enjoyment and learning. I always am reading at least 2 books at the same time (sometimes more than 5). One is a good story that will suck me in and take me to a new world, and the other is an interesting compilation of facts that will stimulate my thoughts and expand my intellectual understanding of everything. This system does a good job of keeping me entertained and learned. When the stifling heat of my room is too much to handle or the prospect of loafing around isnt appealing, I look to a couple of other options to clear my slate of negative emotion. Spending time with little kids is another one of my failsafe methods to avoid sadness. Children are always happy. They are bursting with excitement and an eagerness to explore their little worlds. The smallest mishaps prompt hilarious outbursts and the faintest changes create a flood of happiness. In my tiny island community, kids are everywhere. I have an entourage of midget followers that stick to my tail anywhere that I go. Sometimes they are hanging off my shoulders and other times they are skipping circles around me. I play silly games with them, twirl them in the air and go along with their funny childish activities. A contorted facial expression will bring a flurry of giggles from my baby sister and a casual toss of a ball will send a throng of tiny ones scattering around. I have a little sister of my own and I did work at an elementary school for a while, but this is really the first time that I have been completely surrounded by children. I joke with my other Peace Corps volunteers that my only friends are old men and little kids. I spend a lot of time with these munchkins and I almost never walk away with a frown on my face. The other thing that I do to take my mind off my worries and relax is to simple sit. Sit in silence and do absolutely nothing (except thinking and looking). This is something that I never ever did in America. Once in a blue moon I would spend 2 minutes by myself enjoying my surroundings, but it was a rare occurrence. I am an extrovert and constant activity is what I seek. But that has begun to change. I am now entirely comfortable sitting in silence and doing nothing at all. This may sound boring, but in actuality it provides a fabulous opportunity to observe the world around you that you never knew exist. This reality is always there, but we very rarely slow down enough to notice it. I am speaking of the universe outside of human activity. Beyond the conversations of friends, underneath the rush of modernity, below the buzz of the media, and outside the manufactured net of human activity. This is our world. Planet Earth. Mother Nature. The other 99.9% of stuff that happens without involving us. My tranquil island environment makes this much easier to appreciate than in a bustling metropolis or crumbling ghetto. I can sit on the soft grass of the dock under the shade of palm tree and peacefully gaze at the tendrils of rippling water wisp on the glassy surface of the sea. My home has a thick coat of tropical trees and plants that explode with greenness and overwhelm the senses with smells of budding flowers and exotic fruits. If I listen closely, I can hear a hundred different conversations of invisible twittering birds that flutter through the trees. The horizon stretches forever in all directions and melts into sticky swirls of orange and pink that ooze over the clouds like the runny yolk from a broken egg. At night, the twinkling stars are unimpeded by smoggy pollution and glaring streetlights so they are able to shine through with their brilliant radiance and light up the sky in a dazzling display of glowing freckles. Truly observing the fantastic beauty of the natural world and allowing myself to become a part of this mysterious evolving creation is an experience that always humbles me. I am blessed to be living in such a stunningly gorgeous place and forcing myself to appreciate my surroundings is a good method of bringing me back to a high level of happiness. The world is an amazing place, and my trivial problems float away when I view them in the broad spectrum of this beauteous planet. I tell myself, “no worries, the fucked up world of civilization that is troubling you is only a speck in the vast web of reality. Just relax and enjoy the ride.”

The reef surrounding my village has been off limits to fishing for over 5 months. It is a cultural tradition to restrict fishing in respect of important people who die in the community. The ritual is done to honor the dead and also acts as a conservation measure. I have often been frustrated because the majority of my time in Chuuk has been during times of “mechen”. I have been unable to touch, swim or fish in the beautiful calm waters that lie at my doorstep. It is awfully ironic to be completely surrounded by warm inviting ocean and not be able to go near it. The fishing restrictions may be a hindrance to my personal enjoyment of the lagoon, but they really do serve a legitimate purpose. Chuuk is overpopulated and extremely small. If all the islanders went fishing every single day then the fish, octopus, clams and all the bounty of the sea would be depleted. The reef would become over fished and unhealthy. The Chuukese survive on the resources of the ocean, if these resources are misused then people will suffer. The vast majority of people do not have jobs, so they depend on the ocean and jungle to provide food and sustenance for their families. The tradition of “mechen” is basically an informal law to control the resources of the sea. This past Thursday, I saw first hand the power of these restrictions in restoring the fish populations. The mechen was opened and a fishing extravaganza began. The chief decreed that at sundown the wooden poles in the ocean would be pulled up and the fishermen could once again plunder the seafloor. On the first night of the opening of the mechen, a huge group of spear fisherman will be the ones who get the first chance at the unspoiled grounds. I was invited to join the fishing party and I gathered at the waterside as the final glimpses of sunlight faded behind the clouds.In the darkness by the dock, a crowd of men had come together to await the signal to begin. We idly stood together for about a half an hour and then split into different groups on the motor boats. The chief gave the signal and we all piled into the tiny boats. 9 other fisherman jumped in my boat and we crept our way out to sea.The sky was pitch black and the moonless night spread darkness to every corner. The line between land, sea and sky was barely visible. Everything was just black. The only visible area was the stream of light shining from the man with a flashlight at the front of the boat. He shouted commands to the operator as we veered around the big chunks of coral and came to resting point.We dropped our makeshift anchor and strapped on our snorkels and masks to ready ourselves for our adventure. Men then started flipping over backwards and diving into the black sea to search for the unsuspecting fish victims below. A series of glowing orbs now floated along the surface and showed the location of the fishermen. I grabbed my 5 foot metal rod and giant rubber band and then plunged into the water.It had been a long time since I had gone into the black depths of the night sea, but I was happy to be back and felt at home immediately. I kicked my fins and started on my journey to find the sleeping fish at the bottom of the sea. The great advantage of spear fishing at night is that the fish are usually sleeping or very lazy. You can often bring your spear tip within inches of the slumbering fish and then shoot its shiny point into the gut of the aquatic creature. It is kind of a sneaky way to go hunting, but it’s not without its challenges. The utter darkness and mysteriousness of the open ocean is daunting on the nerves. Your only line of sight is the beam of light from your flashlight and everything else is unknown. A hungry shark, or poisonous urchin or stinging jellyfish could be two centimeters from your head and you wouldn’t know it (and they often are). Shark bites, infectious scratches and unknown injuries are not uncommon. Holding your breath and diving to great depths also presents problems for the mind and body. Staying under water until you feel like suffocating is part of the game if you want to find the biggest fish. Your mind wants to come up quickly, but your body will be the ultimate judge of when its time to swim to the surface. Overcoming the anxiety of your mind to hold your breath for long periods of time is a difficult task, and its one that I have yet to master. My spear fishing prowess would increase ten fold if I could stay down for a couple minutes while searching for fish.Finding the fish is also not easy. They may be sleeping, but they are also hiding. They hide in rocks, coral, seaweed and anything else on the sea floor. Fish are infamous for being great at camouflage. Their skin color, design pattern and body shape are all evolutionarily designed to blend in with a particular environment. Some look exactly like a blade of sea grass, others look like a patch of coral polyps and others look like sandy bottom. I will often look directly at a spot and not see a fish, then my partner will come up beside me and shoot at a chunk of coral and pull out a fish. To me there was nothing there, but his eyes are trained to seek out the fish and find them in their best hiding spots.At one point I noticed a swaying black mass underneath a rock. At first I thought it was a large leaf, but after diving lower and getting a clearer view I confirmed that it was a giant fish. I dove down, got flat on belly and look the fish in the eye. I held the spear shaft with my left hand and pulled back the rubber band with my right. Then I released and shot the spear through the center of the fish. It wriggled in a violent series of twists and yanks and did all it could to release itself from its death trap. But it was too late, the spear was through its midsection and would not yield to the power of its fins. The big black fish retreated farther under the rock and made it almost impossible for me to pull him out. I called over to one of my buddies and beckoned him to come help. When he arrived, he shot his spear into the head and then we were able to pull it out. Two crossed spears sliced through the body and made it easy to wrangle the beast from his den. I pulled out my spear and then repeatedly stabbed it into the head of the fish. I was trying to pierce his skull and crush his brain. If I let the fish live, it would be thrashing on my belt and attract sharks. I scrambled its brains and he finally stopped struggling. I then stuck my wire belt through its eye socket and attached him to my waist. It was by far the biggest fish I have ever caught in my life. He was a vertically flat looking creature about 20 inches long and 8 inches thick. A little bit later on, I found a red fish in the center of a small coral clump. I speared him at a downward angle, but could not easily pull him out because of the awkward position. I decided to dive down and pull him out with my hand. As I began to reach into the rock hole, I retracted in a burst of fear as an eel slithered out into the crevice. The eel pecked at the dying fish and tried to wrap around the carcass. He was trying to steal my fish! I was smart enough to refrain from putting my hand within the eels grasp, but I was stumped about how to get my fish out and avoid the eel. Eventually I captured my prize by sliding the spear through the other end of the coral clump and picking him up by hand. I retrieved my fish and left the eel hungry and angry.I pulled myself onto the boat after a few hours of fishing and was proud to show off my plentiful belt of fish with the giant at the center. I was dismayed and impressed to see the giant mound of fish that the others had gathered. I had speared about 15 fish during the night and was happy with my catch, but the locals had each got more than twice as many. We counted the fish and totaled 300 from the 9 of us. That means each of them caught about 35 fish. However, my big boy was the monster of the bunch and still garnered me some praise. We motored back to the dock and were greeted by throngs of people. The fish were thrown onto the grass and piled up with the others. The two other boats had similar numbers of fish, and together the mound equaled close to 1000 fish! A giant pile of multicolored fish sat on the dock and awaited the chief’s approval. He allowed a large number of them to be barbecued immediately and a fire of coconut husks was erected on the dock. We charred the outside of the fish and gorged into their fresh meat. They had been cooked hastily and most were still raw inside. It was like eating seared seafood. Crispy on the outside, gooey on the inside. I sat with a dozen other men and tore at the flesh of the fish while stuffing breadfruit into our mouths. It was a savage feast of epic proportions.Two days later, the majority of the fish were prepared together in a giant feast. The entire village came together and ate a huge meal of fish, breadfruit and taro. Speeches were given and advice was shared before we all dug into the meal. The opening of the mechen and the feasting that followed was a perfect exhibition of the collectivist community lifestyle that prevails in Chuuk. Everyone obeyed the chiefs orders and avoided the sea, then the able bodied men worked together to round up a massive amount of fish, then everything was shared equally amongst all the community members. Nobody dared to break tradition and keep things for themselves. Life here is not about the success of the individual, it is about the thriving of the entire community.

I realize it is still a few hours until Punxsutawney looks for his shadow, but I have a feeling that spring is just around the corner. Why? Because it arrived three weeks ago in Pohnpei. I know, I know, technically we don't have seasons in the tropics, but we do have the rainy season, and the really rainy season. The last three weeks have been the "Where the heck is the rain?" season. AND, we have new piglets, puppies, kittens, and chicks wandering around the compound. I don't care if a shadow is seen or not seen tomorrow, spring is in the air.

"Miss, can you please come teach us?"

This was the questions that my students posed to me yesterday mid-morning. It was about 10:30 and I was expecting the third graders in the library. After reading them their story and getting them situated with books, I left them with their teacher and went to see what the eighth graders were up to.

The eighth grade teacher hadn't shown up yet. Usually when he is gone, teachers from the other grades will give the students work to do. Students are quite used to taking care of themselves in the classroom, which is why I was surprised by their request, afterall he's been gone almost weekly for the entire year and they hadn't ever requested my help. When I asked them what they wanted me to teach, they said the one thing I hoped they wouldn't, math.

It's not that I'm bad at math, I just don't share my brother's prowess or enthusiasm, I can get by for myself, and enough in the elementary classroom, but I was a little nervous to tackle 8th grade math. Lucky for me, it turns out 8th grade math isn't too big or scary. In fact, I have to agree with the other PCVs who have taught math- it's easier than English. I mean, I don't know if you've noticed from this blog, but I don't exactly have great prowess in English either, I just have the prerequisite to teach it as a foreign language- I'm a native speaker.

The thing about teaching math is, it really is a universal language. Sure, there is not a direct translation for the word, "ratio" but we figured it out. I was, and I think the students were too, disappointed when the teacher showed up half way through the lesson and thanked me for my help.

Math put my students and I on equal ground, we both understand the concepts, and were more comfortable communicating with numbers than we have been using words the last 5 months. Sorry math, I may have been too quick to judge.

Visitors on Yap would note the abundance of junkyard cars in Colonia. It's eyesore, but not a huge problem. In Micronesia, the wrecks tourist normally come to see are ship wrecks. This past weekend a U.S. Navy ship arrived in Yap to work on the salvage operation of the stranded MV Cecilia. The Cecilia was hit in a typhoon and has been wrecked along Yap's shores. The ship was not accessible to divers, but is an interesting site to those on island.

According to the Yap State website, "The USNS Safeguard brought 17 divers to work on the salvage operation with about 20 crewmen. The current plan of action is basically to refloat the Cecilia by plugging any holes in its hull, empty her of any fuel, and move it to the area designated by Public Works, namely Nungoch. Once beached, the Cecilia’s fate will be determined. The two options available are either to sink the ship for it to become a diving attraction, or to cut up the metal pieces for recycling purposes."

It would be great if the Cecilia could become another great attraction on Yap, but I've heard the ship will be moved closer to shore to be scrapped. Perhaps, the channel is not deep enough for wreck diving, or perhaps another typhoon might smash the wreck into the reef.

This weekend, the expats were invited to take a tour of the Navy ship and what a lovely surprise there was an American-style BBQ!

My PCV friend once wrote, "I need a vacation." Her friend promptly replied, "You are on vacation, you live on a tropical island."

I decided to take a break and stay in the bungalows in Maap at Village View. However, before I left my pup (she is under a year old) had her own litter of pups. Tabbie, the troublesome dog that is constantly sick and mangy, had a brood of 4 puppies: 3 girls and 1 boy. All four came out healthy and plump.

After making a little den on the porch area for the new family, I headed out to the village, Village View that is. The hotel is located on the north-east end of the island and offers little duplex bungalows for rent.

I spent Friday relaxing and enjoying the trade winds. I built a coconut husk fire on the beach and cooked up some tasty fish. Saturday, a friend joined me and we went snorkeling in the clear waters. My friend, who I might add is from Yap, caught not one, but three fish using only his bare hands. It was quite impressive and I now know the answer to the the dinner table question, "If you were stranded on an island and could only bring one person, who would you bring?"

I headed back to Tomil and was greeted by a beautiful sunset painted across Colonia's sky. The island seemed to sigh and say, "well, wasn't that nice..."

Ticket Lady #1: Where is she going?Ticket Lady #2: First Newark, then Honolulu, then…somewhere…

It’s humbling to know that you can spend two amazing yearsworking and living in a country that the average American doesn’t even knowexists. Does this make me sad? Well, yes. Does this make me more determined than ever to bring back and share myexperiences with anyone willing to listen? Of course! That’s the elusive“third goal” of the Peace Corps, which also happens to include this very blog.

Before I left Pohnpei to visit the States on break, Ireceived something that I have been wanting for quite a long time – atraditional title in my community! Abouttwo months after my host parents asked the Soumas(remember him?) about this, I was granted one – Nahnsou Deleur. Nahnsou is the title, Deleur is my village. I grin uncontrollably whenever someoneaddresses me as such because it signifies that now, after being in my communityfor a little over a year, I am no longer mehnwai. I am mehn Pohnpei. And that isawesome.K-Ben can dance and say my title!Travel time from Kolonia to Chicago – 40 hours. Luckily not all of that time was spent onairplanes. This trip is not for thefaint-hearted! When I finally arrived atthe correct place I was just so glad to see my family and my house. After being extremely cold for a few days Iwas pretty much able to adjust (except for the food – explosions offlavor!). I hung out with long lostfamily members and reliable college buddies, played mahjong and took advantageof Netflix, explored Chicagoand remembered why I value diversity so much. I was able to do everything I needed – spend quality time with my familyand friends (Wii!), take full advantage of the internet, go shopping for my hostfamily and me (books!), and eat lots and lots of FOOD. I also experienced the very first snow fallof 2012 – it’s going to be a while until I see snow again!Enjoying snow with the Santos ladiesTravel time from Chicagoto Kolonia – 38 hours. I orderedStarbucks and fast food from all the airports I went to – because I could. I was also pleasantly surprised to sit nextto two fellow PCVs on their way back to Chuuk. When my time traveling was done and I stepped off the plane, I rememberedjust how HOT Pohnpei was. My host familywas there to greet me at the airport and return me back to my second home. I apparently got fatter and whiter – thatabout sums up my break.

I blame you, delicious Christmas lechon!“We were desperate and you weren’t here” are not what onewants to hear upon return to one’s place of work. Hear them I did. This semester I am teaching two junior WorldCultures classes (which have been great so far) and one junior Algebra IIclass. AHH! I am also running the library since it isofficially open for student use. Rightnow I am helping the Language Arts department out, preparing the seniors forthe College of Micronesia Entrance Test (COMET). Intensive vocabulary practice, readingcomprehension, and essay writing for them – intensive grading for me!

Future Peace Corps Micronesia Volunteers: if you arereading this blog (along with the other ones conveniently listed to the right of your computer screen) in preparation for your departure inJune, do know that all of us here are SUPER EXCITED for you to come! If you have any questions, comments, or justwant to say kaselehlie, please feelfree to email me.

My day at the office begins with a cup of authentic Japanese green tea. My colleague, is a Senior JICA (similar to PCV). He teaches a Japanese course at our office twice a week, which I try to attend. I'm so behind in the class, but I do my best to understand. Usually, once a week I attend yoga. My friend Victoria and Matt live in town and a handful of expats and I bring our yoga mats and our shortest shorts for some good old Bryan Kest. Bryan doesn't actually teach the class (ha!), but we have his Power Yoga DVD that we are faithful to. The DVD is full of ridiculous phrases like, "feel your way through this pose," and "It's not what you do, it how you do what you do..." Despite the annoying dialogue, the DVD is a great work out and it's a nice way to treat your body after sitting in an office all day.

After that, I go home to help bbq some freshly caught fish. My favorite is the rabbit fish, because they don't taste as... well, fishy. I season them with some homemade blacken spices my mom shipped from NE. Pair it with some fresh coconut meat and it makes a tasty dinner. I also bought local produce to go along. The sweet potatoes are like candy. So sweet you can just pop one in your mouth like candy and the color is a vibrant purple. I guess that's what happens when you let nature do her work. I haven't had the best of luck with that lady nature: my garden wilted, withered and died. However, my spinach and chives are still growing strong. Still adding a little green to my local dishes.

I am going to begin this post trying to clarify a few things. I am working with two host agencies, an elementary school, and Pohnpei Public Library. At my elementary school I have been working to renovate and refurbish the library. It has been quite the undertaking, and unfortunately is no where near finished. However, as of January 6, 2012 we are now open for lending. Students have to bring back a parent permission slip acknowledging their understanding of the lending libraries rules, and consequences (pesky fines). Students must also have a Ziplock or plastic bag to put their book in to insure some sort of protection in their backpack and from the elements.

So far about 60 students have turned in their forms and about 20 have checked out books. It has been great to see the library actually being used, it makes me feel like I have accomplished something.

Here are a few pictures of the library's transformation. In the process, I got really dirty, bled a little and had to deal with all sorts of disgusting little creatures who called the library home.

Latest Development (courtesy of Yap State's website):

Members of the State Leadership were on hand to witness and help officiate the signing of a Memorandum of Understanding (MOU) between the Yap Council of Pilung and ETG during a ceremony held at the Dining Room of the Yap Pacific Dive Resort at 5:00 pm on Thursday, January 12, 2012. The signing of the MOU by the Honorable Bruno Tharngan, Chairman of the Traditional Council of Pilung and Mr. Deng Hong, Chairman of the Exhibition & Travel Group based at Chengdu city in Sichuan Province, People’s Republic of China, signifies the beginning of an investment offer by the ETG.

With the MOU in place, ETG will open an office in Yap where people who owns land could make deal for their land parcels that could be used by ETG for the investment project. The ETG Chairman delivered a remark after he and Chairman Bruno Tharngan signed the MOU last night. During his remark, Chairman Deng told the State Leadership that the signing of the MOU is both special and historical because this will move the proposed investment project forward. He pointed out that this project will bring more benefits and improve the living standards of the people of the State. He said people would benefit from the money they receive under their land lease, employment that company will create and business opportunities for locals.

Chairman Deng also mentioned historical and cultural plans in which the company will build new villages where the local people could conduct business with visitors interested in the culture. The villages will serve as centers for local activities such as local dance performance, carvings, weaving, etc. The ETG plans to build several villages which will be given free to the communities so they could be used for daily activities by the local people. The ETG has a plan to assist the State Government with its education and health development plan. He said the company could donate medical equipments and build facilities for the education system.

Before he concluded his remark, Chairman Deng told the State Leadership that the success of the project will depend on the development and improvement of the infrastructure in Yap especially the International Airport so it could open up for direct flights between Yap the Asian countries including Japan and Korea. In conclusion, the ETG chairman expressed his feeling towards the number of people in Yap infected by the Dengue Fever outbreak and wished for their speedy recovery. He presented a Check in the amount of US$20, 000 to Governor Anefal as donation for medications for the people of the State.

Governor Sebastian Anefal delivered a remark on behalf of Chairman Bruno Tharngan first thanked Chairman Hong, CEO Liu and the rest of the ETG group for taking the time off from their busy schedule to visit and deliberate more with the people in Yap on the project.The Governor also thanked members of the State Leadership who were able to make it to the ceremony and the Honorable Carl Apis, Charge ‘de Affairs of the FSM Embassy in Beijing, People’s Republic of China for his active role for the initiation of the project. Governor began his remark by saying, “I join Chairman Deng in giving full recognition to the very special guests this evening. This moment is one at the same time historic in that the signing as we have witness of the MOU between ETG and the Council of Pilung signifies that we have taken one of the many steps going forward in as far as the ETG project is concerned.” The Governor mentioned that although ETG and Yap State haven’t gone through the process of many papers to be reviewed, signed or approved, the signing of the MOU has given both Yap State and the ETG more anticipation on the project moving forward.

He said the project involves many things that we are not really clear on but as Chairman Deng has described, it is a dream and a dream must start somewhere. Governor Anefal added that we cannot do much on the project without the support and understanding of the FSM national government, which has a very important role to play. He emphasized on the need for the people in the State Government as well as the people of the State to support and fully understand the benefits and other unforeseen impacts that the investment project will bring to the State so we could have control of both. Before concluding his remark, Governor has mentioned that Yap and the FSM still have so many things to undertake before this project could be implemented.

The ETG will deal directly with the Council of Pilung on any issues concerning the implementation of the investment project with Yap State Government as facilitator and network safety. The MOU signing ceremony at the Pacific Divers Resort ended following a dinner reception hosted by the ETG.

If you would like to read more information about the ETG developments in Yap, please visit the following articles:

http://www.samoaobserver.ws/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=36735:chinas-hotel-in&catid=1:latest-news&Itemid=50

(article with Samoa government stating what resorts will be built in Yap)

http://bild-art.de/kpress/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=1490&Itemid=2

(article from FSM national publication)

http://www.mvguam.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=20164:china-eyes-huge-tourism-development-for-yap-&catid=59:frontpagenews

(article from Guam publication)

When my parents asked me if I would like to come home for the holidays, I bluntly said “No”. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see my family. It wasn’t that I didn’t want a break from rural island life. I said no because I wanted something else. I told them that I would love more than anything to be with them for Christmas, but I would rather not come home. I wanted to go somewhere new. I wanted to keep the ball rolling on my world adventures and explore a new part of the globe that none of us have ever seen. They jumped at this idea and proposed a big family trip to Tahiti. I promptly shut down this proposal down because a paradise island vacation wouldn’t really be a vacation for me. It would just be a slight change of scenery with better bathrooms. I suggested the idea of going “down under” to check out New Zealand. We all quickly became excited about exploring the scenes from middle-earth and seeing how western civilization has shaped itself down in the southern hemisphere. My mom called up an old Kiwi friend, Mary Jane Burnham, and the plans for our trip began to take shape. Mary Jane acted as our travel agent and put together a comprehensive 2-week adventure for us to get a taste of all that North Island New Zealand had to offer. With a little help from grandma, our family scrounged together the funds to make it a reality. My sister Julie and her husband Curtis got time off work, my brother Jim and his new fiancée Brooke had breaks from school, and my parents along with little Jenna completed our travel group. After 8 months of anticipation, the time was finally upon us. I had just wrapped up my arctic expedition through the chilly streets of Seoul and was ready for part 3 of my winter break. The flight on Korea Air was a great segway down to New Zealand. It was the shnazziest plane ride that I have ever been on. I felt like a first class passenger being pampered to my hearts desire. Korean Air has extra large seats and a personal entertainment system with dozens of movies, shows and video games. I dined on airplane food that didn’t have to be choked down purely for sustenance, it was actually tasty! It even came with a glass of wine to compliment the exquisite highflying food. Tasty snacks and endless trays of drinks were offered to me at a rate that was bordering on ridiculosity. Hot towels, slippers and toothbrushes were standard fare. And to top it all off, I had a comfy window seat to snuggle up against for the duration of my 13 hour flight. I arrived surprisingly refreshed at Auckland International Airport in the early afternoon on December 22. After an exhaustive immigration process that laboriously checked for anything that would upset the delicate biodiversity of the island, I walked out the airport and quickly found a cheap shuttle to take me into town. By the time I made it to downtown, I was giddy with excitement. I hadn’t seen my family for more than a year and was within minutes of reuniting. My brisk walk turned into a jerking jog as I approached the Chifley Suites Hotel in the center of Auckland. I began to ask the hotel clerk where the Hunter family was staying, but he cut me off in mid sentence and said, “You must be Johnny, your mum has been asking about you”. I shot up the elevator and then did my trademark knock (shave and a hair cut, six bits). I heard shuffling around inside and then grabbed my mom with a big bear hug right as she opened the door. My sweet mother was elated to see me and had been waiting for hours for me to show up at the door. We caught up on everything for the next hour as we strolled around the town and asked each other question after question. She stroked my long hair and commented numerous times how she liked the new style, but only when it was pulled back out of my face. We would later discover that she was a huge fan of the “mullet” and urged me to style it into a redneck hairdo (business in the front, party in the back). We were haphazardly searching for a spot to get some food, but we were more concentrated on each other’s company to really care about where we were going. We oriented ourselves towards the ocean and directed our path to the waterside. As we were heading towards to the ocean, my mom perked up and asked, “ O honey, do you know that girl?”. I was about to tell her that it was stupid question because I didn’t know a single person in New Zealand, when I glanced up and did see a familiar face. Our longtime family friend, and my future sister-in-law Brooke, was walking on the sidewalk. She was as surprised to see me as I was to see her and we happily exchanged hugs. She pointed us in the direction of a bar where the rest of my family was whetting their whistles, and we hurried our way to O’Hagan’s Irish Pub. I spotted the table full of my family in the dense crowd of the outdoor patio. I surreptitiously maneuvered a path and approached them from an angle where they couldn’t see me coming. I hoisted myself up on a barstool at their table and muttered a casual Hello. They turned their heads and burst out in astonished reply of “aha’s” and “woohoo’s”. I drank a round of cider and beer as we cheerily assembled our family clan for the first time in 15 months. I was as happy as I could be, back with the people I love most in this world. We stumbled back to the hotel around 6 and everybody quickly fell into alcohol and jet-lag induced naps. We awoke as the sun just began to droop behind the ocean mist that surrounds the harbor. It now seemed like a good time to go grab some dinner and we started to pull ourselves together. What our northern hemisphere mental time clocks didn’t recognize was that it was almost 10pm. Light was still lingering in the sky, but most of the restaurants were shutting their doors for the night. We wandered to 5 or 6 different places before we found a spot that still had their kitchen open. Our family munched on some tasty sandwiches and an unsavory mayonnaise/anchovy soup with soggy greens that was improperly labeled as Caesar salad. We learned two things from this first dinner in New Zealand: eat earlier and never order a Caesar salad. The next morning, our real adventures began. We met the Burnham’s at a rental car office and got the Toyota Previa that would house all 8 of us for the next 1000 kilometers of exploration. Our first destination was the world famous Waitomo Glow Worm Caves. However, we were in no hurry and decided to check out the sights along our way. The countryside of New Zealand is breathtakingly beautiful, and most of New Zealand is countryside. Rolling hills of green sprawl for miles across a lush expanse of fertile farmland. The silhouettes of distant mountains can be seen along the horizon of cloud spattered blue sky. Cattle and sheep are free to roam this endless landscape of grass and munch on weeds to their hearts delight. Picturesque country farmhouses can be spotted on the corners of vast fenced enclosures. A simple two-lane highway winds through the hillsides and urges you to take your time and slow down to enjoy the scenery. There is no need to rush when driving through a place like this. The little line of black asphalt is merely a pathway for you to fully experience the nature around you. It’s not a superhighway that serves no purpose other than zipping you to another destination as fast as humanly possible. The little road (which is the actually the main highway on the North Island) perfectly exemplifies the New Zealand lifestyle: simple, strong and relaxed. The “take our time” mantra that we adopted on the roads was also undoubtedly influenced by the fact that we were driving on the left side of the road for the first time in our lives. Intense concentration and inhibition of natural instincts was necessary to make sure that we kept to the left and didn’t have a head on collision with oncoming traffic. Fortunately the calming environment of unspoiled countryside was enough to counteract the anxiety caused by defying our ingrained rules of the road.The verdurous pastures speckled with grazing cattle were not the only type of nature for us to gaze upon. Nuggets of thick forest lined the highway and sat atop many of the hills. Our drive alternated between open grassland and delightful woodlands. It was evident from the juxtaposition of forest with farmland that the land had been extensively cleared with the colonization of farm animals. Much of the forest that we did see has been replanted and the trees stand in neat rows. Nonetheless, it wasn’t an ugly or reckless destruction of nature. The change of the natural landscape actually seemed very natural. The forest wasn’t swept away to make way for parking lots or factories, but was instead replaced with oaks and grasses. Although mankind’s hand had made a strong mark on the environment, the Kiwis have maintained a certain air of genuine nature. The country is undoubtedly developed and modern, but it still has a natural charm that can be seen throughout. This is an observation that would be continually reaffirmed as I toured the island and noticed the developmental style of the country. These guys are doing something right.It was the right kind of atmosphere that I needed to reconcile my mental anguish about the extremes of modernization that I had recently seen in Korea and Micronesia. Chuuk is underdeveloped and suffers in many ways because of it; but it also has the pristine beauty of tropical paradise. Seoul is a megatropolis on steroids and is bursting at the seams with technology and steel; but it has lost its connection with the natural world in exchange for modernity. They both exhibit the pros and cons of our head on race towards technological development and mastery of the planet. New Zealand appears to have handled the dilemma of development in an admirable manner. The country is efficient and functioning on par with anywhere in the world but it still exudes a feeling of coexistence with nature. The Kiwis haven’t deflowered the beauty of their environment so that they could build a framework of freeways and skyscrapers. They have worked within the bounds of the natural surroundings to create a fully modern society cleverly nestled within their original environment. They deserve a pat on the back for finding a way to successfully meld together the old with the new. On our driving journey, we swung wide on a detour that led us towards the western ocean. After about an hour more of swerving around green hills, we became a little bit worried that we didn’t really know where we were going. Signs told us that we were only about a mile from Raglan, but there was no ocean in sight. Maybe we were on our way towards the wrong Raglan? Rolling hills covered the landscape and we couldn’t conceive of where the water might lie. Eventually, we rounded a bend and were greeted by a sparkling bay of blue. Despite our wanderings, we made it to Raglan. The town of Raglan sits along the rocky coastline and is famous for being one of the best surf spots in New Zealand. We parked our car at the Wainui Reserve and walked down a long concrete pathway to the black sand beach below the cliff sides. The spacious beach stretched for miles and was surprisingly empty. We could easily find an open spot to settle down away from the umbrellas and screaming kids of other beachgoers. The miles of soft sand were tinted grayish black because of a rich iron content in the rocks surrounding the area. I thought it was just pounded up lava rocks like I have seen in Hawaii, but I guess I was wrong.When the sun peeked through the clouds, the sun shone down on us like an oven burner and scorched us in minutes. Then the clouds would float over the face of the sun and the temperature would flip back to cold. Obviously cloudiness means coldness and bright sun means hotness, but the variation was especially pronounced on this particular day at the beach. We were switching from sweatshirts to bare stomachs within minutes. Julie led the charge into the water, and we crashed our way through the chilly waters. I have become accustomed to room temperature ocean water on the equator, and the Antarctic currents forced me to do a quick retreat from our ocean playtime. We had no towels, so Jim convinced me to sprint down the beach to “air dry” ourselves off. Our feet pattered over the wide flat sand and took us a half-mile down the beach. We climbed atop a giant piece of driftwood that had stranded itself on the shore. A chunk of wood with a red flap of plastic hanging out startled Jim because he thought it was a dog peering over the edge of the mangled log. Upon closer inspection, we were all thoroughly impressed with the uncanny resemblance between this woody knob and a dog’s face. We positioned it appropriately, and left it there to scare the next oncomer. After eating an oyster, steak, pickled beet, and cheese sandwich we departed from Raglan and drove inland towards Waitomo. On our way, we stopped in a fern forest to see a place called Bridal Veil Falls. We walked along a nicely manicured path through a dense jungle crawling with ferns. New Zealand is famous for its ferns. There is a huge diversity of the prehistoric foliage that is blanketed across the islands. Their palm-like extensions with spore painted undersides are a common fixture of the outdoors. The first viewing platform was from directly above the falls and we were able to take the perspective of an unfortunate sailor about to plunge over the edge. The tiny stream dripped off the edge of this precipice and expanded in a foamy white line of water that plummeted over 100 feet to the bottom of the pool. The stream ran along a bed of basalt lava rock for most of its duration, but at this junction it made the switch to sandstone. The weak sandstone was eventually worn away by pounding water, but the hard basalt held its place. The result was a magnificent waterfall created by a trickling creek.We walked down the wooden pathway to 3 other viewing platforms. It was set up so that we could see the falls from all different angles. My favorite spot was not actually from the top or bottom, but rather from a side view that gave a full scope of the cascading falls. I stared at the milky flow and tried to track the progress of a single water drop. As it poured over the side, the water was in one large smooth blanket, just like when you pour form a pitcher. About half way down, the droplets of water break apart and create an illusion of scattered arrow points darting downwards. By the time it reaches the bottom, the water is nothing but spraying mist that flutters off in all directions.We arrived in Waitomo in the late afternoon and checked into the prestigious Glow Worm Motel. Well, maybe prestigious was an overstatement. We were given a run down spot at the back of the lot that smelled like dirty socks and moldy underpants. It was decorated in about 1976 and they decided to keep the orange/brown carpets and sheet covered couches to maintain a certain retro appeal. It was grungier than my cockroach infested college apartment and smelled worse than a hobo’s cardboard box, but hey, it was only for one night. We talked to girls into sticking it out for the evening and went out to grab a few beers to tide them over. Our motel manager Chris gave us a great description of the surrounding area and threw out a few ideas for some things we could do in the waning hours of the evening. So we piled into the minivan and went out for some more adventures. On our way to the main road, Curtis slammed on the breaks and stopped us next to a large fenced off field. Standing on its two long legs 10 feet from our car was a gangly ostrich. The humungous flightless bird craned its neck around the post for a moment, then returned to its job of munching grass. We looked up and noticed a whole group of ostrich’s bobbing their awkwardly tiny heads around as they galloped through the field. The area around Waitomo was thicker with forest and seemed to be at a higher elevation, but the general landscape of rolling hills was still the norm. We worked our along a road for about an hour that curved its way through the grassy timberland. We finally came to a sign that said Marikopo Falls and jumped out to see how this waterfall compared to our first encounter early that day. We took another 10-minute walk through fern infested foliage before coming to the sightseeing platform. This waterfall was only half as tall, but it was 10 times as wide as Bridal Veil Falls. Its white waters bounced off the black rocks and dribbled down to the waiting river below. We marveled at the creativity of Mother Nature for a bit, snapped some pictures, and took off back on the road.Another side trip awaited us a few minutes down the road. A natural arched limestone bridge stretched across the river and provided a fascinating geological spectacle to inspect. It used to be a huge cave, but the roof collapse and only the thin line of limestone remained to span the gap across the water. After passing underneath the bridge we came upon a field of verdant grass and blooming flowers. The girls frolicked out into the meadow and pranced around in carefree joy. They twirled under the pink sunset, sang songs of happy-go-lucky nonsense and laughed spontaneously. Curtis was so enthralled by the idea of joining them in their frolicking freedom, that he charged full speed into the meadow. With his heart alight with excitement, he romped in the meadow towards the outstretched arms of Julie. After about 20 yards of cavorting in the grass, he sunk knee-deep into a muddy bog! His boyish dreams of skipping through a meadow were dashed in a moment by the ill placed swampy puddle that stopped him in his tracks. He trudged out of the muck and slunk back to car with brown mud caked on his legs….his days of romping in meadows might very well be over. By the time we got back to the sleepy town of Waitomo, the sun had gone down and it was past 10pm. There were only two restaurants in town and the first one was already closed, so our anxiety about eating Easy-Mac in our stinky motel began to creep on us. Fortunately, we were able to sneak in as the last customers to a place called the Huhu. The Huhu ended up being a deliciously wonderful restaurant that served us succulent lamb and pan-seared salmon. The meal was exquisitely tasty, but this night of dining will be remembered for something far more important.A few years ago, my dad read a book that discussed how hard apple cider used to be the most popular alcoholic beverage in America, but has since declined into obscurity and lumped into the same category as wine spritzers and Smirnoff Ice. This book talked of early Americans (man, woman and child) drinking gallons of the sweet alcohol on a daily basis. John Adams practically lived on the stuff and it stood atop the hierarchy of beverages in colonial America. In the 1800’s, people finally figured out how to mix a batch of good beer and the sudsy brews of our modern area quickly replaced cider. Our family tasted all the types of ciders that we could get our hands on, and picked Hornsby’s Hard Apple Cider as the king. My dad and I began to buy the stuff at a stupidly fast pace and single-handedly changed the stocking policy of our local liquor store. More Hornsby’s! Since that time, our obsession with cider has slipped away slightly but we are still on a search for the finest alcoholic apple juice in the land.The waiter came up to our table at Huhu’s and asked for our drink orders. My dad was struck with wonder at the large selection of hard cider on the menu and excitedly asked the man, “what cider do you recommend?”. A confused look came over the waiter’s face, and he stammered, “Well….I don’t drink the stuff, but my girlfriend likes the raspberry mix”. We all burst out into incessant laughter and snickered at the disdainful reaction of the waiter to a potential cider order by a grown man. My father swallowed his pride, and decided to drink a cider anyways. He chose one called Scrumpy’s because he just liked the name.The decision to order a Scrumpy’s Hard Apple Cider at Huhu Restaurant would turn out to drastically alter the course of our vacation…and possibly our lives. Scrumpy’s had everything we had been searching for in a quality cider. It wasn’t too sweet (the most common problem with ciders). It went down smooth. It almost tasted like champagne. But most importantly, it was 8.2% alcohol. It packed a punch that embarrassed most beers and tasted like ambrosia of the gods. Its tastiness along with its alcoholic power would prove enlightening and devastating as our trip wore on. In addition to the pleasant intoxication that Scrumpy’s provided, it also lent itself to be used as a versatile adjective. My family members, me especially, have a tendency to take words and overuse them in all possible ways in all possible contexts. A single word can mean anything we want it to mean. The word “Scrumpy” became one of these words. Eventually after much usage, we came to general consensus about the word’s definition. It is an antonym of Chifley. I cant tell you exactly what either of these words truly mean, but they work off each other in harmonious unison to describe anything and everything about our universe. The following morning we woke up early and set out for the Waitomo Glow Worm Caves. Blackwater rafting in glowworm caves was probably the number one thing that I have fantasized about in New Zealand. I had heard stories of spelunking through mysterious caves and being awestruck by the millions of sparkling lights that shine through the darkness of the underground shafts. It is something that can only be done in one place in the entire world, and we were there.The activity is called blackwater rafting, as opposed to whitewater rafting, because the water is black. Well its not actually black, but when you are 100 feet below the earth’s surface in a subterranean crack, everything is black. We squeezed on thick wetsuits and put on a miner’s helmet with a waterproof light. After a short drive through the woods, we stopped by a small stream and went through a little tutorial about our upcoming cave experience. Each one of us grabbed an inner tube (a patched up truck tire) and learned how to properly jump off waterfalls when the time arrived. The guides gave us three critical rules to follow. Number 1: Don’t pee in your wetsuit. Number 2: Don’t die. Number 3: Don’t pee in your wetsuit. With that sagacious advice under our belts, we were ready to go on a head first plunge through slippery caves into the depths of the earth.The entrance to the cave was not what I imagined it might be. I was expecting a wide mouthed cave with “Disneyland rock” adorning the sides and a shiny sign with the mascot Glowy the Glowworm welcoming me to my doom. It was nothing like that. We walked through the forest and came to a small hole in the ground where the little stream trickled down. The crack in the blackened stone was only about 2 feet wide and 6 feet high. It didn’t have a nice walkway to lead us in, but rather slimy rocks and a foreboding descent into darkness. We tossed our tube down the hole and then shimmied our bodies through the narrow crevice and down into the darkness below. We plopped into the icy water and began our journey through this bizarre underground world. The majority of our expedition was spent floating in tubes, but we also were required to scamper along wet rocks and traverse slippery sides to make progress through the natural tunnel. I am an able-bodied individual, but it was still quite difficult to keep my balance through the rushing water and sopping stones. This adventure was not for the faint of heart. I was glad to have a helmet.At one point, the roof of the cave lowered and lowered until it was necessary to lay prostrate on your back and move along with your nose practically touching the cave top. There was less than a foot of air space between the water and roof. I don’t think an NFL lineman could have squeezed through this tapered passageway. There were a few other walking spots where we had to slide sideways through the cracks in the rock and duck under the stalactites that poked down from the ceiling. Twice we stopped at a ledge, turned backwards, and leapt off waterfalls to the flowing stream below. With all this maneuvering and tube navigating, it was a great adventure even without the glowworms. But that’s what we really came for, the glowworms.The glowworms of Waitomo actually aren’t glowworms. They aren’t even worms at all. The thousands of tiny lights twinkling on the cave ceiling have been dubbed glowworms because it sounds exotic and special, but the reality is not quite as romantic. The glowing dots in the cave are really the larvae of flies. Well, kind of. These tiny gnat flies are born with no eyes and reproductive organs that are more than 50% of their body mass. So being blind and well-endowed, they tend to do little else except procreate. After doing the deed, the fly drops dead and leaves its eggs stuck to the cave ceiling. The egg turns into a larvae and then feeds off the bacteria slime on the rocks. The digested waste of the larvae squeezes out of the backside and eventually builds up into a stringy substance that hangs from the top of the cave. That stringy larvae poop just so happens to glow in the dark. So in actuality, the “glowworms” are the “poopy strings of blind fly larvae”. Regardless of what the glowworms really are, they are damn cool. These little buggers encrust the upper surface of the cave and give the illusion of a sparkling night sky. They look like twinkling stars speckled across a clear black sky. If you for some reason were knocked out, kidnapped and placed down in this cave; you might wake up and think you had just dozed off in a little canyon. I am glad that I got to see the glowworms under better circumstances, but my point is that it really did look like a night sky.We weaved through the dark tunnels and marveled at the shiny dots for almost two hours before emerging into the daylight. We made it safely through Rurakuri Cave and once again stood on the top of earth’s surface. It was an unbelievably weird experience that will probably never be repeated again in my life. Its one of those things that will be able to top anybody’s story about seeing something crazy out in nature. My dream of blackwater rafting through the glowworm caves can now be checked off my list.We were rather exhausted after our cave exploration and crawled into the car for our drive towards Taupo. Lake Taupo is the dead center of the North Island and carries a few notable distinctions. It is the largest lake in the entire Southern Hemisphere. Its about a mile deep and has a 26 mile diameter. And its relatively new in geological terms. However, it didn’t become a new lake in the same way that most large lakes have come to life since the advent of human built damns and water redirection. Lake Taupo is a giant volcanic crater. This immense circular caldera was created in 186 AD when a volcano blew its load and spewed ash all over the planet. There are records of the debris reaching all the way to China and significantly altering the world’s weather patterns. Its power dwarfed any other volcanic eruption in recorded human history and makes the Krakatoa explosion look like a spitball. After rattling the earth and shooting its rocky matter into the atmosphere, the lava cooled and left a monumental empty swimming pool. The giant circular depression left by the eruption was eventually filled in with melted snow and water flowing off the neighboring mountains. Today all we see is the smooth blue waters of Lake Taupo.Our residence for the holiday season was a beautiful house on the northeastern shore of the lake. The eight of us were easily accommodated in this spacious compound with 2 kitchens, 4 bathrooms and a lukewarm Jacuzzi. From our porch, you could peer through the thin tree leaves and see the wide expanse of sparkling water. A carefully manicured lawn was partially enclosed by a line of bushes that separated us from the short cliff side descent into the lake. We were comfortable as could be and happy to call this place home for the holidays.For Christmas Eve dinner, we accepted an invitation to go across the lake and spend our evening with the Burnhams. The Burnhams abode was in an even more spectacular location and had a hillside view high above the lake. We sipped on fine wines and enjoyed the marmalade skies shimmering off the sapphire surface of the lake. Our bellies were filled with hearty meats and tasty treats. As nighttime crept upon us and our inhibitions became cloudy with fermented grapes, we picked up a chorus and began singing Christmas carols. The house was soon booming with the off-key sounds of “Silent Night” and “Rudolph the Rednose Reindeer”. Our discordant voices echoed off the walls and blended together into a mellifluous melody of Christmas cheer. We worked our way through an entire booklet of songs before retiring to our final glass of wine and saying our goodbyes. The next morning was Christmas! Although I am more than 25 years old, all of my Christmases before shipping out to Micronesia had been performed in a delightfully childish manner. Thanks can be given to the presence of a little sister and a set of loving parents. Each morning, the kids would awake and sit atop the staircase awaiting our cue to sprint down the stairs and see what Santa had brought us. We would burst into the living room and find huge piles of toys, games, clothes, and a million other things that we jotted down on our Christmas list. Each of us kids has a stocking that could reach the thigh of Shaq, and it is always stuffed to the brim with tiny goodies to surprise us. Long after all us came to the shocking realization that Santa Claus was actually a farce put on by our guileful parents, we still upheld this silly tradition and happily enjoyed the heaping stacks of presents each Christmas morning. This year, our antipodean celebration lacked most of our Christmas traditions, but it did have the most important one: family. Being together as a family is the best part of the holidays and it had a particularly special meaning for me this year. The previous Christmas was the first one in my lifetime that I spent away from siblings and parents, and I was overjoyed to be back in their company for this holiday. I am a lucky fellow because I have a family that I actually enjoy being around. Many people must grit their teeth and swallow their animosity at the holidays in order to put on a smiling face for their troublesome brother, nagging mother and crazy uncle. Fortunately for me, I have none of those. My family is cool. I have fun when I am around them. Its not a task to spend time with the folks. We all get along great and have no serious issues with each other. Spending a couple of weeks in intimate proximity with each other might have been slightly trying on the nerves of the girls, but overall we were one big happy family. After a relaxing morning of lounging around eating eggs benedict and fruit salad, Tom showed up at our lakeside doorstep with his motorboat and offered to take us for a spin around the lake. We slathered up with sunscreen, pulled on bathing suits and set out for a little time on the water. When you think of Christmas time transportation, the thought of sleigh rides through fluffy snow often comes to mind. Well it was summer time in New Zealand; so our sleigh was replaced with a speed boat and the snow was replaced with water. Our summery Christmas tour was overseen by a blazing orb of happiness that showered its warmth upon us. With the wind in our faces and the sun on our backs, we zipped around the lake and took the time to enjoy the full scenic beauty of the lake. Blackened rock faces topped with flourishing vegetation lined the banks of the lake and undulating hills of green spread as far as the eye could see. On the far southern side of the lake; we could spy snow-capped peaks lined with a brim of white clouds. Whenever I see a mountaintop, something inside of me stirs and beckons me towards the summit. I get an urge to scale its slopes and triumph in the majestic glory that awaits me with breathtaking views at the top. Luckily, my family also shares this innate drive to explore mountains and before long we would be on our way to the crests of those craggy mountains.Tom showed us around the lakeshores and regaled us with extravagant tales of New Zealand history and legend about the area. He was full of a million facts about the place and had a seemingly unending repertoire of information to draw upon about everything that we came across. We swung around a finger of beige rock and were greeted by a gigantic snarling face. This Maori warrior engraving was etched into the rock wall and stood more than 50 feet high above the lapping waves of the lake. Its contorted features and intricate facial designs were characteristic of most Maori artwork. However, this piece of art was singularly exceptional because of its immense size and extremely difficult location. The artists must have hung down from ropes in order to chip away at the rock and create this incredible natural mural. Our fascination with the rock wall was diminished later when we found that this wasn’t a relic of ancient Maori doing. It was done in the 1970’s with the help of modern technology. Nonetheless, it was still a superb achievement. And just because it wasn’t a thousand years old and carved from whale bones and rock hammers doesn’t mean that it isn’t an amazing piece of work. While we are on the topic of the Maori, let me fill you all in on a little bit of their history. The peopling of New Zealand is a remarkable event that is only matched in its peculiarity by the development of its plants and animals. The Maori people are the original inhabitants of New Zealand (or Aoteora). However, their presence on the giant island does not stretch back to ancient times. It pales in comparison to the 60,000 year existence of aborigines across the sea in Australia. It is only a chink of time out of the 20,000 year stint of Native American dominance on the American continents. The Maori’s only stumbled onto the shores of New Zealand sometime around the 14th century. Before their arrival, the place was empty. The diminutive 700 year period of continued residence make New Zealand the last real place on earth to be populated by humans. Even the sandspit islands of Micronesia that are smaller than a football field had flourishing societies before human eyes saw the forests of Aoteora.I don’t mean to knock the Maori’s for only being there for less than a millennium, but in the grand scope of things it is a pretty small amount of time. Despite their late arrival, the Maori people quickly dominated the land and took advantage of its rich resources and varied landscape. These descendants of Polynesian seafarers organized themselves into complex groups with political systems, military units, and a thriving culture. The Maori are famous for being fierce warriors and putting up a nasty fight against the guns and cannons of the British Navy. They successfully fought against the invading British with nothing but long sticks and other hand made weapons. But they were no amateurs wielding these sticks and were able to thwart the efforts of the technologically advanced British. Eventually the Englishmen prevailed and took full control of the islands in the 19th century. The 400 years of foreign rule did have a devastating effect upon the Maori society, however it was not nearly as destructive as seen in many other places. In the Americas, Australia and many other places around the world 95% of the indigenous population was wiped out within a couple centuries due to disease and warfare. But the Maori stayed strong and still account for a sizeable chunk of the country’s population. Although they do struggle with discrimination and racism, they still own many important land holdings and have kept their unique culture alive.Lets take a step back from my condensed and uninformed narrative about Maori history and move on to my activities on the day after Christmas. The weather forecast had been predicting storms for a long time and we wanted to take advantage of this unforeseen sunshine while we had it. So on the day after Christmas, we strapped on our shoes and embarked upon a very ambitious hike. A 19.4 kilometer trek over the volcanic peaks in the Tongoriro Alpine Pass.The Tongoriro National Park is famous for two reasons. It has the most popular day hike in all of New Zealand and it contains the epic mountain scenery depicted as Mordor in the Lord of the Rings series. Both of these things appealed to us. We are an outdoor family that loves to camp and hike, and we also just so happen to be big fans of the Lord of the Rings books and movies. Scaling the volcanic edges of Mt. Doom was too much of an opportunity to pass up.We awoke early and drove past the southern edge of the lake to the massif of volcanic peaks that stand at the center of Tongoriro. As the cloud cover dissipated, we caught a quick glimpse of the three prominent mountaintops that we were approaching. Mt. Ruhapue was the largest and most dominate figure in the area and Mt. Tongariro lent its name to the park, but Mt. Ngarahoe is the conical black mound that served as the menacing Mt. Doom centerpiece of hellish Mordor. This brief moment of cloudless skies was our only unimpeded view of the peaks for the rest of the day, but it was enough to inspire us onward and into the bizarre geological wonderland that awaited us through the alpine pass.The beginning of our hike took us through crusted lava fields of desolation. The rivers of magma froze in their tracks and crumpled upon each other in heaps of ragged basalt. Miles of lifeless rock covered the ground in all directions. The patterns of former liquid lava flows were easily identifiable in streaks and lines of wavering rock. In many places, it looked as if a freeze ray zapped a river of rushing water and then stained it coal black. In other spots, the rock was lumpy and crooked. It was as if a playful god made drip sand castles out of ground ebony, or squeezed inky frosting out of a giant tube. The melty piles of solid rock were obviously not up thrusts of subsurface bedrock, they most assuredly flowed from the burning holes of lava atop the funnel shaped volcanoes. Although we were in a rain drenched area brimming with nutrients, the realm of volcanic leftovers snuffed out the possibility of thriving life. There wasn’t a tree in sight and small twisted shrubs were few and far between. No furry critters or chirping birds patrolled the neighborhood. Only a white lichen (or bacteria) flourished in this zone of inhospitable rock. It slimed its away across the black ground and covered the chunks of lifeless earth. I am sure as time goes, the harsh environment will yield to the power of nature and sprout a few trees that will attract an abundance of life. Nature tends to find a way, even in the most difficult places.Our first rest stop was at Soda Springs. This place had a trickling waterfall of sulfuric water that leaked over the edge of a wet cliff face. It was located at the end of the lava fields where the valley rounded out at the base of Mt. Ngarahoe. From this vantage point, we could see the steep ascent daring us to attempt to climb its sheer wall of devilish rock. More than a thousand feet of unholy steepness stared us in the face and called for us to clamber our way to the top. The insane elevation change and 15 km of mountain climbing afterwards was enough to convince my parents that their day hike had come to an appropriate stopping place. They bid us adieu and took the leisurely walk back towards the parking lot. The 6 of us foolhardy youngin’s turned our backs on the valley below and began the climb.Jim challenged me to a race and began hurtling up the mountain at a blistering pace. I followed him for a few hundred yards then slowed back down to the staggering slump that would take me to the top. Soon after, he stopped his impossible mission of bounding away like a bunny rabbit on crack and slowed to normal pace. The elevation grade was ridiculous, but we weren’t crawling on hands and knees. The path was well manicured and had wooden slats for steps along much of the track. Metal nets fastened the crumbling rock to the hillside and prevented landslides. The hike was strenuous, but not deranged.We finally came to flat ground in the saddle that sat between the peaks of Ngarahoe and Tongariro. From this swooping cradle, we could gaze deep into the New Zealand interior and clearly see the rocky flows of ancient lava that surrounded us. In the opposite direction, the magnificent South Crater sprawled below us. Its desert like flatness and smooth ground was in stark contrast to the rough topography of the lava fields. It looked dry, dusty and desolate. We briefly considered taking the 3-hour side trip to the saw-toothed crater rim at the top of Mt. Doom, but decided that we would be pushing our physical limits beyond pleasurable activity. Instead, we dove down the escarpment into the horizontal barrenness of South Crater.We walked passed an old Asian man clutching his leg in pain and we were warned of the dangers in such rugged territory. However, muscle pain and twisted ankles weren’t the main danger lurking in Tongariro. A sign told us about the proper procedure if one of the volcanoes blew its load. It explained the catastrophic damage from former eruptions and directed us to get down the mountain as quickly as possible while avoiding channels or low points where flowing magma would like to settle. This is still considering an active volcanic area and has had small eruptions as recently as 2009. The last major explosion was in 1975 and left most of the top layers of rock that we were walking across. Although the idea of being swallowed by liquid fire was not exactly appealing, some nutty notion inside me thought it might be kind of cool to run down the mountainside while flaming orange goo seeped out the top. As long as I didn’t end up as an entombed statue of fresh molten rock, the idea of escaping from a volcanic eruption seemed like an exciting possibility. The obscure chance of it actually happening only heightened the excitement of traversing these eccentric mountains.South Crater was a nice respite from vertiginous hiking terrain, but a nearly perpendicular climb out of the caldera was our next challenge. This ascent was not as long as the first, but possibly just as difficult. The problem with this mountainside was its crumbling rock and lack of coherent pathway. Rocks slipped beneath our feet as we struggled our way up the slope. It was the kind of hiking where you take two steps forward and then slide one step back. The pebbles shift under our weight and made mini rockslides with each step. A traffic jam of hikers had accumulated on this brittle precipice. Older folks had slowed to a snails pace and many were using both hands to creep along rocky ground. We hardly stopped to enjoy the view and just powered our way to the top. It was a menacing undertaking, but the reward at the top was well worth the burden. The top of this peak was named for the Red Crater that tore a scar in its side. A slice of rock was seemingly ripped from the top of this mountain and left a brilliantly red and black blemish in its place. The crevice was colored with stunning maroon streaks and black slashes. The stark redness was an intense distinction from the jet black core of the volcano. A thin column was scratched out from the crater edge and showed the gray ash interior of the mountainside. The amazing colors of the crater were further enhanced by what lurked over their far fringe.The Emerald Lakes are possibly the most aptly named places on the planet. They are literally as bright green as emeralds. Three of these extraordinary pools sat at the bottom of Red Crater. Their sulfur infused waters almost glowed against the reds and blacks that colored the surrounding rock. Plumes of gas leaked from within the earth and provided a mysterious aura that surrounded the pools. The shimmering green jewels were spectacular to behold, but nobody was jumping in for a swim. I assumed that they would be scorching hot from the earthen steam brewing below and squirting out from beside the water, so I investigated with a finger dip. The temperature was surprisingly cold, which made me realize that potential for blistering skin rashes were not the reason for avoiding the enchanting pools. We figured that the toxic chemicals and the prospect of walking another 10 kilometers with soggy shoes through chilly mountain air were enough to dissuade anyone from doing swan dives into the irresistibly beautiful waters. I took plenty of pictures of the Emerald Lakes and Red Crater, but it is one of those places where an amateur snapshot cannot truly capture the essence of the place. My memory of the area will survive in a much clearer context than any picture will ever show. The extreme elevation coupled with unreal coloration and volcanic setting created a scene that will live on as a mental image in my mind for the rest of my life.After a short lunch resting between the lakes, we continued our travels and went down into another large flat crater basin. This spot had some pockets of snow nestled at the base of rock outcroppings. I couldn’t resist the temptation to feel the cold touch of snow once again, so Jenna and I ran towards the closest bed of snow on the left side of the track. The rest of our group soon followed and came over towards us. The next move was obvious; Jenna and I started to form a small arsenal of snowballs to fling at our unsuspecting siblings. We unloaded our cache of snowflake grenades with limited success before our enemy targets reached the snow patch. A few misaimed snowballs scattered debris on our shoulders, but no deathblows were struck. My fingers started to go numb so I began to stroll away. When I was about 30 yards away, Jim hollered at me and said to stop. I agreed to stand in one place at this seemingly safe distance and allow him one free throw at me. As he hurled the cannonball of ice chunks in my direction, Brooke unexpectedly tossed another one from the side. I reacted to the surprise of Brooke’s throw and turned my head to the side. Right as my face jerked away from the danger, I felt an explosion of freezing pain on the back of my neck. Jim had connected perfectly on an impossible shot and showered me with wet shrapnel. The snow not only caked on the back of my hair, but also fell down the back of shirt and leaked all the way to my pants. I had no right to be upset because I let him do it, and it was a pretty amazing throw (but I cant say I was happy about it).The next sight on our trek was called Blue Lake. Once again, it was properly named for the bright color that it emitted. This was much larger than its emerald companions and filled what was probably a defunct crater. We walked along the edge of the lake and then happily found out that our ascent was just about over. The rest of the way was a downhill jaunt to the fern forests at the bottom of mountain range. We crested the final brim and saw the wide expanse of land checkered with lakes, volcanoes and ranches that made up New Zealand’s interior. Our time of scrambling over volcanic debris had come to an end and ahead of us was a well maintained zig zag path that led down the back slope.The guidebook that we consulted before embarking concluded its description of the Tongariro Alpine Crossing with a phrase that said, “then you will descend into Virgin bush”. Well, the actually meaning of this was understood by us all (untouched wilderness), but the words used to describe it were just too coincidentally sexual to be ignored. Being a group of young adults with a well-developed immature sense of humor, you can only imagine the fun we had toying with the idea of delving into the depths Virgin Bush and the million other jokes that we made about this phrase. Every few minutes, one of us would crack a new joke about “penetrating” or “feeling, but not seeing” or “anticipating the wetness” or “smelling” that Virgin Bush. We eventually did enter the unknown patch of virgin bush and were excited to have a totally new setting. Up until this point, there was not a tree or bush on the 16 kilometers behind us. Now we were thrust into a lush fern forest brimming with life. A stream flowed through the dense trees and ferns overflowed the region. Our legs were aching, our knees were wobbly and our bodies were exhausted, but we were still able to enjoy the serene scenery around us. The steep decline was even more painful on our legs than the initial climb. At times we walked backwards or ran down the trail to try to ease the stress on our joints. Our journey was nearly at its end and we were all eagerly looking forward to cold beers and warm showers. The last few kilometers through the forest seemed painstakingly slow because our enthusiasm was drained, but we eventually made it to the end.We finished the 19.4 km (12-13 miles) in about 6 hours. The estimated time period was 7-8, but we are awesome and did it quicker. The distance was daunting, but the real challenge was the terrain. We rose and then descended thousands of feet on both sides of the mountains. Our only flat walking was on the crater floors and the final mile of bush. It was a challenging hike, but worth every minute. We saw things that we probably will never see again and gazed upon numerous improbable wonders of geological magic. Volcanoes have been the driving force behind creating our terrestrial world and it was fascinating to see their outlandishly gorgeous achievements at the nascent stages. We spent the night back our Taupo lake house lounging in the Jacuzzi and watching the opening games of the NBA season. Curtis watched in agony as the once mighty Lakers lost at the buzzer when the aging Kobe got blocked on his attempt to win the game. We dined on some fine New Zealand cuisine, I believe it was called pizza and came from a hut. And my mom nearly choked while eating a carrot and we all stood idly and tried to talk her through it. She eventually yaked up the deadly nugget of carrot flesh and was no worse for wear.The following day, we felt that we deserved a much-needed break from activity and spent the day doing nothing. We slept in late, then took a shopping trip into the city of Taupo. We bought some groceries, perused around at some souvenir shops and walking around the little town. The city center was a compact bunch of retailers and restaurants organized on a small square grid. It was full of boutique shops and one-story buildings. The population of Taupo triples during the holiday season, so we experienced it at its maximum of activity. However, it still had a feeling of quaintness and charm that pervaded through the onslaught of tourist shoppers.We held a dinner party for our Kiwi friends that helped organize our trip and hosted us for Christmas Eve. Two older couples and a rich bachelor named Hugh came over and feasted on chicken, shrimp, pasta and an array of tasty foods. This family comes from a very distinguished line of successful businessmen in New Zealand and my dad kept referring to them as royalty. Regardless of their supposed royal stature, we had a wonderful time getting to know them all. We drank more than a case of wine, a couple bottles of whiskey and who knows what else. Immediately as our guests pulled out of the driveway, Curtis cranked up the volume on the stereo and we burst into a spontaneous dance party. We pranced around like inept inebriated ballerinas for a few minutes before Brooke announced that she was going to go take a swim in the frosty waters of the lake. Well we weren’t gonna let her do it on her own, so we suited up and dawdled down the waterside. We plunged into the water and let out screams of joyous agony at the iciness that swarmed over our bodies. We instinctually gathered in a big circle and hugged together for warmth. Then suddenly something prompted us to start laughing. And laugh we did. We laughed louder and harder than ever before. And it was no normal laugh. It was a pseudo-evil laugh. It brought to mind the scene from Austin Powers, where the entourage of Dr. Evil unites in a drawn out cackle of villainous proportions. Our circle of sinister snickering faded out and we all sped for the shore. We raced to the Jacuzzi and warmed our freezing limbs. We never got the pump to work correctly and the water temperature never rose above 100 degrees, but it was plenty warm enough at a time like this. What happened next is questionable and no exact facts will ever be uncovered, the only evidence of what transpired was a pile of empty bottles. Wine, beer, whiskey and a whole lot of Scrumpy’s. At the end of a night of drinking, Scrumpy’s barely tingles the throat when it goes down. So we proceeded to drain everything we had. It was a fun filled night of haphazard and wacky family bonding, but some of us would pay for it the next day.Our plan for the following morning was to drive out to the wine tasting region of Hawke’s Bay and sip on the antipodean vino of New Zealand. The Burnham’s once again acted as our guides and were going to take us to a beach house of their relatives. All we had to do was stop by Mary Jane’s sister’s house and grab the key to the beach house. Our drive to Hawke’s Bay was an extremely windy tour of grassy hillsides and pine forests. This two-lane highway towards the ocean had very few straight-aways and curved in a constant succession of twists and turns.If you add together one shopping cart full of potent alcohol and a shaky 2 hour drive, you will most assuredly get a carload of nauseous passengers. The first to feel the unsettling effects of the body rejecting the toxic substances forced into it the previous night was Julie. We moved her up to the front seat and hoped that the swaying would be diminished. We laughed about how much Scumpy’s we drank and tried to put together the details of what happened throughout the night. The mention of Julie’s queasiness also led us all to recount all the stories we knew about puking in the car. We began to run low of anecdotes of vehicle vomiting when Brooke rolled down her window and let out a stream of half digested Scrumpy. There were no turnouts on the side of road and we had to wait a couple minutes before pulling over, but she did an admirable job of keeping every ounce of puke out the window and most of it away from the car siding. I finally found a widespot in the road and jerked the car onto a dirt driveway. Julie stumbled out the door and did her own rendition of the puking poka. The two girls hunched over on the side of highway and emptied their stomachs of the vile bile that tormented their bellies. Afterwards, they cleaned up a bit, drank some water and then we were back on our route.This throw-up detour slightly diminished our gusto for wine tasting. The rest of us were not in as bad of shape, but we weren’t exactly in peak condition. Although we were entering prized wine country, the idea of sucking down more booze was not too appealing. A meal and a nap seemed more appropriate plans for our immediate future. Before stopping for lunch, we had to stop off at the house and snag the key for the other house. We passed through the beach town of Napier and drove along the coast for a couple miles. The seawater was a frothy green color and would have been startling in its brightness had we not just seen the sparkling Emerald Lakes. The fresh ocean air livened our spirits perked our excitement for spending a day at the beach. We turned back inland and were now in the heart of wine country. We worked our way up into the hills and began to pass vast estates with affluent mansions surrounded by vineyards and orchards. We were marveling at the stately manors up the hillside, when the Burnhams pulled quickly off the road and through a black gate flanked by rows of elegant Cyrpress trees. I followed them into the grounds of Plowman Estate, also known as Waiana. The Plowman estate (or manor, or compound, or palace, or whatever you want to call it) was not what I was expecting when Mary Jane said we were going to stop by their home and grab a key. This place was massive. Tom offhandedly remarked that the house was actually rather modest, it only spanned about 5500 sq. ft. Under most circumstances this would seem like a stupid statement because 5500 sq. ft is humungous by most judgments, but in this context it was actually a true statement. The grounds of the Plowman estate were so immense that the house was nothing more than a speck on the surface of this regal establishment. A flawlessly cut lawn wrapped around the house and covered more area than a couple football fields. It overlooked miles of picturesque vineyards and ranches that stretched towards the horizon in the Hawke’s Bay valley. This is the most productive agricultural land in all of New Zealand and its beauty reflects the fertility of its fields. To the left stood a famous jagged hilltop of stone that is a sacred spot for the Maori people. The view alone would have made this place unparalleled in its majesty, but that was only the beginning. Tom and Mary Jane led us on walking tour of the estate and we spent the next hour wandering through the many acres of grandeur. We passed by the waterfall that dropped into a tranquil pond blanketed by lily pads and lotus flowers. We plucked juicy apricots off trees and meandered through orchards of pears, apples, and citrus. We trotted down the grass amphitheatre and along the eucalyptus lined pathway. Eventually, we came to the vineyard and strolled down a row of budding grapes. We took a look at the vegetable garden and fed a hungry group of fattened chickens. The area is so big and so full of vegetation that it requires three gardeners working full time to maintain it. Almost all of the trees and plants have been imported and require constant attention in order to thrive in this foreign environment. Mr. Plowman has created a wonderful playground that brought to mind nothing except aristocratic estates from the Victorian age of Britain. I have never been to England, but I have read many books and seen plenty of movies

Want to "talk story" or "go for a cruise?" Two of my favorite past times on Yap are simply just hanging out with friends. In the past, going for cruises has been challenging with a sedan and a muddy, unpaved road. However, I feel fortunate to have a new vehicle (selling the old one). Dun-da-dun: Toyota Land Cruiser. I feel like the anti-Peace Corps woman, driving a diesel-fueled SUV. Ironically, the Land Cruiser is the former Peace Corps car. Imagine that!

Hanging out with friends and cooking are what most nights consists of. I am on a no-meat diet (accept for eggs & milk) so I'm pretty limited on what I can cook.

The basketball court was the only thing anyone would talk about on Kuttu. Where is it going? When do we start? How many bags of cement was that again? It seemed like the perfect project; if I gave it a push it would roll to the end on its own. Not so much. Instead of [...]

James Porter had a long full life, but he has died today. He had a long full life before I was ever born, before I knew him, but he was my grandfather, and this is my journal. I will speak, then, of my grandfather, as I knew him, because I love him. Any who find my decision or description distasteful may find themselves other reading material and kindly fuck off.

James Porter was known as Jimmy to his mother, Jim to his friends and Pa to his children, their children and his great grandchildren. He was born in Michigan, as most Porters in my family from generations prior to mine have been. A farm was his childhood home, and like his parents and siblings, he tended that farm for minimal compensation. As he grew, so too did his responsibilities. Pa was gifted with animals, and particularly excelled in caring for and working horses. As a young man he was able to ride astride two horses, standing up, one foot on either’s back. As an older man, he was still able to take control of a team pulling a cart and guide them backward into a designated stall, though they were not his horses and not familiar with him. He was a man to be trusted.

Exceptionally bright, tough and talented, Pa skip grades in school like the rest of us skipped assignments or classes. He graduated high school at the age of fifteen. He worked for the CCC on improving the campsites at Bob Lake in the UP of Michigan. He boxed. He went to war, fighting in WWII in the Navy. He married a beautiful young woman, Betty Jane, whom he courted in Hollywood fashion. Once she knew the quality of the man, there was nary a question. Their marriage is measured in decades, the successes of their children and grandchildren, and unlike over half of unions today, theirs was truly till death did them part.

He worked, hard and smart, and provided for his family. Pa raised seven children with Gramma Betty: Barbara, David (my father), Kathryn and Marilyn, Gail, Diane, and Steve. He saw his daughters and sons grow, gain educations (some eagerly, some against their wills—my father), start careers, marry and raise children of their own. He retired, golfed with his wife, traveled, cared for his grandkids, and watched some of them marry and raise children, whom he again cared for. The girls have always been his favorites, especially fiery, independent gals. You’ve never seen a bulb burn so bright as Pa did when beholding one of his bold young daughters, grand daughters or great grand daughters.

Pa was frugal, because he grew up through the depression. He was resourceful, because he and his brothers all learned the importance of adapting, innovating and overcoming in order to survive. He was stubborn, because he was so damn smart. He was funny, because of his tremendous wit. He was filled with joy, because he lived life for his family and watched them thrive. He is loved, because he was such a great man and loved others with such fidelity and amazing depth.

My grandfather delighted in good beer, a fine wine, the high-end Japanese scotches my cousin Josh brought him, bourbon and Squirt soda. Golf and football were his favorite sports to watch on television; he even put up with these new obnoxious televisions, cable boxes and innumerable remotes for the games and matches. His favorite sports to watch live were whichever his grandkids were playing in, be they basketball, football, or lacrosse. Pa loved bullshitting, spinning a yarn for a willing ear, making anyone smile unguardedly. Those few times my brother or I brought a significant other to family gatherings, Pa inevitably pulled her aside, held her hands tightly, told her hilarious lies and made the kind of first impression we could only dream of. The men that accompanied our female cousins left equally impressed by a man all hope to emulate.

I felt deeply cared for by Pa and Gramma while I was a child. Always found Christmas gifts from them under tree and received birthday presents two days later. I was once deeply wounded when, in my early teenage years, I overheard him tell my uncle that he had so many grandkids, he didn’t mind if he lost one—I’d been running around like a kid (aka idiot). I was later deeply touched when he and my gramma attended my high school lacrosse games, my college graduation. I was immensely gratified to know he was thrilled by a visit a made to them after I graduated from college, and again to know they followed my blog while I was in the Peace Corps.

During my time in Micronesia, one of my greatest fears was I wouldn’t see my grandparents again before returning home. Blessed as ever, I returned to find them in fine health. Pa and Gramma came to my welcome home get together this past August. Two days later they came back to Boise for a dinner with my folks, aunt Diane, cousin Monica and I. We ate, drank, bullshitted, laughed and had the kind an evening I’ll treasure the rest of my life.

After Thanksgiving this year, Pa’s health took a turn for the worse. He slowed down, grew tired. Over the month leading up to Christmas, my dad’s concern built and built. He, my aunts and uncles rallied around Pa and Gramma, did what they could. Medications, doctors’ appointments, home care, and a trip to the hospital. Pa never made it back home to Payette, will never hug his children again, kiss his wife, sip a beer or spin a yarn. I’ll never see that shit-eating grin, hear that gruff laugh or shake that powerful hand again. Our lives were granted and made fuller for his having lived and are now bereft by his absence. I am grateful to have been with my brother today, sorrowful for being away from Boise and unable to be at Pa’s bedside. What a wonderful man, and what a horrible day.

I love you, Pa. Rest in the blessed peace deserved of a man who lived so admirably.

Tuesday: The sun had been getting up later recently. I don't use an alarm clock, so the rays of morning light that usually wake me up are no longer present. I wake up at least 15 minutes late every day. The topic of time is something Americans must adjust to when living in Micronesia. If someone says 4:00, they really mean that you start thinking about leaving your house around 4:00. If you have to make a few stops on your way, no worries-island time!

My day begins with a fresh coconut cut the night before. I sip the electrolyte infused water and make my way to work. Today I'm working on a grant for a trail project. The trail, on the West end of the island, is an ancient stone path that local use to access their gardens and taro patches. Visitors and us 'wech' folks like to use the trail for recreations and site-seeing. The Tamilyog trail has been awarded a grant from the generous government of Australia. However, the grant stipulates there must be local funding as well. I have nearly completed the grant and spend the entire day trying to track head of departments to sign off on the grant. No one is to be found.

After work, I go with a friend to visit a shaman. The shaman, Jon, is from the outer islands, Woleai to be exact. He was taught by his uncle the way of massage. His technique is used to reset bones, reduce swelling, diagnosis and cure injuries. Using coconut oil, he massages a fractured wrist. He can tell the person massaging before him, wasn't pressing hard enough. He recommends daily massage sessions. He speaks English freely and talks about his day. He is an uncle, a father and a grandfather. He won't accept money; that would be against the cultural laws. His abilities cannot be used for personal gain. I walk back to the car, with a few extra mosquito bites, but a deeper understanding of Yap's complex and profound culture.

In December, a luxury yacht from Singapore sailed to Yap. Activities included: diving in Yap's manta ray waters, hiking, local dances and a local feast. Most events took place at the Living History Museum, as it doubles for a cruise ship Welcome Center.

My best friend in the entire world got married while I was home. It was the perfect ending to a perfect trip home. She was beautiful. I am so happy for her and Jon, and hope they have a long and happy life together. Thanks for letting me be part of your special day.

Monday: I scurry out of bed and after washing my face and brushing my teeth, sans makeup, I drive the 40 minute trek to work. The reason it takes 40 minutes to drive to Colonia is because the condition of the road. Affectionately referred to as the "holey road," you must drive at a snails pace to prevent your car from bottoming out in the treacherous pot holes. Even in my Land Cruiser, I have to take heed to the rules of the road to save my car's suspension. I work at YVB which stands for Yap Visitors Bureau. I spend much of my time answering e-mails and planning events for the cruise ships and tourism activities. The other side of my job, which involves the museum, is writing grants and creating museum activities as well as policy. Many days the internet is down. The office will go for weeks with no problem, but then all of a sudden-the connection has been lost.

I take my frustration out after work at the Sports Complex, located on the north side of the island. When it's raining I lift weights and jump rope in the weight room. If it's sunny, I run around the track. After working out, I head home and cook up a tasty veggie meal.

This post is a little overdue. I started my new job a few months ago. My current titles at YVB are: Yap Cruise Coordinator and Yap Living History Museum Liaison Officer. I love my job and the people I work with. What's more, I have opportunities to interact with people from all over the world. I am still volunteering at DB school, once a week. I teach oral English to grades 3 & 4 with the help of my friend that teaches at the school.

Working as the Yap Cruise Coordinator, I create programs, activities and events for small ships and cruise ships that visit Yap. I work with government agencies and the community to make sure things run smoothly and all are informed. In addition, I also solicit companies and ship owners to visit Yap. I recently, traveled to Singapore with staff for the Cruise Shipping Asia Conference. The Micronesia Cruise Association was recently formed and included members from many of the islands in Micronesia (as a region, not a country). The MCA booth was a big hit and many Asian markets weren't even aware of Micronesia as cruise destination. It was a huge growing experience for me. I thoroughly enjoy interacting with different cultures, as with companies and organizations from all over Asia-it was a challenge! Singapore, itself wasn't bad either. The city is a thriving tropical metropolis. It's safe, clean and easy to maneuver. After working at the expo all day, I escaped by jumping on a subway and going to the Indian district for authentic food and handicrafts or finding inner peace in Chinatown at the Buddhist temple.

Picture captions: 1) Going into the Buddhist Temple, I had to wear a shawl to cover my shoulders. 2) Front of the Hindu Temple 3) View of the Marina Sands Expo Center 4) Sunset 5 & 6) Little India 7) Visiting the Japan booth 8) Buddhist Temple 9) View from Santoza Island 10) Authentic Chinese deserts 11) Raffles Hotel 12) Chimes church 13) View from the top of Marina Sands

Here are two articles on wrongheaded U.S. policy in the FSM and how this policy is directly affecting Guam and Hawaii. Despite China’s recent investments and development projects, it has a long way to go to oust the United States as the FSM’s bff. But the current compact expires 12 years from now, and if [...]

I have had a wonderful month.

The first week of December all of the volunteers from FSM and Palau were reunited for our mid-service training. It was great to see everyone again, and it was really nice to stay in a hotel with hot showers, water beds, and delicious food. I went home for a short weekend before my marathon flight home.

I made it home to Washington with no problems, and was greeted at the airport by a fantastic welcoming committee. The escalator was too slow, so I just sprinted up the stairs.

The next three weeks flew by. I thought that three weeks would be the perfect amount of time, that I would be ready to get back to the quiet of my island. And although I am excited to get back, saying goodbye is never easy.

My motto was, "because I can" and I stuck with it. I took hot showers until the water ran out, sometimes twice a day, because I could. I ate standing up because there was no one telling me to sit down. I left dirty clothes on the floor because there are no cockroaches in my room to take up residence. I texted my little fingers out. I wore shoes inside. I ate cheese, lots of cheese. I had 5 tabs open on my computer at the same time. I blow-dried my hair everyday. I wore my hair down everyday. I drove myself to the grocery store. I charged my computer, my ipod, my cell phone, my camera, and my dvd player at the same time.

And now, I'm going to board my plane, because I can.

Thank you so much to everyone who helped make my trip home some of the best three weeks of my life. Sorry to those who I didn't get to see, but the good news is, I'll be home in 326 days. Have the turkey waiting.

Peace Corps Cribs - Kuttu

Tour of my house in Chuuk, Federated States of Micronesia while in the Peace Corps. From: lebied87 Views: 4 0 ratings Time: 01:59 More in People & Blogs

I walked off the plane, stepped out of the terminal and was immediately blown back by a gust of freezing wind. I was still underneath a gigantic steel dome structure that covered the area between the airport and railroad, but it did little to protect me from the unforgiving cold that swarmed around me and shocked me into alertness. My breath turned to steam, my eyes watered up, the hair on my arms stood straight, and my nose tinged with pain. The icy air seeped into my skin and made my bones ache. The sensation of cold was something that I have not experienced for more than a year. My body has not been exposed to temperatures below 70 degrees since I arrived in Micronesia over 15 months ago. Now I was suddenly thrust into a unknown world of freezingly dry weather. The 29 degree air engulfed my body in a frigid blanket of overwhelming cold and literally stopped me in my tracks. I was far from prepared for this kind of wintry atmosphere. My wardrobe consisted of 2 tanktops, a bathing suit, one pair of basketball shorts, a few t-shirts, several boxers, a single long sleeve shirt, and two of thinnest materialed pants known to mankind. I also brought along some sandals and a ratty old pair of sneakers full of holes. Needless to say, my tanktop and shorts were not sufficient to shield me from the onslaught of cold that awaited me in Korea. For the first few seconds, the cold was actually refreshing. I took a deep breath of the crisp air and felt refreshed by the novel sensation that was coursing through my veins. This feeling was quickly replaced by a biting iciness that forced me scamper along at a quicker pace and shake my arms to keep the blood circulating. I hurried into the railroad station and boarded an express train bound for the center of the big city. The crowded bullet train had heated seats and the body heat of the throngs of bundled up Koreans kept the inside of the train car nice and toasty. Our train sped out of the Incheon Airport and popped out of a tunnel into unmanned openness. Wide open grassland spotted with leafless trees covered the landscape. This was not what I expected to see in the bustling metropolis of Seoul. My original xpectations were soon realized when we crossed a bridge and entered into what I believed were the suburbs. The outskirts of the booming city were not the stereotypical image of white picket fences and single-family houses that American suburbs boast. The skyline went from hilly meadows to towering buildings within minutes. 30-story skyscrapers containing scores of people were tightly bunched together along a seemingly endless expanse of development. The high-rise apartment buildings reminded me of what I remember from the "suburbs" of Hong Kong. The architecture, spacing, and size of the outer cities simulated the same crowded developments that surprised me a couple of years ago. The condo megaplexes all look exactly the same. Same color, same shape, same arrangement, and probably the same on the inside. No points for originality, but they sure do a good job of getting a lot of people into one spot. The metropolitan area may seem overdeveloped in its efforts to reach towards the sky to cram in all its people, but it has to put them somewhere. Seoul and its immediate vicinity make up the second largest metropolitan area in the world with almost 25 million people living around the South Korean capital. Only Tokyo can handle a larger population. We crossed another bridge and then entered into the real city. A city of technology. A city of efficiency. A city of the future. Seoul is a giant conglomeration of infinite skyscrapers that span for miles on the banks of the Hangang River. Its bustling streets criss-cross between the behemoth steel towers that dot the skyline. Busses, subways, trains, cars, motorcycles, and millions of people hurry around the city in a hectic race to scurry along to their next destination. Huge electronic billboards advertise Ipads and cellphones. The emblems of multination corporations are plastered at the tops of every building, marking their dominance as the kings of this capitalist megatown. The city is a continuous buzz of activity. Everyone and everything is going a million miles an hour; headlong into the future. If you have read any of my other blogs, I am sure you are already aware of the stark contrast between the city of Seoul and my home island of Fefan. Chuuk is a slow-moving crawl through life, only stopping along the way to chew on a fish or gaze at the rippling blue sea. Most of the time, no one is going anywhere and no one is doing anything. People just "are". Where Seoul is a continuous buzz of activity, Chuuk is a continuous lull of activity. There is nothing worth doing except kicking back and relaxing on the beautiful islands and absorbing the radiant heat. It is a matter of personal opinion which life suits you best, I am in no place to make judgments upon which life is "better". Some people like the efficient hustle bustle of the technological world and others like the low key stroll of island living. However, I am in a unique position as I have been thrust into two polar opposite worlds and get to make a side-by-side comparison of the lifestyles. Good stuff to think about. After I settled into the Seoulwise Hostel Guesthouse and took a nap to recover my wits, my first mission was to get myself some proper clothes for this harsh environment. I at least needed a jacket to shield me from the freezing temperatures outside. I took the advice of my hostel manager and hopped on a subway towards the center of the city where I could find the Namdaemun marketplace. I slunk down into the depths of a concrete cave and followed the crowds of Koreans jostling their way towards the metro entrances. I watched for a minute as people paid for their tickets or simply swiped a wallet and sped through the gate. I quickly figured out the system and got myself a metro pass that would last for a few trips around the city. I brushed my card over a magnetic sensing device and a shiny metal arm swung open to allow me to pass through the stall. I stood in the terminal scanning back and forth at the signs of Korean scrawl and trying to decide which way I wanted to go. There were 4 different subways that I could board and I didnt want to get fooled into going the wrong way. I glanced over a couple of maps, matched the names to the subway destinations and then picked my train. I sauntered down another flight of stairs as a crowd of quick moving locals darted passed me down the hallway. I arrived on the subway platform just as the doors slid shut. “Damn, I missed my train, looks like I've got another twenty minutes of standing around.” I started to fiddle around with my map when suddenly another train arrived in its place. It only took about 3 minutes! Talk about efficiency. I exited at the City Hall terminal and climbed out of the underground passageway into the center of the jumbo city. The buildings were taller, the streets were wider and even more people lined the sidewalks here in downtown. I took a look at another map and hesitantly started walking in a direction that I wasnt sure was correct. I went for about 200 yards before I noticed a large group of people gathered around an ancient looking gate. I came closer to the action and saw what the onlookers were watching. A battalion of colorfully clad soldiers were performing "changing the guard" rituals at the entrance to a former palace. The guardsmen were dressed in traditional garments and had the full repertoire of spear tipped poles and long droopy mustaches. They banged on a powerful drum and marched around in a series of disciplined formations. A commander at the center shouted orders as the different groups of colored soldiers performed traditional routines. The commander barked a final order, and half the soldiers marched their way through the gate into the palace compound. I was pleasantly surprised to see this ancient cultural exhibition sandwiched in the shadows of the skyscrapers and billboards. I enjoyed the showcase of guardsmen performers, but it also made me realize that I was in the wrong place. I consulted the map once more and headed back the other direction. I zig-zagged across a few busy streets and finally found myself at the Namdaemun market. This marketplace is famous for selling all kinds of clothing and items in a traditional open-air market style. Booths and tiny shops are crammed along a crowded cobblestone road that is nestled in a secret neighborhood of the city. Merchants are selling a wide range of products at bargain prices. Piles of clothes are plunked down in the middle of the road and people start clawing at the garments. Food hawkers are frying tasty treats on sizzling street carts. Shopkeepers are beckoning for my attention and eagerly holding their prized merchandise. The energy level is even crazier than on the big streets, but its a different type of energy. Its an energy entirely fueled by shopping. We all know the wildness that can occur on Black Friday or Christmas Eve during holiday shopping back in America. Imagine all that hecticness packed into the back alleys of a Korean market. Everything is intensified. I do a full tour and a little bit of price comparison before I decide to buy anything. I am an infamously indecisive shopper, but my will is finally persuaded to make a purchase when I simply cant stand the cold any longer. My teeth are beginning to chatter and the coldness is starting to make me sniffle and shake. I pick up a pair of gloves, a beanie hat, and a green jacket. I put on all the winter wear, but am still cold. I start to regret not buying a puffier jacket, but realize that the purchase is made and there is nothing I can about it. After shopping, I wander the streets and snack on some of the street food from the vendor carts. Street food in Korea is famous for its value and tastiness. Hundreds of little carts are scattered along the roads slanging all kinds of hot foods. You can step into the overhanging plastic covering and pop a toasty fried mystery food into our mouth as you sip on a small cup of warm broth. I dont ever know what I am eating when I order, so I have just been trying a different thing each time. Each one of these tiny delicacies has been surprisingly delicious. Some are spicy and some are sweet. Some are fried and some are boiled. Either way, I have yet to be disappointed by these cheap street treats. I get back to my hostel before dark and crawl into my bed to warm myself up. I am still shivering from the cold and I need the rest for my body. I have been on back-to-back midnight flights and only had shoddy naps to relax and recuperate. I awake from my nap and take a shower before trying to go discover the famous nightlife of Hongdae area. I sit down on computer and start browsing through the laser speed internet as my body starts to send me warning signs. It is telling me, "you are cold, you are tired, and you are sick". I begin to slip into a mild fever and weakness of the body, and then decide that its probably not a good idea for me to go out drinking tonight. The idea of braving the cold and pounding back soju is not appealing to my mind or body. So I take the road I rarely follow, and decide to refrain from having a drink or two. Instead, I cuddle up in my warm sheets and try to sleep off this sickness that is beckoning at my door. The next morning, I arise around 8 and eat some cereal and toast for breakfast. I begin planning my daily excursions, but then opt for more sleep to mend my freezing limbs. I once again wake up sometime after noon, and then head out on my journey. I feel refreshed when I step outside and an excited energy flows through my body. Today, I am better prepared for the weather (well kind of). Due to my lack of proper clothes, my best option is to layer. I put on two layers of socks and basketball shorts under my pants. On top I wear an undershirt, a long sleeve shirt, a t-shirt, another t-shirt and then my new jacket. My $2 gloves and $4 beanie go on last to cover me up from the cold. This layered mishmash of winter wear does an admirable job of keeping me warm in the 20 degree weather of the city. My hostel manager Young draws me a map of places that I should see on my first day in Seoul. The plan seems ambitious for beginning after 1pm, but I embark on my exploration with a heart full of excitement. My first destination is the famous Gyeongbokgung Palace near the city center. Gyeongbokgung Palace was the former residence of the emperor of Korea and the country's political center for more than 600 years. It is steeped in tradition and is one of the prize landmarks for the Korean people. The palace walls are immense and the giant colorful gates provide a stunning entrance to the inner grounds. My first impression was its striking similarity to the Forbidden City in Beijing. This initial impression of mine would be supported as I continued to wander through the palace and gaze at the spectacular artwork, meticulous architecture, and intricate design of the palace. Comparing this place to the Forbidden City is not demeaning its magnificence at all; rather it is a generous compliment. The two ancient palaces share similar structure, design and function. The division of courtyards and fabulous gates seem to have sprung from the same tradition of architecture and ideology. The two cultures have been linked for centuries and it is not surprising that their famous palaces also share similarities. Many people often overlook the rich history of the Korean people because they are sandwiched between Japan and China; but after viewing the palaces and seeing the museum, I have come to realize that Korea has wonderful past of dynasties that created art, science, government and many other noteworthy accomplishments. The one thing that impressed me the most about the palace was the detailed artwork that covers the gates and palace halls. Exquisite patterns of blues, greens, pinks and reds swirl across the trellises, walls, and roofs. Flower designs and storyboards of cultural depth flank the walls and depict the artistic creativity of the Korean people. The perfect decorations were tirelessly painted across dozens of enormous structures and provide an amazing site to be gazed upon. I wandered through the courtyards and passageways of the palace grounds for a couple of hours and ended at the museum in the far corner. The one thing that made this experience extra special for me was the quiet atmosphere. There were other tourists there as well, but it wasn’t overflowing with people. I found myself walking alone through empty courtyards and traipsing along pathways where I heard nothing by my own footsteps. It was a transcendently peaceful time to stroll alone through this magnificent palace. The palace isn’t just one huge building towering above everything else. Instead, this type of palace is more like an enclosed city with several large structures throughout. It is a huge expanse of land that must have housed thousands of people. It is truly a fantastic thing to see and made me appreciate the importance of Korean history. Afterwards, I walked across a few streets until I reached another traveller hot spot called Bukchon Village. Buckchon is a place that still maintains the traditional style of Korean houses. The buildings are tiled with black clay shingles that curve up at the edges. It typifies the type of East Asian architecture that has been made famous in Japan and China. I wandered through the old neighborhood and enjoyed the traditional style of the place. There were many small shops and cultural workshop areas in the houses along the road, but I just walked on by and continued my city tour. My next destination was Insa Dong, the place to buy Korean arts and crafts. I came on this trip with a very limited budget and wasnt planning on really buying anything, but I felt it was a worth checking out the artistic creations of the country. Insa Dong has a walkway street that is flanked by hundreds of small shops selling local crafts, clothes and other odds and ends. It is the kind of place where almost all the stores have the same type of stuff. Masks, jewelry, clothes, and little tid-bits of souvenirs. I poked my head in a few stores and munched on some street food as I slowly meandered down the road. As I made my way back towards the subway station, I walked along a river that streaked through the city. There was a walkway down by the river that provided a peaceful escape from the craziness of the city. A tranquil stream trickled down its manmade banks and through the arranged rocks in its belly. It was a fake river, but it was a beautifully made fake river. The sun was starting to drop and I noticed colored lights beginning to appear beneath the surface and on the boulders protruding above the waterline. If I wasn’t freezing cold, I probably would have waited to see the lightshow that seemed to be imminent; but instead I hurried my way across the noisy streets and down into the transportation hub bub down below the city. My hostel is currently being remodeled, so unfortunately there were very few people here. I was hoping to make friends with other travellers and do some sightseeing and drinking with them, but to my chagrin the only people at my hostel are a mom and son pair and a snooty frenchman. So I decided to do something I have never done before in my life; go out on the town alone. The nightlife of Hongdae is buzzing with energy. Lights and music are booming from every spot along the half mile stretch of street that is adjacent to Hongik University. From the street, the place is pumping with excitement. Flourescent lights flicker at every door and booming music pours through the windows. Hundreds, literally hundreds, of bars line the road. The energy of Hongdae nightlife is a vibrant out flux of technoligized fun. However, I was rather disappointed to find very little activity when I went inside to grab a drink. I went into 3 or 4 places and was surprised to find only a few quiet Koreans sipping drinks in booths. I drank a few by myself and continued on a trek for friendship, but failed time after time. I found no English speakers and no fellow travelers to shoot the shit with. I felt rather pathetic by the end of the night and snuck back to my hostel room and snuggled into my covers. I was unsuccessful in my first outing to meet some other fun travellers, but there was still plenty of time. The next morning, I woke up in the morning as a new arrival stumbled into my room and collapsed on a bed. A few hours later, he awoke from his jet-lagged slumber and I was pleasantly surprised to meet a travel buddy. He is a Vietnamese Aussie and is the exact same boat as I am. He booked a trip to Korea on a whim and had no idea what he wanted to do here. He had no plans in Seoul except maybe meeting some travellers and seeing the sights of the city. It worked out great for the two of us and we headed out on our first excursion. We took the metro across the city to the southern tip beyond the river. Our destination was the Bongeusa Buddhist Temple. The temple is hidden beneath the towering trees of steel that dominate the city scape. We turned a corner around a giant glass building and looked upon the beautiful gates and intricately decorated artwork of Bongeusa. The temple is almost 1300 years old, but was neglected for the majority of that time due to government reactions against Buddhism. It has recently been renovated and the magnificent splendor has been restored. As you walk through the arched gates and into temple grounds, a feeling of spiritual peacefulness overtakes your body and the frantic noise of the city streets drowns away into the distance. We narrowly missed an opportunity to have a 3 hour templestay and have meditation sessions, tours and Buddhist rituals led by the local monks. I was bummed out that we didnt get the chance to experience the real Buddhist way, but we still did our best to enjoy the tranquil atmosphere. After walking around the outside of the temple buildings, we took off our shoes and entered into the main hall. We sat cross legged in the center of the room and soaked up the feelings generated from within this holy site. About 20 Buddhists were performing prostrations or meditating on cushions around the room. Every inch of the walls was covered in colorful painting or flaming candles. Lotus flower lights lined the edges of the ceiling and 3 large statues of Buddha stood on a shrine in the center. As I closely inspected the paintings and figurines around the room, I noticed an interesting thing. All of the characters in the pictures had contorted faces that showed anger, love, laughter, hate, fear, or fury. But the Buddha's face was always calm and relaxed. He is the beacon of moderation and always follows the middle path. We went out the backdoor after a long period of relaxing in the temple and walked towards the huge stone statue that stood over a small hill. This humungous statue of Buddha was an immensely impressive work of art that had a natural background of rising trees. We marveled at the statue for a bit, but were soon distracted by the bang bang of drums from a distant temple hall. We walked toward the cacophonous drumming and tried to see if we could enter the building to watch the festivities. We scanned around the perimeter but found no entrance. At this point, we were both shivering with cold and started to walk away to warmer quarters. But suddenly, a woman emerged from a side door and beckoned us to enter. We went into the large hall and were struck with the boom of 50 drums. A giant circle of middle-aged women were marching in a circle and pounding on all sorts of drums. We were given seats at the back and were handed warm cups of water. We watched in wonder as the melody of drummers echoed through the room. The performers were happy to have visitors and put on a fantastic display of musical festivities for us to enjoy. As the sun sunk behind the concrete skyline and the temperature dropped another 10 degrees, my friend Michael and I convinced our hostel manager to show us how to properly eat a famous Korean BBQ feast. We bundled up in our layers of clothes and zipped through a maze of streets before arriving at a steamy windowed shop at the corner of a brown building. Through the fogged glass, I could see cramped groups of eaters circled around sizzling platters of meat. The door chimed as we entered and chorus of excited Korean greetings bellowed to welcome us. Two workers quickly hustled across the small room and arranged a table for us. They wiped it clean, removed a few stools and poured water in the metallic hole in the center of the short circular table. We took a seat on the 1-foot high stools as a man plopped a bucket of flaming coals in the middle of the hole. He placed a grill on top of the hollowed out table-center and handed us an array of tongs and chopsticks. Before I could take my jacket off, ten small dishes of Kimchi and other appetizers were littered across the tiny table. A platter of pork was pushed into my hands and a bottle of Soju was handed to my friend. All of this preparation was accomplished in less than 90 seconds from when we walked in the door. The hostess then brought a trash bag and asked us to put our jackets in the plastic. I was confused at first, but my guide explained that it was to keep the strong smells off your close. In this setting, it actually made sense. The air was thick was meat flavored smoke. No ventilation coupled with a dozen flaming grills in a place the size of my bedroom is a recipe for a sauna of smelly smoke. A moat of heated water surrounding the burning coals provided the necessary heat to grill our food right in the middle of our table. We let our Korean guide handle the cooking and he shuffled the meat and veggies around at a nimble pace. He tossed on garlic, onions, kimchi and potatoes to add some variety to the mound of meat. Korean BBQ gives you the freedom to cook your food by yourself right at your table, so you have the ability to control portions, timing, and deliciousness. We snacked on the side dishes of spicy pickled vegetables and then took our first sip of Soju. It is tradition in Korea to never pour your own drink. If you want a new shot, you must ask your partner for assistance. They will gently grasp the bottle with two hands and pour a cup full into your outstretched glass, which must also be held with two hands. I was also told that it is respectful to always accept a drink if it is offered. You can refuse from the beginning if you are not in the mood. But if you accept once, you better be ready to keep on drinking until the booze dries up. The tasty pork belly meat was gobbled down and then our guide hollered across the room and another plate of "meat" was brought for our second course. The second plate was actually a pile of pig skin. This would have been a surprising display for me if I had not already eaten plenty of it in Chuuk. The skin of a pig is about a half centimeter thick and usually a light brown color. It is rubbery and chewy, and sometimes still has some leftover hairs. In America, sometimes you seen the puffed up pork rines in a chip bag at a trucker rest stop, but those are far different from this delicacy. He used scissors to cut the long strips into small pieces and threw them on the grill. They crisped up quickly and began to pop up like sizzling bacon. One piece shot so high that it completely fell off the table. I really enjoyed the crunchy and chewy contrasting textures of the skin, not to mention the succulent fatty juices that squeezed out of the pores. We left the restaurant with full bellies' and spicy tongues. On this night, I had some drinkin buddies at my back so we walked towards the busy bar street and had a drink at a few places. I got a more in depth look into the nightlife of Korea and noticed a few peculiarities about their style of partying. Most of the bars are blazing electronic techno music at blaring levels and have flashing lights and disco balls twirling in a dazzling display of brightness. In America, places like this would be dance clubs. People would be out boogeying and shaking to the music on the dance floor. However, the Koreans handle the atmosphere a little differently. As you enter the bar, you are often greeted by a hostess who shuffles you to a booth or table and hands you a menu. The majority of the items on the menu are combination sets that include a variety of drinks along with a platter of food. And its not the normal greasy bar food that you might expect; instead you might have the option of the watermelon and canteloupe display, or the sashimi and soup mix. Its an odd combo of styles, but fun nonetheless. After a few days of being numb from the freezing temperatures, I figured it might be a good idea to buy some more cold-weather gear to keep me warm for the remainder of the trip. I was in a state of semi-sickness since I arrived; and my fingers, toes and nose were perpetually frozen. Apparently layer upon layer of t-shirts isnt good enough to keep a man warm in -9 degree weather. So I picked up a furry sweatshirt and a scarf to complete my ensemble. My daily outfit from this point forward consisted of 2 pairs of socks, 2 pairs of pants with basketball shorts and boxers underneath, gloves, a beanie, a scarf, one long sleeve shirt, 3 shirts, a furry sweatshirt, and a large jacket on top. Despite all these layers, the chill still rattled me to the bone. I think my body was designed to only wear boardshorts and a tanktop, this cold stuff doesnt blend well with my internal chemistry. Now that I had 5 inches of cotton surrounding my torso, I was ready to see our next spot, which was the Korean War Museum. We thought it would just be a boring statue with some names on it, but we found that there was much more to be seen. A field of tanks, planes, boats, anti-aircraft guns, helicopters rocket launchers and large war machines was set up as a playground for museum goers. These werent just cool things to look at; you could actually climb inside and on top of many of the massive weapons. We clambered over tanks and through the control center of warships as we envisioned ourselves in real combat. I felt like I was a little kid in a candy shop; if candy=deadly weapons and little kid=battle-scarred warrior. After our fill of playing with the weapons, we strolled inside and took a gander through the museum halls. The main focus of the museum was the Korean War back in the 1950's. It was interesting for me to learn more about this conflict, because it is often overlooked as the little tussle we had between the big wars of Vietnam and WWII. I was also surprised to find out about Korea's involvement as US allies in every armed conflict since the 1950's. I sometimes forget about Korea's importance with the US military, but we have over 25000 troops stationed here and they send thousands of their own out on the battlefront with our men. We had a surprisingly good time at the war museum and spent much more time than we planned. I was feeling weak and tired after a day of winter walking and was not in the mood for drinking. My throat was raw with pain, and against my usual logic I decided that whiskey was not the proper remedy. Our hostel guide showed us a beef soup place that was the perfect cure for my ailing throat and body. Afterwards, he offered to drive us up to the top of a mountain and see the city lights from a birds eye view. We accepted his offer and took a short trip to the peak of a rocky point on the edge of the city. From the windy vantage point atop the mountain, the sparkling lights of the city spread for miles in all directions. The vast sprawl of the city and the endless line of skyscrapers was clearly visible from this perspective. It was refreshing to see the bustling city from the top and get a night time view of the booming metropolis. The following morning, I took the subway across town to sample some of the local cuisine. We turned a corner into network of alleyways that was crawling with food vendors. All types of food were being fried, boiled and grilled along these back alleys. The area is particularly famous for their Korea pancakes. A Korean pancake can be cooked many different ways, but it seemed that most were made from a ground up bean paste and flour that is mixed with veggies and then fried on a hot stove. For a couple of dollars, you can sit down on a heated bench in front of a food cart and enjoy the crispy goodness of these tasty Asian treats. They go well with a side of soy sauce and onions, kimchi, and a bottle of Korean rice wine. I tried an array of different kinds and loved every one of them; this was probably my favorite food so far in Korea. I wandered around the market and tasted as many things as I could fit in my stomach. The other most popular option around the food market was the pig parts. Mounds of pig intestines, snouts, feet, lungs, livers, and all the other scraps are out on display to attract the adventurous epicurean. We sat at a booth and the lady served us a couple of plates piled high with pig guts and sausage. I took a bite of everything, but none of the mushy slime appealed to my taste buds. I ate one more pancake so that I could leave with a good flavor in my mouth, and then we departed towards our next stop. A few subway stations away, we took a short tour of an old-style Korean neighborhood that was decorated with larger-than-life lantern displays. We gawked at the meticulous artwork and then started working our way up Namsan Mountain to the Seoul Tower. On our way, we came across a huge circular depression with an inscribed stone tablet at the center. It looked like an alien beacon or something, but we soon found out that it was a Time Capsule. Our guess was pretty close. It was actually a subterranean vacuum sealed chamber full of argon gas. Inside the chamber were 600 items that were representative of the world in 1994. In the year 2394, the Koreans will blast open the vault and be able to take a sneak peek into the past. Instead of aimlessly searching around in archeological digs, we have made it easy for future historians by putting all of our shit in one easy to find location. Your welcome future history professor of Seoul University. Our hike took us away from the mysterious capsule and up the mountain towards the pointy symbol of Seoul's skyline atop the small mountain. We walked along a nicely manicured stone road for about an hour and didnt seem to be gaining the elevation towards the tower. We finally found out that we circled around the edge and missed the stairway up the mountain slope. By this time, the sun was setting and our daytime mountain vista was fading along with the sun. We hurried up the mountain, but arrived at the top after the sunset had passed. We had another fantastic night view of the city, but it wasnt much different than what we had seen the night before. We snapped a few pictures of the glowing tower and then made our way back down on a bus. After a dinner of spicy noodles, we hit the town for another night of drinking. This time, I found a bar that I liked and was playing quality music in a good spot. I drank a handful of whiskeys and talked for a while with an Air Force officer who was griping about being stuck here for 3 years without his family. He had some interesting stories about military life in Korea, but I slipped away after a while because his mouth was running a mile a minute and I had enough of his complaints. I stumbled out into the night air, but for the first time wasnt cold. This time I was prepared, I had top of the line protection from the chilly wind. A whiskey jacket. The temperatures were still well below freezing, but my friend and I took our chances and went on an outdoor adventure to a Buddhist temple on the mountain. After a series of subways and busses, we began our slow trudge up the mountain road. However, this wasnt the type of hiking I am used to. Although we were on a mountain out in nature, the city life was not far behind. Hundreds upon hundreds of people had the same idea as us. And they were much better prepared. The bottom of the mountain was packed with high-end outdoor clothing stores. $300 jackets and $200 boots shimmered in the windows of the snazzy designer stores. Everyone of the hikers had neon colored jackets, pristine hiking boots, state of the art backpacks, and a pair of extendable walking sticks. I had never seen such a large group of overly prepared outdoorsmen. I held back my laughter at the ridiculous outfits and fancy outdoor gear that these people sported. I couldnt tell if they were preparing to climb Everest or strut down a fashion show runway. I soon found it that it was not even close to either. The "hike" was a walk along a two lane paved road that curved up the mountain face. It was a pleasant walk along a frozen creek and admittedly steep at some points, but far from challenging. But the difficulty of the hike was obviously not the primary concern of the Seoulites. When we reached the temple, my blood was pumping and I was happy to feel warmth in my limbs. We went through the temple gates and slowly toured the statues and shrines spotted throughout the grounds. My travel friend was Buddhist, so we had interesting talks about the nature of Buddhism and its relationship to the relics and temples that we were observing. We went inside the main temple hall and sat in the corner as two monks chanted and chimed in front of a large group of followers. After warming our bodies and calming our souls, we exited the temple and finished looking around the area. We noticed a lot of people going into a bottom floor "restaurant" and followed them into the room. Inside were rows of long tables and a small line of food on the far end. We observed for a bit, then realized that the temple was giving away free food. We dropped some donations in a box and scooped ourselves a steaming bowl of cabbage soup along with a dab of rice and kimchi. Following the lead of others, we took our empty plates to the next room and washed them ourselves before returning them to their original spot next to the food line. A little bit of generosity and collective teamwork allows these Buddhist monks to fill the bellies and warm the hearts of their visitors. Seoul is a booming city with a million things to do, but most of those activities cost big bucks and many are centered around the unlimited options for shopping. I had seen most of the important tourist sights and my options of cheap fun were starting to run low. A fellow traveler at my hostel had just returned from the city of Busan and was raving about how much fun he had down there. He talked about the warmer weather, variety of atmospheres and overall good feeling of the place. His stories were enough to convince me that taking a short trip down to the southern tip of Korea sounded like a pretty good idea. A round-trip express train ticket only available to tourists could zip me down there in a few hours for only about $60. This opportunity seemed too good to pass up, so I bought a ticket after dinner and took off towards Busan the following morning. About 3 hours later, I stepped out of the train station and had my first look at Busan. It was warm! Well, kind of. It was a hell of a lot warmer than Seoul, but still chilly for my tropical tastes. I stripped down to a single jacket an took off my beanie and gloves. This type of cold was manageable. The city of Busan is the second largest metropolitan area in Korea and is divided into numerous sections divided by small mountainous outcroppings. The city sprung up around the most popular port on the peninsula. The harbor town expanded and now houses millions of Koreans. The place that I chose as my destination was the beach hang-out of Haeundae. During the summer, thousands upon thousands of sun searching tourists flock to the sandy shores of Haeundae. The sand becomes an overcrowded medley of red, yellow and blue umbrellas that cover every inch of the beach. In pictures that I saw, the beach is so crowded that it appears there isn’t even space to walk between the tightly packed blocks of umbrellas. It is the hot-spot for Korean summer tourists and they brave the flood of beachgoers to secure there tiny corner of sunshine on the jumbled sand. During the winter time the crowds have dispersed and Haeundae is a peaceful waterside locale to enjoy the beautiful ocean and fantastic views. The hostel that I chose was perfectly located at the center of town, directly across from the main beach. We were on the 8th floor with an unbelievable panorama of the oceanside. Mr. Egg hostel is situated in a penthouse corner condo in a high rise with spacious windows. Not a shabby spot for $20 a night. The hostel also had one of the largest and most comfortable common rooms that I have ever seen. The huge room was perfect for lounging around and meeting the other guests. The hostel was full and I quickly made a big group of friends, most of whom were from my home near Los Angeles. I buddied up with these guys and spent the next couple of days partying with them. We walked around a forested peninsula that stretched out towards the sea and took in the crisp sea air and breathtaking ocean sights. After exploring the surrounding area, we slurped some spicy Korean soup and then scoped out the local bar scene. The area was littered with bars and clubs, but it was a Tuesday night in winter and the places were empty. We decided to pick up some drinks at a convenience store and head back to the hostel. On this first night in Busan, I really learned how to drink Korean style. Unrelenting pace and continuous flow of Soju and beer. Soju is the Korean liquor that is only about 20% alcohol and tastes kind of like a weak vodka. It only costs about $1 per bottle and goes down pretty easy. I learned several Korean drinking games and pounded shot after shot of the clear substance until the bottles were empty and we crept off to bed.The next morning, we woke up slowly and had free eggs compliments of Mr. Egg’s hospitality. I then followed some of the other guys and we took a trip to see a temple on a mountain. It was a long subway ri

For Christmas my host mother sent me home with four muumuus and two matching shirts. Merry Christmas!

50+ Peace Corps Volunteers Teach AIDS Awareness in South Africa

50+ couple Tom and Brooke Nagle work with an NGO in South Africa to organize educational programs for AIDS orphans and people living with HIV and AIDS. Learn more about Peace Corps Volunteers working to combat the HIV/AIDS pandemic at www.peacecorps.gov From: peacecorps Views: 1512 1 ratings Time: 01:43 More in Nonprofits & Activism

When I see little black bugs crawling all over the waterseal toilet, I freak out.

I often amuse my host family by freaking out over thevarious insects that like to invade my space (or my chocolate). You would think that after being here forover a year I would be used to them by now. Not quite. But I am well equippedwith a can of Raid to go after the little buggers.

Behold the toiletWhen I see my fellow PCVs all together in the same place, Ifreak out.

M77’s Mid Service Training was held at the eco-friendlyVillage Hotel. I slept on a water bedunder a mosquito net, housed in a thatched-roof bungalow. Volunteers from all over the Caroline Islands came back to rainy Pohnpei to reflect onthe first year of service and prepare for the next. Our training encompassed a variety ofsubjects, including sexual assault and intervention, communication, andcontent-based teaching. More importantthan the training though, was the time in which we all bonded over our crazy experiencesnavigating through Micronesian and Palauan culture. I am honored to serve with this incrediblegroup of people.

Coming in after the midnight flightWhen I watch my students flawlessly perform their skits, Ifreak out.

This quarter has kept me and my students very busy. My freshmen practiced subject-verb agreement,learned vocabulary words, read Micronesian legends, wrote about personalmemories in their journals, and created and executed skits based on both topicsI gave them and topics of their own choosing. I was stunned at how well my students did in acting out their completelyEnglish, completely memorized skits. Mygoal was to give these students confidence in their ability to communicate inEnglish, and I think together we accomplished this.

My juniors embarked on reading adventures with Island of the Blue Dolphins, Call It Courage, and The Pearl. Thanks so much again to my family and friendswho sent me copies – they were much appreciated and fully used. They also learned vocabulary words, wroteessays about different prompts, journaled about future dreams, and faced off inengaging debates.

Some of my freshmen girlsWhen I think about going back to the states in less than aweek, I freak out.

Not in a bad way, mind you. My time in Pohnpei, especially at my site, has been absolutely wonderful(if you can’t tell from my previous entries, hehe). I can only hope that I’ve given a littlesomething in return for all that’s been given to me. However, I know that without the support ofeveryone back home I would not have been successful here. I can’t wait to see you all (especially mynewest family member) but don’t freak out if I start acting a bit strange!

Season’s Greetings from Pohnpei

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