An afternoon in Paris

It had been 9 years since I visited Paris. Arriving 4 days after the initial Charlie Hebdo incident, the city was a bit quieter than it had seemed to me in 2006.

My flight to India had a 12-hour stopover, or passage, in Paris. Since the city is so full of beautiful famous landmarks, I was able to see a lot of special places I'd seen in my first visit to Paris.

Starting my passage en Paris, I went to my favourite icon in all of Paris - Sacre Coeur.

My perception in 2006:

and in 2015:

On the stairs leading up to the church, I was greeted by a smiling man who asked if I was married and how many children I had. After I answered, he asked to see my hand and I could tell something was up, so I just told him I didn't have any euros. He laughed, at my implication that he would be asking for money, and proceeded to take out a string. He asked me to point and as I kept insisting I had no money, we got into a light conversation about travel and life while he braided a quick bracelet attached to my finger. Once it was finished, he said I should think of it as a token of friendliness and to remember my time in Paris while wearing it. The bracelet fell off a few days later in Mumbai.

After the bracelet encounter, I reached the top and sat on the windy stairs, recalling the time 9 years earlier when I had shared a bottle of wine and strummed a guitar on these exact same stairs, staring over the same view, with a few traveler friends who I met at a hostel. To my surprise, I also remembered a particular lookout point where you could see the tiny Eiffel Tower in the distance.

The passage continued through the streets of Paris, passing the Moulin Rouge, the Palais Garnier, and reaching Jardin des Tuileries. The most beautiful sunset was emerging.

My friend who lives in Paris said she hadn't seen a sunset like this, ever. People were stopping to look and take photos.

The walk finished at the Notre Dame Cathedral, where you can catch the RER train which goes directly back to Charles de Gaulle airport. I was back with enough time to have a cup of tea and catch my flight to Mumbai.

From a Woman's Perspective: A Message about Consent

In 2008, I was walking to my apartment at night and a man approached me to ask for directions. I pointed where to go and he grabbed my butt. I said "sorry" and walked away. "Sorry". I did nothing wrong and I apologized to a guy who grabbed my butt, because it is ingrained in me, and in others, to be polite. "Sorry".

Does it matter that I was wearing a short skirt that night? Does it matter that I didn't wear a skirt for a month after that?

Last week on a crowded subway in Beijing at rush hour, someone grabbed my butt. I swatted the hand away. I share these two stories as a person who has encountered unwanted advances. It happens.

With #notallmen all over Twitter, and in light of this recent expose, I wanted to share a bit of my life experience, as well as some musings on the word "no".

For some of us, saying "no" is hard. Even when someone is doing something unwanted, the word "no" might come to mind, but the politeness and preservation of the happy mood might lead us to say everything but "no".

For this reason, it's clear that "no" isn't always a word. In fact, in my life, I've only ever used the word "no" in a physical situation once, despite having been in multiple scenarios where the word "no" would have been useful.

"No" doesn't have to be said. It can be a look of the eye, a turn of the shoulder, a nudge of the hand, a turn of the head; no comes in many colours.

It could be "I don't know" or "I have a boy/girlfriend" or "I'll be late" or "I'm tired" or anything else that isn't a bright smiling yes. All of these are the actions of a person who doesn't want the advance. It could be "sorry". If someone doesn't want to kiss you, they probably don't want to do anything else.

There's a big difference between touching someone who wants it, and touching someone who doesn't.

Natural Risk-Takers

Sitting in the Porter lounge at Billy Bishop airport in Toronto, my flight to Boston cancelled and rescheduled 5 hours later, I pull up some readings for my online masters program. This week we are discussing how to teach listening:

"Those who are cautious need to be encouraged to take risks and to make inferences based upon the words they have managed to identify. Natural risk-takers need to be encouraged to check their guesses against new evidence as it comes in from the speaker. And all learners need to be shown that making guesses is not a sign of failure: it is a normal part of listening to a foreign language"

('The Changing Face of Listening', by John Field, English Teaching Professional 6 1998)

"Natural risk-takers". The idea that some of us are naturally predisposed to a life of risk. 

As a traveller, I often reflect on situations where I ought to have made different choices than I did. Should I have hopped in that car with the man who worked in the Underground in London? Should I have drank that mysterious cloudy alcohol in Turkey, given to me by a person whose name I didn't know? Should I have slept alone in all those airports? Should I have had that Chai tea with that stranger in Kuala Lumpur? Should I have pulled out my camera and taken that photo of the 'no photo' sign at the border? Should I have gotten on that bus without checking that it was the right one, not knowing it would drop me off in the dark next to a garbage dump at midnight? Should I have made those choices? Should I have taken those risks?

Should you really have trusted me with all your worldly belongings?

Maybe not. 

Maybe I shouldn't have gotten drunk with my roommate and spontaneously booked that one-way ticket to London back in 2006. Maybe I shouldn't have gone to Korea without knowing anything more than the voice of my boss. Maybe I shouldn't have held my camera in one hand while trying not to fall on that slippery border crossing above a rushing river. Maybe I shouldn't have had that lemon shake that tasted a bit funny. Maybe I shouldn't have sat on the stairs of that train carriage. 

Maybe I shouldn't have talked to that guy at that party. 

But, what if?

If I hadn't booked that ticket to London, I wouldn't have travelled those 22 countries in 4 months, and I wouldn't have learned that I could travel alone. If I hadn't gone to Korea, I wouldn't have spent 4 of the happiest years of my twenties making friendships and memories that will last my lifetime. If I hadn't filmed that border crossing, I wouldn't remember how unsafe that bridge actually was. If I hadn't had that lemon shake I wouldn't have gotten traveller's diarrhea... okay so that was one risk I shouldn't have taken, but it was so thirst-quenching! If I hadn't sat on the stairs of the train carriage I wouldn't have dropped my purse and leaped off the moving train (James Bond style) to get it, but I also wouldn't have learned that a train in Burma will stop for that one idiot traveller who jumped off.

If I hadn't talked to that guy at that party, I wouldn't be sitting in this airport lounge now, with him at my side, waiting to board this plane to Boston. 

In language learning, in travel, in life, we take risks every day. We have heard that getting in a car presents more risk than boarding a plane.

I'm not encouraging wannabe travellers to adopt a risk-taking attitude, or that natural risk-takers make better travellers. No, not at all. What I am saying is that our lives are made up of the sum of our experiences. And the experiences that we have are, sometimes, the direct result of the choices we make. Risk-taker or cautious, we are all making choices every day that shape the direction of our lives.

While we're getting deep, I'll also share that I suffer from overconfidence, a trait that can make or break a person, almost literally. Over the years, and throughout my travels, I have tried to keep my confidence in check, and to recognize when a particular situation merits more logical reflection than an impulsive choice. As I inch closer and closer to my thirtieth birthday, (pause for reaction), I am learning to balance my personal, educational, and professional life with my natural tendency to throw all my eggs in one basket, or (more literally) throw all my savings into a 6-month trip through South America. Trying to see the whole damn world while keeping my head on straight.

It is gonna take more than a few risks to get me there, or perhaps it will just take a few more cancelled flights.

Thoughts from Korea

Diary entry:

I've been in Korea for 4 days now, and I've hardly slept a wink. Jetlag seems to be hitting me pretty hard this time around, so I am trying my best to adjust to the time here. At first I was insomniac for 2 nights, barely sleeping more than an hour. But, it's getting better slowly, as I woke up at 4am yesterday and 5am today.

I arrived in Seoul and spent my first night with my friend Yoomi, sharing her one-room apartment near Seongsin Women's University in central Seoul. Yoomi and I originally met in Toronto in 2008, when she was a student in my Beginner level class. We have become really close over the years, so it was really nice to spend those first few hours back in Korea with her. She even had made vegetarian pizza from scratch for me when I arrive at her place. 

The following day we walked around Myeongdong together and did a little shopping. My luggage didn't arrive with me on my flight from Detroit, so I bought a few necessary items to survive until my bag would be delivered (which happened on Sunday night at 1:30am, but that's another story).

On the way to meet my friend for dinner, something amazing happened. I was transferring trains in the subway, and someone behind me said "Kerri?" It was surreal, to hear my name in such a crowded place. My first day in Seoul, and I ran into my good friend Hyojin! We couldn't believe the chance, in a city of 10 million...

That night I met up with my old friend and fellow Youtuber Stephen for Mexican food in Hongdae. He took me to his favourite bar, Thursday Party, and it was full of foreigners. I think there might be more foreigners in Seoul now than there were in 2012... but I don't know any numbers. It was fun to hang out there, but I tend to prefer the quieter more local feeling bar scene in Hongdae. 

The next day, after an insomniac night, my friend and former student EunJu called me and we met up for coffee and breakfast near Ewha University in Seoul. It was so great having a coffee bun from Paris Baguette (some things never change). EunJu is an ambitious traveller, visiting India 3 times by herself, so we had a really satisfying conversation about travel, happiness, and our memories.

That afternoon I took a bus to Changwon to visit an old friend and to pick up a guitar and a suitcase that I had left behind when I left Korea in 2012. Actually, when I left Korea then, I was certain I would return within a few months, so I left a lot of important things here in Korea. I left them with my Korean boyfriend at the time, who is now my ex, and who at the time of breaking up told me he would throw my belongings into the trash. Needless to say, it was very relieving to see my luggage and guitar as I had left them, in the hands of a good friend. A big part of the reason for my trip here now is to bring those things back with me, and in a way to close some chapters of my life here in Korea. 

After Changwon, I took a bus to my old stomping ground, Jinju! I met my former boss and my friend Seongmin for lunch. It was great to see my boss, as she is an amazing woman who helped make my time at Jinju Kyodae very rewarding. I also had a fun time catching up with Seongmin. Seeing both of them, I realized it's wonderful to see people that you love doing well in their lives. 

Now I am preparing to return to Seoul to visit with a few more friends before I fly to the Philippines for a week. I can't wait to sit on the beach and get back into scuba diving. Luckily, I'll have one more week in Korea before I return to Toronto at the end of the month. I know the beach will be great, but part of me will be counting down the days to Seoul again. 

From Jinju,

Kerri

I didn’t change anyone’s life

 

A year ago today, I was in LaPaz, Bolivia. The week before we were doing a homestay on a small island in Lake Titicaca, and the week before that we were walking up Machu Picchu. With so much travel behind me, I approached Bolivia with the intention of staying put for a while. I planned to volunteer to teach English somewhere to get my bearings, reorganize my backpack, and improve my Spanish. After extensive google searches for volunteer positions in Bolivia, I settled on a small children’s daycare called Luz del Mundo in Santa Cruz. 

When I arrived in Santa Cruz after my overnight bus from LaPaz, I hopped in a taxi and told the driver the address of my homestay. We flew through roundabouts in the downtown streets until we turned and I began to see tall gates surrounding buildings. It took me a minute to realize that those gates were around houses, and that we had entered a residential area. When the taxi stopped, I saw an 8-foot fence surrounding the house I would be living in. The gate was locked, and I didn’t have a key. Within a moment of my arrival, a short man walked up to me on the sidewalk and asked “Kerri?” He handed me two keys on a Munich key chain. I unlocked the padlock on the gate and let myself in. Not knowing where to go, and realizing no one was home, I walked to the back of the house where there was an open court area. I sat and read about Santa Cruz in my guidebook until the owner of the house came home. “Kerri? Porque… why are you here? Your room is there with your name on it,” she said, pointing at a brown door across the court with a little white sign on it. I dropped off my bags into my little brown room, and even arranged a few items on the bookshelves. It felt like I was decorating.

My first day on the job, I woke up early to take a bus with Katharina, a German anthropology student living and working in Santa Cruz. She smelled of chlorine, and offering me a pamphlet, invited me to swim with her in the mornings. At the side of the road, she hailed a small white bus and told me “You can take the 21, the 65, and the 120 from here, but I think the 21 is the fastest.” She paid the 15 cent fare for both of us and we found two seats at the back of the bus. Everyone watched as we climbed to the back of the bus. “They stare, so I just stare back,” she explained, “there aren’t many people who look like you or me here.” She pulled out a bag with two buns inside and told me these were her favourite local food. “It’s cuñapé, like a heavenly cheese bread that everyone seems to eat here even though no one gets fat”. Little did I know I’d become addicted to cuñapé, not only because it was delicious, but also because it was one of few things I learned how to order in the bakery.

  
After about 45 minutes through the city streets, trying to remember all of the information Katharina was offering me while also trying to memorize landmarks to make sure I could do the journey on my own, she motioned to get off soon. “You can tell it’s coming because the streets get muddy.” I looked down and noticed the dirt street was splattered with muddy puddles, despite the dry sunny weather.

“They have a very poor sewage system here, and people just leave their garbage everywhere, so there are some parts of the road that never dry up.” She yelled for the bus driver to let us off, and we were greeted by a gust of dusty wind and the smell of sewage. “What did you say to the bus driver just then?” I asked. “Pare por favor, which just means stop.”

We walked through a dusty setup of stalls with garbage on the ground, and everyone stared again. “I told you there aren’t many people like us around here.” She explained that the foundation is for underprivileged children of divorced parents. “Since these kids have poor parents, they live in the poor area, so our daycare is here so they can walk.” The street was a dirt road with puddles in the middle. As we approached Luz del Mundo, I heard the familiar sound of children laughing.

When we walked in, I was greeted by a smiling Gabriela, the founder of the daycare. After introducing myself, I was informed that the daycare is only open 4 days a week, so I wouldn’t be needed everyday. Contemplating what to do with my extra time, I sat at a table where some kids were cutting out animal shapes from cardboard. “Me llamos Kerri…” I let out, “cuál es tu nombre?” The reply was incomprehensible, so I asked her to repeat. For the next ten minutes, this little girl repeated her full name over and over, between sighs, and insisted I repeat it. Then, satisfied with my rendition of her name, she asked me why I didn’t understand Spanish.

Point taken. I joined a beginner Spanish course at Kolping in the afternoons, and began to study Spanish formally for the first time in my life. The school seemed like the YMCA, as there were kids in ballet costumes running around the first floor. My instructor was Gladys, and I studied with two others, a French student and a Japanese office worker. I felt happy to finally be nurturing the language fanatic in me.

 
That night, I received an email from Gabriela at Luz del Mundo telling me that they were doing construction, and that I wouldn’t need to come in the next day. Then another email the following night to tell me not to come in again because of a holiday. It was clear that I wouldn’t be needed as much as I thought, so my homestay host connected me with Casa de la Mujer, an organization supporting women’s equality in South America. I went there the next morning to offer my services as a volunteer with nonexistent Spanish, and remarkably they wanted me. My first job was to take un-catalogued books from the library and to put them into the computer system. I felt like I was actually working, which felt nice.

Within a week of arriving, I’d started Spanish classes, volunteered once at the daycare, and started volunteering at the organization for women. In my free time between volunteering and studying, I walked the downtown streets and visited the same coffee shop every afternoon. I’d order my café con leche with a croissant from the same waitress and sit at the same table to do my homework. I quickly made a routine for myself, and enjoyed the novelty of becoming a creature of habit.

During my second time volunteering at the daycare, I asked Gabriela about teaching. She said I could do whatever I wanted with the kids, but that they really liked art. There was nothing that looked scholarly about the place – it consisted of a swing set, some picnic benches, a washing up station, a dusty drum kit, some board games, and tables with little stools under them. No blackboard, no chalk, no books. I realized that I might do less teaching and more arts and crafts than I expected.

Since my Spanish was still not great, I ended up having the most fun with the kids when I gave them piggybacks. Two weeks of my life was spent piggybacking these kids from one end of the daycare to the other and back. And it was fine with me, because making those kids happy made me happy.

When I returned to Casa de la Mujer, I sat back at the computer where I finished cataloguing the books and I was left alone without another task. A woman walked by and saw me idle, and invited me to follow her. She let me into a recording studio where live radio was taking place. I sat quietly and listened to the voices around the corner. This became my new favourite place at the women’s organization. The young man who controlled the soundboard helped me with my homework and couldn’t believe I’d been to Asia. He played Bolivian rap for me on his phone. I played Arcade Fire for him. Although I wasn’t really working, I was still sharing my life with someone.

  
After spending six months travelling through South America, I can confidently say that nothing ever goes exactly as planned there. Bus schedules are rearranged without notice, and prices change day to day. A promised beautiful hostel with wi-fi turns out to be a cobwebbed house with chickens to wake you up at 5:00am.

  
Naturally, my time in Bolivia didn't go as I anticipated, either. I didn’t learn as much Spanish or teach as much English as I thought I would. I didn’t change anyone’s life, and I didn’t make any lasting friendships. But, none of that matters.

Life doesn’t tend to go as we plan it. In fact, if I asked myself where I would be in one year back when I was in Bolivia, I would have said I’d be in Korea now. But, life happens, things change, and now I’m writing this blog post from my apartment in Toronto, overlooking the city skyline. What would my one-year-ago self say to that? She’d probably smile, shrug her shoulders, and say there must be a reason for being in Toronto.

I made a few people smile in Santa Cruz, and that’s enough reason to do anything.

Thank you, Brenna, for helping me get my words back on the page.

First impressions of Mexico

When I take pictures or videos, people are sensitive to what I am doing, and either stop in their tracks or walk around me to avoid interrupting my picture.

Everything is delicious...

I love riding the subway even though it's hot and sweaty...

The downtown streets feel much more modern and chic than I expected...

There are lots of interesting neighbourhoods in which to walk around and get lost and found...

And there are also many pockets with cool arty streets...

The weather was fresh but not too hot...

And the new foods I tried were some of the best I've had in all my travels!

Have you been to Mexico?

What were your first impressions?

Are your first impressions often correct about places you visit?

my philosophy on love

i believe any man could be the right man for me, at any given moment in my life. i also believe that people come into our lives for a reason, be it to teach us something, to help us through something, or to just enjoy the great times together.

in all of my past relationships, something hasn't quite been in line to keep us in love for the long run. accordingly, i have spent a lot of time looking back on what i consider my most successful relationships. i examine which parts of the relationship were fully satisfying for me, and which parts could have been improved.

now at 27, i think i've finally got a theory that seems to hold water for me, as well my friends who i've explained it to.

love has three elements: mind love, heart love, and sex love: for lasting love, all three of these elements must be in line.

first, mind love. mind love is having stimulating conversations, and being able to make each other laugh. it also means being able to understand each other, and be patient when things aren't alright. mind love is the insatiable adoration that you have for your partner's brain. you want to hear that person's thoughts, and you enjoy the way the express themself. of course, your partner should also be as interested and crazy about the way you think, which gives you the energy for those amazing into the night conversations that just make life feel so worth it. think before sunrise.

next comes heart love. heart love is missing your partner, and the happiness and enjoyment that comes simply from being near that person. wanting to spend more time with them, having a hard time saying goodbye, and staring at your partner's photos are all signs of heart love. it's also that feeling inside you when you hear those three magic words. heart love can lead us to do silly things, like midnight drives in the rain, and it's probably what romeo and juliet were feeling when they snuck away together.

now we come to sex love. sex love shows itself after a long day out in the world, coming home and embracing as soon as the door is closed. sex love is the throw down, the i-need-you-now, the groceries-in-hand kisses. the passion, when you stare at your partner and just admire the little idiosyncrasies that make them yours. when the hedonists in you both find paradise in one another's arms, and never feel it is enough. sex love is exclusive, primal, and absolutely worth losing sleep over.

so what happens when one of these loves is out of line? the relationship is so close to perfect, but part of you is left a little unsatisfied.

if mind love is out of line, you might end up fighting where understanding is needed, or resenting the logic of your partner's decisions.

if heart love is out of line, someone might be too busy to make the "goodnight" call, or you might start wondering if your partner still has feelings for a former fling.

if sex love is out of line, your once passionate kisses could turn into pecks.

i realize this is a grand simplification of relationships, and that there will be many people who could disagree with my three concepts. However, when I look back on my own life, I see relationships which start out with two loves strong enough to overpower the missing link. As time goes on, though, the third missing love starts to show itself, and by the end of the relationship, it comes to overshadow the other two loves.

i like to think of them as the chakras of love, three glowing hot spots that everyone has in them.

it just takes the right person to light them all up.