Forgive me for being sappy, but...

BY: KAITLIN IN AUSTRALIA

Let’s recap my Australian experience thus far:

I’m seeing things I didn’t think were possible. I’m pushing my body and my mind past every former exertion and inhibition. And as my program in Australia winds down, I’m finding it harder and harder to say goodbye to this place.

A mere two weeks remain until I’ve got to say my final adieu, and I’m determined to make the most of it. More and more, I’m learning I’ve got to make the smallest things holy. I’ve got to consecrate the small things that make up a whole life, the unsung moments that make life worth living and remembering:

Markets with rows upon rows of fresh, fresh fruit.

A tip of a hat from a genial and soft-spoken farmer.


A truly ridiculous amount of cookie dough, made and eaten.

A particularly transcendent sunrise.

A peaceful boat ride into the misty mangroves of Australia.

These last two photographs are from when we went camping in the Daintree, a sleepy place where the rain is constant and the air is thick with its warm humidity. It’s advertised as the place where the rainforest meets the Great Barrier Reef, and it is a place of misty, unreal beauty.

To see the thick greenery come right up against the sandy shores? There are some times when all I really want to do is give Mother Nature a hug and explain to her how totally awesome she is. (Happy Earth Day on this past Wednesday, girl!)

Upon our return to the field station, we’ve been inundated with exams and fieldwork. I’m doing directed research on vines, more specifically on how invasive species of vines might prove to be more drought-tolerant than endemic species. I’m an ecology nerd admittedly, so I’ll understand if none of you come clamoring to read my final paper.

Regardless, it’s been a lot of work in the last couple of days, and it will be a long stretch of work ahead of me. It’ll be easy to get caught in trivialities and stress, but if I’ve learned anything from this whole experience, I’ll remember the good things—the golden memories that reach out and hold me in a friend's embrace.

All my love,
Kaitlin

Next time: I'm finally going snorkeling in Australia's finest treasure, the Great Barrier Reef.

My Village Stays

BY: AURORA FROM SENEGAL

Hello all! I would just like to offer my apologies for leaving Kaitlin alone on this blog. But she's doing a great job, and I believe she keeps all of our readers very entertained. But seeing as I have found a nice little café with WiFi (!!)- pronounced wee-fee here- I will use this time to give you all a flash update on my village stays.


Kedougou:

My group traveled 20 hellish hours on a bumpy road to reach Kedougou, a region in southeast Senegal. We got 3 flat tires on the way there, and 3 flat tires on the way back. Apparently, luck was not on our side. Anyways, this is the poorest regions of Senegal, as well as the hottest. There I stayed in a village called Boundi Kodi with people of the Peul Bande ethnic group. I speak no Peul, they spoke no French or Wolof- needless to say I couldn't communicate. I stayed with the village chief, Mamadou Diallo, and his 4 wives, I didn't get all of their names. There, my days consisted of eating breakfast, helping shell peanuts, eating lunch (Maffé- rice with peanut sauce), pounding millet,taking a nap, getting my hair braided, eating dinner by the moonlight (no electricity), having a dance party with the children, and sleeping at 4am (when the breeze kicks in) because I couldn't stand the heat. Although it was about 104 degrees everyday, I was more overwhelmed with the level of interest in my person. After the village stay, we enjoyed the sites of Kedougou, including an amazing waterfall and a village upon a mountain.

Keur Sedaro:

For 3 days my name was Oumi Mbaye. I stayed in the Wolof village of Keur Sedaro with my mother Djoro Diouf, and father Magurom Mbaye. They were lovely, hysterical people. There I helped with the cooking, carried babies on my back, and helped fetch the water from the water pump. My family had a dog named Vivian, like the president's wife- they hate the president. This was a constant joke they made: "Oh look it's Wade's wife!" as they pointed at the poor flea-ridden mutt. These jokes were all in Wolof, a language that I have gotten used to, but by no means am I fluent; I also had trouble with communication. There, I functioned as America's cultural encyclopedia. I was asked if there was coffee, tomatoes, carrots, dogs, cows, donkeys, and finally black people in America. I also had to explain what being Latin American was. People just thought that one of my parents was black. They were very (I'm fighting the urge to use très) confused when I explained that both of my parents looked like me. "Oh, they are another type of people," they concluded. Multicultural experiences.

I will also give a brief Wolof lesson (just for you Apolline)

Jaay fondé- (literally means "to see millet") also, a big derrière.
ex. Wow, you have a jaay fondé.

Waaw - yes; it will be hard to not use this in the states.

deedet -no; very cute way to avoid people

Mangi lekk -I eat

sopp na - I like

sur na - I am full

Amuma xaalis - I don't have money

Am naa jeker/far - I have a husband/boyfried; used often

Duma chinois - I am not Chinese; we have a Korean friend here

Jerejef - thank you


Ci (chi) digga-digga - really; can be sarcastic if used correctly

Ba beneen yoon - until next time

With that said, ba beneen yoon

The World My Wilderness...

BY: KAITLIN IN AUSTRALIA

We’re a wholesome bunch here: We have hearty breakfasts of eggs and toast. We hydrate copiously with ice-cool water. We go through crates of apples and buckets of peanut butter like nobody's business. We get at least eight hours of sleep a night. And as you might be able to tell from past posts of mine, we love a good hike.

Someone once told me that hiking was basically consisted of three things: climbing uphill for hours, taking pictures at the top, and then walking back down. Truth be told, that’s a fairly accurate depiction of what can happen, but it hardly describes the incredible swooshing rush you get at the top of a mountain and the intense satisfaction you find at the bottom.

As I write this, we’re all groaning a bit; we’ve just hiked the highest part of Lambs Head (also known as Kahlpahlim Rock), and we all ache. It was a full day walk, and we hiked for seven straight hours. Our sore calf and butt muscles curse us with every step, but reader, it was so worth it!

The day started in darkness, as we had to leave the field station at six o’clock. When you leave the field station at six o’clock, that means you have to wake up even earlier to make your eggs and toast, in addition to packing a lunch for later.

Along with fruit and a turkey sandwich, I brought a ridiculous amount of gorp (good ole raisins and peanuts) to tide me over. Over the course of the hike, I probably ate my weight in gorp.

Bleary-eyed and stumbling, we climbed into the vans that would take us to Lambs Head. Naturally, we immediately fell asleep, lulled by the gentle rocking of those valiant and decrepit vans.

We all collectively woke up when the vans hit dirt road, jiggling us across a mountainous landscape. Soon enough, we were standing around at the start of the trail, adjusting pack straps and double-checking supplies of water (3 liters necessary, at the very least).

And then the hike began!

There’s something so meditative about hiking: it’s like the very act purifies your thoughts. Away with the small and large sins of yesterday, away with the plaguing guilt over tasks done and undone. It’s just you and the mountain.

Even though I was hiking with a small group of six, it was still easy to isolate myself mentally. The person in front of me? Just a pair of legs and a torso moving ahead.

I have a bad tendency of looking down when I’m hiking—mainly because I need to be careful with my footing. (My clumsiness should be nothing new.) Usually, I stare at the ground looking for any obstacles, like random logs or thorny shrubs. This time, though, I tried hard to look at my surroundings.

At the start of the hike, there was a multitude of grasses and lantana weeds, along with sparsely spaced eucalyptus trees. This progressed into more thickly situated deciduous trees with a multitude of feather palms, until you reached mossy boulders and huge trees. The hike up was steep and reminiscent of a Stairmaster exercise.


Like I said, we all ache now.

But we prevailed, and it was worth it. At the top, there were five lookouts, and they were all overwhelming in their span and beauty:


We had lunch at the fourth lookout, and there’s probably nothing better than a mustard, cheese, and turkey sandwich when you’re smack on the side of the mountain. We took a rest, which looks a little like this:

(That's my lovely friend, Laura, taking a well-deserved nap.)

We traveled on to the fifth lookout, where I took the requisite top-of-the-mountain picture:

And then we started on our way back down. The way down (much like the way up) was steep, and much of the time we were basically running down hills, meaning that we made it down in record time.

When we reached the foot of the mountain, we ransacked leftover supplies of gorp and water before lying back and looking up into the blue, blue sky.

Back safe and sound at the field station, we carry the remnants of the day—sunburn, soreness, and general tiredness. Another hike well-hiked, another wholly perfect day in Australia.

I’ve got a book of Walt Whitman here, and I’ll leave you with a stanza I’ve underlined in soft pencil:

This then is life,
Here is what has come to the surface after so many throes and convulsions

How curious! How real!
Underfoot the divine soil, overhead the sun.

All my love,
Kaitlin

Next time: We’re going camping in the Daintree, where the rainforest meets the Great Barrier Reef.

Our koalas don't take baths...

BY: KAITLIN IN AUSTRALIA

Contrary to popular belief, koalas are not everywhere in Australia. I only say this because I had the following classic conversation with my beloved sister a while go.

Chrissy: Do koala bears climb into your bathtub? That is so cool! Why don't you take pictures of cute koala bears?
Me: There are no koala bears in this area. So, no, koala bears do not climb into my bath tub.
Chrissy: Really? You should just let your windows open.
Me: But there are no koala bears in this area.
Chrissy: But don't you take baths?
Me: No, we take showers
Chrissy: So the koala bears take showers?

(Don’t worry. My sister is super smart and she was just, as the Aussies say, havin’ a go. Happy 27th birthday today, Chrissy!)

But last Friday, a merry group of us students headed down the eastern coast to a house on Magnetic Island for three wonderful days of hiking and swimming. And on one of those days, I finally saw and held my first koala at an animal sanctuary. Just so you know, koalas don't wash themselves; the smellier they are, the more attractive they are to the opposite sex.

(His name was Dexter; how awesome is that?!)

After a week of exams and writing papers, I was fully ready for a little rest and recreation, and Magnetic Island proved generous with both. Aside from holding Dexter at the koala sanctuary, we hiked an old track full of World War II forts. The views were amazing naturally, but I also felt some residual sadness for those brave old soldiers, who must have held these same tranquil blue waters with some amount of trepidation—nothing like us carefree sorts, goofing around on boulders and taking pictures like this:


No more sadness, readers! Because I have to say, the real highlight of my trip was on the second day, when we finally broke down and rented scooters.

I know! Kaitlin on a scooter! What are the chances?

Here’s a little proof for the non-believers:

(My schooter’s name was Geoffrey; how awesome is that?)

I feel like most of my blog entries deal with the verbally indescribable, and the experience of racing around a tiny, mountainous mountain on a scooter certainly falls under the same category. It was sublime. There’s just no other word.

The feeling of the sun on your back? The feeling of the racing down a curve at 55 kilometers per hour? Just sublime. You’ll just have to trust me on this.

As you can imagine, we were quite the sensation—six scooters rolling around at top speed. And we used those scooters as much as possible, motoring up and down that beautiful shoreline. We’d stop at particularly beautiful bays and jump into the salty waters, shrieking and laughing the whole way.

We eventually made our way back to the house, where we grilled up a meal for a king—Australian lamb burgers and sausages, eaten on a sandy picnic table.

That night, with the salt of the sea still on our skin and hair, we went for one last scooter ride. It was pitch dark, except for the light of our lone headlights. The island is pretty deserted since Australia’s moving into autumn, and tourists are scarce. Scooting in one arcing lineup, I felt like a part of some biker gang (albeit slightly less fierce because of our silly grins) as we motored recklessly past a moving landscape.

The next morning, as we left the island on a lumbering ferry back to the mainland, it was impossible to feel anything except gratitude—gratitude for a bounty of beautiful landscapes, gratitude for a raucous time spent among friends, gratitude for the wind against my face as we raced against the night.


Here’s to Dexter, Geoffrey, and the burning, bright brilliance of youth.

Next time: We're climbing the highest point of the Lambshead range! So ready yourself for pictures of a sweaty and beatific crew.

All my love,
Kaitlin

P.S. I've uploaded a bunch of pictures on my Facebook account—a smattering of my Australian experience—so definitely check those out!

Wade in the water...

BY: KAITLIN IN AUSTRALIA

The theme of this post will be water, since I spent most of the last few days in and around it.

Isn’t water something else? I’m a Pisces myself; my element is water. Maybe I’m not the strongest swimmer, but I love it anyways.

The weekend started with some of the most perfect swimming I’ve ever had—all at the Josephine Falls in Queensland, Australia. This nook would be easy to miss, with only a rather drab sign to announce it. You hike for a tiny bit, and then you hear it—ever stronger and stronger—the sublime noise of rushing water.

The sight was something else—a waterfall structured around boulders so huge and massive they must have been the playthings of the gods. And here’s the most glorious thing: a slanting rock with cool, clear water flowing over it. In other words, a natural water slide.

Of course, we will be young and foolish, and that means we are a little drunk with our own invincible recklessness. Right away, we began racing right down the face of the slippery rock. One of the guys’ secret for winning so consistently? Pulling down his shorts a little to expose his derriere. Priceless.


In other news, I guess you won’t be surprised to know I fell straight on my back at the top of the slide. My legs flew straight out from under me, and I hit my head on the face of that smooth, dark rock. The “slide” was covered with a filmy mucus that’s common on a lot of river stones, and combined with my natural clumsiness, I now have a rather largish lump on my head. But as the Aussies love to say, “No worries, mate!” I wasn’t too hurt, and it certainly didn’t stop me from sliding down three more times.

Tired out from racing, we all sat back on the huge rocks and sunbathed—the perfect finish to any day.

That night, we stayed at a hostel in Cairns, a little tourist trap of a city. It reminds me of Miami, a city of which I’ve never been a fan. Too many tacky bistros, too many bleached blondes, too many souvenir shops hocking the same wares. Typical tourist fare. Maybe I’ve spent too much time in the rainforest amongst a different sort of people, but regardless, the city was a little much for me to handle.

We awoke bright and early the next morning and boarded a bus to the Tully River. It was here we’d spend another epic day—whitewater rafting down the Tully.

I’ve only been whitewater rafting once before, and it was on Class II rapids. The Tully Tiver, in contrast, is full of Class III and Class IV rapids. In other words, the rapids have high waves, dangerous rocks, and difficult passages. Nothing to scoff at.

I was scared stiff, but our guide, Renee, was extremely calm and sweet. I think she was used to high-strung passengers because she hardly noticed my nervous laughter and chatter.

But soon enough, my high-pitched giggles (so well known to friends and family) turned into shrieks of sheer excitement. Whitewater rafting is another thing that I find impossible to describe in words. But I know people who’ve also whitewater rafted will know what I mean. There’s nothing quite as life-affirming as when you look over your shoulder and realize that you just came through a dangerous and steep rapid over jagged and angry-looking rocks. You think to yourself, “Did I really do that? And how soon can I do it again?”

First row: Cass, Terry (poor guy, he was the only stranger and male on our raft), Elyse, our awesome guide Renee, and Nichole

Second row: Laura and me

The only part of the trip that I was truly frightened was when rafters were allowed to swim directly through a rapid. I had no idea what I was in for. I thought it might be some calm waters that a current would carry me through. But it wasn’t.

These rapids were the real thing: fast-moving and dangerous. With only a life-jacket, I was buffeted about in the breaking waves. I kept breathing at the wrong time, and each time I opened my mouth, I swallowed more and more water. And I would see a huge wave, taller than me, coming right at me.

Panic abounded.

I thought I was going to die. I’m not even just saying that, I was scared. I even started waving my hands, hoping to God that someone would see my frantic gesturing. Along the way, I picked up this little beaut of a bruise on my knee:

(I guess the other theme of this post could have been "Just how clumsy is Kaitlin?")

But all of a sudden, the waters suddenly slowed, and with a huge amount of relief, I saw my fellow rafters, contentedly bobbing in more placid waters. My heart was pounding, and then the exhilaration of having survived a particularly fearsome danger set in.

After that particular thrill, the daylong rafting trip was almost over, and I was ready for the long bus ride back. These days, I’m using any excuse to catch some extra sleep, and in no time at all, lulled by the drone of the engine and wheels, I was out.

We got back to Cairns just in time for a late dinner of some of the best pizza I’ve ever had—crispy and cheesy and all the other wonderful things that pizza can be.

The long and tiring day ended with me and a good friend (Laura from the above photo) looking out from the Cairns marina—my first view from the opposite side of the Pacific Ocean.

I squinted my eyes all I could. I thought of shouting out. For a second, it really seemed like if I tried hard enough, maybe I could make you hear me all the way from sunny, beautiful Australia. But instead of yelling, I stayed quiet. I closed my eyes. I thought hard. And I wished you all the precious gift of water—so perilous and humbling, so cleansing and sweet.

All my love,
Kaitlin

Next time: I’ll be going to the Chillagoe Outback on a three-day camping excursion, exploring caves and jumping off rocks. Wish me luck!

Take a hike, my friend.

BY: KAITLIN IN AUSTRALIA

Today is my birthday! And I’m in Australia! Could things get any better?

Actually, if I can be honest, things could have been a little better. We were scheduled to go up to Lambs Head on an all-day hike, but we can’t because of (what else) a rainstorm. That’s okay, though, because seriously, let’s put things in perspective—I’m in Australia, and it’s beautiful. Even in all its rainy glory.

I know this will sound tired and prosaic, but I feel very lucky to be here. Most days I wake up at six o’clock in the morning (what a difference from mornings at Swarthmore), and I just lay there for a while, listening to the rain and the birds. By now, I can identify some of these birds, and it makes me feel a little more welcome in this big, vast rainforest.

And, reader, I feel happy. That’s pretty rare for any human being to achieve, and I’ve been feeling it a majority of the time here. Even in sessions of intense paper writing, it's hard not to enjoy the beautiful surroundings. I mean, really—how could anyone be stressed when face-to-face with a bullheaded and foolish brush turkey, intent on stealing your lunch?

Just look at that face. We call him Charles.

Anyways, I promised that last time I’d talk about what you need to bring in your pack for hiking in the rainforest, and I’m here to deliver. What you need in the rainforest isn’t too different from what you’d normally need, with a few exceptions:

• Rain jacket: You better make sure this is waterproof. None of your fancy frills, please. Bless you, inventors of Gore-tex. You’ve protected me from many a blustery burst of water, and I love you.

• Rain pants: Before this program, I’d never heard of rain pants. The ones I found look laughably bad on me. They’re size extra-small, but they still balloon out like goofy, horrible jodhpurs. However, they get the job done, which is basically to protect me from leeches and puddles.

• Swiss army knife: Whether you’re slicing open your apple or screwing back together your glasses (don’t laugh at me), I can’t stress the usefulness of this.

• Sunglasses: The Aussies call these sunnies, and when the sun breaks out, like it did last week, they're a necessity.
  

• Sunscreen lotion: You’ll get tan no matter what you do, but I try to avoid it anyways. Wear sunscreen, and avoid the burn. My farmer’s tan is fairly ridiculous by now, so I’m trying to remedy it.

• Bug spray: This is crucial. My legs are the sorriest sight because I neglected to put on some good old DEET two days in a row. There are these huge marsh flies that take a chunk out of your leg and leave you with big old welts. Somehow, I’ve been hit the worse, and of course, I’ve been getting the “It’s because you’ve got such sweet blood!” comments endlessly. Hardy har har.

• Binoculars: Perfect for sighting kookaburras and the other many birds of the rainforest. Also for looking straight-up gangsta.

• Camera: I love my new digital SLR camera, and it’s been getting some serious workouts. It’s huge and ungainly but completely worth the trouble of lugging it around. Where else am I going to get a shot like this?

• Rainboots: Aussies call these gumboots, and we’ve taken to calling them “g boots.” (I know, what sophisticated humor! What enlightened wit!) Anyhow, my “g boots” have protected me from cow pies, mud, and leeches. However, they have not protected me from my own clumsiness. During water testing for a local creek, I fell in, and my poor rainboots overflowed with mucky scumwater. Not pretty.

• Compression bandages: Snakes are everywhere here, and these will help you in case you get bitten. You wrap them around the snake bite area, in order to slow the flow of poison in your bloodstream. Fingers crossed, I won’t ever have to use them.

• Water: Your Nalgene bottle will become a lifeline. It’s easy to get dehydrated when you’re doing a lot and when it’s so hot. I have a friend here who reminds me to drink water because I forget sometimes and then wonder why I feel so dizzy. Plus, is there anything more delicious than ice-cold water?

• Bandana: Effective in mopping a sweaty brow or in tying back sweaty hair. Sweaty sweaty!

• Headlamps: At night, there are no lampposts to guide you back to your cabin. And the darkness can be overwhelming. On my first night here, I walked back alone, and even with the brightness of my headlamp, I felt so frightened. The blackness envelops you, and you imagine all sorts of things. It’s all I can do just to remember that there are no large predators in the Australian rainforest.

• Extra set of clothes: You're going to get dirty so bring extra of everything, especially socks. I have about three extra pairs of hiking socks in my pack at all times. I also keep a swimsuit in there, just in case we have time to stop and swim in a lake. You know how I love a good lake-swim!

• Nibblies: Aussie-speak for snacks, and completely necessary for an overeater such as myself. Preferred nibblies? PB & J, apples, pita and hummus, and chocolate.
  

And of course, don't forget your trusty hiking boots! Mine are actually my sister’s (sorry again, Chrisann!) so they’re comfortable and already broken in.

Apologies for how long this list turned out to be! I’ll understand if you merely skimmed it over. I’ve never realized how much I actually carry in my backpack. Those who’ve known me awhile know that I favor my huge faux leather bag that I just dump things in, but currently, my North Face pack has been, for all intents and purposes, glued to my back. It’s gross and dirty, but these days, so am I!
Also, I have to say this before I sign off: As much as I’m in love with my new surroundings, I miss my family and friends so much. I may be currently infatuated with Australia, but the only real place for me, the place I continue to crave in the midst of all this green, is home with all of you.

All my love,
Kaitlin

I’m no Kerouac, but…

BY: KAITLIN IN AUSTRALIA

Reader, is there anything better than a dusty, old van and the open road? I spent half the day on a van trundling along an Australian highway at a leisurely pace, and I can’t imagine anything better. I’ll try not to be too effusive or anything like that, but no guarantees! It was something perfect, and one of those times you keep forever, a snapshot of how good life can be.

How I love a good road trip! When I was young, I loved the feel of sticking my arm out the open window of a vehicle and snaking my fingers through the flowing air. (I guess I haven’t grown up very much after all has been said.)

The vans here, as I’ve mentioned, all have traces of serious wear—the kind of wear you’d expect from traveling on rocky and unpaved roads through a tropical rainforest. All the tires look wheezy and only about half full of air. With these vans, there’s just the slightest element of danger, but naturally, that’s part of the fun.

We had a geology field lecture today, by which I really mean that we traveled around the surrounding area of Queensland, Australia called the Atherton Tablelands. Although it looks and feels hilly, it’s actually part of a plateau formed long ago by the shifting of continental plates. And even longer ago, it was a deep sea basin, huge and vast and full of water.

Geologically exploring the Tablelands was a little like being a time traveler. To see all the remnants of things that happened in 420 million years ago—is it weird to say that I felt a twinge of nostalgia? I’d have liked to have been there in the prehistoric age and to have seen those oozing lava flows.

We stopped at a local quarry, which looked like a huge monolith of rock. But as soon as you touched it, small pebbles of volcanic rock fell away—your own mini avalanche. A couple of the guys tried scaling the 100 foot formation, but it was a lost cause.

Next, our trusty van took us to Mount Hypipamee. We spent some time hiking up to a huge gorge, which was caused by a violent gas explosion (insert fart joke here) millions of years ago. As I type this up, I’m cursing myself, wishing I had remembered to bring a camera because it was truly out of this world: a huge gaping hole in the earth 82 meters deep, with green murky water at the bottom.

But even if I had had the foresight to bring a camera, I know I wouldn’t be able to make you know the feeling, the sight, the thrill of peering over the ledge of a vertigo-inducing gorge.

I guess what I’m trying to say is this: It was the best geology lecture I’d ever had.

As we headed back, I couldn’t have been more tired. The day had been long, and these days, my head generally hits the pillow at around ten o’clock. Everyone else was the same, and we were all quiet except for the sound of our van, which, it must be said, tends to make a high-pitched whirring at all times.

So, in the light of a rare moon (remember, clear skies are a big deal here), we headed back to a place—so wondrous, so new—that I’ve learned to call home.

Next time: I'll show you the contents of my pack and all the essentials of hiking through a rainforest.

All my love,
Kaitlin

P.S. I’ve updated my Flickr account with eight or so pictures from around the field station. Here’s the address, again:

http://flickr.com/kaitlinkyi

A view from a path around our field station

Senegal, wat up?

BY: AURORA

SPAIN:

I took a 7.5 hour bus ride from Madrid to Barcelona on January 23rd. It was beautiful; I didn't know that Spain had such amazing terrain. But since it was an 8:30am ride, I quickly passed out, and didn't enjoy the scenery that much. I did make friends with a Swede who was also traveling to Barcelona. I suggested some good Latin music for her, and she told me of some "cool" Swedish bands, but she's into some crazy heavy metal I think, so I won't be checking that out anytime soon.

I thought I had prepared my trip well, by going onto GoogleMaps and searching the nearest metro to my hostel, Grafitti Hostel, but as things would have it, google lied. So I was lost in the middle of Barcelona; all the signs were in Catalan and I had a heavy duffle bag. Luckily, I went into a CyberCafe and got directions there. I hated Barcelona at that moment.

My hostel was as ratty a place as they come, but the staff was amazing. A beautiful Brazilian(?) man with dreadlocks graced the information desk at most hours, so that made up for the unfortunate bathroom (no joke). I did meet two very Italian twins there- they seriously use the expression "Mamma Mia!" I didn't know they're names until the last day, when we exchanged emails, so I just grunted at them most of the time. They were really too nice to me, since I persisted on butchering their language. They knew little English, and could understand some Spanish. But we hung out most of the time, and cooked together, which forever because one was always waiting for the other to do or finish something. I don't think they got the twin thing down very well. They also had a guy friend there, who always wanted to go to "A club... gaaaay," but didn't want us to go with him. We did go to a club together; I had my share of house music... for a lifetime.

Dylan and I explored the city, and went to a sweet club once (we failed at going to places most of the time too- my fault I believe). I recommend going to La Boqueria, and Park Guell. Much fun was had with Dylan's Barcelona friends; they're a crazy bunch and get eyed a lot by the locals. I believe Dylan needs to add more about our adventures.

I flew back into Paris for a couple of days. I had a great departing dinner with some Swat ladies and then had to take a 1am bus ride into the airport because I had a 6am flight. It was one of the worst flights ever- everyone smelled really bad, and I was really uncomfortable and hot, but the arrival was great because the pilot showed us all of the coast with a magnificent U turn.

SENEGAL:

It's been about a week that I've been here, and I love this place. The program is amazing and truly relaxed. Orientation was like camp, so Apolline says, we did a lot of scavenger huntesque things in the city and the surrounding area. Dakar is busy and sandy, and the people are friendly; at first they seem like they are too friendly, but really they are interested in the new toubabs (white people).

The dos- and don'ts of Senegal:

Don't look your elders in the eye.
Don't wear skirts that show your knees.
Don't be offended if women touch your breasts.
Don't call babies cute; it's bad luck.
Don't assume pedestrians come before cars.

Do watch a lot of TV. Mostly Mexican soap operas dubbed into Senegalese French. Super funny "Mais qu'est-ce que tu fais, Vicente?"
Do use as much Wolof as you can. They love it.
Do not buy street food.
Do shake everyones hand.
Do lock your door; they have a key for friggin' everything.
Do buy your own toilet paper; the Senegalese don't use it.

My Family:

I live with my 70 year old mom and dad, mid 20s sister, 21 year old niece, mid 20s cousin, 2 brothers, one's wife, and three of their kids. Plus 2 maids live with us, and we have a chauffeur that's mostly always there. My family is middle class, so they can afford bonnes (maids), and I have an amazing terrace. But most homes have bonnes, so I don't live in the lap of luxury here. My French is getting better, but I feel incompetent sometimes because my family can't understand me. My Wolof is atrocious, but everyone feigns glee when I try to speak it, but mostly they laugh at me.

Eating is a big deal. They feed me tons of food (Il faut bien manger!); and since I'm the only vegetarian they're ever met, they feed me lots of vegetables, which is good because most of the other kids are getting greasy rice and fish 24-7.

SIT:

My program is the chillest thing in the world. I do have to go to class everyday at 8:30am, but I'm usually really pumped to be there, and don't want to leave when classes are over. After my 8:30 class, which lasts until 10am, we have a 30 minute break. We lounge around in the courtyard, lay on the grass and talk, then are called back in. We have a 2 hour class, and then a 2.5 hour break for lunch. We do the same thing during this break, plus eating. After that we have another 1.5 hour class, which usually involves listening to music, dancing and singing. It's a harsh life.

The staff here is the funniest mixture of people. Senegal is big on kidding around and making fun of one another, so that's how we constantly interact. And the other students are also excited to be here, so it's a good atmosphere to be around. We're also comfortable with each other because we have to discuss diarrhea and our hygiene everyday.

The only thing I can complain about is the flipping cars. They love getting in my way and almost running me over every morning. Aside from that, I love most everything, but as everyone here tends to remind me, we're just in the honeymoon period.

I'm getting a pretty great tan, and I'm not even trying, and tomorrow we're of to the beach. Now that my internet is working, I'm sure to be posting a lot more, since I have so much leisure time.

I can smell the jealousy.

Raindrops keep falling on my head

BY: KAITLIN

Here's a fact for you, gleaned from all of three days in my new digs in Queensland, Australia. In the rainforest, it rains...a whole heck of a lot. And since I've arrived here, I've been met with an onslaught of it.

One thing I've never realized is how many different varieties of rain there are. There is the slight misting, which you don't notice until your shirt settles uncomfortably across your shoulders. There's the blinding rain, which is so heavy and oppressive you can barely see through the wall of it. And then there's the pitter-pattering rain, like an old friend--constant and familiar as you fall asleep.

The field station I'm studying at is nestled in the heart of the rainforest, and I'm not just saying that. We are smack dab in the middle of it, and that also means dealing with all kinds of creatures.

If ever I was squeamish about bugs or rodents, if ever I proved other than dauntless in the face of a spider, never again!

Three days have passed and already I've been bitten by four leeches, dealt with a centipede the size of a banana, and chased away three-inch spiders. Seriously...this whole place is teeming with all kinds of animals. I wake up to the sound of birds that sound like car alarms or like children screaming, and even in this short span of time, it's no longer starting to faze me.

One thing that did stop me in my tracks happened last night. Heading back on the forest path, with my little flashlight, I saw something move in the corner of my eye. I thought it was the comically bold brush turkey that hangs around the outdoor dining area, and I stopped to take a closer look.

Let me tell you, it wasn't my friend the brush turkey. Staring back at me, with the beady, shiny eyes of an unscared animal, was a bandicoot. In other words, a rodent-like creature bigger than most house cats. Yech!

But so far, I'm really liking it here. I'm getting tougher than I ever thought I could be, and I love that. If you had told me a week ago that I would unflinchingly be able to pull off a leech from my leg and crush it with the bottom of my shoe, I would have laughed in your face. And then laughed some more.

In my next post, I'll talk a little bit more about the program and about those crazy Aussies. (They really do love their short-shorts, I'll tell you that much.)

Until next time, have a g'day, mates!

All my love,
Kaitlin

P.S. I'll try uploading pictures from the rainforest as often as I may. Wireless in the rainforest is pretty difficult, as you can imagine, so I've only uploaded two from Australia so far. Here's the Web address for my Flickr account: http://flickr.com/kaitlinkyi

Siesta Time

BY: DYLAN

I was reminded by Macy that I've been slacking a little bit with my posts, so I guess it's time to get going.

I arrived in Barcelona on the 7th and so far it's been a lot of fun and a lot to take in. The first day I was here, I found out that everything closes in the middle of the day. Apparently people start work in the morning like the rest of the world and then just close shop for a break come about 2:00. They go home and nap or just chill out until about 5, then come back and finish the work day. Like I said, I figured this out the first day and ended up aimlessly wandering around my neighborhood, checking out the area. Then I got lost and wandered around some more. Finally I'd had enough and hailed down a cab. Luckily I knew my address and told the cab driver....his response: "Que? aqui es muy cerca de este direccion (What? that address is very close to here)," my thoughts: "yeah, that doesn't mean I know how to get there." I got home a little fed up with the whole siesta thing, I mean seriously, I haven't had a structred nap time since kindergarten, why should adults have one?

Then my housemates arrived and I learned to appreciate siesta. Do a little sightseeing in the day, party at night...EVERY night until about 6 or 7am. Siestas become essential and a much needed part of the day. However, by the end of the first week or so, it seemed as though the whole program had partied too much because everybody was sick with a cold or the flu or anything in between (no worries though, we'll all be back at it soon enough).

We've seen a lot of cool sites, churches, and other cool buildings. Parc Guell is a Gaudi designed park that sits on top of a mountain, overlooking the city and La Sagrada Familia is one of the coolest buildings I've ever seen (I guess it better be though since this is the 100th year of construction and they don't plan on finishing it until 2026). The beach also looks really nice and I can't wait to go to the beach in between classes. With all that said, one of the highlights of my time so far was an FC Barcelona game, soccer is a big deal here, so I'm loving that.

Stay tuned for Aurora's visit this weekend and my visit to Paris the following weekend.

¿Pero que dices, tio?

BY: AURORA

(The title must be read in a very thick Spanish accent or else it will not have the same effect)

On Wednesday January 14th I left a cozy, warm flat in Paris, and came to Madrid. I had to ride a bus to the Paris Beauvais Airport, and then wait about 3 hours to board the plane. This airport is the tiniest thing. Only 5 gates and all in the same room. Nobody knew what to speak to one another. People would ask ´´español?´´ ´´english?´´´or any of the other pertinent languages before engaging in deeper communication. The flight was a breeze. I sat next to a Chinese man-boy who lives in Southern France and is currently touring all of Europe. Of course I had to tell him that I know how to say ´hair´in Chinese. He didn´t seem to care much- I think my charm was simply lost in translation.

On my arrival, I was regretted by my hostess, Hermi, and her boyfriend, Victor. They are probably the cutest couple I´ve ever encountered. I can´t really do them justice; they are people you have to meet.

It is true that Spanish is my first language, but I wasn´t prepared for SPANISH Spanish. My confusion was made evident when noting that the Spanish version of Wheel of Fortune´s clues were even more of an enigma, and when I had no idea what I was being offered by a restaurant´s menu. I ordered the salad- clear in all languages.

I´ve become more used to the weird expressions used here, and my hosts have also begun to understand my ultra-Mexican lexicon.

I´ll relate what I have learned:
something is ´´mola´´ really cool
something is ´´ güay´´ also really cool (not gay)
someone is ´´maja´´ also really cool

Cojer does not mean the same thing that is does in Latin America. Funny misunderstandings. I thought that I was going to be violated if I went to the Metro.

For some reason, everyone is referred to as a tio or tia (uncle or aunt); instead of saying guy or girl.

And I don´t know if it´s my Hermi and Victor´s way of speaking or a general Spanish condition, but people speak in exaggerated terms here. A familiar expression is ´´ Que fuerte!´´ which means ´´How strong!´´ It´s used here after most sentences. Other expressions of extreme anguished used commonly ¨A la!´´ and ´´JJJJJOOOOO!´´

Example:
-A la, mira que esta lloviendo! Oh, look it´s raining.
- JJJJoooo, tio, pero que fuerte! Oh man, that´s too strong!

And Hermi seems to always think that impossible things seem to always be happening because her most common expression is ´´Oye, pero no me lo puedo creer.´´ or ´´Listen, I can´t even believe it.´´She uses it when we can´t find a parking spot, when she finds 3€ shoes and handbag in El Rastro, an awesome, open-air mega market that happens every Sunday.

I love these expressions as well as I love Madrid in general. I´ve been exploring the center of the city on my own for a couple of days now since my hosts both work (they are music teachers). When I am done cruising the old boulevards, like the Gran Via, and eating in parks (El Retiro = beauty) and plazas (Plaza Mayor is unreal) because I´m too cheap to eat in restaurants, I come back to their apartment and talk about Beyoncé, Madrid´s Big Brother (it´s a huge deal) and how stupid it is, or the Real Madrid (soccer is no joke here).

On a later post I´ll talk about more serious topics, like Barack Obama (he´s on the news 24-7), and what I´ve found Spanish people think about the US and it´s way of life-- well at least what my hosts and their family think.

Hasta luego!

Vistas de Costa Rica

BY: MACY

The beautiful road that I live on, just a little further down and off to the right. Not too shabby, methinks.

A great rainbow shot - right after a nice misting. 

This is a view over a beautiful valley only five minutes from my house, complete with an overhanging bridge that you can walk onto, if you're feeling especially adventurous.

The town of Santa Elena enveloped in mist - usual appearance early and late in the day. Hence, the "cloud" forest region :)

You can borrow some of my rainbows if you need some.

Mi casa - complete with one of our dogs (Goofy), 

to welcome you! My room is on the right side, in the back... you can sort of see my window from this view. We're the last house on a little lane off of the road I showed earlier - so cozy!

Sorry for the goofy format - still getting this all figured out. I'm hoping to post more later, but blogger didn't like it when I tried to post more than 5 at a time.

Mud on Arthur's Seat

In my little room with faded pink walls there's a window with ugly polka doted curtains and through this window I can see what people walking through the streets of Edinburgh can see most of the time, a big hill, or small mountain, known across the land as Arthur's Seat. Wikipedia and my guide book are both confused about the origin's of this name, so I'm not going to attempt to explain it. However, being the good tourist that I am I did climb the 251 m (823 feet) beast.
Now this may not seem like an incredible feat, and I've been told that it can be climbed in 30 min., but let's face it I don't exercise. Now add Scotland's powerful wind and some mud and you get the following epic story.

We were four at the bottom of this hill/mountain and the weather was beautiful. We started climbing. Kept climbing. Still more to go. The wind kept blowing, my hair turned into a mess and my fingers lost feeling. We finally got to the top and the view was indeed beautiful, through flying strands of hair. Took some pictures (which I'll try adding later once I get them), oohed and ahhed at the view some more and finally started making our way down.

I thought climbing was supposed to be the most difficult part, but not when what you're climbing is steep and muddy. I had a couple of narrow saves using Saturday Night Fever dance moves to help me balance but the inevitable happened. Aurora and Maria you called it. I finally fell. I didn't get a bruise, but I did get a lot of mud. Everywhere. And then I was able to walk back across town with mud.

And then a bike ran into me.

So far a very productive day and more to come from Edinburgh. Cheers.

Beer me that ... beer?

Hiya, as the scots say in there adorable but incomprehensible accents. I've been in Edinburgh for 4 days now, walking through the charming streets full of little shops and cafes, wind messing up any attempt at hair control. I've only seen one kilt so far, but there are tons of pubs. I think I'm going to need to start appreciating beer. Yesterday on my way to class I saw a truck - a full sized truck - filled with kegs, which they were dropping off at different pubs. I went to one that was converted from the school library into a pub, which just shows you the mentality of this place. But seriously a very cool place with old books still on the walls and lit up in red.

I live in a dorm, which is very deserted and kind of lame and I'm regretting not having lived in a flat. I have to walk about 30 min to class, a time spent deciding which cafe to go to afterwards. My goal by the end of this semester is to be able to walk out of a coffee shop and say cheers without feeling like a phony. Today I went to Elephant House: the birthplace of Harry Potter, a huge sign advertises at the front. Besides being the place Jk Rowling wrote one of my favorite books, this cafe is really cute, filled with elephant decorations and delicious hot chocolate and cookies.



I haven't done much yet besides go to classes, which are interesting but unfortunately every day. I'm taking English Literature, Scottish Literature and Scottish Ethnology (if anyone knows what this is, please let me know). I'm going to visit Edinburgh castle this weekend though, so look out for a post on that, and I've decided that I should also watch Braveheart, since all my professors have referred to it in class as a complete scottish stereotype - sounds fun.

Pouvez-vous dire: FIERCE?

POST FROM APOLLINE, MARIA, AND AURORA

We know that our EXTREME relaxation has taken it's toll on our posting, but we'll try to sum up our (almost) month in Paris.

Supermodels and fashion have been a large part of our experience because, well, bien sur, we are in Paris. Tyra Banks and most recently Heidi Klum have been our constant companions, and we've become acquainted with the upcoming "top" American models and designers. If you don't get what we have been doing while in Paris, then we think you need some serious fashion education with the help of America's Next Top Model (lovingly called ANTM) and Project Runway.

And no, it is not lame. Well, yes it is, but we desperately needed some way to get the feeling of "finals while in Paris" off of us. So we watched these shows, plus French versions of or just dubbed versions of MTV shows (Parental Control & Sweet Sixteen) and top music videos in order to de-stress.

The Louvre, Eiffel Tower, Notre-Dame, Centre Georges Pompidou have all been conquered, and the Père Lachaise cemetery , which is right near Maria's spankin' new apartment, will be soon. The only problem is that anytime we try to visit a monument or museum (like the cemetery which houses Jim Morrison's awesome remains) it turns out to be closed. We've looked like fools standing outside of every friggin' tourist center and trying to make out why no one else is there, but we laugh it off and go back to what's always open- the internet to get our "fierceness" fix.

But even though we haven't been the model tourists, we believe we understand Parisian living now. Example: Maria buys a baguette, gets very excited about others walking around with baguettes (she seriously scared a man once, when she pointed anxiously at his), and them proceeds to devour baguette with cheese. Ah, the beauty of Paris. We learned how to shop like a Parisians, and how to not be offended at the quite curt manners of salespersons.

And now we walk the streets of Paris confident we can find our way, or get lost with style (thanks to Tyra and Heidi). We might not be the chicest on the street, but we understand what chic is.

But not all fashion is glamorous, attractive and pleasant odored. Walking through the streets of Paris on the 31st of January- one of the few times we left the apt - our heads still buzzing with ANTM, and trying to find our ex-SAM Jordi in front of the Louvre (a feat too difficult for us) we run into a little bald man with huge designer glasses on his head and a scarf. Feeling unthreatened by what clearly appeared to be a gay man that was shorter then all of us - except maybe Maria, we stopped and listened to him repeatedly asking us if we knew where a certain youth hostel was. We didn't. Yet he kept asking and talking. So, that's how we found out, or at least he told us, that he was a makeup artist.

One thing led to another, and because of too much ANTM and hopes for a free makeup job, we ended up in a café with him. We were très chic sitting with this an of fashion, when little by little our first good impressions of him evolve into disgust. Suddenly the patchyness of his bald head became very apparent as well as the dirt all over his hands and that horrible smell coming from rotten green teeth.
Excitement all gone, fear took its place and we all started shifting in our seats wishing that we had told him that we were busy meeting a friend rather than follow him into that damned café. He kept talking and talking in an incomprehensible accent that seemed to come from nowhere - not French as he claimed - a new cloud of bad breath reaching us with each sentence, and then when are eyes were wandering to clocks and cell phones he started making his moves on Aro. He made the classic "call-me" signal at her while the rest were distracted with writing down email addresses, which he had insisted on. We felt the agony would soon be over, but he continued to brag and brag about all the people he had met in the biz, including some guy name Georges Collony-- his attempt to talk about the beautiful George Clooney. We finally escaped his grasp, when his appointment with some other poor soul approached. This was the one time that the French custom of the double-kissed goodbyes have been thoroughly hated. With no particular place to go, we frantically headed towards the opposite direction this man took. But this was not the last of creepy men that night.

As previously stated, it was the 31st and we planned to welcome the new year with Jordi and his lovely family at the Eiffel Tower. After some confusion, we finally met up with Jordi and headed over to the tower.
It was amazing. The place was packed, full of people looking up at the blue tower with champagne in hand. The cold wasn't even felt because of the amount of people there.

When midnight was finally here, the fireworks went off. They were a bit weak, and not at all compared to the fierceness we had expected from Paris. But at this very moment, a man about 5 feet in front of us proposed matrimony to his girlfriend. Apolline felt it was contrived; while the rest celebrated for the couple. She said yes, of course, and then they began to make-out (like you do in Paris--PDA is no joke) and he also began to grope her butt, which was very uncomfortable for us all.
After this we decided to take a tour around the place. Luckily we had two strong men with us because apparently New Year's is the time to get into girls' faces and scream "Bonne Année" in a flirty/scary/hysterical way. We were stopped many times, asked to give kisses, after our refusals we were reprimanded because, apparently, in Paris "c'est normal!" We were asked if we were Brazilian, Russian, Italian, etc- and once our nationalities were made evident by our "I don't understand you" we were asked about Obama and 50 Cent, our national heroes. But luckily things didn't get out of hand, thanks to Apolline's "crazy eyes" which she was obliged to give to several gangs of thuggish looking 15 year olds begging for our phone numbers.

After this exhausting and eventful day, of course we needed to recuperate with more fierce, fictional drama. We turned to the people who have never failed us.

And now, Apolline is gone to Scotland. We wait for a post from just her. And Aurora and Maria spend day and night in Maria's ridiculously cute apartment in the 20th district of Paris. We will not talk about Maria's attempt to secure an affordable apartment in Paris because we have tried to erase that pain from our memories.

My-See from Costa Rica!

Hola everybody! (My-see is close to how my name is pronounced here).

Well I've officially been in Monteverde, Costa Rica for a full week now and I have to say, if heaven were a place on earth... it would be here. I have not stopped having fun since the moment I arrived and so far I've had no major disasters (which probably means I'm due for a big one).

Ok, so the basics... I'm living in a homestay with a great family in a neighborhood called Barrio Cementerio which is about a 20 t0 30 minute walk away from town and most other establishments. I have 3 sisters who live with me, another who has moved out, and two brothers who both have wives and children. Needless to say, my family is huge. My mom's name is Idaly and she speaks basically no English, as is the case for my sisters Jayme (19) and Amanda (14), though Kelly (10) is pretty fluent. The girls and I first bonded over music (and chocolate that I brought for them... we now share a love of kit-kats), primarily Shakira, 50 cent, Korn (? I know, right?), and Eminem - all the kids here love American music, though I did score a few "legit"points with Amanda when I knew all the words to some Latin songs on the TV (thanks Arizzle!). My house is incredibly fun and the girls are wildly entertaining... there's never less than 10 people crowded into our little space, not counting babies!  

I'm currently attending a school about a 30 minutes walk from my house called CPI where I'm taking 5.5 hours of Spanish a day, one-on-one, with teachers who don't speak English. I sure as hell better know my stuff when I get back. I'll take classes at CPI for four weeks and then in February I start teaching at the Cloud Forest School about 20 minutes (and straight uphill) from my house. I'll be working with the special education teachers for three months - met both of them and they're very nice. Most all the teachers at the school are young and fresh out of college, so everyone's super enthusiastic. I'll also be working with about 10 other interns who'll be helping and teaching in other classrooms at the school, though they've started already.

The weather here is absurdly great - it's currently 75, sunny, and dry as a bone. This is a mountain in the cloud forest region, which literally means we're in the clouds... so while it does rain here, most of the moisture you'll encounter is just water droplets sort of suspended in the air. I've actually walked through clouds. Because Monteverde is a mountain, everything's also straight up hill... or rather, straight up the mountain. I figure I walk about 4 to 5 miles a day which is great for exercise, not so great for smelling nice. The food here is also amazing - I've been eating mango and pineapple and plaintains and guava like it's my job! We usually eat gallo pinto for breakfast (and pretty much every meal) which is simply rice and black beans together. Last night, I helped my mom make tortillas and she didn't even mind when mine were hideously misshapen... though Kelly refused to eat them this morning, ha!

Everyone here gets up really early, usually before 6 and the radio comes on at 6:15 whether you're awake or not. I'm up by 6 to get to my class by 8 and usually in bed by 11... I've spent every night this week studying Spanish for like 5 hours after class. It's like Swat on steroids, but it's pretty amazing to study only one subject so intensely and be able to use what you learned in class at the dinner table later in the day. Pretty cool stuff.

Some of you may have heard about the massive earthquakes affecting many parts of Central and South America - while some parts of Costa Rica were really devastated, this region is fine, even though we are close to Volcan Poas. One little story about that before I bid you adios... so in the afternoons, I have a "conversation class" with this great Tico (native costa rican) named Carlos, which means we just chill in this little room for an hour and a half and speak only Spanish. So on Thursday at around 1:30 we were chattin' it up (probably about love or life or something crazy deep like that cuz that's what we usually wind up talking about) when all of the sudden the room started to tremble. I must have made a ridiculous face like, "What the hell is happening?!" because Carlos immediately said, "Es ok, es ok... es a, how you say... poquito air-th quack."

Love this place.

ps - I'll be posting pictures, just as soon as I find out how to upload them, ha. Also ladies, get your shit together and update us on your adventures!

As they say here... Pura Vida!