A Quiet Life

And I'm back!

I didn't really go anywhere, see; I just lost the writing "itch" for awhile. Can we shrug that off to a creative, artistic temperament, even though I most definitely do not have said temperament? (I also have zero interest in doing the introspection required to find out my temperament, other than to say that I am one hundred percent lovely, always.)

My days have settled into a nice routine of sorts, and I'm feeling myself more accepting of "life on life's terms" in Japan and decidedly less worried about the future. I think that my worry-wartness seems to fade as we approach the end of our assignment. Right now, we are here through the end of the year, and it's just so nice to know. Well, know-ish, which I'll count as knowing. It's rather fantastic that we've been in Japan long enough that I wouldn't be devastated if we left early, but there's enough to keep me busy. There are less adventures and WTF-ery (which sometimes means less to write about). I have more moments in the calm pulse of a quiet life, which is, really, what I think I was missing. I know the return to my "normal" life -- with constant email, frantic works calls, and back-to-back meetings -- is on the horizon, and with that in mind, I can relax into my life here. Vacations and sabbaticals are better, I've found, when you know they have a time limit. At least for me. It's easier to sink in and not worry about the ability to one day get up.

I've joined a swanky gym by the big train station here. It has yoga and Pilates, spin classes and Megadanz (with a Z), which is like a hip-hop class where the instructor is super cool with her clothes and her hair and her nails that match her sneaker colors. I look at her and pretend, intently, that it's exactly what I look like, and I ignore, steadfastly, everything in the mirror that says otherwise. For the record, I do not look like a Japanese hip-hop godess. I look like a woman who grew up in small town Colorado and studied accounting in college, who is now trying, desperately, to find the beat. Yeesh.

I've made a couple friends at the gym, including the most darling obasan, a woman who is 68 with two children and three grandchildren and will try so, so, so hard to speak to me in English, even though she has every right to ask me to speak in Japanese (I live in her country, for pete's sake!). She is as small as a bird and wears pink legging to work out, and on my first day, she turned around in the middle of class to give me a thumbs up and "Good Job" call out. If I miss a class, she'll asks where I was; she asks me how my day is going and isn't it so hot outside? It's nice to be in, to have a place where you're wanted and missed. Amos calls it my social-club-minus-the-cigars, and he's absolutely right.

Back home, I had answers. I knew things. (Not everything, mind you. But some things.) When I first landed in Nagoya, I didn't know anything. I was the one always asking, and when I made inevitable mistake after mistake, I knew so little that I didn't know how to fix it. Now, I'm more knowing and less earnest. I know what makes me happy (gym, coffee, hiking, exploring new things), and what doesn't really work for me (arts and crafts, long lunches, television, anything too historical... sorry about that last one).  I've been feeling in-the-know lately: new grocery stores that let me buy meat big enough for my crockpot and new online stores that let me find the calcium magnesium that I have been lying to my doctor about taking. (Sorry, Dr. McCarty! Now I'm taking it for real!). I'll clarify that these aren't new stores to Nagoya; they are just new to me. I don't know everything about living in Japan. But I know some things.

Amos has been working mega-hours lately, and right now he's over in the US for two weeks for work. I'm solo'ing it up. It's not my favorite thing, and it's certainly easier to do if -- you know -- I had a job where I had to leave the house, but it's not bad. It's made me realize that I've slowly, painstakingly, created a life where I like my days. I get my endorphine and caffeine fix routinely, and that does wonders for my mood. I have a list of not-fun-but-needing-to-be-done projects that I'm working through: organizing photos and records, making home inventories, cleaning out closets and drawers. I, once again, have friends that are squarely in the "we're friends" category and not in the "we're becoming friends" category. I might get to say sayonara to some of them before they say it to me, and that, selfishly, feels pretty good.

My life is quieter here, with less pictures being taken of things I see and more taken with friends I'm seeing. Less shinkansen-ing and more jetensha-ing. It's a really nice life, and maybe a more sustanable and fulfilling one. I dunno. I'll think on it while I hit the Zumba class this afternoon.

Guest Posting!

Hey dudes and dudettes,

I'm guest posting over at Allegra Stein's blog today. She's an awesome relocation coach who helps people as they gather up their courage to move across the world (or chats with them when they have already moved across the world, and then face the inevitable WTF moments). I like her a lot, and I think you will too.

http://allegrastein.com/blog/2013/4/9/sarah-shean

Hmm, what else is going on around here? Well...


1.  My Japanese dryer takes 3 hours to dry a load of towels. Yeesh.


2.  Amos turns 30 today. We met on his 22nd birthday and surreptitiously made out in the backyard, next to the tennis flip cup table. BAM. We decided to class it all up and get married, but you can never run from your first kiss, right? Right. Ours was drunk. And happy.




(Did I just post #2 on the internet? Yes, yes I did.)

Image from a tumbler via Pintrest. 

Google Reverse Image search was no help -- if you know the source, please shoot me a message. Thanks!

Japan-niversary at Nabano No Sato

In my Niseko post, I offhandedly mentioned that, as of February 5th, Amos and I have been in Japan a year. I played it off all cool at the time, but on the actual day it was more like, "EWMAHGAWD, WE'VE BEEN IN JAPAN A YEAAAAAARRRRRRR!!!!!"

Then we got hot cocoa and toasted. That was the end of that.

It feels really big to have been here a year. At the same time, it feels completely regular and small. It's been a year, and every day that we're here, what was once strange and exotic becomes rote and routine. The heated toilet seats, the bikes, the fish market, the travel, the copious amounts of mayo, these are all baseline. We have our rhythms and face fewer puzzles than we first did. I have gotten used to understanding 35% of what is going on at any given moment. I sign documents and contracts I cannot read without blinking an eye. I no longer believe in matching clothing and now assume the more colors, the better.

In March, I went with a couple friends to see Nabano No Sato, a huge light exhibit just outside of the city. Amos and I went last year when we first arrived to Nagoya, and I didn't manage to blog about it. This year, for the love of all things holy, I swore I'd write about it.

Nabano No Sato (なばなの里) is a outdoor park that strings up thousands of Christmas lights all over the buildings, trees, ponds, and walkways. It's incredible. Since the Japanese don't believe in limiting Christmas things to December, the lights are up from November to March. Last year, I was awestruck by the number of lights and the intricacies of the displays. There was a a space-ship orb that floated up and down, a pond filled with lights that flashed and moved like waves, and a tree that would change lights to reflect changing seasons. There was a tunnel of little white lights shaped like flowers to enter the park, and another tunnel of little pink lights to leave. There were stalls that sold sake and beer and vending machines that disbursed hot cocoa and ice cream. This is also when I first learned that corn dogs in Japan are called America Dogs. (Blurg).

This year? I was impressed, but I wasn't blown away. It's amazing how 'normal' changes in a year. I am used to dramatic and detailed presentation. To foods and drinks available. To hundreds of thousands of Christmas lights in March. To the intricate social mores and the 'Japanese way.' To mayo in a burrito. To things that are so, so, so different from home.

It sounds silly to say, but I think it will be weird to no longer live here. We will move home and, just like that, we'll be able to be able to read all the signs. To understand things 100%. To say goodbye to cheap tuna and hello to cheap black beans; to bid adieu to purikuda booths and Lolita Goth clothing stores.

Maybe that's just it -- life is always, at its core, weird. It's just depends on how used to its weirdness you've become.

I will miss cell phone camera pics. Always appropriate in Japan. Always.

{I feel like I should apologize for the iPhone quality pics, but that would hint that I was going to one day photographs from an actual camera. HAHAHAHAHA. Nope.}

Adventures in Hokkaido | 北海道 ・札幌市・ ニセコ・ ひらふ

Now that it's almost the end of March, maybe I should catch you up a bit on my February? Yes and yes. Amos and I went skiing and sightseeing in Hokkaido (北海道), the northernmost island of Japan. Ever since we found out we were moving to Japan, Hokkaido has been on my "must do" list (otherwise known as the "things-repeatedly-and-obnoxiously-mentioned-to-Amos" list). The skiing is the best up there, and the island has only been owned by the country for about 200 years, so it feels much different than Honshu, the main island. And when I say it feels different, I mean that it feels Australian. Everyone there is from Oz (Aus?). It's full of adorable accents and vegimite, and they take your drink order before your dinner order, which was a decidedly nice change of pace.

We skied at the Hirafu Niseko (ひらふ・ニセコ) Resort. Japan is supposed to have world class skiing, and it wasn't hard to see how, on a bluebird day with great conditions, the resort would be a ton of fun. It's actually 4 resorts on one mountain, and you can resort-hop, if you will, above treeline. Easy to access backcountry, big powder bowls, open tree runs... it could be fantastic. We experienced it with rain (yup), fog, and high winds that shut down the top of the mountain for 2 of the 3 days we were there. Without the top lifts and without good snow, the resort feels a little small and boring. That said, the ski town itself was really fun, as evidenced by the number of pictures I took of bars, for goodness sake.

We toasted our one year in Japan-niversary with hot cocoa.

My new Japanese ski pants. すごい!

I would absolutely go to Niseko again if I was in Japan, or if I was hoping up from the South Pacific. However, if I was in North America, I'd head to Colorado and call it good. Or Whistler. Or Park City. I will say that Japanese skiing does have curry and onsens, though, in its favor. American and Canadian skiing just can't compare in that regard.

Our neighborhood ski in-n-out yurt bar

"schnappy" hour at said yurt bar.

The walls of this egg-shaped bar would change every five minutes. It was mesmerizing.

See!

A bar made (almost) completely of ice. 

We then headed to Sapporo (札幌市), the capitol of Hokkaido and most well known for their beer (for Amerika-jin) and their spectacular snow festival (for Nihon-jin). We were there for the opening of the Snow Festival, where the central promenade of Sapporo is loaded up with extra snow and the army builds up massive snow sculptures. This *may* be what your military does when you can only have a self-defense force. The snow building was impressive; We spent a couple days looking at all the art and eating miso ramen and the best seafood I've ever had in my life. I also drank lots of hot cocoa and went down an ice slide. Don't say I don't know how to party. I DO.

Sapporo Brewery

Ski helmets do wonderful things for your hair.

This woman played the theme from "Super Mario Brothers" while in a glass bubble.
While wearing gold sparkly high heals.
It might be the best thing I have ever seen while in Japan.

Children smoke elsewhere, please.

Butter Corn Miso Ramen.

Not Small. おいし そ です ね!

It was a lovely, lovely trip, and I'm so glad we went. If you are wanting to head up to Hokkaido -- which I completely recommend -- make sure to book early. Ski areas and hotels during the Snow Festival book up like woah. We booked a package through a local travel agency that included flights, hotels, and bus rides, and it made things so easy (and when I saw "we" booked it, I mean our friend Yumi booked it for us. Thanks Yumi! To say that we would have found our Japanese limiting if we tried it ourselves would be the understatement of the year.)

On Saying No to Grad School (and the unpredictability of expat life)

Last week my mother-in-law sent me a very nice email with the subject line "What's in the box?" Oh. Right. I didn't even realize that posting a Tiffany's box without showing you the goods inside was a disappointing tease. I've now attached incredibly awkward photos of my sternum to show you the necklace. Excuse the hair -- my new thing is natural "hippie" hair, which looks kind of terrible. I'm letting myself remain in denial of it for at least another week.

On one side there are some lily-esque flowers and on the other side it says "Go Women 2013," which was the slogan, with the go from Nagoya. Huh. But it's a nice necklace, and I've been wearing it way too much. I'm really into layering necklaces right now; I learned it from watching Sarah Palin, who layers necklaces like a BOSS. (This is the first and last thing I'd like to emulate from the former governor of Alaska.)

- - - 

It's been a week since the marathon, and in spite of my bling-ing necklace, the days have been... heavy. When I signed up for the race, it was a risk since our contract didn't extend all the way to March. I signed up anyway, high entrance fee be damned, because I needed to make plans, to live and to BE here. It's hard to do that when the are-you-going-to-be-here-or-not? question is, quietly, always present. 

The mutability of our assignment isn't a black and white issue, and it's not all terrible. While Amos' company has discretion on when to end our assignment, we have discretion on when we need to return home. It's a two way street, and the communication isn't as bad as it could be, given the difficult nature of international assignments, the inherent complications of large company budgets, and the relationship between employers and employees, especially when you have an international date line smack in-between. But it's hard, and sometimes I beat myself up on how I handle it. I wish I handled it better.

Last week, I was accepted to an International MBA program at the Nagoya University of Commerce and Business (NUCB for short). It's a fantastic school, taught in English, with a large and internationally diverse student body. I was impressed up-and-down by the faculty, the campus, the materials, the course schedule, the syllabi. It was only one year, running from April to April, 2013 to 2014, and I was absolutely thrilled to have gotten in.

I had to turn it down. 

Amos and I had to come to the conclusion that we probably wouldn't be here long enough for me to complete the program. Maybe we could have stretched it; Maybe Amos could have fought a bit to get us budget to stay those couple final months; Maybe this, maybe that... maybe, maybe, MAYBE. It seemed too big a risk. This was graduate school, not a marathon, with a graduate school tuition. MBA programs don't transfer like undergrad programs, and I didn't want to be almost done (or halfway, or a quarter-way) complete and need to either pull up roots and go home, or move into the dorms and wave goodbye to my husband as he headed back to Seattle. So I said no.

I am really, really sad about it.

I turned in an application of which I was quite proud. An application that, for the first time ever, completely and accurately captured who I am, what I know, and what I want to learn. I wrote about my journey as I figured out that accounting wasn't right for me. I wrote about the risk that I took as I jumped into digital marketing. I wrote about the bullies that I have encountered in the tech world and how important I think it is to be nice. Yup, I wrote that being nice was the most important value I've learned in my career, and, yup, I wrote that on an prestigious international MBA application. MBAs are many things, but I don't think being "nice" is a commonly associated trait.

During my interview, the most positive feedback I got was for that third essay. 

I've got a little bit of hurt, a little bit of pride, and a little bit more trust and self-acceptance of what I can bring to the table. I think that, sometimes, that's what you get for being honest and putting yourself out there. 

If I sit and am quiet, I don't think this program was perfect for me. I feel the limitations of my knowledge most acutely around technical topics: coding, photoshop, mobile and web analytics. When I was back in Seattle, I never once thought to myself, "I need to better understand Asian markets." Now, I think learning about Asian markets and Japanese business would be utterly fascinating, and I am fully confident I would never regret the time I took to understand different people and different perspectives. One day, I might really need that information.

But if I'm honest with myself, I think I need to learn other things first.

It's hard guys. I was so looking forward to school, to having something to do, to using my brain, to being busy enough to let go of the angst that seems to follow me around, no matter how long I live in Japan. We all have strengths and weaknesses, and being a trailing spouse is very, very difficult for me. It's a cush life. My passport is almost full with stamps from places like Nepal and Korea and the Philippines, and I should have no complaints. But if you ask Amos, woo-ee, I have complaints. Lots of them. It's tough for me to sit still. I'm really working on it, but it's not easy. I'm plagued with doubt and the desire to do something, but at the same time, I keep looking around and knowing that the right thing for me to do hasn't come around quite yet.

So I'm trying to sit and wait. Focus on the end goal, as they say. My end goal isn't to be working every day of my life. It's to have a life that is interesting, adventuresome, and where I learn things right and left. To that, I think I'm doing okay.

I just finished reading The End of Your Life Book Club by Will Schwalbe, and in it, he quotes passaged from books he and his mother read while she was dying of cancer. Most of the quotes, especially the good ones, were long. And heady. I found myself rereading them multiple times to suss out exactly what the author was saying. I realized that's a good thing, and that's something we don't often see these days. We have cute and pithy quotes, fashioned together in beautiful hand drawn text on a collaged floral background and uploaded to Pintrest. There's something lost in these short quotes. Sometimes the longer ones, the ones that are paragraphs and sections, they say more. I know -- it's ridiculous that I'm auguring about the length of quotes here -- but what I'm saying is that sometimes life is complicated. Sometimes it's not snippy, and it's more nuanced, and it takes a couple of reads. Sometimes the meaning will smack you on the back of the head hours or days or years after. That's what I'm hoping for Japan: that the reason why I'm here, the reason things haven't worked out as I wished they would have (from marathon times to grad school to good friends leaving way too early), that the reason becomes clear to me one day. Maybe it'll just take me a couple reads to figure it out.

The Nagoya Marathon [& my left knee's revolt.]

My alternative title: Woah, the Last Time I Posted Was January 29th and It's March 12th, And Shoot. However, I'm not into the blame game, and we all know that title isn't SEO optimized for shiz.

Where have I been? I'll let you in on a secret: the way to beat the late winter blues is to travel every day in February. Works like a charm, and I promise to catch you up soon on the fun times that were.

I'm back, and in my procrastination, I have made a wedding photo album (2 years late), applied to grad school (BAM), figured out that Amos and I should probably save for retirement (yeesh), and ran a marathon (owie).

I now cannot move my left knee and have laid on the couch long enough I feel compelled to blog. So: hello. Let's abruptly jump in, shall we? It's completely narcissistic and Sarah-focused, as alwaysssssSSSS, only this time, I'm including blurry iPhone pics. You're welcome.

MARATHON. I ran it. It was my second one; my first being in Chicago, circa 2008. That race was my first foray into long distance running, and while I had a blast and ran an okay time (4:30-ish), I've come a long way in the running department. Nagoya has a marathon that runs, literally, in front of my house, and I signed up on a I-have-nothing-going-on-in-my-life whim. There was also an element of woah-you-are-getting-to-be-a-chubby-little-housewife thrown in there. (We're all friends here; I'll speak 'ze truth. I have an inner chubster who is always dying to get out, and I spent my life trying to keep him in. Yeah, my inner chub'r is a man. What of it?)

I trained my little heart out, using Hal Higdon's intermediate program, which does two long runs back to back. I was feeling good; I was feeling fast; I was consistently beating my 9-min mile pace.

Then I spent the last month and a half of training skiing, traveling internationally, and contracting bronchitis. Oh, brother. I ran anyway because that is what you do when you are deeply masochistic. Also, that is what you do when the race cost $225 and you have some major guilt about that.

I man'd up, put on the cutest cleanest running outfit that I own, grabbed my iPod, and tied up my huh-these-shoes-are-kinda-old Brooks. I got to the start line and realized that I was not cute by Japanese Women Running Standards. I missed the memo on voluminous and curled hair, full blown make-up, and multicolored fanny-packs.* Regardless, I got swept up in the fun of being one of 20,000 women who are about to do something BIG. (Next time I know to either wear the Minnie Mouse costume, the bunny ears, or at least dress identical to my BFF.)

Noted.

Marathons here are counted in kilometers, which means there are 42.195km, which can be a long countdown compared to the 26.2 miles. I broke it up into 5km segments to try and keep some degree of sanity, and for the most part, it totally worked.

My first 5K was a bit slow, given the crowds, but totally manageable. The course was a very disappointing out and back, with the only perk being seeing the elite runners sprint by 10K in. So inspring. My little endorphine happy heart was so overwhelmed, I got tears in my eyes. I know; emotions are gross.

The next three 5K segments were right on pace, and the halfway point came fairly quickly. Right before I got there, my left knee decided to start talking, and by talking, I mean aching. I remember distinctly thinking, "This should not hurt like this for at least another hour. I may be screwed." What went through my mind at this point? I can't say it here, but it's a bad word, and it began with the letter F.**

By 18 miles in, my left knee had decided it had enough. It was done. I have no idea what happened: maybe it was my shoes (they were getting old), maybe it was the two 20 mile runs I did training (no knee pain on the first, noticeable on the second, and by the third time over twenty, the actual race, my knee was pissed). Maybe a marathon is a stupid distance to run, or I have genetically not-long-distance-lovin' knees. Moot point. I inz pain.

So much of the sad.
27-28 min. splits until the dreaded last 12K.
Goodbye sub-4:00.  I hate you, left knee. So much.

It was a very, very long last 12K. More like a shuffle... my times skyrocketed (see pathetic screenshot above). I knew I was royally cornholed when I stopped to walk and that hurt worse than running. I kept going, sadly cursing the fact I wasn't going to run sub-four hours, and more than that, my finishing was in jeopardy. I honestly don't know how I finished, and in spite of my disappointment over my time, I'm really PROUD my body made it. It wasn't the most painful experience of my life (a ruptured ovarian cyst gets that honor), but it was up there. And, no I have not given birth yet.

I crossed the finish line and immediately grabbed the handrails for support and slid/fell down into a crouched position. It was a super festive finish line, complete with dashing men in tuxedos who handed out Tiffany boxes and deeply bowed to each finisher. I stumbled through and mumbled something incoherent, and I really wish I could relive that moment because what are the chances another tuxedoed, Tiffany's bearing man is in my future? (Dang.) I also got a sweet t-shirt, a towel, half a banana, and a bottle of water. I can tell that I was out of it because I was really excited about the banana.

I found Amos pretty quickly, but this was Japan and I therefore had to go through the elaborate and needlessly long finish course to grab my bag and food, and - of course - he couldn't come back with me. The problem was I couldn't walk, so I ended up in a wheelchair with two really kind women pushing me around as we tried to find my husband. (The walk may have involved a ramp and a marathon runner the age of my mother who helped pull the wheelchair up said ramp with my pathetic half-her-age ass in it. I about died.) It took 40 minutes to finally arrive to Where The Men Are Allowed, then a long walk to the train station, then a cab from the station to our house because I was not so much capable of walking.

A hot bath, 4 Aleve, some Icy-Hot, and several beers later, I felt much better. Annoyingly, my muscles aren't sore at all, so I seemed to be in decent shape except for the bum knee. While in the race, I was convinced it would be My Last One Ever. Less than 48 hours later, I'm contemplating a third. I tell myself that I need one more to get a sub-4:00 time. Which only goes to show you, my friends, never doubt the power of delusion, masochism, and stubbornness. I got all three in spades.

This time, I will get new shoes, though. I'm not a totally dummy.

Also, because I'm always curious, my running playlist: Florence & The Machine, Macklemore, ZZ Ward, and Britney Spears. I'm a whole-album at a time marathon runner. You got good tunes? You let me know, and right now. I'm tapped out.

Also, Also: one of the food stations on the marathon had boxes of MUSHROOMS for runners to grab. Japan is weird.

*Confidential to British friends: Fanny Pack. HAHAHAHAHAHA.
** JLaw for life.

Under My Umbrella :: a Bridal Shower

I'm just going to come right out and say it: I think life celebrations are important. I think that making sure that those celebrations happen, even when you live thousands of miles away from family and friends, is really important.

All of this is to say that I recently threw a bridal shower for a dear friend who is getting married this March in her native England. It was my first bridal shower I've ever thrown, and as they aren't common in the UK, this was the first shower Vikki had ever attended. I'm not going to say it was the equivalent of a UN cultural exchange conference, but I'm not going to say it was far behind, either. 

I went with a slightly themed "Under my Umbrella" champagne and sweets shower, keeping the games to a not-too-cheesy groom/bride quiz and cheeky 'Wedding Advice' madlibs (because no one likes that 'make a wedding dress out of toilet paper' game. No one.) Amos and I stayed up late the night before fluffling tissue paper pom-poms and making balloon chains, which is a bit harder than DIY-ers on the internet would have you believe. In an effort to add some ambience to the cement balcony, I opened up umbrellas and set them outside our sliding doors, and I printed off photos of umbrella-holding couples from Pinterest to brighten up the walls... which lead me to realize my printer was out of ink, which lead to a frantic order from Amazon.jp, which lead to me trying to put ink in the printer while in my bath towel an hour before people were set to arrive and I realized I should just give. it. up. 

I made way too much food, bought way too much champagne; I somehow ended up with cream cheese in my eyelashes after making the hor d'oeuvres (not a lie). A very talented lady-friend baked a Union (!) Jack (!!) cake, of which I am still in awe and want to show off like it's my first born child.

I know what you're thinking: tissue paper pom-poms, a professional-as-shiz cake, tea sandwiches, balloons, and mimosas? This IS the stuff of bridal shower dreams.

You know those beautifully staged photos of showers on wedding blogs? You won't find those here. These are a bit fuzzy and katty-wampus. But the shower was cute, and it was heartfelt, and I think that's what matters.

Also: Carlo Rossi comes in bottle in Japan. BOOM.

Vikki and her husband are moving back to England when their assignment ends and not shipping their things. In light of this, we all gave them bottles of champagne to drink and toast during the next year. One lady gave a bottle of gin instead, "for when you're champagne'd out.' This lady may be very, very wise.

Our snacks included dill, cucumber, & salmon tea sandwiches, wasabi deviled eggs, brownie cupcakes, shortcake cookies, lemon tartlets, cheese and crackers, and veggies and dip. I'm telling you, add wasabi to your deviled eggs next time you make them. You will not be sorry.

We had quite a few women (and two of the cutest babies you've ever seen) join us, and those that were not pregnant or baby-toting joined in for after-shower drinks at the local bar, where we met up with the guys. Because the best showers are the ones that last long after the scheduled end time, right? In fact, I'm sure Martha Stewart would agree. 

Christmas in NEPAL

It was an adventure. That's the best way that I can describe it. An adventure. I've been sitting on this post because I'm finding it surprisingly difficult to put into words. The emotions and experiences of those weeks were all over the board: it was simultaneously overwhelming, exciting, breathtaking, humbling, encouraging, challenging. I was exhausted by the time we made it back to Japan. The only thing I could really think was 'Oh my god, I love heated toilet seats.' After an epic trip, the only thing I could cognitively communicate was my relief that my toosh was finally warm. I know. To be fair, the bathrooms in the Himalayas in December are a new level of cold, and my backside gets bitchy about anything below -20C.

*  *  *

We landed in Kathmandu late on December 15th, a month ago yesterday. It was past midnight by the time we got our luggage and found our guide, successfully navigating the throngs of men calling out 'Sir, Brother, prepaid taxi here!' 'Do you need a ride, Madame? Come here, I'll take you!' We hopped in the car, an unmarked, slightly beat up early 90s sedan, said hello to our driver, goodbye to our guide (as he lives in the opposite direction), and headed to the hotel. The city was really quiet. As we were driving on unpaved streets with boarded up and unfinished buildings, a dog barked and scared a cow, which ran into the street and almost T-boned our car. This was the only traffic we saw on our 25 minute drive. We've travelled a fair amount, but all I could think was "Where the hell are we...?"

Luckily, sunrise the next morning brought a new perspective of Kathmandu. While the city is short on paving (and long on road 'improvement' projects, which seem to just be ripping up sidewalks), it's bustling and busy during the day, with shops and storefronts that come to life. At night, shop owners roll down steel doors, which gave us the incorrect impression of abandonment. Once we cleared that up, and realized people really do live here, it was a fun time. The day after we arrived, we were busy finalizing plans and and picking up additional gear. It was overwhelmingly cool to be entering shops full of heavy-duty mountaineering gear and renting what we needed. It was overwhelmingly overwhelming to be renting a -20C sleeping bag with a liner (making it -30C) and be told not to worry because there will be plenty of blankets we can layer on top. Eeeps. It slowly dawned on me that this trip might be a little colder than I had prepared for. While I knew my gear would hold up, I was a bit worried about my mental state. My stiff upper lip isn't anything to write home about.

Our second day in Kathmandu we spent sightseeing the city. It's totally dusty and chaotic, with no discernable traffic rules and so many beautiful temples and stupas. The presence of Hinduism left deep marks on the city, and it felt almost Indian with the bindis, the curries, and the music. It was really unlike any other city or country I've been to. There was more honking than I could take, we were offered a cup of tea every three minutes, and once we had been walking around for a bit, it was like a lightbulb went on and I thought to myself "Oh, so this is how you can 'do' Kathmandu." It's a city where you don't wait for the cars to stop, but instead slowly and steadily just walk into the street, trusting that the scooters, motorcycles, cars, taxis, and cows will go around you.

Day 03 in Kathmandu, and it was time to leave for the Himalaya. We were READY. The plane, unfortunately, was not. High winds grounded us, and we spent about 8 hours in the tiny airport, watching them update the flight times on the PowerPoint slide that served as the departure screen. We didn't make it out that day, and flights were cancelled the next day as well. We ended up hopping on a helicopter into Lukla, as they can handle the winds that ground tiny planes. (There were several questions to Amos-the-Engineer about the hows and whys and is-it-really-safes?). We took the most impressive, beautiful ride. When Everest came into view, it was, quite literally, breathtaking. It's just... huge. I never thought I'd actually see it in my life, and then, BAM, there it was. Everyone else put up their cameras, and I couldn't take my eyes off it as I mouthed Hail Marys.

From there, we quickly picked up our porter and started hiking, since we were already a day behind. The villages had buildings built of gray stones, and the trim and metal roofs were bright colors of orange, green, blues, and yellows. It seemed as if a Caribbean color scheme decided to get busy with a Polish village and make babies in the Himalayas.

We planned to spend the next 13 days in the mountains, trekking up to Gokyo Ri, then over Cho La Pass to Everest Base Camp. Our days quickly feel into a nice routine. We would stay at tea houses, which were little lodges run by Sherpa. Each morning we would wake up, pack up our bags, and head for a hot breakfast, where I would always drink tea and eat Tibetan bread, which is kind of like Indian fry bread with honey, which was almost always frozen solid. We would drink hot water to hydrate, then be on the trail shortly thereafter. Our porter, Latchuman, would eat his breakfast a bit before us, and grab our bags while we were eating. He'd load them up on his back and begin the hike ahead of us. Amos and I only had to carry daypacks and our pace was purposely very slow to help with acclimatization. We felt pretty spoiled, truth be told, especially when we would see the loads other porters were carrying. There are no roads in the Khumbu Valley, so every single item not grown or made there is flown in, then put in a basket the size of a man's torso and carried up the mountain by men who balance it on their backs with a sling over their heads. Sherpa are not exceptionally tall, and these men (and boys, really) would be carrying loads over 150 kg. I was simultaneously impressed and scared for their spines.

Lunch would be at another tea house, then we would stop for the night between 2 and 4. We'd layer up, then head to the dining room, which were the only place with any heat. In the center of the rooms there would be a wood burning stove, always with a enormous kettle of water on top. The stoves, unfortunately, got less and less warm the higher we went. Above a certain elevation, there are no trees, so they burn dried yak poop. It doesn't smoke and it doesn't smell, but it also doesn't produce that much heat since the nutrients and energy were already used up by the yak. The dining rooms were not warm, and unless you were almost touching the stove, you were also not warm. We would eat an early dinner before going to bed, as our sleeping bags were more comfortable than anywhere else. I'd hop in my twin bead, praying that I wouldn't need to use the bathroom at night (I always did, damn it). I snuggled down to keep my face warm, trying to ignore the fact that the mummy sleeping bag only seem to accentuate my showerless, smelly state. The next day it would begin again. The scenery was breathtaking. The Himalayas seem newer than other mountains, even the Rockies. They are rougher, bigger, more wild, more rugged. I was awed. I was cold. Really cold.

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Knowing an embarrassingly little amount before we landed in Nepal, I learned that 'Sherpa' refers to the people that live in the Khumbu Valley. (You hire a guide or a porter that may be a Sherpa; It's an ethnicity, not a job description). Sherpa immigrated to the area about 400 years ago from Tibet, probably for religious reasons. Unlike Kathmandu, this region was primarily Buddhist, and fit closer to my 'imaginings' of what Nepal would be like. I went through a phase from 15 to 19 where I loved Tibetan prayer flags, wool purses, and fleece vests, and my inner teenager had just found Nirvana. Namaste, you guys. Our guide, Gadul, grew up in a nearby village. He knew our porter from their childhood, and they always worked together. We felt totally confident in their hands. We were impressed by how friendly and kind the Sherpa were that we met. English (and German and Japanese) was spoken with surprisingly frequency. Unlike other trips we've taken, we were able to use only Nepalese-owned businesses, which is exactly how I like to spend my money. Be still my little world-travelling, progressive leaning, sustainability-encouraging heart.

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On Christmas Eve day, we approached Gokyo Lakes at about 15,000 ft, dropped our bags, and headed up Gokyo Ri, which summits at 17,575 ft. The hike was long, and Amos and I were both feeling the elevation. Because of our delay arriving to Lukla, we had sacrificed an acclimitization day and we had been gaining elevation steadily since our only rest day at Namche, moving up about 1,500 feet a day. Now, in addition to the usual gain we were adding in the peak and would need to press on the next day to begin the approach to Cho La pass, which would also bring us well about 17K.

Gokyo Ri was amazing. From the summit you could see Everest, Cho La, Lhotse, and all the way into Tibet / China. The white caps stretched for as far as the eye could see, and the weather was cold and crisp and clear. Gadul, Lachuman, Amos, and I were total smiles. We momentarily forgot how long the day seemed, and we climbed down as quickly as we could, given the sun was setting and all our water was already frozen in the Camelbacks.

By the time we reached the tea house, I couldn't ignore a headache that had been building. Altitude plus bright sunshine plus probably-not-enough really cold drinking water seemed to do me in, and now I was feeling nauseous. None of this was particularly worrisome: a straightforward case of mild altitude sickness, and I skipped dinner and headed to bed. Unfortunately, this meant Amos spent Christmas Eve in the teahouse reading alone (or, rather, next to a strange Russian and an antisocial American). He had been battled a bad cold that, while the fever only lasted 48 hours, had settled in his chest and made climbing difficult, even though he was in good shape. While I was sick in bed, and he was cold and reading alone, and since this was a HOLIDAY, for Pete's sake, he came up with a plan. Instead of pressing on, spending the next four days climbing over 10 hours a day on windy, exposed ridges, we would stick a Gokyo for a day and take a slower route back down. This, Amos felt, would swing the trip squarely back into the 'fun' camp, backing away from the 'slog' that it threatened to become. Besides, in his infinite wisdom, Amos had planned for us to climb Gokyo Ri first because it was the best view and toughest climb: as we went closer to Everest Base Camp, we would be too close and the mountain would disappear from view. At this time of year, too, EBC is an empty field. All tents and signs of expeditions are packed away for the winter.

It was decided. We spent Christmas Day hiking the back Gokyo Lakes and then began our climb down, stopping to visit the schools and hospitals in the region. The benefit of this plan was that it would give us extra time in Lukla to make it back to Kathmandu in case our plane was again delayed. It also allowed us time to stop at a schmancy Japanese hotel and drink masala tea with this view of Everest:

Of course you would, Japan. And bless you for it.

The hike down was easy. We passed traffic jams of yaks and horses and trekkers and porters, all covered with the reddish brown Khumbu valley dust. We made it to Lukla two days earlier then planned and saw a group of people waiting at the airport. Yup, flights were again grounded  and helicopters were the only way in or out. However, the cost is significantly higher to return back to Kathmandu than it is to leave. On the way into the mountains, it's fairly easy to hop onto a rescue helicopter that is already headed up and, thus, paid for. You simply give a little extra to the pilot in exchange for a seat on the already scheduled ride. (I asked if our guide was SURE this was kosher, and he looked at me like I was crazy. Okay, Nepal, I'll play by your rules.) On the way back down, this isn't an option, so you're stuck paying big bucks. Shoot. We crossed our fingers for good weather and killed time the next two days at Starbucks Lukla, which is in no way related to the Starbucks Corporation. We did not make it to Hard Rock or Yakdonalds, which both looked pretty intriguing and equally independently entrepreneurial. We also spent a fair amount of time drinking tea, kicking it with South Africans and Australians who were also waiting to get out, and staring at the sky, wondering how planes could be delayed when the weather, on our end, was bright blue skies.

In the end, we made it out BARELY in time for our international flight, with just enough time to shower and repack before heading to the airport (stinky clothes all in one bag, and apologies to any TSA agent who opened that up). Our flight home from the Kathmandu International Airport was busy and chaotic, with no open seats to wait in and the permeating smell of overflowing toilets, and when we finally made it to Hong Kong I was positively gleeful to be in a warm and completely clean-smelling building for the first time in weeks. We had a bagel sandwich, drank too much non-instant coffee, and glutinously enjoyed the wifi. As happy as we were, though, it seemed so easy and sanitized; it wasn't long before we realized that we would really, really miss Nepal. That's the thing with adventures: you may be wishing to be home while you're gone, all Bilbo Baggins style wanting-your-tea-kettle-and-hobbit-hole, but in the end, you can't be anything but so happy you went.