April 1, 2001 - I'll start with what Italy did to my soul. It took me back to reality or the reality that I know. After a few days I felt like myself again inside and out. I wasn't aware of the psychological effects of living overseas without all of the things from home. It is very difficult to describe, but an interesting experiment. Now I realize the importance of vacation time in the Peace Corps.

And, as the days pass I'm more comfortable being back in Armenia. During the rainstorm yesterday I was able to take a two hour nap. You know all the great reasons why I'm here. There are dozens. But, there are many reasons why America is the best place on earth. I can't wait to return. I've hit my ten month mark. After twelve months I will start the countdown.

When Jeremy and I arrived in Italy we went through culture shock. Jeremy was very edgy, and I felt like complete crap. You really don't feel comfortable in Europe-especially Italy-looking like a Peace Corps Volunteer. We were wearing old, worn out jeans carrying Jansport backpacks. My stomach was carrying ten extra pounds of winter weight and I was pale as snow. Everyone in Rome looks like they just stepped out of Vogue and GQ.

So, I purchased a pair of ubiquitous black slacks at Bennetton and some super hip bell bottoms from ONYX (which I couldn't fit into for the first three days). Unfortunately, the jeans have to be hemmed so I couldn't even wear them in Italy. Then once I purchased my leather jacket in Florence I felt comfortable. I ditched the backpack for a really cool big red purse that I purchased from a street vendor for $10. It truly broke my heart to be in Italy as a PCV. The dollar was so strong that everything was incredibly inexpensive. Suits, shoes, purses, etc. All these hip stores that would cost a fortune in the States had shirts for $15, purses for $20, etc. I hated that I couldn't take advantage of the shopping. My advice for you is to go to Europe with empty luggage. You won't be able to resist the cool clothing. Traveling will definitely affect your style.

So we had three days in Rome before the Hailes arrived. We stayed at a budget hotel ($40 per night) with a bathroom down the hall. It was gorgeous. Everything in Rome is beautiful. It was close to a metro stop so Jeremy and I were darting all over the city for three days. We are both concerned with fashion so Jeremy purchased a pair of jeans, Italian shoes and hip shirt to blend in. We spent our time going to see "Traffic" (in English), "Gladiator" (in Italian) and hanging out in the hip part of Rome, Trasteverte, where Jeremy's parents might not want to go. I'm glad we had some time to be alone, because the Hailes aren't late night folks. We preferred to dine out where and when there was a "scene".

We began our days with a cappuccino for me and an espresso for Jer standing at a bar. A bar in Italy means a coffee/pastry shop and the price doubles if you sit down, so everyone stands to drink their coffee and eat a bite. Jeremy usually ate McDonald's for lunch and I grabbed a sandwich to go. Every small bar sells fantastic little sandwiches. Shrimp, mayo and argula on white bread without the crust, tuna and mushroom, eggplant and ham on panini bread, the list goes on.

I have an entirely new outlook on sandwiches and pizza. I prefer Italian food over American Italian food. Everything is lighter and simpler. The Italians put everything on their pizza. I ate shrimp, mussels, clams, whole olives, capers, anchovies, argula lettuce, tomatoes, etc. on various pizzas. They never put too much cheese or too much sauce. It always tastes perfect, in my opinion. My in-laws, on the other hand, tried to order fettuccine alfredo and veal parmesan but no place served it.

The rest of the vacation was delightful in every way. Jeremy and I behaved as if we just fell in love. We got along extremely well with the Hailes considering we were together for two weeks. Ginny did cry on the second day during a political argument. We are only becoming more liberal and Ginny dislikes conflict. We had political, religious and financial discussions which at times became heated.

I hope to return to Italy soon. I want to go back to Florence and Rome. I want to bicycle through the Tuscan countryside, visit the Cinque Terra and Sicily, and return to Capri. I didn't really get tired of the museums, but instead began to develop a true art appreciation. It helps to learn about the artist and the time period. I'm still dreaming at night about Italy. When I walked outside this morning I could smell Italy. It surely was a influential place and time in my life.

- Jen

Before seeing art in Italy, you'll need to study up on the Renaissance. There are literally thousands of works so if you want to spend any amount of time admiring them, decide which ones are important to you first. Too often, we were zooming past them simply because there was not enough time. Even devoting four hours to the Vatican Museum will force you to make some choices. Also, there are so many significant works that you could easily miss. For example, we walked down a flight of stairs that I later found out were designed as a double helix and are considered a masterpiece. Who knew?

The Uffizi was surreal - so many works that I had studied in art appreciation, including Michelangelo's only painting on canvas, Botticelli's Primavera and Birth of Venus, and works by Leonardo Da Vinci. This is considered one of the world's great galleries, but it was hardly my favorite. It is the kind of museum that one should visit (and, of course I'm glad I did), but it wasn't particularly moving for me.

Michelangelo's David. You must see this in person. It is absolutely the most perfect work of art of any kind that I have ever seen. Somebody once said that after you've seen David, there is no need to ever look at another sculpture again. I don't agree with that, but it gives you an idea of David's greatness. And, when do you ever get to see his backside in pictures? David has a great arse.

I found the Spanish Steps to be slightly overrated. There are no Italians there-only foreigners and largely Americans-and the shops and cafes around that area are overpriced. If you like to hang out on Rodeo Drive, this is your place. There is some interest for me here in that Keats, Goethe, Wagner and other intellectuals relaxed at a nearby cafe. Now though, like Hemingway's old haunts in Italy, it has become a high profile tourist trap.

My favorite area in Rome is called Trastevere; that is to say, I would like to live there. To make a tortured comparison, it is a bit like the area around lower Greenville and Lakewood in Dallas - a place with cool pubs and restaurants, night life and lots of young people. And no tourists! Other places in Rome of particular interest to me were the Roman Forum, the Pantheon, Capitolini and St. Peter's Basilica. Notice I left out the Colosseum and the Sistine Chapel. Both, for me, were underwhelming. (But of course, if you're in Rome, you have to see them).

Florence (or Firenze) was my favorite place in Italy. I realize that it is everybody's favorite place, but I won't fight upstream on this one just to be different. In Florence I loved the Borghello (a museum that once was a jail). Here we saw Donatello's David, which I prefer to Michelangelo's. It is not as breathtaking, but perhaps more interesting.

In Venice, my favorite places were the Peggy Guggenheim museum (modern art and possibly the most satisfying museum I visited) and the Jewish Ghetto - where the name "ghetto" originated. But the preponderance of tourists in Italy seem to cluster in Venice. Three McDonald's in this small city and every other restaurant is overpriced - particularly Harry's, which was once known as Ernie Hemingway's watering hole but is now renowned for it's $14 martinis.

In the near-death-experiences department...I bought these funky shoes in Italy that are wide at the toe. I decided too late to get out of the Metro, and so I held the doors open as they were trying to close. I squeezed through my body, but then they slammed shut on my shoe. I thought (and my family feared) that the train would take off and I would be slammed to my death against the wall of the tunnel. But mercy prevailed as the conductor must have seen me sticking out the door and he opened the doors again.

As far as family dynamics, everything was back to normal. I reverted back to a teenager the first couple of days we were together (as I generally do), but after that, things were fine. My parents now think I am some kind of left wing nut (perhaps because I advocated the legalization of drugs and the idea that Jesus was not really the incarnation of God-ideas I don't necessarily believe, but which make for interesting conversation).

But I was reassured that I haven't changed that much the other night after we returned home to Gyumri. Our Armenian friend Anahit said, "I've known Peace Corps volunteers for several years, but have never met conservative Texans like you."

I might want to be Jack Kerouac, but it's just not going to happen.

-Jeremy

January 26, 2001 - Yesterday evening I brought a propane balloon home by cab and plopped it down inside the shop near our apartment. The cheese-and-eggs guy nodded at me and I went upstairs to summon Jen's assistance--god help me--in carrying the thing. Jen eventually accompanied me down to the store and when my main man saw that she was going to carry one end of it, he scurried from behind the counter, grabbed it from her and helped me take it around the corner and up three flights of stairs.

These are the precious moments in Hayaston. Your taxi breaks down and people stop to help. Your electricity goes out and you go to the home of the 'master electrician' and walk in without knocking and he gets up from horavatz to come fix it. Your wife is being a whiny-baby about carrying half of 20 kilos and the cheese-and-eggs guy leaves his post to carry it up to your apartment.

These moments occur every day and yet there are so many screwed up things about this culture that you often miss the revelations. You would think that this place is ripe for ambitious Peace Corps type projects. Everyone around here is a supposed master at something. We've got electrical engineers selling peanuts on the side of the road because the ex-Soviet regime pulled out all of Armenia's factories. We have biochemists like Jasmine (I interviewed her for the web site) who are begging Peace Corps for a job teaching the almost worthless Armenian language because their institutions haven't paid them in so many months. We have surgeons who moonlight--and daylight--as builders because: One, they aren't paid for their highly skilled labor; and two, Armenians in general are embarrased to visit a doctor as it would be tantamount to an admission of weakness.

We have all these people who must be itching for something meaningful and yet they've got the Armenian mentality: Pogh chikaw, gortz chikaw. It means there's no money and no business and there's nothing we can do about it. Volunteers spend their first 6 months complaining about this mindset and then they develop it for themselves during the next six months. That's the stage that most of us are in now (Jen being the notable exception with her unblighted optimism about peoples' ability to change and faith in God that everything will work out for the best). So most volunteers can pretty much write off these 12 months and look forward to year 2 when you actually get something accomplished.

In recent weeks there has been an overall slide. People spend much of their time gossiping and kibitzing about who did what and about what she should do. Though we're living in a country of 2 million people, we are a small family of Americans who are generally tired of one another. And winter doesn't help. During July, bucket bathing is quaint. When it's 0 degrees Celsius in your bathroom and you have to walk out into the snow to get water attitudes begin riding down a slippery slope.

Fortunately I have Jen who, as somebody wrote in an email this morning, "must be the most positive person in the world." Our home has become a place of uplift, as I think our Gyumrians would agree. It is the place where people come to be told lav kileenee (everything will be good) and to be reminded that, really, they wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Those of us imagining an assignment in the South Pacific have our doubts, but my better angels tell me she's right.

Like Jen will tell you below, she's taking care of me. Because I have nothing better to do, I read her journal and have lifted the following: "As a wife, I will accept Jeremy and love him for the exact person he is everyday, and I will pray selflessly for God's blessings in his life. His life I will no longer judge. I will keep him healthy and fat." How can a man not live well when his wife has that for a new year's resolution?

-Jeremy

January 24, 2001 - I've been wanting to write for a few weeks, but I just haven't felt the inspiration. Today it came. Jeremy and I left for Yerevan early this morning in the bitter cold for a quick trip. We needed to make airline reservations for an upcoming trip and get a few shots at the Peace Corps office. About thirty minutes outside the city our marshutni broke down. No panic, this is normal. Rarely will a trip across town run smoothly. Every experience on Armenian transportation exudes adventure and thrill seeking. So we wanted to have donuts at around 10:00 AM. Oh well! We shouldn't get our mind set on donuts and coffee. Just as I'm imagining my mom coming to visit this summer, the marshutni begins to roll backwards in the ice heading toward the edge of the drop off. My mom would have had a heart attack by now. I don't think she knows what she's getting into. I stood up in the back and started yelling. The quiet and calm Armenians murmur, "problem chikaw" (meaning no problem). We finally managed to turn around and park. As I'm envisioning sitting on the side of the road all day with no heat an auspicious looking man pulls out a bright blue cell phone. Don't ask me how or why this man had a cell phone in the middle of the deserted tundra. But, Armenia is full of surprises. Our rescue marshutni arrives twenty minutes later with a crew of people for who knows what. So, we all cram into the new marshutni with a seat shortage. Jeremy sits on the lap of the cell phone man and I position my rear end in between two aisles. This is our position for the next two hours. The amazing part of it all is that I thought it was hysterical and the no seat on the marshutni didn't phase me. I don't think I remember normal life. This is the only life I can relate to.

We've been in Armenia almost eight months. I was expecting winter depression, but it hasn't hit. Contrary to what everyone expects, I love the cold weather. Give me ice and snow over Texas heat any day. You can always warm up with hot chocolate (thanks to everyone who sends it), kerosene, hugs and speed walking. You should see me walk along the street. It is almost a run, but it's the only way I can keep my body warm because I'm already wearing three or four layers.

Jeremy and I aren't teaching during the winter months. My classes do not begin until March. So, here is a typical day. We wake up whenever we wake up, usually around 8:30 or 9:00 AM. I make coffee and check email. Then I'm off to the 30 degree "Mama's Diner" to prepare the greasy start to Jeremy's day. I hate to contribute to his unhealthy lifestyle, but otherwise he would look like a starvation victim. The man can not keep weight on without his McDonald's. So every morning without deviation I make fried Cajun potatoes topped with sour cream, three scrambled eggs with grated cheese, three slices of bacon (when we can afford it), and toast with lots of butter and jam.

Jen and the peroshky tatik

Then, before I talk myself out of it I spend an hour studying for the GMAT, my winter project. The rest of the afternoon consists of language study, shuka shopping, working on business curriculum and my 3:00 PM aerobics class. I think I'm having a small impact on the fitness of Armenian women. They don't like to sweat, but they are beginning to imitate some of my higher impact fitness techniques. During the evenings I have formal language lesson with a tutor, dinner with friends, or read by the kerosene.

I've had some really high moments in the last month to dispel my winter blues. We, the Gyumri volunteers, spent about five hours at the Catholic orphanage last week dining with the nuns and playing silly games with the kids. The place is like a jewel in this dreary city. It seemed near to God, like a refuge from all the evil in the world. Then on Sunday I hosted a tea party in honor of my 26th birthday. (With the help of Mom, Mom Haile, Aunt Carol and Aunt Theresa who sent most of the treats) It included French and English tea, German cookies, Pepperidge Farm butter cookies, dainty sugar cubes, English blueberry jam, and shortbread. In addition, I made honey walnut muffins and salmon walnut and egg salad tea sandwiches. I spent hours slicing bread and cutting the edges off. To my surprise and delight eighteen Armenian girlfriends came. They brought flowers, chocolates, a pink scarf, a coffee set and a beautiful set of six wine glasses. That evening Sharon threw a dinner party and Anahit baked a white and chocolate cake covered in crushed peanuts.

Life is good. God is good. I can't complain.

- Jen

January 19, 2001 - For those of you interested in what we're up against, here are a few anecdotes.

The Not So Good

Americans often rail against their public school system. They have a point. There are too many poor teachers-mostly teaching in inner cities-who have not earned the right to instruct a classroom of enquiring minds. But some of the tactics of Armenian educators might make us grateful for what we do have.

Most of my students came to class on the first day of school. Since that day, I haven't seen several of them at all. Those who do come to class are generally more interested in the kind of entertainment I will provide as opposed to the pie-in-the-sky notion that they might learn some English.

I haven't taught in the states before but I'm aware that most 13-year-olds do not attend school because they want to pick the brains of their teachers. Nonetheless, their parents insist that they go, knowing that an education will expand their childrens' future opportunities.

In Armenia, not so. My children do not come to school because nothing that happens within those walls matters. A student's grades are dependent on the amount of power (i.e. money) that his/her father is able to wield. The Armenians use a grading scale of 0 to 5 (with 5 being the highest score). Children whose families bribe the headmaster receive 5s. Children whose families are begging for free loaves of bread receive 2s and 3s. Those who receive 5s will go on to college. Those who receive 2s and 3s will one day beg for free loaves of bread themselves.

The Bad

When I left Dallas I said good riddance to traffic, but the commute might be worse here.

There are two types of buses. One has a contour that is Volkswagen-vanesque, with the engine in the back and a single door in the front near the driver. On top are a half-dozen cylindrical gas tanks. Getting on the cartoon bus is an adventure in itself. Often, the thing is packed so full of people, that there are men kind of hanging out the doors like guys on the side of a fire engine. You would never think that another person could fit, but then here comes a lady with two kids. All three of them are carrying huge bags full of potatoes or cucumbers. They just hand the bags up to someone on board, and then push themselves in.

It's most fun to ride near the front of the bus with the driver if you're lucky enough to get that spot because usually they only let their friends ride there. Drivers customize their buses with stickers, old Soviet rubles, pictures of Cindy Crawford, felt dice for the rearview mirror, and empty vodka bottles. Every bus has a picture of Jesus and a sticker of a naked lady, displayed beside each other and covering the spedometer and engine temperature gauges. The Jesus pictures are torn out of church hymnals and the stickers come from Viagra bubble gum packets.

The roads are full of potholes, and I don't mean potholes like we have in the states. These things are big enough for Jen to fall into. So the buses go clunking along, driving on whichever side of the street is the smoothest. And they don't really have bus stops, so the bus might stop to pick someone up, drive 20 more meters, and pick up someone else. Every time the bus stops, the driver turns off the engine to save gas. Often, when he tries to restart the bus, the engine won't turn over, so he jumps out and goes to mess with engine. For every engine that won't start, there are at least three Armenian men who go to check on it, and who all have different opinions about what should be done. On the rare occasions that the bus works up enough speed to do so, the driver turns off the engine and coasts -- again, to save gas. In August, six people died because a driver had turned off the engine while the bus was in motion and he couldn't get it to turn back on.

The other kind of bus is 10 Dram (2 cents) less because it doesn't require gasoline. These buses have two poles that grab onto electrical wires above the street. Hanging from these poles are ropes. Because tickets are easily fixed with a small bribe, nobody pays attention to parking laws. So whenever a car is parked on the side of the road, the driver has to veer to the left and then the poles come undone. The driver gets out and grabs the ropes like a puppetmaster and tries to reattach them to the wires above. 50 meters later you have to repeat this drill again.

And the Ugly

One of the sisters at our local Catholic orphange is a board certified physician. She is a Saint if I have ever met one, having given her life to serving -- not in Italy or in New York City, but in seemingly godforsaken Armenia. She was born in America and educated there. For obvious reasons, she doesn't think that the ever-young and ever-partying Peace Corps volunteers are sacrificing all that much.

Recently, she received a $1 million grant from an American benefactor to set up a free medical clinic in Armenia. I should qualify that statement: patients would still have to pay a bribe to be given a referral. No amount of benevolence can stop the local powers-that-be from getting their cut.

Anyway, when the good doctor asked the Armenian Department of Health to approve her project, they rejected it. Their official response included the following statement: "The request is denied because Sister ...... has never contributed anything of value to Armenia. The only thing she has ever done is help the poor and the needy."

- Jeremy

December 5, 2000 - While staring out of the marshutni window yesterday tears rolled down my face. A memory came over me of my first trip overseas. It was in Germany during Christmas break of my senior year of high school. As I looked out of the train over the snow capped mountains and wooden chateaus, I cried out of disbelief and thankfulness. Why me? Why has God given me this gift? At that time I thought nothing more could make my life complete.

That is what it is like to have the passion for travel. I'm overcome with God's love for me because he sent me here. There are people who give up everything they have to see the world and those that think they are crazy. As crazy as it sounds, there is something inside of me that makes me feel at home when I'm away from home. I feel as though I'm experiencing a miracle. Some people spend their entire lives to find their dream and achieve it. Why has God given me mine already?

I am beginning to understand the many ways I'm changing. God is becoming an image of freedom rather than a set of rules to follow. I'm learning that there are many things that stand for "good" that are not necessarily church initiated or biblically based. But, God is Lord over all of them and loves everything that he has created. It is us that makes them tainted.

Anything seems possible to me now. I do not hold a set standard for how my life should look in five or ten years. A certain type of person is not ruled unfit to be a good friend. Because a person might wear pink leather or they are over sixty five does not deter from the relationship. My fashion preference is in transition. I'll let you wonder what that means. But, don't be surprised if I return home looking different as well as being different.

On one hour's notice last week I was given the opportunity to attend a conference in Yerevan on NGO strengthening for six days. If you do not ask, you do not receive. In retrospective, I'm thankful that I persistently asked for a place at the conference of which only four volunteers were invited. A typical East Coast, New Yorker type facilitated the conference which was sponsored by an American organization, World Learning. In addition to learning a wealth of professional knowledge, I made many great contacts in the non-profit arena. Following the conference I was asked to assess NGOs in my community for World Learning which equals exceptional experience. On Friday, I was sent out to assess the Union of Information Technology Enterprises. UITE is the only organization existing to promote the technology industry in Armenia. Jeremy and I are meeting with them on Wednesday to discuss website design and marketing.

On the lighter side, my off hours were amusing in various ways. First of all, I stayed for six days in Yerevan, the capital city. That explains half of it. It is so much like life in an American big city. My mornings began with a jog followed by a cup of American drip coffee at the donut shop, Yum Yum. My evenings included movies, delivered pizza, and ten to fifteen good friends to laugh with.

To the disappointment of some, I still love to shop. Penny and I spent several evenings at the Hayaston mall, similar to a really bad outlet mall. But, the joy I felt after my purchase of a new lipstick wrapped in a cute, plaid bag was dreamlike. I also found a much needed pair of black fur-lined boots. My hiking boots just weren't appropriate with my navy pants suit. I must admit how giddy I feel wearing fur-lined boots, a long, black wool coat, scarf and hat. It is so novel to a native Texan.

Although Jeremy's absence was difficult, I had a fabulous time with my friends. Peace Corps is one good way not to grow up. Things like dancing, late nights and delirious silliness is the norm. I appreciate who I am becoming. It is apparent that before Peace Corps I was on the verge of becoming a very anal adult.

I miss you & all the holiday parties! Please send your Christmas cards TODAY!

-Jen

November 26, 2000 - Saturday, 50 Americans celebrated Thanksgiving in Gyumri, Armenia. Our venue was an underground cafe across from our apartment that had a cavernous medieval feel. But with orange turkeys, candles and other decor, it was also very American. Our country director showed up with cranberry sauce and another volunteer located a few pumpkins. So we ate all the customary foods except pecan pie and sweet potatoes. Some bonuses were from our Italian-American friend, Bon-Bon, who made ravioli and meatballs. Our friend Jim from Boston made creamed onions that were out of this world. After dinner we had a disco in one room (J-P's music mix); then Aaron and Chana played guitar in another. The entire week was filled with the smell of good food and great friends. I can't say I missed much about home. It's Sunday afternoon and I'm still in my pj's, stuffed again from leftovers. I'm so tired I can't move.

- Jen

November 9, 2000 - The last time I set the alarm for 5:30 AM was six months ago. In fact, it has been three months since I set the alarm at all. But, election Tuesday would not go unnoticed for Jen and Jer. For us, it's as much a holiday as Thanksgiving or Christmas. We went to bed nervous the night before, although Jeremy was pretty sure it was a foregone conclusion and stayed up writing about it.

So Tuesday morning we dialed up Voice of America on the shortwave. For the first few minutes all we could hear was "Nakhnakan Tvialnerov GORE arajinnerits e." Then we found English speakers reporting that Gore was in the lead, that he had taken Florida and that the race was all but finished. Thrilled, I rushed through my makeup and hair (I would teach at 10:00 AM). At six we were off to the Berlin, a German-built hotel and hospital complex that is the nicest place in town. They have a satellite with BBC, the same venue that gave us wall-to-wall Olympic coverage last month.

Upon arrival we weren't surpised to find the large iron gates closed and padlocked. You never want to get yourself in an emergency in the middle of the night here because the hospitals may not be open. I wasted no time hiking up my skirt to scale the gate. It was pitch dark and we were frantic. Of course, the hotel was very dark when we arrived. Delirious and acting like an ugly American, I held down the doorbell until someone--anyone--heard it. Artursh answered the door rubbing his eyes. We had woken the night guard. We attempted to explain in broken Armenian that this was a most important day for Americans and we had to see the television.

For the next eight hours we were glued to British television in a German hotel in Gyumri, Armenia watching the American election. The British use the most hysterical language like, "So Jonathan, I'm rather mistified by" this or that. I missed Cokie Roberts. A few hours later Sharon and her Dad showed up. Mr. Hazouri ordered breakfast for four and we had a grand time with our tea, eggs and BBC coverage of the election.

Too bad, though, that I had to teach at 10:00 and unlike Jeremy who left his students without a teacher, I took a cab straight to my class about a quarter after. Little did I know that we wouldn't know the results for a week. Two hours later, I rushed back to the hotel to find Jeremy, Sharon and Dad Hazouri with empty beer bottles and roasted peanuts shells. We spent the rest of the afternoon watching British pundits wax political as we drank wine and ate another kilo of peanuts. Bush, Gore, no Bush, never mind. Sharon called North Carolina but her brother knew no more than we did.

So for now we wait, going on with life in Armenia wishing ours were the overseas ballots they were waiting for.

- Jen

November 6, 2000 - We returned to the farm in Bazum and of course our parents were so happy to see us and all and wondered why we hadn't come back sooner (it's only been a month and a half) and they fed us and we got indigestion. But then, my host dad said he was going to take the head off a sheep and did I want to come along? So I witnessed my first slaughter, with the lamb kicking and screaming as he cut the head off with a knife the size of the large blade on a Swiss Army Knife. After the head came off, they hung the carcass up on a rope and the dogs lapped up the blood that fell to the ground. Then they cut off the legs from the knee down. These, they threw to the dogs like we give our dogs a bone. The coat of wool came off, and then you've got to disembowel the thing which is as disgusting as it sounds. The bowels they threw into the yard, I guess for birds or rats to eat. Finally, they took the meaty part of the animal into the living room and put it on a blanket, even as the kids were playing Super Mario Brothers--brand new in Armenia--on a black and white TV. The information age is breaking in on this 19th century world and I'm here to see it all.

October 23, 2000 - I'm in my apartment at midday and my hands feel frozen. It's getting darn cold here and we're still in October. Last night I had the winter gear going with gloves, hat, and scarf. The dogs are getting cold, too, and hungry. Last week our sitemate Jeff was bitten and had to get rabies shots at Peace Corps Yerevan. It's beginning to feel like survival.

My weird life is beginning to feel normal, though. There are irritating things that happen every day. It's amazing the disparity in quality here and in the States. Things are always falling apart here, whether electrical sockets that smoke when you plug in the oven or napkins that are about as durable as American toilet paper or plastic bags that are torn by the jagged edge of an eggshell. It took 15 minutes to send and receive six emails the other day. We've got leaks in our pipes and holes in the windows that let in drafts. Armenian pens write for about two days and batteries last only a little longer. All of this I am now taking in stride. But I can't yet abide the Armenian mentality. The people here, by and large, are unable to think about anything critically. For years, the Soviet Union forbid the people from doing so. The combination of rote memorization education and the lack of incentive for ingenuity has crippled the people. Thank god for America. Every day, thank god for America.

- Jeremy

October 17, 2000 - We've just returned from a serendipitous weekend of travel. On Friday we arrived in Yerevan to attend the Philharmonic at the Opera House. Our friend, Sharon, called the Embassy's cultural liaison for free tickets. We marched in decked out in blue jeans with our backpacks, sleeping bags and cameras. We were obnoxious. Of course, all of the Armenians were dressed in their best eveningwear. At intermission we hobnobbed with the players down at the bar and met a cool guy named Nick. The concert was surreal, the venue was stunning and we felt like we had left Armenia for a night. The evening couldn't have been better or so we thought. As we were leaving I saw some Americans across the balcony. They were pointing at us saying, "Look at the backpackers", so I waved and hurried up to introduce myself. It's not like we are used to seeing other Americans everyday. I cornered the very friendly man in a tweed overcoat that looked familiar. We talked about Peace Corps, the poverty outside of Yerevan and exchanged stories of our adventure. I asked him where we might find some decent food at this time of night and he rattled off several top-notch cafes in the area. I quickly explained that we are paid in drams, not dollars, therefore, $1.10 is the maximum I can splurge on a bottle of wine. Many shops and cafes in Yerevan are not super cheap because they cater to the business traveler. The friendly man in the tweed coat handed me a $50 bill and said, "Dinner is on me". You don't know how cool this is unless dining out is your hobby and you haven't had an impressive meal in four months. This might be the greatest random act of kindness that I've experienced. Jeremy, Sharon and I didn't debate for long. We headed to the nicest restaurant in Armenia, Dolmama. It is a quaint little spot, like I prefer, with no more than eight tables. The Armenian owner lived in New York for most of his life so it was our first encounter with fabulous food and customer service.

Our fun continued as we headed to Gavar on Saturday, a small town by the lake, for Eric's birthday celebration. About half of our group of 25 Americans enjoyed a sit down horovats (barbequed chicken, pork, eggplant and tomatoes) with many local Armenians. It may have been one of the longest parties of my life. We started at 2:00 PM and we were still dancing at 10:00 PM. Yes, Jeremy and I are dancing or at least trying. As the days go by, we become less concerned with what we can't do.

Daily activities in Gyumri are full of life. I have been told that this is a depressing city and I should have no part of it. Of course, winter hasn't hit, but I love my city. The yellow leaves are falling, the air is cool and brisk and we can still get fresh fruit. I have to confess that we splurged on a hot water heater so sometime this week we might have a real shower. We have guilt over this, but not enough to stop the installation. What can I say? I'm spoiled. Jeremy and I are both reading more than during our four years of college. My advice to all: Ditch the television. Of course, I'm sure Jeremy will buy a DVD player upon arrival in the U.S. But, I still think my life is richer without a T.V.

My work could not be more fulfilling. Many volunteers would argue this since it seems like the Armenians will never change. But, little things inspire me. I'm teaching classes to women on leadership, goal setting, volunteerism and self-esteem. Some women have never been told that they are smart and beautiful. If I'm just here to do that, so be it. I'm also teaching a Business and a Computer course at the university. As time permits, I plan to educate NGOs on how to fund-raise. I will try, at least. Boredom is not a problem. Jeremy is busy dealing with unruly children. God bless him. He's also gearing up for the Charlie Brown Christmas Play he plans to put on with his kids. In his free time he is learning new words, reading articles about the election and practicing his writing skills. I'm as happy as I've ever been. I'm sure some of that has to do with the person I get to share all of this with and my faith that God has a plan. And, every time I feel down there is a box of goodies in the mail or an endearing letter. Thanks to all of you for the generous encouragement.

September 17, 2000 - Tonight Jeremy and I enjoyed our first dinner alone together in almost four months. We had a lentil, potato, and sausage concoction with a side salad of sliced cucumber and tomatoes. Since our arrival at sight we've had a dinner invitation every night of the week and it is obvious around my waistline. We have five single sitemates who love having dinner guests.

Friday we moved into our new home. I have to admit it is a bit nicer than the typical Peace Corps housing placement. The landlord, a widow, moved in with her daughter so she could rent her apartment to pay for her husband's elaborate gravesite monument. It seems like the woman was fairly well-to-do before the Soviet collapse. Our 4th floor apartment on the Main Square is stocked with crystal and nice rugs. She admitted to selling most of her nicer furniture out of necessity. Like the rest of the former Soviet Union, Armenians lost all of their savings in rubles when the Soviet Union dissolved. We have a spacious (in the Armenian sense of the word) kitchen, bedroom and living room. When I use the descriptive words beautiful, spacious, or charming remember that I've been living on a farm for three months. Everything seems lovely in comparison. The apartment is cozy with elaborately painted walls and light fixtures. The difference between an apartment in Dallas and our Gyumri apartment is that we don't have hot water, a shower or flushing toilet. Many of the other volunteers in nearby cities have to carry buckets of water up four flights of stairs to boil pasta or wash dishes.

One of my favorite things about our city is the shuka. The shuka is a huge open market with hundreds of individual sellers of fruits, vegetables and random odds and ends. I'm obviously a foreigner wherever I go with my blond hair, fair skin and big smile (although I try my best not to). I walk through the crowds passing live floppy fish and hundred-year-old ladies selling sunflower seeds while listening to loud pleas to buy this or that. Many of the vendors speak to me in Russian since they assume I don't know a word of Armenian and it makes it even more confusing. It is such a spectacle when I open my mouth and start speaking in Armenian. Everyone stops in a dead silence and stares. I love it.

It really doesn't bother me to be the center of attention. For some people this could be a nightmare. Everywhere I go all heads turn as I walk by, and I've learned to tune out the whispers. Hopefully, this will die down since I walk the same area of town every single day. Now, that I'm comfortable I stroll into the shops and shout a Texas friendly, "Barev Zes", which has made me very popular among the shopkeepers. I walked past a bread store yesterday and heard a little old lady yelling "Jen" from the back of the bakery. I think the smokers loitering out front must have tipped her off that an Americatzi was in view.

Everyone has been asking me, "What do you eat?" It depends on where you live in Armenia. We happen to be in the second largest city so we have more options than most of the country. Yogurt imported from Germany, cheese from Australia and chocolate from France can be found in the nicer shops of Gyumri. Armenian products are typically lower in quality and heavy in salt and sugar. We have fruits and vegetables that are in season: apricots in July, peaches in August, and grapes in September. When winter rolls around we'll be eating lots of potatoes, cabbage and spaghetti. It's not bad at all. The meat is problematic since it sits in the open air unrefrigerated and covered in flies. Maybe I'll buy some in the winter. We do not have access to lettuce, pre-packaged foods, chicken breasts, decent oatmeal, peanut butter, tuna, common spices and many other foods. We spice up all of our meals with Tabasco, red pepper flakes or Cajun seasoning sent from home. Texans and most Americans enjoy spicier foods that the Eastern bloc countries.

We were able to watch the Olympic opening ceremonies at the Red Cross on Friday. We still haven't found a way to email from Gyumri, but we've had to concentrate on finding an apartment. Our parents are on a 31 cents per minute calling plan so we've heard from home three times this week. Even though I'm dying to talk to all my girlfriends for hours, the isolation could be much worse.

There are so many things I'm anxious to share. Next time I promise to write about the orphanage, possible tennis lessons, my work and my site mates. Please pray for the wisdom I desperately need and a selfless love for the Armenian people.

P.S. We can be reached on the phone: 011-374-41-2-13-97. That's the international code, country code, city code, and our phone number. The best time to call is 10:00 PM Central, 8:00 AM our time. It is difficult to get through but the reception is great. Don't call unless you find an excellent calling plan because I won't let you off the phone.

- Jen

September 1, 2000 - Reports of my demise have been greatly exaggerated. I believe Jen wrote that I had lost 15 pounds. Not even close. It is true that I don't care for the food, and therefore have not eaten as much I might at home. Also, when you have an empty cupboard, there aren't as many opportunities to snack. As for my health, I had a twelve hour bug that kept me up one night. But I haven't lost any teeth, my hair is growing profusely, and my stools -- well, we shan't go there.

We're just now settling in to the first of 23 months. Last week, we were sworn in as PCVs. This week, we chill out.

I've been saying from the start that I have three priorities when I arrive at site. The first: to get a toilet seat, which I found at the local home depot for a too-high $3. The second: to get a drip coffee pot; got that the second day here. Finally: to get Jen's hair cut and colored so that I don't have to hear about it anymore. That adventure is coming later this week.

Our city is not the type of Peace Corps assignment you might expect. There are not farmers here in need of modern tilling techniques. We do not wash our clothes in a river or cook over an open fire. Currently, we're living in an apartment near the main square. There are stores all around us like you might find on the side of a Texas highway. They carry bread, eggs, beef jerkey, smokes, sodas and ice cream. About five minutes away is the shuka, where we can find everything from Titantic videos to Mercedes hood ornaments. It's kind of neat, with Armenian music blaring and shady guys walking around, stacks of bills in their hands, insisting that we trade our American dollars for their Armenian dram. The dress here is western, although they don't have our casual sensibilities. Women walk about town in heels and evening attire, even on lazy Saturday afternoons.

What makes Armenia one of the most difficult assignments in the world--or so we've heard--is the depression that casts a pall over the entire nation. As we've written before, various parts of Armenia were once tourist destinations for people all over the region. Soviet leaders visited places like Gyumri and Lake Sevan on holidays. Large industries flourished as the Soviet Union pumped money into the country. Armenians were never wealthy, but they had whatever they needed.

Following the earthquake in 1988, the USSR scrambled to provide housing for the thousands of homeless Armenians. Temporary windowless dwellings (called domeeks) were brought in and dumped into the middle of the city; construction began on new high rises to replace those that were destroyed. But they were never completed. In 1991, the Soviet Union collapsed and so did the economy. Employment went from 100% to 25% virtually overnight. Those who could afford to, streamed out of the country and across the world. Those who could not, remained, and remain to this day. Many of them have grown children with families who live with them in the same tiny domeeks, which no longer seem so temporary.

So the atmosphere here is fraught with pessimism: How can we start businesses if nobody will invest? Why should we build hospitals if our doctors flee to the States? Why should we learn English when the rest of the world doesn't even know we're here? I suppose that our job here is to give the Armenians reasons to believe, to be the freaking Light of the World.

I'm not sure this is going to work.

- Jeremy

I've spent two days in my new city of Gyumri. You could never imagine how crazy they have been. Maybe Wade could understand with his book selling adventures, but at least he was able to communicate in the same language.

I guess I'll start with our swearing in ceremony. We were finally sworn in as Peace Corps Volunteers on Friday at 2:00 PM in a nice, hot, crowded government building. It was a two-hour formal ceremony with speakers from the Embassy, local political officials, and Peace Corps staff. That evening we all headed to a nice restaurant in a nearby city. It was quite a party with lots of toasts, dancing and food. The next morning we journeyed to our new city of Gyumri on what had to be one of the worst roads in the country on the older version of a Marshutni (small mini vans that are a bit safer than the buses). All this would have been easier if I didn't have that last shot of Cognac to celebrate yet another toast. It was like a two-hour Disneyland ride with nausea and a headache. The best part of the day was when the back of the Marshutni flew open and we watched our luggage tumble down the road while cars dodged the debris. Fortunately, by the grace of God our laptop stayed in the vehicle somehow.

Later that afternoon we were dropped off at our supposed new home. We entered a dirty little house that smelled like dolma. It was adorned with red tapestry and had the feeling of Elvis-meets-funeral-home. A little tatik (Armenian for grandma) was running around trying to feed us sooch (Armenian coffee). It could have been many things that made us react the way we did. The family forgot we were coming and hadn't moved out yet, the place was gloomy, and there sat a birdcage with live birds in our living room. Without seeking counsel or permission from anyone we hailed a taxi and loaded twelve pieces of luggage, a stove, water filter and huge propane tank in the taxi and left.

We are currently staying in a small room on the second floor of a building in the center of town. We later discovered that this wasn't actually O.K. with Peace Corps, but I guess what's done is done. Unfortunately, we are still rather particular. The mood and feeling of our apartment and neighborhood are very important to us. Of course, I know that doesn't surprise anyone who knows us well. So, we are looking for an apartment in the center of town preferably on the second or third floor with a telephone and running water most of the time. Our only problem is that Peace Corps will pay very little for our rent.

So, how do I feel right now? I still feel a bit unsettled because we haven't found a place to live. Some days, I don't want to like this, because I don't want to be separated from my friends and family for two years. So, I wait hoping that I will be miserable for just one day. Then, I would have an excuse to go home. But, that hasn't happened. The most I can claim is having a few bad days, but no misery here. People and new places fascinate me and usually bring me joy wherever I go. I also think I thrive on challenge. God is always good even when I can't see it. So, pray that I will trust him and live the carefree life he desires for me. I miss you all so much I can't remember what I don't like about you.

- Jen

August 11, 2000 - I promised myself I wouldn't write any letters or email these last few weeks of training because I would sound so sad. But, today is a good day. I have to admit that I am shocked, flattered and filled with joy because I know that I am loved. I don't know how many people in the world have friends from college that would write this often and lengthy. I can't imagine another set of in-laws that would mail my Gap jeans for an ungodly amount of money to Armenia along with 2 dozen or more granola bars. Kel gets the award for the longest letter, if you can believe that! (4 pages typed). Tiff writes the sweetest and most endearing letters. Renee gets the award for writing most often. Although, Scott Haile out does everyone. We received his 7th letter this week. So, just so you know your time is not wasted.

Jeremy and I have been having a hard time lately. We look forward to letters more than anything. Instead of giving you the bad news, I will tell you all of the interesting and wonderful things about the last few weeks. Jeremy and I are going through the last stages of training called "Practicum". This is where we are observed doing the type of things we will be doing at our actual site for three full weeks. Jeremy is teaching English for two classes everyday in our little village of Bazum. All of the kids love and respect him. In my opinion, he is the best English teacher on our team. And, I think we can thank Mom (Ginny Haile) for that. He reminds me so much of you, Ginny. He starts his lesson plan every night at 10:30 PM and it is absolutely creative and amazing. As always, Jeremy is successful! I think he is surprising himself because a month ago he thought he was doomed. He has an elementary age class and a high school class.

My Practicum consists of teaching business concepts to university students, business managers and non-profits. You can't imagine how stressful this is. It is like finals week in college but it last three weeks. Today, I did a two-hour training on market research. Don't ask me how I stood up in front of business owners and talked for two hours. I surprised myself, as well. My lecture went really well, so that is why I'm in a good mood today. Actually, I enjoy this and it makes me think that I might want to teach full-time sometime in my future, Lord willing.

The bad news is that we've both been depressed off and on lately. I was given a hint of where my permanent site will probably be, and I'm not happy about it. I won't go into more detail because things could change. I feel like, as usual, my opportunities are limited because of my gender and "sweet-like appearance". Do I fight for what I want or humbly accept what God has given me? What is God's will? The day that I was so upset I opened up my Oswald Chambers book and it said, "A Christian is one who trusts the wits and the wisdom of God, and not his own wits. If we have a purpose of our own, it destroys the simplicity and the leisureliness which ought to characterize the children of God". This, of course, put me in my place.

So, I think I'm going to be O.K. with whatever God gives me, but unfortunately I always have my own agenda, even in the Peace Corps. So, pray that I will be content and joyful. I would rather control my life and get exactly what I want when God might have other plans. Jeremy is down in the dumps about everything. He can't imagine teaching English to kids for two years. He really hates learning the language. He stopped eating everything last week, but snickers and Cokes (the only American foods he could find). He has lost 15 lbs so I'm trying to make him eat some high fat foods. Thank God for Mom & Dad Haile's package yesterday. The look on Jeremy's face was worth your outrageous shipping costs. You could have given him a trip to Paris and he wouldn't have been more excited.

Now, that training is over I think I'm scared. Wow, I'm about to start my real life here. The wonderful thing about starting our life in a few weeks is a coffeemaker. Yes, we have survived three months without American coffee. Armenian coffee doesn't count, it is like a super strong espresso that you can down in a second and it will keep you wired for days. They sell drip coffee makers in Yerevan. I think we will be better off with our coffee. Don't you? On the bright side, I love my new Peace Corps friends. I honestly think I haven't gained weight and I'm on the 100% bread and starch diet. So, it goes to show you, diets are stupid. All I do is walk everywhere and I guess I burn it off. Of course, I'm running three days a week like a lunatic. I carry rocks in my hands to throw at mean dogs, I dodge herds of sheep and cows while the village people stare at me. My married life is awesome. All I can say is that we are so weird we understand each other. I'm learning a lot. I'm trying to learn how to camp because we go camping all the time, but I still can not manage to sleep on the ground. I just lay there all night. This is hard. Peace Corps is hard. Not having a telephone is hard. I miss you all so much. Thank you for making me feel special. All my love.

- Jen

We continue to hear from people who haven't heard from us, although we personally witnessed the postal worker person take our mail and put it in the Outbox on her desk. Whether or not it's still there, I don't think even she knows.

Today is a bad food day. I don't want to eat Armenian food again, ever. There was a time that I enjoyed an organic, garden-fresh tomato. Heck, I would even pay double for it. Now, I can't saturate the thing with enough Tobasco sauce to make it edible. Dinner is only an hour away, but I haven't yet developed a plan to be med-evac-ed (sent to Washington for medical treatment) or administratively separated (kicked out of Peace Corps) before that time. Refusing food is not an option because it will continue to appear on my plate until it is gone. This morning, I ate a cucumber that I had avoided for a good four weeks.

I have now completed day six of my teaching practicum and I have to admit that I am enjoying myself. For the first couple of nights, I lay in bed trying to relive the moments six months ago that made me think I would like to spend two years of my life teaching English to twelve-year-old ESFL (English as a Second Foreign Language) students in Armenia. Lately, though, the kids seem to be responding to me. Getting their attention is easy; my very presence is the biggest news story in Bazum this century. The difficult, or eye-opening part, anyway, is the amount of preparation that goes into it. You teachers out there are working longer hours than I ever knew.

I don't know. I look at the map of the world on our wall: I see America over there and Armenia over here. There are many things I could be doing over there that would be useful to me, even if I'm not sure humanity would be better served if I were over there, doing some of those things. We've just received tragic word that our dear friend Rikki Flowers has passed away, and life seems very short to me today. What will best serve my future? To consider the question requires more presumptuousness than I am willing to conjure up, right now.

I think that I have been depriving myself of meaning for the past several months. I've been thinking of this trip (as Jen and I call it) in terms of its effect two years from now, as if when I return to the states, I will be getting on with my real life. Now that I'm actually living in Armenia, that line of thinking doesn't work. Instead of absorbing, relishing even, the utterly fascinating happenings about me, I find myself counting the number of days left. And yet, I am sure that if I were to give up and go home tomorrow, I would mourn an opportunity missed.

- Jeremy

July 14, 2000 - Life in Armenia improves every day. Nothing has changed about the country since we arrived, but we have changed, if ever so slightly. As of today, we're half-way through training. On August 26, we swear in as PCVs.

Much of what we're learning will become apparent only in retrospect, when we reflect upon these crazy times 5, 10, 20 years hence. Of all the Peace Corps assignments across the globe, this one is particularly fascinating to me. Glancing out the bus window at the torn up buildings and debris, we're tempted to think about a lush assignment on some Pacific island. But, Jen continues to smile because she's living in the former Soviet Union. Every day we have a greater idea of what Soviet life has meant for the past 70 years. And how strongly it lingers.

Much of the great Armenian predicament has to do with the Soviet fall, but perhaps equally devastating was the earthquake in 1988. Some estimate that 100,000 Armenians died that day. The initial shock came December 7 at 11:39 A.M. We've only been here a month, and already the time and date is etched in our brains. A few minutes later, the second shock came, collapsing concrete upon hundreds of people. Perhaps the greatest loss was that of children. Sadly, schools were among the most poorly constructed buildings in many parts of the country. To this day, Armenians mourn the timing of the quake. Twenty minutes later, and thousands of students would have been outside-on lunch break.

-Jen

June 21, 2000 - We live on a farm in Bazum about two hours from Yerevan, the capital. We are some of the few trainees without indoor plumbing. This makes me think God has a sense of humor: If anyone needs to learn to use an outhouse for three months, it is Jeremy and me. We live in the mountains with a beautiful view. On a casual walk around the village we run into sheep, donkeys, cows, chickens, turkeys, wild dogs, horses, etc. On the downside, our telephone can only call other homes in the village, which are walking distance anyway. It is fortunate that we live on a farm because fresh fruits and vegetables are only a short walk from our room. Unfortunately, everything else that is prepared for us is fried in heavy oil and fat. We are learning to adapt. I am craving granola bars and Jeremy is craving McDonald's.

So far, I'm very impressed with my Peace Corps experience. The training is excellent and I feel like I'm back in school. We learn the language in a group of 5 trainees for 3 1/2 hours a day, six days a week. Honestly, I enjoy it most of the time. Just about every other moment is occupied with cultural training, business development classes, reading Armenian history, economics and training material. The rest of the time is spent with our host family, Svedik and Petra. One of the hardest parts of the summer is waiting for the location of our two year assignment. I believe we find out on August 18th.

Although I miss the telephone, health foods, and my loved ones, there is no place I would rather be. I'm doing something that I thought I could never do. Most of my opinions on life are challenged regularly. That doesn't happen very often at home. I already have a long list of care package items, but I will wait to post it. Now that I am here, I realize how difficult it is to forget about all the exceptional products that I'm used to.

Hopefully communication will improve. Keep our health, safety and cultural adjustment in your prayers. Until next time.

- Jen

I hope that this letter finds you well. Really, I hope that this letter finds you at all, considering the very few people who have bookmarked this website. If you are reading this, then I suppose you have arrived.

As I write today, I am glad to be in Armenia. Yesterday, however, I told Jen that I wanted to go home. Such is life for me here, with much tossing and turning. In my wanting moments, I am miserable. I think about the things that I don't have and won't have for 27 shagging months. These thoughts are becoming fewer as the days pass. Then there are the moments when I psych myself into believing that I am actually living in this third world. In these moments, I can turn on a faucet and patiently wait until brown water comes out. And then I can patiently wait until the color goes away. This is nothing to get upset about; it's just the way it is.

Don't think I'm about to abandon modern conveniences, though. I filter water religiously to avoid annoyances like giardia. I keep names and phone numbers stored on the Palm Pilot. And, of course, I'm sitting here in front of my laptop updating the website.

I do seem to be having a harder time than Jen. I haven't really become fond of the people here, perhaps because my verbal skills are limited. The other day, I had a conversation with an Armenian that went something like this:

ME: Barev tsis. (Hello.)

HIM: Barev tsis. (Hello.)

ME: Inch pes es? (How are you?)

HIM: Lav em. (Good.)

ME: (blank stare)

HIM: (What is this American doing in this godforsaken country?)

Also, Jen seems to like the meals better than I do. The food itself is fine. The problem is in how and when it's served. For breakfast, we typically have pasta and tomato sauce with cucumbers and cherries on the side--and chocolates for dessert. For lunch, bread. For dinner, well we don't really get to have dinner because it's served at 11:00 PM. I won't even get started on the vodka and cognac shots at breakfast.

We see many things here that we've never seen in America (mainly because we didn't grow up in the 18th century). Some of the things that we would consider atrocities back home: open manholes in the streets (the covers are stolen for scrapmetal), an outhouse built directly over the river, exposed electrical wire in places kids play, cars without seatbelts, busdrivers who turn off the engine when they are going downhill (to save gas), one-lane roads, water faucets in houses that only come on for an hour every third day. Walking to school today, I witnessed a horse with its neck tied to the ground with a two-foot chain. All the poor animal could do was eat the grass right under its nose. In the western world: animal abuse. Here: the most efficient means to an end.

It's easy to go on about the bad things here. But there are many things we love about our new home. For the next two-and-a-half months, we are living on the side of a mountain. It's cold in the mornings and temperate throughout the day. It's quiet, there are few stressors and plenty of times to play. Today we hiked upward until a cloud enveloped us; this weekend we go sightseeing. Our bed is made out of lambswool and our water comes straight off the mountain. I can even pick up U.S. Open updates (Tiger Woods is a freak) on my shortwave radio.