tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42638973647246542342024-03-17T23:02:42.685-04:00the expatkerri blogthe world is waitingexpatkerrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16128146916913551095noreply@blogger.comBlogger80125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263897364724654234.post-31731134397092861782021-08-12T22:01:00.008-04:002021-08-13T15:20:14.630-04:00Cities of ColourIt was so hot in the car. In the back seat, my three friends had all passed out in a sweaty heat-induced stupor. The man we hired to drive us from Fes saw me take a picture of them sleeping and chuckled to himself. He didn't make another sound the whole drive.<div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfxxclDpVWlOD95nz5yXUFzBUDpOYavGPYGTjfsuELud6x0-dOal-fr-ScXfcOKYVA0Pm3o7fA_iHH7qm0BbOhwCH_0F35X_6HJu0ON4KGiQGzWoK6rzFAv6ZVXiaftKLAWHhdUVDb_-pg/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfxxclDpVWlOD95nz5yXUFzBUDpOYavGPYGTjfsuELud6x0-dOal-fr-ScXfcOKYVA0Pm3o7fA_iHH7qm0BbOhwCH_0F35X_6HJu0ON4KGiQGzWoK6rzFAv6ZVXiaftKLAWHhdUVDb_-pg/w640-h426/IMG_4010.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Along with two friends from Macedonia, I had the chance to travel and explore Morocco for two weeks in May of 2018. There were sand dunes, colourful medinas, wide starry skies, intricately tiled buildings out of a fantastic patterned dream, and there was the mesmerizing blue city of Chefchaouen.<br /><br />It's not certain why all of the buildings are painted blue, but it seems that in the seventies the buildings in the city were required to be painted blue to boost tourism. As we wandered around the streets surrounded by blues in different hues, it felt so peaceful.</div><div><br /></div><div>It also somehow felt cooler there, almost like we were near the ocean.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl8tbwFTeObCL9y0tODHdoQzOJb5IkUO6IL9GGlbdzfl-I2adS2Tn1FUWVFRidHjR0vl-WAu2objlLdnvZZnFUAjXRcn-a92ndeL3f53E8N78V3vYFs6gL2kRhDARmDLeLOsk__ZCxWtUQ/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="750" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl8tbwFTeObCL9y0tODHdoQzOJb5IkUO6IL9GGlbdzfl-I2adS2Tn1FUWVFRidHjR0vl-WAu2objlLdnvZZnFUAjXRcn-a92ndeL3f53E8N78V3vYFs6gL2kRhDARmDLeLOsk__ZCxWtUQ/w225-h400/IMG_2832.jpeg" width="225" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEeC18nVCcyUOt9WaEWjFZjcFxEFUas0nSKQxdXkloGnsykm1YTQcgRsxa_H0oGCpHeC6sUjtCW-fRAK0LXlLUxtqjOCYEt3l7r49CZY1nWo0gnPmd8mNkSNgPva8Dg6qK4b0dTmEHE3Wu/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEeC18nVCcyUOt9WaEWjFZjcFxEFUas0nSKQxdXkloGnsykm1YTQcgRsxa_H0oGCpHeC6sUjtCW-fRAK0LXlLUxtqjOCYEt3l7r49CZY1nWo0gnPmd8mNkSNgPva8Dg6qK4b0dTmEHE3Wu/w300-h400/IMG_2740.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div>The uniformity of the streets made walking around almost dreamlike, and it was easy to get lost (which to me is one of the great joys of travelling). Wandering there, surrounded by an agreed upon colour, reminded me of my visit to the white city of <span style="font-family: inherit;">Popay<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">á</span>n i</span>n Colombia in 2012.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj535sOH1METnOFd8iTBUYuDp53urzz3uPblmjU1v5154P-Kd7vEwuzoKbkhKRy9TJZm7JELAE6Jjf4Z1XIPE0TpRAhjhfClfpcDQwoG6WEJCgHRl_TOjYfcNRslbWP48Nle8zCa7EXEkZS/s2048/IMG_5771.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj535sOH1METnOFd8iTBUYuDp53urzz3uPblmjU1v5154P-Kd7vEwuzoKbkhKRy9TJZm7JELAE6Jjf4Z1XIPE0TpRAhjhfClfpcDQwoG6WEJCgHRl_TOjYfcNRslbWP48Nle8zCa7EXEkZS/w240-h320/IMG_5771.jpeg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieG6FhL3j-2Qi9AUdrqrom23Q1hJQOEutVt5v42rVmD7HGXu55Xjc-5hheLJMizhf0uemKjciiXxLtDIXsrWOvtU8KWwFjXzrPoDny5yfZz8TEAtvLkEmCEELQYjF9TQD1dtg_80qemQsy/s2048/IMG_5775.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieG6FhL3j-2Qi9AUdrqrom23Q1hJQOEutVt5v42rVmD7HGXu55Xjc-5hheLJMizhf0uemKjciiXxLtDIXsrWOvtU8KWwFjXzrPoDny5yfZz8TEAtvLkEmCEELQYjF9TQD1dtg_80qemQsy/w240-h320/IMG_5775.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieG6FhL3j-2Qi9AUdrqrom23Q1hJQOEutVt5v42rVmD7HGXu55Xjc-5hheLJMizhf0uemKjciiXxLtDIXsrWOvtU8KWwFjXzrPoDny5yfZz8TEAtvLkEmCEELQYjF9TQD1dtg_80qemQsy/s2048/IMG_5775.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIqchXEcXmDIjVHrbTNqBI50F4OFl5QGVYCerIRq6ZW3JknVrRR-P0vOBXlvE_DB5mpXD2TIIytLeKyI0y6ktoaaRwN7FGNpARMJ16ejI3t3yn8sy-Opfux14fRK76FaHoAPtMQKbfnkVz/s2048/IMG_5801.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIqchXEcXmDIjVHrbTNqBI50F4OFl5QGVYCerIRq6ZW3JknVrRR-P0vOBXlvE_DB5mpXD2TIIytLeKyI0y6ktoaaRwN7FGNpARMJ16ejI3t3yn8sy-Opfux14fRK76FaHoAPtMQKbfnkVz/w240-h320/IMG_5801.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">An equally mesmerizing place. We stayed with Borja and Luisa in their beautiful parkview hostel, Parklife, which was a trip in itself.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Sometimes I think of travelling to different countries as getting a click on your transit ticket, and when you ride, the inspector comes through and punches a little hole in it, leaving it a little less intact than it once was. Sometimes I reflect on all the people I've bonded with, hostels I've found by following cryptic directions, moments that just stick with me, and in many cases I have to think pretty hard and retrace my steps to remember which country I was in when that particular thing happened. Was it Venice where I met the girl from Mexico with the terrifying story of being followed in the street? Or was it in Belgium somewhere? Where was that awful hostel that had triple bunkbeds where I somehow ended up on the top bunk and bonked my head on the ceiling? What was the name of that bartender who gave me free cookies in Liechtenstein? Or was it Luxembourg?<br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Even still, among all my chaotic travel memories, Colombia still stays with me. And Morocco does too.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihVzdox_6BqUWLdJzREub4q8GIprUNTM8alqgiQ1KIlMMwSCn4Bv4ivkpkKM-wBcLL3I-R0e3hCuCzdXMC6i93Xedp_QM3bagVXCN_UZC3MS4r4rV_Y8xFY5JNasDGbjAhn-qhteDUKHMv/s2048/IMG_4104.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihVzdox_6BqUWLdJzREub4q8GIprUNTM8alqgiQ1KIlMMwSCn4Bv4ivkpkKM-wBcLL3I-R0e3hCuCzdXMC6i93Xedp_QM3bagVXCN_UZC3MS4r4rV_Y8xFY5JNasDGbjAhn-qhteDUKHMv/w640-h426/IMG_4104.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwCEr2CcE1inV4DWVRWCx3dKPlrEcIr80JXOsuQtULFr2z_ItF7AE8B_hZvhkLIlWOXUsNdHFeGgF-_7HEBb0M_ouVwmjq5_rienA_zKZtj6UPr_g6p1CLROEWMGmJdCLaS9Im5eCrH7w1/s2048/IMG_2747.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwCEr2CcE1inV4DWVRWCx3dKPlrEcIr80JXOsuQtULFr2z_ItF7AE8B_hZvhkLIlWOXUsNdHFeGgF-_7HEBb0M_ouVwmjq5_rienA_zKZtj6UPr_g6p1CLROEWMGmJdCLaS9Im5eCrH7w1/w300-h400/IMG_2747.jpeg" width="300" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_zRfkxfs801h3Q5yGdyDP_BT3vpQOrfcCnPtmgoceK6p_6nFmvMIIE7ALmB20WMH-rkQE73NQkZOF7BeNZTR5LMFUJo0uMfzpS1TgarQepbvU1NShaKp5A1sGmSi1x_Bg62DHLsNtD_YM/s2048/IMG_2787+2.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: right;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_zRfkxfs801h3Q5yGdyDP_BT3vpQOrfcCnPtmgoceK6p_6nFmvMIIE7ALmB20WMH-rkQE73NQkZOF7BeNZTR5LMFUJo0uMfzpS1TgarQepbvU1NShaKp5A1sGmSi1x_Bg62DHLsNtD_YM/w300-h400/IMG_2787+2.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxUg5_SumWqi2etvq1Y4gpcdFfXi9zmb_V6u01meYYZeeAocH3qxfwwmMG27ZwQ2r90VvGM4J4Ud_xHEPJolk5ABNKP0lgE9SAu-1tUM4xi7m6_0e2I-F1Z3qGC49ZMUzlcwknQjFeQYM5/s2048/IMG_4024.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxUg5_SumWqi2etvq1Y4gpcdFfXi9zmb_V6u01meYYZeeAocH3qxfwwmMG27ZwQ2r90VvGM4J4Ud_xHEPJolk5ABNKP0lgE9SAu-1tUM4xi7m6_0e2I-F1Z3qGC49ZMUzlcwknQjFeQYM5/w640-h426/IMG_4024.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div></div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7aJ00K8C-cwEdDGCrOhtQyx9i77fQSmKGr82enrdG6DopHfaXLTiB29rsm_e0qyhnEyVWizU0o3POm8QeSufm097leTI5I3w-6EiAOKAa_OhVD2vfTZS5_8MbGG-5v4uhhbSr26VwptcC/s2048/IMG_3984.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7aJ00K8C-cwEdDGCrOhtQyx9i77fQSmKGr82enrdG6DopHfaXLTiB29rsm_e0qyhnEyVWizU0o3POm8QeSufm097leTI5I3w-6EiAOKAa_OhVD2vfTZS5_8MbGG-5v4uhhbSr26VwptcC/w640-h426/IMG_3984.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">Remember to follow me on Twitter @expatkerri ^^ and subscribe to my YouTube channel http://www.youtube.com/expatkerri</div>expatkerrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16128146916913551095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263897364724654234.post-8298669233584358752016-03-20T20:51:00.004-04:002016-03-20T20:54:46.040-04:00Chilling on a Boat in the Backwaters of IndiaThe boat churns to a slow start on as I drop my bag in the bedroom. It has two double beds, and I'm not sure how all 9 of us will sleep here. This is our first glimpse at what will be our home for the next three days.<br />
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I went to India alone, a year ago now, and hadn't booked any portion of my trip in advance. In fact, all I had really done was looked at pictures of interesting places and highlighted them on a <a href="http://mapfling.com/#s=4&a=13.905554271864046&n=77.0019722&z=6&t=m&b=19.0759837&b=13.0597049&b=15.2993265&b=13.0597049&b=10.8505159&b=11.1271225&b=9.9252007&b=9.9312328&b=15.3350132&b=17.385044&b=11.9138598&m=72.87765590000004&m=80.22522779999997&m=74.12399600000003&m=80.22522779999997&m=76.27108329999999&m=78.65689420000001&m=78.11977539999998&m=76.26730410000005&m=76.46002399999998&m=78.486671&m=79.81447219999995&g=Mumbai%2C%20Maharashtra%2C%20India&g=Chennai%2C%20Tamil%20Nadu%2C%20India&g=Goa%2C%20India&g=Chennai%2C%20Tamil%20Nadu%2C%20India&g=Kerala%2C%20India&g=Tamil%20Nadu%2C%20India&g=Madurai%2C%20Tamil%20Nadu%2C%20India&g=Cochin%2C%20Kerala%2C%20India&g=Hampi%2C%20Karnataka%20583239%2C%20India&g=Hyderabad%2C%20Telangana%2C%20India&g=Puducherry%2C%20Puducherry%2C%20India">map</a>:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUN17hujVbFZqFFMv2hnlRftWvBtfOvMY0zgJmoKL86SoAatUOZlArbpQfsLXkKYvGduypHZC-9NDaJzOIjp1d6Qs6W3ZMEfnrwPirgb7t1nsAwsKlzcYuJK-djyjbk2MTUMR5lYWMzgGD/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-01-14+at+11.55.27+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUN17hujVbFZqFFMv2hnlRftWvBtfOvMY0zgJmoKL86SoAatUOZlArbpQfsLXkKYvGduypHZC-9NDaJzOIjp1d6Qs6W3ZMEfnrwPirgb7t1nsAwsKlzcYuJK-djyjbk2MTUMR5lYWMzgGD/s400/Screen+Shot+2016-01-14+at+11.55.27+AM.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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When I first arrived in Mumbai, I was eaten alive by mosquitos in my hostel room while napping. Coupling my giant welts with having no idea where to eat or how to get a train, I was hoping for a friend. But for the first few days, everyone in the hostel was either violently ill or tanned and wearing a bindi and finishing their trip. I consoled two different women on two consecutive nights as they cried at the realization that their trips were actually over. Envious of their positive experiences, I wanted to fall in love with India the way they both had.</div>
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After spending my third night alone in the all female dorm, two solo backpackers came trickling in one night. When I awoke, the hostel was newly chatty and curious, couches filled with friendly travellers. We gravitated towards each other, and bonded over a walk through the Dhavari slum that day. Our friendships were solidified when we played extras in a Bollywood film the following day, (but that's really a whole other story). I remember the first night we met, someone mentioned wanting to "rent a boat with a group" to explore the backwaters of South India. I didn't even know then what the backwaters were, or that we would all be on a boat together just two weeks later.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Follow my travels <a href="https://www.instagram.com/expatkerri/">@expatkerri</a> Instagram</td></tr>
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We hired a private boat for two nights and three days, and it took us all around the backwaters of Kerala with stops here and there to explore the way people live in this area. We docked for the nights at the river banks, and stayed up late swapping travel and relationship stories. During the days, though, we mostly just sat and watched the trees float by.<br />
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This trip was over a year ago, and I am still in regular contact with a few of the friends I shared this boat ride with. I'm not the first to say it, but I really do believe traveling solo is the best recipe for making a few more friends around the globe, as meeting on the road adds so much energy and intensity to a friendship. You instantly have shared experiences to bond you: where you've been together, what you've eaten, where you've slept, and who else you've met. The best part of all is that friends you meet on the road tend to be on the road again, making them easy future travel partners. In fact, last year I visited one of the friends I met on this trip in India when she was travelling in Egypt.<br />
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I don't know exactly why, but part of me was scared to visit India before this trip. (Okay, maybe I partly know why - thanks <a href="http://chuckthompson.com/books/to-hellholes-and-back/" target="_blank">Chuck Thompson</a>). I was worried I would get sick. I was worried I would get robbed. I was worried I wouldn't fit in with people talking about reiki and yoga (and yes I overheard the girl behind me on my flight talked about the reiki retreat she was going to do). Irrational or not, I was worried. I felt I had to "work up" to India... which involved travelling to most of Southeast Asia and South America first.<br />
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That made India my 49th country. When I was finally travelling around, I kept thinking to myself "why did I wait so long to come here?". Unlike Japan, English is spoken commonly, and people will approach you and offer directions and help. Unlike Peru, I didn't feel people sizing me (or my belongings) up. I shared smiles with women and their children on the all-female trains in Mumbai. They would ask me what stop I need, and tell me where to sit, and when to get ready to get off. I even had a woman walk me all the way along a series of platforms to help me find my train as she told me about her son in England. Almost every encounter I had in India left me feeling happy.<br />
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Why did I wait so long? I don't know, but I do know it won't be long until I visit India again.<br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">Remember to follow me on Twitter @expatkerri ^^ and subscribe to my YouTube channel http://www.youtube.com/expatkerri</div>expatkerrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16128146916913551095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263897364724654234.post-8296212085548261302015-06-29T18:50:00.001-04:002015-06-29T18:50:44.162-04:00An education at the Pyramids of Giza<div>
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It began with the chaos and scams of a visit to any other famous tourist site: Angkor Wat, The Eiffel Tower, The Grand Bazaar... After entering through the gates of the pyramids, our taxi driver let someone into the passenger seat, (arising suspicion that something fishy was going on), who seemed to direct the driver where to drop us off. Our taxi driver then let us off in the touristic area where people start tours of the pyramids by horse and carriage (confirming suspicion, as our taxi driver probably gets a cut if we spend our money on a horse and carriage). Our taxi then tried to charge us 100 pounds for a ride that cost 15 pounds according to the meter. I refused, of course, and handed him 15 as he asked for 50. I got out of the car and then he asked for 20. Then I said no and he said "you are right" and left. I guess he was just trying his luck.</div>
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Once we were out of the taxi, we were swarmed by several carriage drivers offering tours of the pyramids by horse. After insisting that we didn't want to hire a carriage - with a man walking alongside us with an empty carriage, lowering his price with every step, "80... okay 70" - we had to walk the sandy path out of the tourist trap to enter the pyramids at the actual entrance.</div>
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My patience was being tested in a real way, in addition to the sweaty heat, and we weren't even inside the grounds of the pyramids yet.</div>
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Once at the gates, we bought our tickets, a little over $10 apiece, and entered through the turnstiles. The pyramids looked bigger now than they had when they were peeking through the passing buildings as we approached in our taxi. They also seemed a lot more peaceful...</div>
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A few meters in, a man asked to see our tickets, and we refused as we'd already had them checked. We were asked a few other times, and surely unsuspecting tourists have been led astray by vendors posing as ticket inspectors.</div>
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As we walked toward the biggest pyramid of all, several camel owners offered to give us two hour camel rides around the pyramids. One camel owner in particular walked alongside us and seemed very keen to talk to us. While we chatted with him about the names of the different pyramids, several other camel owners came to offer rides, and we made use of our limited Arabic: "La, shukran" (meaning "no thank you"). This seemed to disperse the vendors, but one hat vendor came up to us after the others had left, confiding in us that he despises the culture of harassing tourists.</div>
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"Look around. There are just no tourists here now, since the revolution".</div>
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He was right. Where were all the group tours and families I expected to see? Where were the other backpackers? I realized then that we nearly had the whole pyramids to ourselves.</div>
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It was nice for us, but for the vendors and camel owners, it must be a true time of stress. Where hundreds of tourists used to flock every day, now there are only a few dozen. What effect does this have on someone who purchased a camel in the heydey of tourism? Now, the prospects of finding someone to hire your camel for the day look dismal.</div>
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By noon, several of the camel owners had given up trying to give rides that day, and we watched a group of them ride off together. I felt a pang of guilt for not supporting them.</div>
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The hat vendor walked with us, not selling, but explaining. He talked about the revolution, and how the country is in a counter-revolution now. He asked us to tell our friends about our visit to Egypt, and to encourage others to visit now. He said "most places" in the country are safe for tourists. The stroll became an education about current issues in Egypt.</div>
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<b>As we walked along, I felt the magnitude of the ancient history in front of me, of a time completely disconnected from the major current <a href="http://www.hrw.org/world-report/2015/country-chapters/egypt">events</a> still unfolding in the nearby capital. I felt surprised at how quiet it was there in the desert.</b></div>
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It's strange to be a tourist sometimes. We are temporary, visiting for a moment a place where many make their livelihood. The dollars we exchange into pounds that we spend on a camel ride, or a souvenir, or a bottle of water, are someone's salary.</div>
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Upon exiting the pyramids, taking in the whole view through a fence, I realized I hadn't learned anything about the ancient monuments I'd been walking around. I don't know which pyramid is which, or which one was built first or last. What I had learned was about a nation's struggle to go on with daily life during a time of major social and political change.</div>
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We found a taxi to bring us back to the city centre, and stared out the windows as the city went by.</div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">Remember to follow me on Twitter @expatkerri ^^ and subscribe to my YouTube channel http://www.youtube.com/expatkerri</div>expatkerrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16128146916913551095noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263897364724654234.post-59172456479548611752015-05-25T13:18:00.000-04:002015-06-30T20:34:11.184-04:00An afternoon in Paris<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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It had been 9 years since I visited Paris. Arriving 4 days after the initial Charlie Hebdo incident, the city was a bit quieter than it had seemed to me in 2006.<br />
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My flight to India had a 12-hour stopover, or<i> passage</i>, in Paris. Since the city is so full of beautiful famous landmarks, I was able to see a lot of special places I'd seen in my first visit to Paris.<br />
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Starting my <i>passage en Paris</i>, I went to my favourite icon in all of Paris - Sacre Coeur.<br />
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My perception in 2006:<br />
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and in 2015:<br />
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On the stairs leading up to the church, I was greeted by a smiling man who asked if I was married and how many children I had. After I answered, he asked to see my hand and I could tell something was up, so I just told him I didn't have any euros. He laughed, at my implication that he would be asking for money, and proceeded to take out a string. He asked me to point and as I kept insisting I had no money, we got into a light conversation about travel and life while he braided a quick bracelet attached to my finger. Once it was finished, he said I should think of it as a token of friendliness and to remember my time in Paris while wearing it. The bracelet fell off a few days later in Mumbai.<br />
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After the bracelet encounter, I reached the top and sat on the windy stairs, recalling the time 9 years earlier when I had shared a bottle of wine and strummed a guitar on these exact same stairs, staring over the same view, with a few traveler friends who I met at a hostel. To my surprise, I also remembered a particular lookout point where you could see the tiny Eiffel Tower in the distance.<br />
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The <i>passage</i> continued through the streets of Paris, passing the Moulin Rouge, the Palais Garnier, and reaching Jardin des Tuileries. The most beautiful sunset was emerging.<br />
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My friend who lives in Paris said she hadn't seen a sunset like this, ever. People were stopping to look and take photos.</div>
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The walk finished at the Notre Dame Cathedral, where you can catch the RER train which goes directly back to Charles de Gaulle airport. I was back with enough time to have a cup of tea and catch my flight to Mumbai.<br />
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">Remember to follow me on Twitter @expatkerri ^^ and subscribe to my YouTube channel http://www.youtube.com/expatkerri</div>expatkerrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16128146916913551095noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263897364724654234.post-15123823035256547552015-01-24T04:01:00.001-05:002015-02-23T14:26:09.255-05:00How many days in India?<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
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If you asked me how long I've been traveling in India, I'd say a few weeks. Three at least. With days so full of new faces and foods, new smells and places, new friends and new reflections, it's hard to believe it's only been ten days. Ten days. Ten days into India.<br />
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From the street snacks to riding the ladies train into South Bombay to rickshaw troubles in Andheri to the set of a Bollywood film in film city to the warmest waters of Pallolem in Goa, it's only been ten days. <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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Near Churchgate station, there are many Art Deco buildings with round corners, Mumbai</div>
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The thieves market, Mumbai </div>
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Trying some new sweet snacks, Masjid Mumbai</div>
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The ladies train car totally empty on a Sunday night</div>
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Entering the Dharavi slums, Mumbai<br />
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CST station lit up at night, Mumbai</div>
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I'm now in Pallolem beach in Goa province, swimming away my afternoons in the sun. </div>
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I've uploaded several videos to my YouTube channel from India so far, with more awaiting to be uploaded. Please be patient as strong wifi is hard to come by in beach town...</div>
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Twitter @expatkerri http://www.facebook.com/expatkerri</div>
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">Remember to follow me on Twitter @expatkerri ^^ and subscribe to my YouTube channel http://www.youtube.com/expatkerri</div>expatkerrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16128146916913551095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263897364724654234.post-23378882305175539562014-08-25T13:45:00.000-04:002014-08-25T14:04:53.338-04:00Seeking alone time and getting much more in Indonesia<div>
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A month ago, I awoke on my last day on the largest of the Gili Islands, tucked between Bali and Lombok islands in Indonesia. I awoke to birds chirping, leaves lightly blowing, plates clinking, oceans waving; I awoke to the sounds of paradise. I also awoke to a deep sadness to be leaving not only a tiny beautiful place, but the unexpected group of friends I had made there as well.<br />
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Going to Gili Trawangan was my getaway. To rinse myself from the noise and pollution of Beijing, to take advantage of being in Asia again, to see a new place, and strap on my backpack again. It was mainly a scuba diving trip, as diving is a huge hobby of mine, and I don't have a chance to do it when I am in Toronto. I had heard from <a href="http://www.thisbatteredsuitcase.com/">Brenna</a> that there were lots of turtles in the water, and that the island was a good place to chill out and enjoy beautiful beaches.<br />
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I was going to be by myself. <br />
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Early to sleep, I'd wake with the sun for my dives. I'd stretch and meditate, and try my best to breathe slowly underwater to conserve my air. I'd look carefully under rocks and in coral for creatures of the sea, and move myself with subtle movements of my flippers. I'd be cautious and calm, and take every moment of the dive in. Once finished the dive, I'd go through the fish identification book with the other divers to determine what we saw. I'd learn the names of everything we saw and research them.<br />
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After my dives, I'd write in my journal on the beach with a cocktail or seashell in
hand, and sand on my skin. I'd reflect on my time in Beijing and try to
determine what it was that made living there so hard for me. I'd write about my life of late, and reflect on what it means to be almost thirty. I'd make a
list of all the people I love, and write postcards to them. I'd spend these ten days quietly nurturing myself. I wouldn't meet many people, and I'd keep to myself.<br />
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It didn't quite turn out that way.<br />
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When boarding the boat for the 2 hour journey from Bali to Lombok, I met a traveller named Martin who enthralled me with stories of med school and hiking Mount Bromo. We rode the boat next to each other and exchanged ideas about travelling and realized we both share a need to travel that many of our friends at home do not understand about us. When we arrived on the island, we decided to share a room because it was cheaper than bunk beds at the popular backpackers. With that, I was inducted into the established travel-friend group of Martin. He had stayed at In Da Lodge hostel in Ubud a few weeks earlier, and had met a group of solo travellers there who were all travelling to Gili in the coming weeks. As soon as Martin and I arrived to the island, he kept an eye out for his posse.<br />
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Within a day, serendipitous reuniting hugs abound, the In Da Lodge crew was together again. There is something very sweet about meeting a friend at one time on your trip, and then seeing them again in another place. It feels extra special to see them again, and upon reuniting, those new friends feel instantly like old friends from the road. They shared inside jokes from Ubud and teased each other in a way that good friends do. Instead of being an outsider who wasn't among the original group, I was adopted in like I'd been there the whole time. I was greeted with hugs and smiles and curiosity and warmth. I was on the receiving end of the openness of the travelling spirit.<br />
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We ate dinner together at the night market on the island, and more friends showed up. We gorged ourselves on pretty cakes and desserts and stories from our various adventures. Afterward, someone mentioned a silent disco, and we danced together in silence with earphones on until 3 am.<br />
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The next morning, I rushed to the scuba shop and was kindly teased for showing up 15 minutes late. I had to throw together my gear and barely had time to squeeze in a cup of tea before heading to the boat.<br />
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Once under water, though, the quietness came. The sound of my own breath and the entire ocean surrounding me, entirely wrapped up in the underwater world around me. Slow motion bubbles and an anemonefish with two tiny babies, barely visible in the swaying coral. An octopus curled under a shelf, camouflaged black, with only a large white winking eye to give itself away. A strong current pulling us along, leaving us expending almost no effort to move across the dive site. That precious dreamy sense of weightlessness that I can only know when I dive. The only sound is a distant tap of metal on tank as our instructor points out a family of sharks cozy between large boulders. I see three, and find out when we surface that there were six. The dream comes to an end as our tanks run light and we slowly surface. During our three minute safety stop, a massive hawksbill turtle comes up for air nearby, and I realize we are both going up for air in this moment, the turtle and I.<br />
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On the boat as we ride back toward the beach, I realize that diving was what I really needed. The dive was my meditation, it was all the contemplation I sought for this adventure. I didn't need the afternoon alone to write about it in my journal over a coffee. The notes in my logbook would remind me of the life we saw underwater. What I really wanted after those dives was the company of my new friends. <br />
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After a long chat with the friendly <a href="http://www.bigbubblediving.com/">scuba staff</a>, I felt so lucky to return to the room for a shower and then meet up with Martin, to ride bikes along the beach and find the rest of the gang for sunset watching over Bintangs on the beach, for storytelling and photo-taking and those momentary blips in time when you really feel like this is it, this is the sum of all of my life. This is where the choices I have made have taken me, and this is where I am now. These people are my friends now, and all of us have been brought here by different forces in our lives. Though we might not meet again, right now, we are watching this sunset together. <br />
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It gets me every time. Heading off for solo adventures, seeking time alone to contemplate the depths of my soul, but instead finding new friends and new places to bring you into the moment and realizing that <a href="http://ctt.ec/2o733">"it wasn't being alone that I needed, but travel".</a><br />
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Flying home is always emotional, but this time I felt so full of life I could hardly contain it. Those mad feelings came out in tears and laughs and deep sighs during the days that followed my return. I glued the log book pages into my dive log just yesterday, and a seashell from Gili T sits on my bathroom shelf to remind me that the sea is never really that far out of reach. <div class="blogger-post-footer">Remember to follow me on Twitter @expatkerri ^^ and subscribe to my YouTube channel http://www.youtube.com/expatkerri</div>expatkerrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16128146916913551095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263897364724654234.post-19582789595769446472014-05-29T23:18:00.000-04:002014-08-25T14:05:45.088-04:00From a Woman's Perspective: A Message about Consent<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In 2008, I was walking to my apartment at night and a man approached me to ask for directions. I pointed where to go and he grabbed my butt. I said "sorry" and walked away. "Sorry". I did nothing wrong and I apologized to a guy who grabbed my butt, because it is ingrained in me, and in others, to be polite. "Sorry".<br />
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Does it matter that I was wearing a short skirt that night? Does it matter that I didn't wear a skirt for a month after that?<br />
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Last week on a crowded subway in Beijing at rush hour, someone grabbed my butt. I swatted the hand away.
I share these two stories as a person who has encountered unwanted advances. It happens.<br />
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With <a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/notallmen">#notallmen</a> all over Twitter, and in light of <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/newsbeat/26664725">this</a> recent expose, I wanted to share a bit of my life experience, as well as some musings on the word "no".<br />
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For some of us, saying "no" is hard. Even when someone is doing something unwanted, the word "no" might come to mind, but the politeness and preservation of the happy mood might lead us to say everything but "no".<br />
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For this reason, it's clear that "no" isn't always a word. In fact, in my life, I've only ever used the word "no" in a physical situation once, despite having been in multiple scenarios where the word "no" would have been useful.<br />
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"No" doesn't have to be said. It can be a look of the eye, a turn of the shoulder, a nudge of the hand, a turn of the head; no comes in many colours.<br />
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It could be "I don't know" or "I have a boy/girlfriend" or "I'll be late" or "I'm tired" or anything else that isn't a bright smiling yes. All of these are the actions of a person who doesn't want the advance.
It could be "sorry". If someone doesn't want to kiss you, they probably don't want to do anything else.<br />
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There's a big difference between touching someone who wants it, and touching someone who doesn't.<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">Remember to follow me on Twitter @expatkerri ^^ and subscribe to my YouTube channel http://www.youtube.com/expatkerri</div>expatkerrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16128146916913551095noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263897364724654234.post-71972972626072809092014-03-12T12:02:00.000-04:002014-03-12T12:02:03.434-04:00Strange English Signs in Korea<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
One of the most consistently entertaining things about living in a country that doesn't speak English is the English. The signs are sometimes so funny that you can't believe someone didn't catch it before it made it to the printing room. Bad English is everywhere in Korea: on t-shirts, on posters, on TV, in songs, in movies, in national parks, on official monuments, in government pamphlets, you get the picture. Once a friend of mine sat across from a couple on the KTX wearing couple t-shirts that had arrows pointing to the partner with the words "loves the cock". When he asked to take a photo of them, they smiled and gave the classic "victory" sign. There's gotta be some victory in there somewhere.</div>
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So, as an English teacher, should I be concerned about all of this bad English infiltrating the minds and culture that I am there to nurture, right? </div>
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Nope.</div>
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I just take photos of it.</div>
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Where is the best of the worst English you've encountered?</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">Remember to follow me on Twitter @expatkerri ^^ and subscribe to my YouTube channel http://www.youtube.com/expatkerri</div>expatkerrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16128146916913551095noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263897364724654234.post-86201665542990672162014-02-20T16:09:00.000-05:002014-08-25T14:06:38.004-04:00Natural Risk-TakersSitting in the Porter lounge at Billy Bishop airport in Toronto, my flight to Boston cancelled and rescheduled 5 hours later, I pull up some readings for my online masters program. This week we are discussing how to teach listening:<br />
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<i>"<span class="a" style="left: 807px; top: 3073px;">Those who are cautious need to be </span><span class="a" style="left: 807px; top: 3161px;">encouraged to take risks and to make inferences based upon the words they have </span><span class="a" style="left: 807px; top: 3248px;">managed to identify. Natural risk-takers need to be encouraged to check their guesses </span><span class="a" style="left: 807px; top: 3335px;">against new evidence as it comes in from the speaker. And all learners need to be shown </span><span class="a" style="left: 807px; top: 3423px;">that making guesses is not a sign of failure: it is a normal part of listening to a foreign </span><span class="a" style="left: 807px; top: 3509px;">language"</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="a" style="left: 807px; top: 3509px;">('The Changing Face of Listening', </span><span class="a" style="left: 807px; top: 1261px;">by John Field,</span><span class="a" style="left: 807px; top: 1435px;"> English Teaching Professional 6 1998)</span></span></div>
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<span class="a" style="left: 807px; top: 1435px;">"Natural risk-takers". The idea that some of us are naturally predisposed to a life of risk. </span></div>
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<span class="a" style="left: 807px; top: 1435px;">As a traveller, I often reflect on situations where I <a href="http://www.expatkerri.com/2012/02/elephant-ears.html" target="_blank">ought</a> to have made different choices than I did. Should I have hopped in that car with the man who worked in the Underground in London? Should I have drank that mysterious cloudy alcohol in Turkey, given to me by a person whose name I didn't know? Should I have slept alone in all those airports? Should I have had that Chai tea with that stranger in Kuala Lumpur? Should I have pulled out my camera and taken that photo of the 'no photo' sign at the border? Should I have gotten on that bus without checking that it was the right one, not knowing it would drop me off in the dark next to a garbage dump at midnight? Should I have made those choices? Should I have taken those risks?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Should you really have trusted me with all your worldly belongings?</span> </div>
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<span class="a" style="left: 807px; top: 1435px;">Maybe not. </span></div>
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<span class="a" style="left: 807px; top: 1435px;">Maybe I shouldn't have gotten drunk with my roommate and spontaneously booked that one-way ticket to London back in 2006. Maybe I shouldn't have gone to Korea without knowing anything more than the voice of my boss. Maybe I shouldn't have <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y50rrMeWN1g" target="_blank">held my camera in one hand</a> while trying not to fall on that slippery border crossing above a rushing river. Maybe I shouldn't have had that lemon shake that tasted a bit funny. Maybe I shouldn't have <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kBYvjSDlny8" target="_blank">sat on the stairs</a> of that train carriage. </span></div>
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<span class="a" style="left: 807px; top: 1435px;">Maybe I shouldn't have talked to that guy at that party. </span></div>
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<span class="a" style="left: 807px; top: 1435px;">But, what if?</span></div>
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<span class="a" style="left: 807px; top: 1435px;">If I hadn't booked that ticket to London, I wouldn't have travelled those 22 countries in 4 months, and I wouldn't have learned that I could travel alone. If I hadn't gone to Korea, I wouldn't have spent 4 of the happiest years of my twenties making friendships and memories that will last my lifetime. If I hadn't filmed that border crossing, I wouldn't remember how unsafe that bridge actually was. If I hadn't had that lemon shake I wouldn't have gotten traveller's diarrhea... okay so that was one risk I shouldn't have taken, but it was so thirst-quenching! If I hadn't sat on the stairs of the train carriage I wouldn't have dropped my purse and leaped off the moving train (James Bond style) to get it, but I also wouldn't have learned that a train in Burma <a href="http://www.thisbatteredsuitcase.com/long-way-round-taking-yangons-circle-train/" target="_blank">will stop</a> for that one idiot traveller who jumped off.</span></div>
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<span class="a" style="left: 807px; top: 1435px;">If I hadn't talked to that guy at that party, I wouldn't be sitting in this airport lounge now, with him at my side, waiting to board this plane to Boston. </span></div>
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<span class="a" style="left: 807px; top: 1435px;">In language learning, in travel, in life, we take risks every day. We have heard that getting in a car presents more risk than boarding a plane. </span></div>
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<span class="a" style="left: 807px; top: 1435px;">I'm not encouraging wannabe travellers to adopt a risk-taking attitude, or that natural risk-takers make better travellers. No, not at all. What I am saying is that our lives are made up of the sum of our experiences. And the experiences that we have are, sometimes, the direct result of the choices we make. Risk-taker or cautious, we are all making choices every day that shape the direction of our lives.</span></div>
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<span class="a" style="left: 807px; top: 1435px;">While we're getting deep, I'll also share that I suffer from overconfidence, a trait that can make or break a person, almost literally. Over the years, and throughout my travels, I have tried to keep my confidence in check, and to recognize when a particular situation merits more logical reflection than an impulsive choice. As I inch closer and closer to my thirtieth birthday, (pause for reaction), I am learning to balance my personal, educational, and professional life with my natural tendency to throw all my eggs in one basket, or (more literally) throw all my savings into a 6-month trip through South America. Trying to see the whole damn world while keeping my head on straight.</span></div>
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<span class="a" style="left: 807px; top: 1435px;">It is gonna take more than a few risks to get me there, or perhaps it will just take a few more cancelled flights.</span></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">Remember to follow me on Twitter @expatkerri ^^ and subscribe to my YouTube channel http://www.youtube.com/expatkerri</div>expatkerrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16128146916913551095noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263897364724654234.post-28482763708810195832014-01-15T15:26:00.001-05:002014-08-25T14:07:46.353-04:00Reunions and plane tickets<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
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I'm now writing from the airport in Manila as I wait to get my flight to Boracay. The wifi connection I'm using is called "morefuninthephilippines". I hope that's a prediction about the time I'm going to have here!<br />
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Yesterday in Seoul I had a relaxing morning after a twelve hour sleep. I bought some sleeping pills for a pharmacy to help me get the rest I needed, and luckily they helped a lot. I got 8 pills for $2.00 (can't beat that price)!</div>
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For lunch, I met my good friend Hyunwoo Sun, CEO of Talk To Me In Korean. He and I became friends several years ago, and it's always a great and interesting time with him. I visited the TTMIK office and we all went out for lunch together. I really enjoy their company, and it felt kind of like a reunion! Actually, this whole visit is like a reunion of friendships. </div>
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After parting with that group, I went to Insadong to meet another old friend who I met in Jinju. She is also visiting Korea now, and we just happened to overlap our visits here. Seeing her was great, and we made some travel plans together! I'll probably go to visit her in Washington DC sometime this year, and we might go visit a mutual friend in France who we met in Jinju. </div>
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Then, it was the airport railroad. A familiar sight for me... but always a welcome one. </div>
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Travelling makes me happier than pretty much anything else in my life. </div>
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">Remember to follow me on Twitter @expatkerri ^^ and subscribe to my YouTube channel http://www.youtube.com/expatkerri</div>expatkerrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16128146916913551095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263897364724654234.post-7592428602196545642014-01-13T18:43:00.001-05:002014-08-25T14:08:55.766-04:00Thoughts from Korea<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
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Diary entry:</div>
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I've been in Korea for 4 days now, and I've hardly slept a wink. Jetlag seems to be hitting me pretty hard this time around, so I am trying my best to adjust to the time here. At first I was insomniac for 2 nights, barely sleeping more than an hour. But, it's getting better slowly, as I woke up at 4am yesterday and 5am today. <br />
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I arrived in Seoul and spent my first night with my friend Yoomi, sharing her one-room apartment near Seongsin Women's University in central Seoul. Yoomi and I originally met in Toronto in 2008, when she was a student in my Beginner level class. We have become really close over the years, so it was really nice to spend those first few hours back in Korea with her. She even had made vegetarian pizza from scratch for me when I arrive at her place. </div>
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The following day we walked around Myeongdong together and did a little shopping. My luggage didn't arrive with me on my flight from Detroit, so I bought a few necessary items to survive until my bag would be delivered (which happened on Sunday night at 1:30am, but that's another story).</div>
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On the way to meet my friend for dinner, something amazing happened. I was transferring trains in the subway, and someone behind me said "Kerri?" It was surreal, to hear my name in such a crowded place. My first day in Seoul, and I ran into my good friend Hyojin! We couldn't believe the chance, in a city of 10 million...</div>
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That night I met up with my old friend and fellow Youtuber Stephen for Mexican food in Hongdae. He took me to his favourite bar, Thursday Party, and it was full of foreigners. I think there might be more foreigners in Seoul now than there were in 2012... but I don't know any numbers. It was fun to hang out there, but I tend to prefer the quieter more local feeling bar scene in Hongdae. </div>
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The next day, after an insomniac night, my friend and former student EunJu called me and we met up for coffee and breakfast near Ewha University in Seoul. It was so great having a coffee bun from Paris Baguette (some things never change). EunJu is an ambitious traveller, visiting India 3 times by herself, so we had a really satisfying conversation about travel, happiness, and our memories.</div>
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That afternoon I took a bus to Changwon to visit an old friend and to pick up a guitar and a suitcase that I had left behind when I left Korea in 2012. Actually, when I left Korea then, I was certain I would return within a few months, so I left a lot of important things here in Korea. I left them with my Korean boyfriend at the time, who is now my ex, and who at the time of breaking up told me he would throw my belongings into the trash. Needless to say, it was very relieving to see my luggage and guitar as I had left them, in the hands of a good friend. A big part of the reason for my trip here now is to bring those things back with me, and in a way to close some chapters of my life here in Korea. </div>
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After Changwon, I took a bus to my old stomping ground, Jinju! I met my former boss and my friend Seongmin for lunch. It was great to see my boss, as she is an amazing woman who helped make my time at Jinju Kyodae very rewarding. I also had a fun time catching up with Seongmin. Seeing both of them, I realized it's wonderful to see people that you love doing well in their lives. </div>
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Now I am preparing to return to Seoul to visit with a few more friends before I fly to the Philippines for a week. I can't wait to sit on the beach and get back into scuba diving. Luckily, I'll have one more week in Korea before I return to Toronto at the end of the month. I know the beach will be great, but part of me will be counting down the days to Seoul again. </div>
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From Jinju,</div>
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Kerri</div>
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">Remember to follow me on Twitter @expatkerri ^^ and subscribe to my YouTube channel http://www.youtube.com/expatkerri</div>expatkerrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16128146916913551095noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263897364724654234.post-65826585560382914182014-01-08T22:30:00.001-05:002014-08-25T14:09:22.054-04:00Travel Updates: Where I'm going nextTomorrow I return to my other motherland: South Korea. After spending 4 years living and working in various cities in Korea, I left in summer 2012 indefinitely to travel South America with a friend. It was the trip of a lifetime in many ways, and opened me to a whole new world of culture and language. The trip also marked the end of my life in Korea as I knew it.<br />
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It's now been over a year and a half since I left Korea; the longest I've ever been away since I first set foot there in 2006. I miss it everyday, and I often make anecdotal remarks about Korea in unassociated conversations. I'm so thrilled to have the chance to go back to cross paths with old friends and visit some of my favourite places.<br />
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While living in Asia, I had the chance to visit many countries in the area. I visited (in order) China, Vietnam, Japan, Thailand, Burma, Laos, and Cambodia. I also visited the DMZ and technically stood in North Korea... if that counts. There are many more countries in Southeast Asia that I want to visit... one of which is the Philippines. I've often had casual plans to visit this island paradise, but I didn't end up going there while living in Korea.<br />
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So, I'll be visiting Boracay in the Philippines next week! I am flying from Seoul, as it's much cheaper to fly within Asia than it is to fly direct from Toronto... and I also like the idea of traveling to more than one country on a trip. I can't wait to sink my feet in the sand and to scuba dive again. As I've never been to the Philippines, this will be the 47th country I've visited. (I'm secretly trying to get to 50 countries before my 30th birthday).<br />
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I am so looking forward to walking through the immigration line in Korea and feeling at home. Although I am technically home already at the moment, it feels like tomorrow is the beginning of a kind of homecoming.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Remember to follow me on Twitter @expatkerri ^^ and subscribe to my YouTube channel http://www.youtube.com/expatkerri</div>expatkerrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16128146916913551095noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263897364724654234.post-29837959088212629422013-12-31T16:25:00.001-05:002013-12-31T16:25:25.930-05:00Happy New Year!!!!<div style="text-align: center;">
It's the last day of 2013.</div>
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I wanted write a post to thank all of you for supporting my blog this year.</div>
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I look forward to another year of posting advice, pictures, and stories from my life and travels.</div>
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Happy New Year to all of you!</div>
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See you in 2014! </div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">Remember to follow me on Twitter @expatkerri ^^ and subscribe to my YouTube channel http://www.youtube.com/expatkerri</div>expatkerrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16128146916913551095noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263897364724654234.post-58040588119171659882013-11-22T15:35:00.002-05:002013-11-23T13:54:42.083-05:00Photo Essay from Angkor Wat: How to take unique and cool travel photos<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic1C1zKGGuGlfEl4hDw3E-BiiyfMxRm6h9Ogy0SissB0s08M4vJQ1sGiL0pVKzKGPjf9xSUCdEvalt7dWp28ipk8JbNt5ozCbbNLubLBDaKPhbEvMjLLqJQcuez8ZkSOtQ8jApEUeyc7j1/s1600/ym-21.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic1C1zKGGuGlfEl4hDw3E-BiiyfMxRm6h9Ogy0SissB0s08M4vJQ1sGiL0pVKzKGPjf9xSUCdEvalt7dWp28ipk8JbNt5ozCbbNLubLBDaKPhbEvMjLLqJQcuez8ZkSOtQ8jApEUeyc7j1/s640/ym-21.jpg"></a><br>
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"Have you been to Angkor Wat yet?" she asked me, as I pulled up a chair with my breakfast.<br>
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"I biked around it yesterday..." I answered, proudly. Keeping to myself the part where I ran out of water, took a wrong turn which took me 6km out of the way (a path I later had to retrace), and also the part where I rode back to the hostel without a map, in the dark. And the part where I almost cried when I made it back to the hostel, grateful to somehow have navigated the dark streets back to my home for the night. I hope she didn't notice my abnormally generous breakfast portions - I didn't even eat dinner the night before, as I was so tired.<br>
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"Wow, I didn't know you could do that! Some French guys and I are just going to hire a tuk tuk driver to take us around today. I guess you don't want to go again, do you?"<br>
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I'd bought a 3-day pass when I entered the grounds, and only visited for the one day, so it would be free for me to go again today. I'd also have a chance to take some more photos since I spent most of the first day biking.<br>
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"Sure I'd love to go again."<br>
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With that simple exchange, minutes later I was in a tuk tuk introducing myself in French to two Parisians and a woman from Switzerland. This was my chance, I thought, to take all the crazy creative photos I had wanted to take yesterday. We arranged to have our driver take us around the grounds for the day for twenty bucks. 5 bucks each.<br>
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When you visit somewhere as famous as Angkor Wat, it can be a challenge to make your photos stand out among the crowd. I hope you enjoy the shots I have collected below, and get inspired to take less than ordinary photos on your next trip. Enjoy!<br>
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Day one: How many faces can you find? (I see five)<br>
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Photos of signs break up the monotony of photos, and sometimes offer humour and insight into the culture you are visiting. I love that rust has peeled most of the important letters right off of this sign.<br>
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"Get out of my photo!" is what you want to yell. Either that, or stand there and wait 10 minutes for everyone to clear out, then you get your postcard photo... but to me, people are fascinating. Visiting Angkor Wat is a shared experience, so I like to involve strangers in my photos. All of these people are looking at something, seeing something, experiencing something, just like me.<br>
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I was initially very surprised when I heard Korean spoken in Angkor Wat. I wanted to introduce myself to the group I saw, but then after a moment it became clear that I would be hearing a lot more Korean that day. There were tour group upon tour group of Koreans making their way through the ruins, (with me tagging along to try to get some history without anyone knowing I could understand them). I wanted to take a photo of the Korean tour buses to remind myself of that moment. (Fun fact! I was hired by Hana Tour in 2011 to make videos of a luxury tour they offer in the Southern regions of South Korea. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i60336bBjAQ" target="_blank">Click here</a> to watch that video).<br>
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Including this lone biker in my shot here gives scale to the photo.<br>
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Giant crumbs.<br>
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Selfie at the top of Pre Rup temple, awaiting the sunset. If only I could have told myself that I had 10 more hours of biking ahead of me.<br>
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Sunlit temple guests, all hungry for a glimpse at the sunset.<br>
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Silhouetted sunset. I remember feeling really happy about this photo.<br>
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Day two: Our tuk tuk driver took us to a conveniently located "shopping area" that I hadn't found on my own the day before.<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUXjnjnZEi9vVcosj24YdF0BK9O3VNoRrbiqbrBsnIn4JE447cOIlBnGIfT0jcANgb2MuyiCfzVZuN2ontz54JyfKZbIQkeuDqOxVMpnJlu1AgLkSOKkJz_1LeLY9p11AlNxgU8imkzUuV/s1600/ym-12.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUXjnjnZEi9vVcosj24YdF0BK9O3VNoRrbiqbrBsnIn4JE447cOIlBnGIfT0jcANgb2MuyiCfzVZuN2ontz54JyfKZbIQkeuDqOxVMpnJlu1AgLkSOKkJz_1LeLY9p11AlNxgU8imkzUuV/s640/ym-12.jpg">
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<br>A welcome break from the sun.<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2uksQN1dOgGngTXEcINah8Y8q8yi2pQmisUbF_GCDCf4-esJbF0LfzFl-9CTYMXR4k_zBGGJXjIa6SjI4ITeFBB_-uWDEUgKsonaOU0PDgh8CD9vrckRux1iJZ70mGLzyXwnSikgSB8FV/s1600/ym-13.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2uksQN1dOgGngTXEcINah8Y8q8yi2pQmisUbF_GCDCf4-esJbF0LfzFl-9CTYMXR4k_zBGGJXjIa6SjI4ITeFBB_-uWDEUgKsonaOU0PDgh8CD9vrckRux1iJZ70mGLzyXwnSikgSB8FV/s640/ym-13.jpg"></a>
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Small souvenirs that may or may not be made in China.<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjthWdJRj-9FTsYFXYmdkZqFFX4_PqbMReHZr8JQacPAGYKZjh0yctd1X5u2dS8-Swh91oX7zrClRhkj5ZQvgCbdnFpt3qonBU7fTYbVwHLfKIdEWd7IYp-Qh4taxEkOXyGwkYi-uctaQPj/s1600/ym-14.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjthWdJRj-9FTsYFXYmdkZqFFX4_PqbMReHZr8JQacPAGYKZjh0yctd1X5u2dS8-Swh91oX7zrClRhkj5ZQvgCbdnFpt3qonBU7fTYbVwHLfKIdEWd7IYp-Qh4taxEkOXyGwkYi-uctaQPj/s640/ym-14.jpg"></a>
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Peeking out in between the rungs. The straight angles give a nice perspective. After I took this photo, a few other tourists took the same one. <br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4xYu_GQCc-8_HSQ24rqIaBCZ5aa1OZBfzWAcMHw3JfOkDaAzx2uQVkZzCuoIRx87AS9t9oBbMl22K4kudGfSUDqiy7aUv_YGfsunUB9eOTMs78NPUeuqMAlyATqil68oJemSFvBPVEJld/s1600/ym-15.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4xYu_GQCc-8_HSQ24rqIaBCZ5aa1OZBfzWAcMHw3JfOkDaAzx2uQVkZzCuoIRx87AS9t9oBbMl22K4kudGfSUDqiy7aUv_YGfsunUB9eOTMs78NPUeuqMAlyATqil68oJemSFvBPVEJld/s640/ym-15.jpg"></a>
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Getting off the path and onto the grass lets you get closer to the ruins. Also, crouching down a bit gives a more intimate perspective.<br>
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Just pretending this is my kitchen window.<br>
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Dried up desert grass with paths for tourists. Again, I like to include people in my photos.<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFc-XD_ZsRT4YkxGhDBbEyj2RmbLCTVTuOvVz7AO1N-T6HIDOdVTHdhkN0J6AOX91_6SQMag1qFjaLqGsfmhGAFBRW-OVEMAlmvEH-9P1iFxmQvQa4zm8HFSiT7mThSaHX4WNeqUIvXXKx/s1600/ym-18.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFc-XD_ZsRT4YkxGhDBbEyj2RmbLCTVTuOvVz7AO1N-T6HIDOdVTHdhkN0J6AOX91_6SQMag1qFjaLqGsfmhGAFBRW-OVEMAlmvEH-9P1iFxmQvQa4zm8HFSiT7mThSaHX4WNeqUIvXXKx/s640/ym-18.jpg"></a>
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I wanted my photo with all these strangers in it. It adds so much colour and life to the photo, and also gives a sense of how crowded Angkor Wat really is.<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbXk6RV6-UOsG4UxYvvVhyhZt2Uoc3d5_OP4p2GDrZucpRn6QpH_xkFxgpDAlxzgdGY6Nx-n_SCbIuR6Ug39wNqlztWzYrSpGS9LITy4SbtZ67YadMrmUGk8FiyLE7Be0IOYxBrE-YCJ-D/s1600/ym-19.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbXk6RV6-UOsG4UxYvvVhyhZt2Uoc3d5_OP4p2GDrZucpRn6QpH_xkFxgpDAlxzgdGY6Nx-n_SCbIuR6Ug39wNqlztWzYrSpGS9LITy4SbtZ67YadMrmUGk8FiyLE7Be0IOYxBrE-YCJ-D/s640/ym-19.jpg"></a>
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Tuk tuk riding. Photos of the interesting vehicles we ride in when travelling are always interesting to show family and friends.<br>
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Monks in saffron robes.<br>
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Pretending to see a far-off land.<br>
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Backs and faces. Note the almost invisible woman in the right corner.<br>
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Another sign photo - I like this one because of the different languages, and the very easily climbable barricade.<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWLCn0H9RyClGUuhfehiYpIwKV7G1OcEes2494J3CRn9SGr6tt0ZVdHlxcp0585ByDd_IHbRyaUhu6IFiRd8GlFz-SSjifv8NjLPnyWZDLnHOngfTFK_MEetSWqBLHSzOfuJJPjrPPu4hy/s1600/ym-25.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWLCn0H9RyClGUuhfehiYpIwKV7G1OcEes2494J3CRn9SGr6tt0ZVdHlxcp0585ByDd_IHbRyaUhu6IFiRd8GlFz-SSjifv8NjLPnyWZDLnHOngfTFK_MEetSWqBLHSzOfuJJPjrPPu4hy/s640/ym-25.jpg"></a>
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This is classic Expatkerri. I love tree photos, and I love looking up photos, so why not look up from the base of a tree?<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwmp5WRjsLi8BoqrxoWOA8WqX0-zowYewuzggHCh8hXMukWMHP8dntuOSg6VpKrgl4D19Uhusjmu1gA2x41XPCSMxzmKcBoG9k6JQ-UhLNV32lHRygflNywJOW7pDTrb2MHwTiJwUakZq1/s1600/ym-26.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwmp5WRjsLi8BoqrxoWOA8WqX0-zowYewuzggHCh8hXMukWMHP8dntuOSg6VpKrgl4D19Uhusjmu1gA2x41XPCSMxzmKcBoG9k6JQ-UhLNV32lHRygflNywJOW7pDTrb2MHwTiJwUakZq1/s640/ym-26.jpg"></a>
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Okay - so this is not that original. But it's fun nonetheless!<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpCpEL92omM0SJA1QlTg8gE9duMrX_e61CX5io7l2zXkCHjplKF4iE8RJkYdh6jphyphenhyphen2NyuMAPCHeogTz_MS6mdn_jYPZyPY3JKSaCVTDN8XDzvhgegtHSX59Sh8JDh9-rD7HE0jP-9lXgd/s1600/ym-27.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpCpEL92omM0SJA1QlTg8gE9duMrX_e61CX5io7l2zXkCHjplKF4iE8RJkYdh6jphyphenhyphen2NyuMAPCHeogTz_MS6mdn_jYPZyPY3JKSaCVTDN8XDzvhgegtHSX59Sh8JDh9-rD7HE0jP-9lXgd/s640/ym-27.jpg"></a>
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I spy someone snoozing.<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicM6WsMFX-06dElNq6kpI33cbW-7wLneObUXfckwHAZsY3IX_ipPWI7INGtQQGap8685REl_O7imv1NMJiTd6iNbcw-R-BHO7-C9QFD25pBP7u3q4_MiU3ts2vqsJBKEGkVXhxenaiX9Ls/s1600/ym-28.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicM6WsMFX-06dElNq6kpI33cbW-7wLneObUXfckwHAZsY3IX_ipPWI7INGtQQGap8685REl_O7imv1NMJiTd6iNbcw-R-BHO7-C9QFD25pBP7u3q4_MiU3ts2vqsJBKEGkVXhxenaiX9Ls/s640/ym-28.jpg"></a>
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Tree vs. temple (I think the tree is winning)<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYmMS9qZh0mYapPPRzuxzsmE8JAiBEA5dOx7jFRzIUjvkqvgvK7D9393vKu_NZDPEp10YMDA0I2Agi4nCpYhl4tvMSld9mcv9MPR_YZ5vK1Fb3BIqR9zVqaqUfXwMYhVt02LH0iufOSkOR/s1600/ym-29.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYmMS9qZh0mYapPPRzuxzsmE8JAiBEA5dOx7jFRzIUjvkqvgvK7D9393vKu_NZDPEp10YMDA0I2Agi4nCpYhl4tvMSld9mcv9MPR_YZ5vK1Fb3BIqR9zVqaqUfXwMYhVt02LH0iufOSkOR/s640/ym-29.jpg"></a>
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So many details, everywhere. I wonder if there are more carved people than tourists?<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghVO2qmQHJqIrliMqPiYS_eEWTKp97LPM2TqVsgUhmAg3JjKLfdwKwSPJ5EBY9Gj4rZOWLMtOaQjCbQ2GFJR_4xBLFfxbQEQWqKh-FMSUT-xrC4ok8M14AL-Aytvg8Vmbhaltv6SFXYkDl/s1600/ym-30.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghVO2qmQHJqIrliMqPiYS_eEWTKp97LPM2TqVsgUhmAg3JjKLfdwKwSPJ5EBY9Gj4rZOWLMtOaQjCbQ2GFJR_4xBLFfxbQEQWqKh-FMSUT-xrC4ok8M14AL-Aytvg8Vmbhaltv6SFXYkDl/s640/ym-30.jpg"></a>
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A surprising moment of calm in Ta Prohm.<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyrWW8Y_E3WNHYqT9NrZxJfqVrKIvR9Z1l4f_tw0WIQnjb5zHmGqW8xlN5D3KBHITWyLlp6qocOqMIWIpPdf4P1Ush9hvRTPK2e6u0GLl6b3T4uOZt04U_02jHI6P8uNJCozcrB1Z7e2H5/s1600/ym-31.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyrWW8Y_E3WNHYqT9NrZxJfqVrKIvR9Z1l4f_tw0WIQnjb5zHmGqW8xlN5D3KBHITWyLlp6qocOqMIWIpPdf4P1Ush9hvRTPK2e6u0GLl6b3T4uOZt04U_02jHI6P8uNJCozcrB1Z7e2H5/s640/ym-31.jpg"></a>
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Shadowy sandy crumbs.<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg77MKMJd8NSljSWN57xCdgVSAP8bTY-RZuNWxUuPa8XdqP0XmFoK7OSjP7GrY0VQQ5isPD9dnEskN9YoXjUajlYNVJQm9RmJatjqF2D_i10_F2t396nWiOsaoEtn_D4D0GE2S9SiHoNycJ/s1600/ym-32.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg77MKMJd8NSljSWN57xCdgVSAP8bTY-RZuNWxUuPa8XdqP0XmFoK7OSjP7GrY0VQQ5isPD9dnEskN9YoXjUajlYNVJQm9RmJatjqF2D_i10_F2t396nWiOsaoEtn_D4D0GE2S9SiHoNycJ/s640/ym-32.jpg"></a>
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Seeing through lines at the end of the day.<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVnVxIIv10uPI12qdUmlQc_iU2OO_pbD9hUyTHO2sToIOpXzbQeO-4kn4_AvMEBx_65c5-9GLj7gYYaayc4QnnvEcdJ2gFwZCM8tbtS5RgsOgNDBNp3Bto25iT0l4HwHCZtiaECmCaxzih/s1600/ym.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVnVxIIv10uPI12qdUmlQc_iU2OO_pbD9hUyTHO2sToIOpXzbQeO-4kn4_AvMEBx_65c5-9GLj7gYYaayc4QnnvEcdJ2gFwZCM8tbtS5RgsOgNDBNp3Bto25iT0l4HwHCZtiaECmCaxzih/s640/ym.jpg" width="640"></a>
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I always seem to meet the sweetest Koreans when I am on the road!<br>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCDNcLDZcFGMX7c4kivkjzeHH5fYjGJs5ozd_wVs1wTjmJatt4gRy5wdRTp-W7h33fc0PfpnkG_O1odGPXaZ2q8xaFB3SmeiRrpSAazIbWr98rzzx-9LYB4V8ZombVrYiwvT6lhcqKuDha/s1600/ym-33.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCDNcLDZcFGMX7c4kivkjzeHH5fYjGJs5ozd_wVs1wTjmJatt4gRy5wdRTp-W7h33fc0PfpnkG_O1odGPXaZ2q8xaFB3SmeiRrpSAazIbWr98rzzx-9LYB4V8ZombVrYiwvT6lhcqKuDha/s640/ym-33.jpg" width="640"></a></div>
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I will end with a failed jumping photo. If you've ever tried to take a jumping photo, you probably have a lot of photos that look just like this one.<br>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
What do you to create memorable photos? Leave a comment below.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">All of these photos were taken using the Toy Camera setting on the Canon ELPH 300HS</span></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">Remember to follow me on Twitter @expatkerri ^^ and subscribe to my YouTube channel http://www.youtube.com/expatkerri</div>expatkerrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16128146916913551095noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263897364724654234.post-46157889692782559002013-10-15T00:33:00.001-04:002013-10-15T18:32:36.476-04:00I didn’t change anyone’s life<style>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;">A year ago today, I
was in LaPaz, Bolivia. The week before we were doing a homestay on a small
island in Lake Titicaca, and the week before that we were walking up Machu
Picchu. With so much travel behind me, I approached Bolivia with the intention
of staying put for a while. I planned to volunteer to teach English somewhere to
get my bearings, reorganize my backpack, and improve my Spanish. After
extensive google searches for volunteer positions in Bolivia, I settled on a
small children’s daycare called Luz del Mundo in Santa Cruz. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi06dW2U81oOrvb1gf2oTomgrsYq21yNxFIBmdXgMWXWUQv6i1beKw441dO6pLAXRHqW4JmSZjo6l2LEHzHLsrx42tQ_dpNLy2A3LmwKsH7G6Oihut-HHT8bqg7j7B4I3RC6skHEfWJwJfv/s1600/IMG_2488.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi06dW2U81oOrvb1gf2oTomgrsYq21yNxFIBmdXgMWXWUQv6i1beKw441dO6pLAXRHqW4JmSZjo6l2LEHzHLsrx42tQ_dpNLy2A3LmwKsH7G6Oihut-HHT8bqg7j7B4I3RC6skHEfWJwJfv/s640/IMG_2488.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;">When I arrived in
Santa Cruz after my overnight bus from LaPaz, I hopped in a taxi and told the
driver the address of my homestay. We flew through roundabouts in the downtown streets until we turned and I began to
see tall gates surrounding buildings. It took me a minute to realize that those
gates were around houses, and that we had entered a residential area. When the
taxi stopped, I saw an 8-foot fence surrounding the house I would be living in.
The gate was locked, and I didn’t have a key. Within a moment of my arrival, a
short man walked up to me on the sidewalk and asked “Kerri?” He handed me two
keys on a Munich key chain. I unlocked the padlock on the gate and let myself
in. Not knowing where to go, and realizing no one was home, I walked to the
back of the house where there was an open court area. I sat and read about
Santa Cruz in my guidebook until the owner of the house came home. “Kerri?
Porque… why are you <i>here</i>? Your room
is <i>there</i> with your <i>name</i> on it,” she said, pointing at a
brown door across the court with a little white sign on it. I dropped off my bags into my little brown room,
and even arranged a few items on the bookshelves. It felt like I was
decorating.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIfDKSAVx14CrR4FljifL9quC4ftt1w6T0XHgEo5YSShY80QEueV0cvdL4DcnEY13uxczn7X63GfVyECRPIkUQ6LvRBIcBmV_v1NT_djQ4eIj4vIPTWlltiBDNnvFVgW_u9Atmnh8NuQ_p/s1600/IMG_2486.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIfDKSAVx14CrR4FljifL9quC4ftt1w6T0XHgEo5YSShY80QEueV0cvdL4DcnEY13uxczn7X63GfVyECRPIkUQ6LvRBIcBmV_v1NT_djQ4eIj4vIPTWlltiBDNnvFVgW_u9Atmnh8NuQ_p/s640/IMG_2486.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;">My first day on the
job, I woke up early to take a bus with Katharina, a German anthropology
student living and working in Santa Cruz. She smelled of chlorine, and offering
me a pamphlet, invited me to swim with her in the mornings. At the side of the
road, she hailed a small white bus and told me “You can take the 21, the 65,
and the 120 from here, but I think the 21 is the fastest.” She paid the 15 cent
fare for both of us and we found two seats at the back of the bus. Everyone
watched as we climbed to the back of the bus. “They stare, so I just stare
back,” she explained, “there aren’t many people who look like you or me here.”
She pulled out a bag with two buns inside and told me these were her favourite
local food. “It’s <span class="st"><span lang="EN-US">cuñapé, like a
heavenly cheese bread that everyone seems to eat here even though no one gets
fat”. Little did I know I’d become addicted to cuñapé, not only because it was
delicious, but also because it was one of few things I learned how to order in
the bakery.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0fvYNXiM8_mh3vMoRpu74C-TgpQJns8G416CiPvi3Xs1RAOQlJeK6Tc0YOVn0F8sYMKZHK4GTaX_vD1EAADukudHP7BECDCXj3FPQok7xKFkRlrsHANVMNOtI-VJWrzZRWabyzU5euAUj/s1600/IMG_2584-2.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0fvYNXiM8_mh3vMoRpu74C-TgpQJns8G416CiPvi3Xs1RAOQlJeK6Tc0YOVn0F8sYMKZHK4GTaX_vD1EAADukudHP7BECDCXj3FPQok7xKFkRlrsHANVMNOtI-VJWrzZRWabyzU5euAUj/s640/IMG_2584-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="st"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="st"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="st"><span lang="EN-US">After about 45 minutes
through the city streets, trying to remember all of the information Katharina
was offering me while also trying to memorize landmarks to make sure I could do
the journey on my own, she motioned to get off soon. “You can tell it’s coming
because the streets get muddy.” I looked down and noticed the dirt street was splattered with muddy puddles, despite the dry sunny weather.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWt-BSgAZrBMXCcvsCPb2aPQ9MLOSX5m0ps77P-4OGcfWYk26pE9J-WJ1_04XvliUklzovl5Q9Ez5zKwH9-2pfnsmb2f_1Wlvz3okP-8sOMrLU5rMbl2C93Qgd63rDnvDkfVvKnI_eLgmm/s1600/IMG_2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWt-BSgAZrBMXCcvsCPb2aPQ9MLOSX5m0ps77P-4OGcfWYk26pE9J-WJ1_04XvliUklzovl5Q9Ez5zKwH9-2pfnsmb2f_1Wlvz3okP-8sOMrLU5rMbl2C93Qgd63rDnvDkfVvKnI_eLgmm/s640/IMG_2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="st"><span lang="EN-US">“They have a
very poor sewage system here, and people just leave their garbage everywhere,
so there are some parts of the road that never dry up.” She yelled for the bus
driver to let us off, and we were greeted by a gust of dusty wind and the smell
of sewage. “What did you say to the bus driver just then?” I asked. “<i>Pare por favor</i>, which just means stop.”</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="st"><span lang="EN-US">We walked through a dusty
setup of stalls with garbage on the ground, and everyone stared again. “I told
you there aren’t many people like us around here.” She explained that the
foundation is for underprivileged children of divorced parents. “Since these
kids have poor parents, they live in the poor area, so our daycare is here so
they can walk.” The street was a dirt road with puddles in the middle. As we
approached <a href="http://www.volunteersouthamerica.net/LuzDelMundo/ldm_index.htm" target="_blank">Luz del Mundo</a>, I heard the familiar sound of children laughing.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1fsnAg1Okf_zCN9WXoBuZygrvc_KSDCVLLCQnUxwspFStIDYGdDzGuHs3XwZZ9o5AO5vOY-FB4wWncM8CISWm3v_EDRu_I0FpkmrIJBgWmRbfvbKgtgEUFbakdkq5vTsCJ2Nd-DOYhaOA/s1600/IMG_2581.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1fsnAg1Okf_zCN9WXoBuZygrvc_KSDCVLLCQnUxwspFStIDYGdDzGuHs3XwZZ9o5AO5vOY-FB4wWncM8CISWm3v_EDRu_I0FpkmrIJBgWmRbfvbKgtgEUFbakdkq5vTsCJ2Nd-DOYhaOA/s640/IMG_2581.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="st"><span lang="EN-US">When we walked in, I was
greeted by a smiling Gabriela, the founder of the daycare. After introducing
myself, I was informed that the daycare is only open 4 days a week, so I
wouldn’t be needed everyday. Contemplating what to do with my extra time, I sat
at a table where some kids were cutting out animal shapes from cardboard. “Me
llamos Kerri…” I let out, “cuál es tu nombre?” The reply was incomprehensible,
so I asked her to repeat. For the next ten minutes, this little girl repeated
her full name over and over, between sighs, and insisted I repeat it. Then,
satisfied with my rendition of her name, she asked me why I didn’t understand
Spanish.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdq6jHNM4d9AgQ_jxLxQujHDHzJGWaOPbYDPqVUwczoH_HYngxjsPXS9KBotR_78sjP8vKjnJOEmKfYmia1yWVAvaVcueFzNpVp-BWMQLapkw1hFG4Lh0kgm7zX1r94kRM3BqT9Dg2xqkB/s1600/IMG_2542.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdq6jHNM4d9AgQ_jxLxQujHDHzJGWaOPbYDPqVUwczoH_HYngxjsPXS9KBotR_78sjP8vKjnJOEmKfYmia1yWVAvaVcueFzNpVp-BWMQLapkw1hFG4Lh0kgm7zX1r94kRM3BqT9Dg2xqkB/s640/IMG_2542.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="st"><span lang="EN-US">Point taken. I joined a
beginner Spanish course at Kolping in the afternoons, and began to study
Spanish formally for the first time in my life. The school seemed like the
YMCA, as there were kids in ballet costumes running around the first floor. My
instructor was Gladys, and I studied with two others, a French student and a
Japanese office worker. I felt happy to finally be nurturing the language
fanatic in me.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipOUR0ermKo_PrM0kJ9UXmINirNEqWaw9nca4t-ImURYovw4LKAApLxnuMKRwV1hgDYTKSqYKJ8lyjX8edGZHnXwr2xSe48wxEZMy6qdlKT53i4mI3W3VyT8cUcC8X7GeWWmpOCKMcdGlW/s1600/IMG_2518.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipOUR0ermKo_PrM0kJ9UXmINirNEqWaw9nca4t-ImURYovw4LKAApLxnuMKRwV1hgDYTKSqYKJ8lyjX8edGZHnXwr2xSe48wxEZMy6qdlKT53i4mI3W3VyT8cUcC8X7GeWWmpOCKMcdGlW/s640/IMG_2518.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="st"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="st"><span lang="EN-US"> <br />That night, I received an
email from Gabriela at Luz del Mundo telling me that they were doing
construction, and that I wouldn’t need to come in the next day. Then another
email the following night to tell me not to come in again because of a holiday.
It was clear that I wouldn’t be needed as much as I thought, so my homestay
host connected me with <a href="http://www.casadelamujer.org.bo/" target="_blank">Casa de la Mujer</a>, an organization supporting women’s
equality in South America. I went there the next morning to offer my services
as a volunteer with nonexistent Spanish, and remarkably they wanted me. My
first job was to take un-catalogued books from the library and to put them into
the computer system. I felt like I was actually working, which felt nice.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="st"><span lang="EN-US">Within a week of arriving,
I’d started Spanish classes, volunteered once at the daycare, and started
volunteering at the organization for women. In my free time between
volunteering and studying, I walked the downtown streets and visited the same
coffee shop every afternoon. I’d order my café con leche with a croissant from
the same waitress and sit at the same table to do my homework. I quickly made a
routine for myself, and enjoyed the novelty of becoming a creature of habit.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHyHKIw2PHBijO78ddHGAegnILM_P2P7plivcIdsdJVjsgNGQDyR8Y1MU5ifvsa21W3r_PGDi-FvxJZ7CB59oM1Y_pXbhsN2V4UApH6X9SJAbo2vjkelyJxTX-22cT8MQMUfw562ZMCjNx/s1600/IMG_2481.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHyHKIw2PHBijO78ddHGAegnILM_P2P7plivcIdsdJVjsgNGQDyR8Y1MU5ifvsa21W3r_PGDi-FvxJZ7CB59oM1Y_pXbhsN2V4UApH6X9SJAbo2vjkelyJxTX-22cT8MQMUfw562ZMCjNx/s640/IMG_2481.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">During my second time volunteering at the
daycare, I asked Gabriela about teaching. She said I could do whatever I wanted
with the kids, but that they really liked art. There was nothing that looked
scholarly about the place – it consisted of a swing set, some picnic benches, a
washing up station, a dusty drum kit, some board games, and tables with little
stools under them. No blackboard, no chalk, no books. I realized that I might
do less teaching and more arts and crafts than I expected.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8mMQRBtqMo8gf3JlFbR-brqHqtcClY4bjuFHj3cRrJ03ZbJagi91t1Ad0cXSh_l0L3-0HU2y_8hgotM9pAbaU3asqBfKhEaK9nOW7jRDmi_3lg_J_qlc3NSw5b4OSd5tzSl3vXZyiV3fT/s1600/IMG_2537.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8mMQRBtqMo8gf3JlFbR-brqHqtcClY4bjuFHj3cRrJ03ZbJagi91t1Ad0cXSh_l0L3-0HU2y_8hgotM9pAbaU3asqBfKhEaK9nOW7jRDmi_3lg_J_qlc3NSw5b4OSd5tzSl3vXZyiV3fT/s640/IMG_2537.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">Since my Spanish was still not great, I
ended up having the most fun with the kids when I gave them piggybacks. Two
weeks of my life was spent piggybacking these kids from one end of the daycare
to the other and back. And it was fine with me, because making those kids happy
made me happy.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji3Dy9N_zstb7l_Np36-0xZXfm4H5_4UJty0nasDXknP3PjkZDtgmWnNO3ZKsNedsLGYOhbygXtDo15Me1C-pJA2zoRwapgzXjrE27IZHPJTD20DB2bLkw-fYBRf6viWrp7kZfZdGxXE-s/s1600/IMG_2580.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji3Dy9N_zstb7l_Np36-0xZXfm4H5_4UJty0nasDXknP3PjkZDtgmWnNO3ZKsNedsLGYOhbygXtDo15Me1C-pJA2zoRwapgzXjrE27IZHPJTD20DB2bLkw-fYBRf6viWrp7kZfZdGxXE-s/s640/IMG_2580.jpg" width="480" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">When I returned to Casa de la Mujer, I sat back at the computer where I finished cataloguing the books and I was left alone
without another task. A woman walked by and saw me idle, and invited me to
follow her. She let me into a recording studio where live radio was taking
place. I sat quietly and listened to the voices around the corner. This became
my new favourite place at the women’s organization. The young man who
controlled the soundboard helped me with my homework and couldn’t believe I’d
been to Asia. He played Bolivian rap for me on his phone. I played Arcade Fire
for him. Although I wasn’t really working, I was still sharing my life with
someone.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXbhTRJSa3YIeLEcQjH91hrrcI5ArleXRMcje47cYabbnQpF81h6gbY9yAeeWYnw24JS2ibR73onlVOt5DySYykUaKR1hJOdb84JZi6jpTyu2gOPs0sLcDh1pTTp9HVMJjiWZA6tMMCmgD/s1600/IMG_2499.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXbhTRJSa3YIeLEcQjH91hrrcI5ArleXRMcje47cYabbnQpF81h6gbY9yAeeWYnw24JS2ibR73onlVOt5DySYykUaKR1hJOdb84JZi6jpTyu2gOPs0sLcDh1pTTp9HVMJjiWZA6tMMCmgD/s640/IMG_2499.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">After spending six months travelling
through South America, I can confidently say that nothing ever goes exactly as
planned there. Bus schedules are rearranged without notice, and prices change
day to day. A promised beautiful hostel with wi-fi turns out to be a cobwebbed
house with chickens to wake you up at 5:00am.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK9K2zd0WWk9J6uIrwxrpLvpOxt3ntCHBtvAZHH2U1w-lhCjtOSBCD9OGRPcrKb-JjrchHd4y_xf4__05SAFGJqYEtKEFr-z4jNiMwGsmGRvB03mRdO6_yv7DQwjoaf6EuxNnbF54IK5bz/s1600/IMG_2491.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK9K2zd0WWk9J6uIrwxrpLvpOxt3ntCHBtvAZHH2U1w-lhCjtOSBCD9OGRPcrKb-JjrchHd4y_xf4__05SAFGJqYEtKEFr-z4jNiMwGsmGRvB03mRdO6_yv7DQwjoaf6EuxNnbF54IK5bz/s640/IMG_2491.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">Naturally, my time in Bolivia didn't go as
I anticipated, either. I didn’t learn as much Spanish or teach as much English
as I thought I would. I didn’t change anyone’s life, and I didn’t make any
lasting friendships. But, none of that matters.</span></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">Life doesn’t tend to go as we plan it. In
fact, if I asked myself where I would be in one year back when I was in
Bolivia, I would have said I’d be in Korea now. But, life happens, things
change, and now I’m writing this blog post from my apartment in Toronto,
overlooking the city skyline. What would my one-year-ago self say to that?
She’d probably smile, shrug her shoulders, and say there must be a reason for
being in Toronto.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">I made a few people smile in Santa Cruz,
and that’s enough reason to do anything.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZhL2iIWupm0GEH1MHsBIEk11mhBq647UebXER_PA0K-6BEMIlsKkbhy-6YqM5Fhyphenhyphen_xIIayQ4dDupY6cwkvDz0RFdBOdYRty6xU1APOgCDTJuH7fOK_IQXG8-8BDZkNxAG4F3ZC1domvKW/s1600/IMG_2573.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZhL2iIWupm0GEH1MHsBIEk11mhBq647UebXER_PA0K-6BEMIlsKkbhy-6YqM5Fhyphenhyphen_xIIayQ4dDupY6cwkvDz0RFdBOdYRty6xU1APOgCDTJuH7fOK_IQXG8-8BDZkNxAG4F3ZC1domvKW/s640/IMG_2573.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Thank you, <a href="http://www.thisbatteredsuitcase.com/" target="_blank">Brenna</a>, for
helping me get my words back on the page.</span>
</span></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">Remember to follow me on Twitter @expatkerri ^^ and subscribe to my YouTube channel http://www.youtube.com/expatkerri</div>expatkerrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16128146916913551095noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263897364724654234.post-30873363868191520142013-09-09T18:19:00.002-04:002013-09-09T18:24:40.682-04:00VIDEO: Passport TagI was recently tagged to participate in a Passport Tag started by my friends <a href="http://evanandrachel.com/" target="_blank">EvannRachel</a>. The concept is to answer 5 questions about your most recent passport, and to share some cool stamps you've received and tell some stories... I hope you enjoy my video!<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/l0U6nKcNXJs" width="420"></iframe>
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If you would like to participate in the tag, simply make a video answering the following 5 questions:<br />
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1. What is your most recent stamp?<br />
2. What was your first stamp?<br />
3. What's your coolest looking stamp?<br />
4. What's the most meaningful stamp?<br />
5. What was the most difficult stamp to get?<br />
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Thanks to EvannRachel for tagging me! I love sharing travel stories - so thanks for giving me another reason!<br />
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See their original video here:<br />
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<br /><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/l4nXwLwxyBc" width="420"></iframe>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">Remember to follow me on Twitter @expatkerri ^^ and subscribe to my YouTube channel http://www.youtube.com/expatkerri</div>expatkerrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16128146916913551095noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263897364724654234.post-2709185789460486692013-08-19T20:28:00.000-04:002015-06-30T22:15:10.719-04:00You know you're a wanderer if...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiutJlsQOOHQROiZW4BCz4zEy2kdVQWdiQ9w-VeXiicCj-Yp88QT_4uiupNRDGN-Ez-CDzFzSll7SoH4L6HBiNNlMA2yuEdMmdK-IxatAoaVgG23HudFM024hxvBfjpHXz-iLPe-h8Nbdlz/s1600/beautiful+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiutJlsQOOHQROiZW4BCz4zEy2kdVQWdiQ9w-VeXiicCj-Yp88QT_4uiupNRDGN-Ez-CDzFzSll7SoH4L6HBiNNlMA2yuEdMmdK-IxatAoaVgG23HudFM024hxvBfjpHXz-iLPe-h8Nbdlz/s640/beautiful+1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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The desire to wander doesn't come to naturally to everyone. Some of us long to wake up in the same bed, walk down the same streets, see familiar faces, and spend time in the same places. To some of us, home has an unmatched sense of security and offers the chance to put roots down. </div>
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For the wanderers, though, there is a whole world just a few hours away. A photo in a magazine can become a destination. A tweet from a secret location explored by a fellow wanderer turns into a plane ticket. A documentary from a far-off land becomes an internet search for a ticket to Bhutan, "just to see". A lifetime isn't long enough to walk all the roads a wanderer wants to walk, but it will have to do.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDAZ0ObmLL6QaIpF-cWX-KpMeEN_Dz3vFbvhX7bWSqbwonD0CR6HBagKsFsADE5lM-2hTxDOxri5w905_zruw1zRbn-nZ_TCrMgNXHoVscAinm4Rr_nWFjDe4PaDWT1IrcB0FKj9ixQz7O/s1600/IMG_0340.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDAZ0ObmLL6QaIpF-cWX-KpMeEN_Dz3vFbvhX7bWSqbwonD0CR6HBagKsFsADE5lM-2hTxDOxri5w905_zruw1zRbn-nZ_TCrMgNXHoVscAinm4Rr_nWFjDe4PaDWT1IrcB0FKj9ixQz7O/s640/IMG_0340.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i>You know you're a wanderer if...</i></div>
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... You've been back from travelling for longer than a month and you still haven't entirely unpacked your bag, for the simple fact that you know you'll be needing to pack up the same items for your next trip. (Even though that trip may not be planned yet).</div>
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... People often think you have been places that you haven't been, because "it seems like somewhere you probably went".<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZENDQUk3yHoDxgaf8mtO_opwSd16nvxbpGOUGc-IMAlDlbGcSfGqG2LMJT-EM_vFKXqkHh9HIflfNK0OSA50-jJ16psWAAzLITWrU1vHp0JAcuZPTjZXHDZE97sMnH6G5wxPQAiJ6OPJo/s1600/IMG_6453.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZENDQUk3yHoDxgaf8mtO_opwSd16nvxbpGOUGc-IMAlDlbGcSfGqG2LMJT-EM_vFKXqkHh9HIflfNK0OSA50-jJ16psWAAzLITWrU1vHp0JAcuZPTjZXHDZE97sMnH6G5wxPQAiJ6OPJo/s640/IMG_6453.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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... The idea of spending a month or a year in another country is thrilling and exciting to you.</div>
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... You don't own furniture, or you are very uncomfortable with the idea of buying large furniture items. (I promise I now have a dining table after 2 months without one -- thanks to my dad for salvaging a beautiful three-legged old table from the side of the road. No more dinners in bed!).<br />
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... You've had more than one conversation entirely in gestures.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHHhJravzVWyq20FUE9VFiVcyqVfmnB9wuUBo9mw_aqKGHSbFT4z6mksfH0g0IHK_0I4MC8CQCDP3HGYPeBEzeypGD13dKVK_wMI0hOxwCXPwlj_fYkXUZUfvmRqEucezLF5hGEkWwF6te/s1600/IMG_0278.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHHhJravzVWyq20FUE9VFiVcyqVfmnB9wuUBo9mw_aqKGHSbFT4z6mksfH0g0IHK_0I4MC8CQCDP3HGYPeBEzeypGD13dKVK_wMI0hOxwCXPwlj_fYkXUZUfvmRqEucezLF5hGEkWwF6te/s640/IMG_0278.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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... When you go to a party, you somehow become a storyteller who wows the crowd with funny moments from your travels that you didn't realize were great stories until people say to you "that was a great story".</div>
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... You google flight costs, or visit <a href="http://www.expatkerri.com/2012/06/how-i-book-cheap-flights.html" target="_blank">any plane ticket purchasing sites</a> frequently.<br />
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... Old friends greet you with the words "I didn't even know you were in the country" and it makes you feel a little happy that you are somewhat of a gypsy in their eyes.<br />
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... Sometimes you catch yourself encouraging others to go ahead and book a ticket when they tell you where they wish they could travel. Then when they provide reasons why they can't book the ticket just yet, you start listing off reasons why they could technically leave on a plane tomorrow. (This type of conversation is also called "travel pushing").</div>
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... (as above) You think you are or have been a "travel pusher".</div>
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... Your idea of an inspiring afternoon is hanging out in the travel section of your local bookstore, staring at the beautiful pictures of places you've both been and want to visit, mentally creating destinations for your next travels. <br />
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... People have described you as "brave," whether or not you ascribe this quality to yourself or not.</div>
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... You dream of plane rides.</div>
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... You know exactly where your passport is, when it expires, and approximately how many blank pages you still have left.<br />
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"A lifetime isn't long enough to walk all the roads a wanderer wants to walk, but it will have to do."</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">Remember to follow me on Twitter @expatkerri ^^ and subscribe to my YouTube channel http://www.youtube.com/expatkerri</div>expatkerrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16128146916913551095noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263897364724654234.post-53544120645738984172013-07-02T07:16:00.000-04:002013-07-02T13:05:27.570-04:00Guest Post: Volunteering in Western Kenya<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: black;">My good friend visited Kenya a few years ago, and when I asked her to tell me all about it, before anything else, she grinned and replied "you'll have to see it for yourself."</span></span></span></i><br>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: black;"><i>Since that conversation, Kenya has become somewhere I want to go and stay for a while. The way of living, the food, the natural landscape, and the music allure me. Though I have visited other countries through which the equator passes, I have still yet to set foot in the African continent. Lucky for us, former English teacher in Korea turned blogger Natalie over at <a href="http://www.liveteachalaska.com/" target="_blank">Live Teach Alaska</a> has written up a guest post all about her time in Kenya. Here she shares her stories from her time volunteering in the Muhuru Bay area in Western Kenya. Take us into the bush, Natalie...</i></span></span></span><br>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: black;">After six hours of driving over the uneven dirt roads of
the Great Rift Valley, my team and I arrived in Muhuru Bay, Kenya, in the dark of
night. Our van pulled into a tiny compound with three mud huts on the shore of
Lake Victoria. Sleepily, I grabbed my suitcase and headed into my designated
hut. I turned on the light, which was but a small, dim bulb at the apex of the
triangular straw ceiling, and watched in horror as a carpet of insects
scattered towards the walls. Shooting towards me was a creature several inches
in length that closely resembled a white scorpion (though I still don’t know
what it was). I screamed, my husband raced in, shouted, “Oh my God!”, and
attempted to squash the Godzilla bug with a broom. </span></span></span></span><br>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: black;">This
was my first experience in the Eastern African Bush. After finally settling in
that night, I was destined for one week of plastic bag showers, second degree
sunburns, and toilet troubles. However, I can confidently say it was all worth
it. My trip to Muhuru Bay truly changed my life.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: black;">I
traveled to Kenya with eight family members and family friends to volunteer at
Mama Maria, a fledgling clinic in Muhuru Bay. On our second day in the village,
we were unexpectedly invited to a funeral. Despite our protests, we were seated
as guests of honor and watched as family members of the deceased mourned by
openly wailing.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: black;">After the funeral, we sat down at the feasting table and shared
a plate of ugali with the people of the village. Children
hid behind trees and rocks, staring and smiling at us.</span></span></span></div>
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A plate of ugali: maize cooked with water</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: black;">The
next day, we took a small fishing boat to visit a village on the other
side of the lake. Despite the very poor living conditions, the villagers flocked
over to greet us and show us around. A little girl took my hand as we were
shown inside the huts of several of the village people who proudly showed off
their pots and pans. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: black;">Later
that week, we traveled to the only school in Muhuru Bay to teach a lesson about
dental hygiene. Because the people in Muhuru Bay brush their teeth with tree
bark, standard dental care was foreign knowledge. We passed out toothbrushes,
toothpaste, and floss and showed them how to properly clean their teeth with a
toothbrush<b>.</b></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: black;">A few
days before the end of our trip, we heard about two girls who had fled Tanzania
with their father to live in Muhuru Bay. The two girls we met had albinism and
were forced to escape from their home because witch doctors were hunting them
for their arms and legs. In Tanzania, it is a widespread belief that albino
limbs have magical healing powers. The two little girls, ages 3 and 5, were
scabbing all over their bodies due to terrible sunburns. We drove out to meet
them and brought hats, sunscreen, and two goats for their family. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: black;">Although
my first trip to Kenya wasn’t glamorous, it was extremely eye-opening and has
changed me in so many ways. Witnessing a different culture, getting out of my
comfort zone, volunteering, and giving to others made for a trip I’ll never forget.
If you ever have the opportunity to travel to the African Bush, I would highly
recommend it. I assure you, you will walk out of the experience a different
person. </span></span></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: black;">You can follow Natalie’s adventures in a native
Alaskan village at: </span><a href="http://www.liveteachalaska.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">http://www.liveteachalaska.<wbr>com/</span></a></span></span></i></div>
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;">
</span></span></i><br>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: black;">Or join the conversation at: </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/LiveTeachAlaska" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">https://www.facebook.com/<wbr>LiveTeachAlaska</span></a><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></span></i></div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">Remember to follow me on Twitter @expatkerri ^^ and subscribe to my YouTube channel http://www.youtube.com/expatkerri</div>expatkerrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16128146916913551095noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263897364724654234.post-27105083447180168942013-06-30T18:40:00.000-04:002013-07-01T12:11:57.978-04:00When life demands more than you can offer<i>When it feels like the outside world is a dream, and the only reality is you and a hospital monitor that beeps every second. </i><br />
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I believe every person is allotted an amount of stress that they are able to cope with. It might be higher for some people, and lower for others, but I think that everyone has their own stress threshold. The stresses of normal life - a critical remark from a co-worker or a piece of technology not performing properly - these stresses are manageable, and do not become catastrophic. We manage stress by rewarding ourselves, taking breaks, going to sleep early, and generally just by taking care of ourselves. But, when a person is thrust into a serious situation where every moment of time is used up, the normal stress coping mechanisms go out the window. Without taking the normal breaks and time for oneself, stress can build up to a boiling point very quickly if left un-managed. Unfortunately for me, I experienced a great deal of stress in a few days in a hospital last month, and my own means of coping with stress disappeared, as did my ability to take care of myself. There was no option to put myself or the person in need first - obviously I would eat when my help was no longer needed, or take a seat when the chance arose. At that time, it was more important to do everything I could to help that person get better.</div>
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Now that she is back to normal, and beginning life as a new mom, I am happy to see the pictures she sends of her new baby. I am happy for her life, and the way our relationship has become so enriched by this bonding experience. I am also happy for her relationship with her fiance, as I saw firsthand how deeply he cares for her, and how much he was willing to sacrifice for her well-being. I am happy that their lives have become normal, and the stresses they face are now the common experiences among all first-time parents.<br />
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One thing that has impressed me in this experience is the great effect that one person's life can have on another person's life. When I went to the hospital to help out, I never thought that I would be forced to change so much of my life. I'm supposed to be studying in New York, right now, but I had to cancel that study program. Instead of spending the summer studying in a cubby hole in the New York Public Library, I'm taking a semester off. I'm supposed to be moving back to Korea in August, but I missed my opportunity to apply for jobs and now feel wiser and slightly wary of my dream-like state of life there. I'm supposed to be living my own life fully, and in many ways I am not yet able to do that. And, ironically, now I'm the one who is taking the medicine.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"What does not destroy me makes me stronger"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">- Nietzsche </span></div>
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I've always believed the above quotation, and had applied it to the difficult times I had experienced in my life. Before this trauma, my most difficult times were break-ups and travel horrors - but these difficulties don't compare to staring death in the face and singing someone to sleep not knowing if they would awaken. They don't compare to feeling like the outside world is a dream, and the only
reality is you and a hospital monitor that beeps every second. When you cry
because you hear the songs of birds for the first time in 3 days and
realize the outdoor soundtrack you've taken for granted all your life.
When you don't want to talk to anyone, or be talked to by anyone, and
miss the opportunity to spend an afternoon alone. When every phone call
is needy, and every minute demands a new task. When all people within
arms reach are asking for you, wanting your time, needing answers, and
haphazardly offering suggestions to you. When all your muscles ache but
you didn't notice until that moment in the shower. When your brain
betrays you, and won't allow sleep when it knows you've been up for
days. When you feel wrinkles burrowing into your skin and long for the
morning routine of grooming yourself. When you consume nothing but tea
and muffins courtesy of someone else, and seek only a moment to sneak
down to the hospital food court and order your own take away meal. When
every eventual morsel of food you eat is the best you've ever had. When
you think just a second anonymity would mend you. When every part of
your body and mind feels like it can't keep going.<br />
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Something inside of me kept pushing me forward, onto the next step. Something told me to keep going, to keep moving, to keep walking.<br />
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During my worst moments, I felt nearly clairvoyant. I had the ability to x-ray anyone around me and determine if they were mentally well or in need of professional help. I felt lifetimes smarter than everyone else, and I felt ecstatic to finally see my whole life through a crystal clear rear view lens. A natural analyzer, I examined all of my friendships to determine who was safe for me to be around. I examined every person that I knew, and decided whether they were healthy or not. Now that I am returning to my quotidian life, I feel that my emotional intelligence will be better than it has been. I also think I will be able to take care of myself better, and be able to recognize when I am giving too much.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Time heals all wounds"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">- Unknown</span></div>
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It's not true that time heals all wounds, because every wound is different. Some wounds might never heal, and perhaps the inevitable distance of time from an unhealed wound is all the healing one can wish for. I certainly feel that the distance in time since this trauma to now - over 5 weeks - is helping me to heal. With each passing day, I feel closer to me. Closer to what I know to be me.</div>
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With persistence, professional help, and a lot of hard work and self reflection, I want to come out of this stronger and wiser, with the ability to take better care of myself.</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">Remember to follow me on Twitter @expatkerri ^^ and subscribe to my YouTube channel http://www.youtube.com/expatkerri</div>expatkerrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16128146916913551095noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263897364724654234.post-73564550764575691312013-05-21T06:30:00.000-04:002013-06-08T16:25:55.349-04:00Insta-Toronto<div style="text-align: center;">
Recent photos from the place I am temporarily calling home.</div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">Remember to follow me on Twitter @expatkerri ^^ and subscribe to my YouTube channel http://www.youtube.com/expatkerri</div>expatkerrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16128146916913551095noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263897364724654234.post-80537683999956642092013-05-18T22:58:00.001-04:002013-05-20T23:03:00.208-04:00Tasting freedom<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Frame Lake. Yellowknife, Canada</div>
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I just submitted my last project of the semester. Just, right now. After being under the constant looming pressure of studying online since March, I'm finally finished the semester. If you're wondering what it feels like to study a Masters online, allow me to explain.<br />
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Enjoying sister and doggie time in Yellowknife</div>
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Every day, when I wake up, I think about what readings I haven't completed yet. Then, while I'm at work, I make a mental plan about going straight home after work to do my readings and get a head start on the assignment that is due next week. Inevitably, a grandmother or a friend or someone in between sends a message and I don't end up going home right after work. When I do get home, at last, I make something to eat and turn on my computer to check what pages the readings were. After logging in, I realize I actually <i>do</i> have something due sooner than I think, that I just didn't click in the right folder and didn't see it until right then. I get a little stressed. I then start working on the other assignment which is due more immediately, and don't end up getting a head start on my readings after all. The next day, I repeat this same routine with a spontaneous dinner with friends and a skype date, so again the readings are put on the back burner. I also find another random folder wherein a 3-day discussion has been taking place in my class about which I was unaware. The stress builds.<br />
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The bright night skies of the north country</div>
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Repeat this for 3 months. And add some group work, and some long, challenging readings, and a few short essays. Then you can feel the weight of the online Masters.<br />
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It ain't easy, but I'm truckin' through. Or should I say, tappin' through.<br />
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In June, I am so lucky to be attending onsite courses at the New School in Manhattan, and I will be able to study under some of my ESL idols, Jeremy Harmer included. Although the online courses are convenient and challenging, I really miss the in-class conversations and thoughts that can only be generated among a group of people all in the same room, thinking on the same topic. I miss that sense of group thought from my undergrad, and I'm so looking forward to feeling that inspiration in New York this summer.<br />
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As for now, I'm in the north country, the most northerly capital city in Canada, and current home of my sister: Yellowknife. It feels right that I'm finally feeling this long overdue freedom in such an outerworldly place. A place where the sun never sets, a place where the blue skies stretch on forever, a place where the beautiful lake is a 5-minute walk from your door.<br />
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With a population of 20,000... it sure ain't New York. But there's something here that New York doesn't have: the sanctuary of silence. And doesn't silence lead us to the deepest freedom of all - freedom from our surroundings, and the freedom to look into ourselves?<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">Remember to follow me on Twitter @expatkerri ^^ and subscribe to my YouTube channel http://www.youtube.com/expatkerri</div>expatkerrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16128146916913551095noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263897364724654234.post-54455006880833872162013-04-30T08:00:00.000-04:002013-04-30T20:49:10.035-04:00My Packing List! 6 months in South America<div style="text-align: center;">
6-months backpacking in Central and South America</div>
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<i>My (light) Packing List</i><br />
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<b><i>Bags:</i></b></div>
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<i>- 1 MEC 60L travel bag</i></div>
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<i>- 1 small backpack (which can fit in my large travel bag)</i></div>
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<i>- 1 over-the-shoulder purse </i></div>
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</i><i><b>Clothes:</b></i><br />
<i>- 3 sundresses</i><br />
<i>- 1 long skirt (which doubles as a tube dress when hiked up and belted)</i><br />
<i>- 1 pair of leggings</i><br />
<i>- 1 pair of jean shorts</i><br />
<i>- 3 short sleeve shirts</i><br />
<i>- 1 long sleeve shirt</i><br />
<i>- 2 bikinis</i><br />
<i>- 3 pairs of socks</i><br />
<i>- 1 bra </i><br />
<i>- 5 pairs of underwear</i><br />
<i>- 1 sunhat </i><br />
<i><br />
</i><i><b>Shoes:</b></i><br />
<i>- 1 pair of Blundstone boots</i><br />
<i>- 1 pair of flipflops</i><br />
<i>- 1 pair of Birkenstocks </i><br />
<i>- 1 pair of cute flats </i><br />
<i><br />
</i><i><b>Gear:</b></i><br />
<i>- Acer Notebook</i><br />
<i>- iPhone 4s + charger + earphones </i><br />
<i>- 4 cameras (GoPro Hero, Canon ELPH 300, Canon F4000, toy film camera)</i><br />
<i>- extra batteries + chargers</i><br />
<i>- 6 memory cards of different sizes </i><br />
<i><br />
</i><i><b>Toiletries:</b></i><br />
<i>- shampoo + conditioner (small bottles)</i><br />
<i>- face wash + lotion</i><br />
<i>- toothbrush + toothpaste</i><br />
<i>- tweezers + nail clippers (which double as scissors) </i><br />
<i>- makeup</i><br />
<i>- hairbrush + hair clips + elastics</i><br />
<i>- razor + extra blades </i><br />
<i><br />
</i><i><b>Practicalities:</b></i><br />
<i>- passport (and photocopy of passport photo page)</i><br />
<i>- 2 credit cards </i><br />
<i>- around USD $100 in cash</i><br />
<i>- guidebook</i><br />
<i>- compass</i><br />
<i>- camera stand</i><br />
<i>- extra passport photos (for visas)</i><br />
<i>- 1 quick-dry travel towel</i><br />
<i>- 1 silk sleepsack (which I only used once) </i><br />
<i><br />
</i><i><b>Medicines:</b></i><br />
<i>- chewable Pepto Bismul tablets</i><br />
<i>- motion sickness pills</i><br />
<i>- Acetazolamide tablets for altitude sickness (Diamox)<b> </b></i><br />
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<i><b>Extras:</b></i><br />
<i>- red nail polish</i><br />
<i>- jewelry </i><br />
<i><br />
</i><i><b>Stuff I needed to buy while travelling:</b></i><br />
<i>- rain jacket</i><br />
<i>- sunscreen</i><br />
<i>- bug spray </i><br />
<i>- warm alpaca sweater</i><br />
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On this trip, I tried to pack light, and bring only the things that I would use at least once a week. I didn't bring any pants, and used my leggings as a substitute for pants (which actually worked out well). At times, I wished I had more variety in my clothing, as it got a little boring to wear the same clothes every single day. I went shopping a few times, and bought a few extra sundresses to add to my minimal wardrobe.<br />
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Overall, I would recommend a light backpack, as you naturally acquire lots of little extra things while you travel. Having a light bag allows you to pick up things as you go, without your bag getting too heavy. That being said, after I bought a giant painting in Cartagena, and then a huge poncho in the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NT8X1mpCQZQ" target="_blank">Otavalo market in Ecuador</a>, my backpack got too full and too heavy to carry comfortably for long distances. At that point, I took those items out of my bag and mailed them home to Canada in a box through the post. It was easy, and not very expensive, either. I felt like a new person when I put my backpack on without those heavy items in it!<br />
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Are you a light packer like me?</div>
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Or do you like to pack for precaution and carry lots of stuff with you?</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">Remember to follow me on Twitter @expatkerri ^^ and subscribe to my YouTube channel http://www.youtube.com/expatkerri</div>expatkerrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16128146916913551095noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263897364724654234.post-47484505739778507712013-04-29T20:33:00.000-04:002013-05-20T23:03:32.932-04:00First impressions of MexicoWhen I take pictures or videos, people are sensitive to what I am doing, and either stop in their tracks or walk around me to avoid interrupting my picture.<br />
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Everything is delicious...<br />
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I love riding the subway even though it's hot and sweaty...</div>
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The downtown streets feel much more modern and chic than I expected...<br />
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There are lots of interesting neighbourhoods in which to walk around and get lost and found...<br />
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And there are also many pockets with cool arty streets...<br />
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The weather was fresh but not too hot...<br />
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And the new foods I tried were some of the best I've had in all my travels!<br />
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Have you been to Mexico?</div>
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What were your first impressions?</div>
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Are your first impressions often correct about places you visit?</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">Remember to follow me on Twitter @expatkerri ^^ and subscribe to my YouTube channel http://www.youtube.com/expatkerri</div>expatkerrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16128146916913551095noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263897364724654234.post-15594882328042665282013-04-15T06:30:00.000-04:002014-08-25T14:15:11.104-04:00Travelling Alone: How to get the most out of solo travel<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Istanbul, Turkey<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">“Hi Kerri, </span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">I found your blog a few days ago and read that you travelled solo around Europe after graduating uni. I'm actually just finishing high school (sixth form here in England!), and in the four months before I start uni I'm travelling to Australia, stopping off in New Zealand, Thailand, and hopefully Hong Kong. Although there are a few people I'll be able to stay with, and a few I'll meet up with, I will be spending the vast majority of the trip on my own, and was wondering if you've got any <b>tips about how to get the most out of solo travel</b>. I'd also like to meet people as I go - do you have any particular ideas about how to do this? I booked my ticket, also kind of an 'in the moment' thing, and was getting a bit nervous, so it was really cool to read that you did something similar and had a great time.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Thanks so much, </span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Ruby, from Cambridge”</span></i><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I dedicate this post to you, Ruby, and to all first-time solo travellers who are reading this. There are a lot of solo travellers out there right now, on planes, on trains, and in hostels, and every one of them took the same leap of faith you are contemplating now.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Here I will outline what I've gathered from my own solo travel experiences in the hopes of inspiring some of you to book the flight you've been dreaming of. Be not afraid of travelling solo - the only thing you should be scared of is the fact that you might never stop travelling once you start.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">London, England</span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Book Your Ticket Now</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">When I booked my one-way ticket to London back in 2006, drunk off the amazing conversation I’d had with my roommate, and perhaps a little wine, I felt instantly like something big was happening. I had put into motion a plan I’d had in mind for so many years, a dream, a wish: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">to backpack in Europe alone</i>. All I did was log onto expedia.com, chose my flight, put in my credit card info, and clicked “Confirm”. I read over the confirmation email, marked the date in my calendar, and from that moment on, had a date to count down to. Nothing excites me more than having a flight coming up for a new adventure.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">If you’re scared, worried, and feeling totally crazy, know that I was too.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">When I arrived at the airport, all packed up, guidebook in hand, I said goodbye to my parents and realized I was on my own. I was actually starting my journey – alone. Waiting at the departure gate, I read my book and stared at the other travellers, wondering if anyone else was also alone. I was too shy to ask at that point though, so I was left with my imaginings of the other people.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">As soon as we landed at Gatwick, I made friends with another traveller while waiting to pick up my bag. He asked me if I was going downtown, and we shared a cab into the city.This brings me smoothly to my next piece of advice…</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Guilin, China</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Talk to Other Travellers</span></b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">You’re in a new city,and you don’t really know the ropes. You might have a place in mind to visit,but you’re not really sure if you want to go there alone. Lucky for you,there’s an army of solo travellers just like you sitting down for the free hostel breakfast, and this is your chance to find a friend and travel companion for the day. Ask others where they plan on going that day, and let them know what places you have in mind. If you have overlapping plans, before you can ask to join, the other will probably invite you to come along. If you're feeling shy, use my tactic for meeting people, and just pretend that you're already friends with whoever you're meeting. That way, you speed through all of the formalities and can get to the real conversations.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Travellers are some of the most easy going and friendliest people I’ve ever encountered, and they tend to treat fellow travellers as insta-friends. Meeting all these friendly people brings me to the next tip for solo travels…</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><b> </b>Hanoi, Vietnam</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><b>Talk to the Hostel Staff</b> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Not sure where the nearest ATM is? Wanna find a movie theatre? Lost your adapter?</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> The staff at hostels are a great resource, as most of them are experienced travellers themselves. They can offer lots of good ideas for things to do when you arrive in a new city, and some hostels even offer free daily walking tours of the cities. If you're not sure where to eat, hostel staff can usually provide you with an extensive list of local choices, and they might even invite you to join them at their regular spot. If you want company, tell the staff you're travelling alone and they'll be happy to guide you in the right direction to meet some people to hang out with. Once you find your groove, take this next piece of advice and run...</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Cheongju, Korea</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Say Yes to Everything (within reason)</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">One of the greatest joys of solo travel is the ability to be spontaneous, and this means being able to say “yes” to unplanned invitations. At your hostel, when you start talking with other travellers, you’ll hear about places you never knew existed until that moment, and you might be invited to tag along and visit somewhere that you’d never planned on going. Even if you think the activity isn’t really your style, (like me agreeing to join a pub-crawl in Berlin when all I really wanted to do was sit in the park), by saying yes, you give yourself a chance to have a new experience. Isn’t that what all this travel business is about, anyway? Onto my next tip…</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Dublin, Ireland</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Keep a Journal</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Travelling alone can be a very reflective time in your life, and many people say they travel to “figure out what they’re doing”. Although you might not get the answer to that question, you will certainly have a lot of time to think. Taking a train alone,having a meal alone, or even waking up in a hostel after everyone’s checked out: you are surrounded with as much alone time as you seek. I always like to keep a diary so that when I have an epiphany about something, or even just want to make a note about the name of the amazing food I ate for dinner, I can. To look back on old travel journals is a great pleasure, and sitting with a journal can be a conversation starter with other travellers. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve been sitting in a hostel bar writing in my diary when someone comes up and asks what I’m writing. <span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">“</span>I never travel without my diary.One should<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>always have</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-size: large;">something sensational to read on the train.</span></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">”</span> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-size: large;">- Oscar Wilde</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Brussles, Belgium</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Here's a little anecdotal tale in the spirit of journalling and Oscar Wilde...</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Once when I was taking an overnight train somewhere in Germany, I met three American travellers. We chatted about our routes, and naturally I pulled out my diary when the conversation died down. At that point, the conversation livened up again as they all became very curious about my diary. After a while, I eventually handed it over for them to devour. They loved reading of my escapades, and it was fun for me to see how others reacted to the way I'd journaled my experiences. I really should look back on those diary entries… but first, the next tip!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Machu Picchu, Peru</span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Trust Your Gut & Be Smart</span></b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The running theme here is that travellers are pretty nice people, and of course this is a generalization, but it is one that I have made throughout my travels in 45 different countries, and one that I hold to be mostly true. I believe trusting in people, both locals and other travellers, allows me to relax when I travel, and it helps me be spontaneous and have more enriching travel experiences. However, no matter what you might be doing, always listen to that little voice inside of you. If something feels wrong, it probably is. Since you’re travelling alone, no one else is going to take responsibility for you if something goes wrong. Be smart – you’re ultimately the only one who can take care of yourself if you need to think straight. I hope I’m stating the obvious when I say <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">don’t get plastered drunk with a group of people you don’t know, don’t take drugs from anyone</b>, and<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> definitely don’t leave your belongings with a trusting stranger</b>. Lock up your valuables (passport, money, credit cards, computer if you have one, hard drive, etc.) in the lockers provided by hostels, and you’ll feel much more at ease knowing your things are safe. Now that I’ve lectured you about safety, let’s get back to the fun stuff…</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Cahuita, Costa Rica</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Don’t Plan Too Much</span></b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">When I travel, I usually have a general route in mind for the cities and sites I want to visit. The way I find what I want to see varies, but a fun way to get ready for a trip is to Google map the place you are visiting, and click to view the images. You can click around and see street views of the places you are interested in, as well as discover amazing churches, landscapes, and things you never knew were there. So, do some research and get excited about seeing certain places… but don’t stick to your plan like glue. Travels rarely go exactly as planned, as trains and buses leave off schedule, certain hostels are closed for the season, and sometimes you just change your mind once you get somewhere. Leave room in your plans for change, as you might arrive somewhere and fall in love with the hostel dog and just want to stay there and chill out for a while. You want to give yourself options when you travel, so my advice is to always keep things open… and that’s our last piece of advice here!</span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Perth, Australia</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Be Open</span></b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">In 2006, before I set out for my first solo travels in Europe, I sat in the passenger seat as my dad drove me to the airport. I had packed everything carefully, and I was ready to go. We talked along the way, and as we approached the airport, my dad offered this timeless advice:</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">“When you’re on the open road, be open.” </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">This was the first sentence I wrote in my diary of my Europe trip, and I’ve never forgotten it. There is no other time in your life when you are as free to do what you like as when you travel alone. Tired? Sleep in. Hungry? Eat another lunch. Don’t want to take a night bus tonight? Stay another day.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">You are the master of your own destiny when you travel alone. To make sure you get the most out of the experience, be open to the places you go, and the people you meet. For me, when I look back on my favourite moments in my travels, many of them involve the amazing friends I travelled with. But, there are also many special memories and experiences that I had when I was alone...</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Sitting in a park in Cusco, watching kids play in a fountain. Eating a giant gooey chocolate waffle in the streets of Brugges. Sharing a loaf of bread with some kids in Angkor Wat. Being asked where in Paris I lived when walking in Champ de Mars. Taking a selfie in front of Big Ben. Going for the same café con leche at the same café for 2 weeks straight in Santiago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Crying on a train from Berlin to Amsterdam. Coming back to my hostel bed in Warsaw to find a note from a fellow traveller with whom I hadn’t swapped emails yet. Memorizing the names of school children in Santa Cruz...</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And I wouldn’t have these memories any other way.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Colonia, Uruguay</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Travelling alone is scary at the beginning, but as soon as you realize you are completely in control of everything you do, you quickly learn to love the freedom. Give in to your temptations to be on the road alone - you never know what's drawing you travel, or who you might meet, until you're out there. Nothing quite compares with the feeling of sitting on a plane full of strangers, quietly bubbling with joy inside knowing you're doing it - you're finally travelling alone!</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Join the rest of us solo backpackers hanging out on couches and wandering around airports and bus stations. We are waiting for the next solo traveller to share a taxi with...</span></span></div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">Remember to follow me on Twitter @expatkerri ^^ and subscribe to my YouTube channel http://www.youtube.com/expatkerri</div>expatkerrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16128146916913551095noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4263897364724654234.post-4979817446967358862013-04-13T14:41:00.001-04:002013-05-20T23:04:53.382-04:00Travel is<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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“Travel is little beds and cramped bathrooms.<br />
It’s old television sets and slow Internet connections.<br />
Travel is extraordinary conversations with ordinary people.<br />
It’s waiters, gas station attendants, and housekeepers becoming the most interesting people in the world.<br />
It’s churches that are compelling enough to enter.<br />
It’s McDonald’s being a luxury.<br />
It’s the realization that you may have been born in the wrong country.<br />
Travel is a smile that leads to a conversation in broken English.<br />
It’s the epiphany that pretty girls smile the same way all over the world.<br />
Travel is tipping 10% and being embraced for it.<br />
Travel is the same white T-shirt again tomorrow.<br />
Travel is accented sex after good wine and too many unfiltered cigarettes.<br />
Travel is flowing in the back of a bus with giggly strangers.<br />
It’s a street full of bearded backpackers looking down at maps.<br />
Travel is wishing for one more bite of whatever that just was.<br />
It’s the rediscovery of walking somewhere.<br />
It’s sharing a bottle of liquor on an overnight train with a new friend.<br />
Travel is ‘Maybe I don’t have to do it that way when I get back home.’”<br />
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- Nick Miller</div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">Remember to follow me on Twitter @expatkerri ^^ and subscribe to my YouTube channel http://www.youtube.com/expatkerri</div>expatkerrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16128146916913551095noreply@blogger.com6