Awaiting check-in at the Phnom Penh airport, the poor airline employee began asking a series of questions and we became increasingly confused...
Airline employee: Do you have a Chinese visa?
Us: No.
AE: Did you realize the two of you are on different connecting flights from Guangzhou to Beijing?
Us: No.
AE: If you get on this flight, you might get detained and deported by the Chinese immigration officers.
Us: But we didn't need a visa on our way here? (We researched it before we planned the trip and found that we didn't need one as long as we were simply in transit through China and not staying)
AE: You flew to Beijing first. It's not likely to be possible to get a transit visa in Guangzhou.
Us: So what exactly are our options?
A tumbled mess of alternatives, expensive, turn-our-plans-upside-down alternatives.
Option A.) Get a Chinese visa. This means leaving the airport, going to the Chinese embassy (which requires first finding a way to get to the embassy), paying $150 for a visa (assuming we can even get one), going back to the airport and paying to have all of our flights rescheduled.
Option B.) Pay to have our flight rescheduled so that we fly directly to Beijing- but then we would have another issue because our flight to UB wouldn't be for over 24 hours, which is over the limit of the temporary transit visa that we would get in Beijing.
Option C.) Get on the original flight to Guangzhou and hope that they give us a transit visa when we get there. If they won't, we'll be deported back to Cambodia, where we will have to pay for that flight, as well as a Chinese visa and new flights to get us back to Mongolia.
What are the chances we'll get a transit visa in Guangzhou?
A small chance he says. A small chance.
What the heck, we say. Let's go to Guangzhou and see what happens- the worst case scenario leaves us back in Cambodia and in need of purchasing some pricey new return tickets home (let's not think about that now).
The airline employee looks skeptical at this plan and says he needs to ask his supervisor if he's allowed to issue us boarding passes without visas.
Hol and I chat briefly about whether we're crazy and then decide it will for sure make for a good story (Perhaps not the wisest decision-making criteria, but certainly the most fun). And that if the risk works we won't have to spend any extra money at all.
The airline employee offers us a piece of paper to sign, removing the airline of any liability if we are in fact deported.
We get boarding passes and Hol tells the airline employee that she hopes we won't see him again soon.
and so the adventure began....
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
cambodia hues
I rarely remember things in sentences, but usually in fragments.
In a world of words, memories operate outside of them, one of the few things unable to be captured by their limitations and structures- stretching outside of them- colored by moments, sounds, hues, feelings.
Cambodia was....
sitting in hammocks, listening to the rain fall, the streets dark with nightfall and the silence of rest. Words shared like secrets passed through the night- punctuated by laughter and falling silence.
running through dusty streets, dodging the maze of life set up on sidewalks- vendors, merchandise for sale, moto bikes waiting for passengers and food mid-preparation. The sun rising in the distance, streaking the sky, coloring the clouds, speaking renewal and life to the city's movement.
crowded market stalls, stuffed full of items for sale, the smell of meat, produce and fish heavy in the air. "Lady, lady" the call of those hoping you will buy, the slightest pause or touch a sign that bargaining should begin.
following a small woman in black on her moto as she weaves down bumpy, rocky, reddish-brown streets, leading us to her home.
a crowd of children in the yard of the church, playing, running, gathering.
entering the darkness of the sanctuary- plastic chairs pulled round to form a circle- the circle outskirts filled with little ones perched on chairs that leave their feet dangling.
conversations shared, her voice beautiful, animated- tears welling, a smile bursting forth when she introduces her sons. a puppy wandering in.
kneeling on the cool, tile floor, forming a circle around her, our hands grasping at one another's. Prayer forming a covering over us, binding us together as brothers and sisters, a blessing over a place that hosts 10 for worship, over a woman who is loving, who is serving, who is hoping, who is braver than I will ever be.
laughter echoing over the pool water, ripples as we tread to keep from being chilled, the sun setting as we swim, pretending the gliding water makes it summer.
Hillsong loud on the speakers, barefoot, the kitchen hot with the blue flames of a gas stove, crackling bacon, flipping pancakes, eggs forming in the pan. Singing as a meal takes shape, the night easing forward as we let it slip away, grains of time sliding away with peace and worship danced upon the tile floor.
a little boy and girl dancing their way down the sidewalk, scattering only to return. To laugh, to sneak up in silence and surprise, silent and stealth, joy playing across their faces, a finger held up to her lips, motioning for us to partake in the game.
soft-serve ice cream delighted in as we browse a mall. the sense of summer heightened by flip-flops and shorts and bare toes wriggling in the sun.
passing expansive fields, homes on stilts, the landscape filling the windows and our words the crevasses of the car. Tumbling, turning, twisting thoughts shared in a common reflective pool of pondering.
In a world of words, memories operate outside of them, one of the few things unable to be captured by their limitations and structures- stretching outside of them- colored by moments, sounds, hues, feelings.
Cambodia was....
sitting in hammocks, listening to the rain fall, the streets dark with nightfall and the silence of rest. Words shared like secrets passed through the night- punctuated by laughter and falling silence.
running through dusty streets, dodging the maze of life set up on sidewalks- vendors, merchandise for sale, moto bikes waiting for passengers and food mid-preparation. The sun rising in the distance, streaking the sky, coloring the clouds, speaking renewal and life to the city's movement.
crowded market stalls, stuffed full of items for sale, the smell of meat, produce and fish heavy in the air. "Lady, lady" the call of those hoping you will buy, the slightest pause or touch a sign that bargaining should begin.
following a small woman in black on her moto as she weaves down bumpy, rocky, reddish-brown streets, leading us to her home.
a crowd of children in the yard of the church, playing, running, gathering.
entering the darkness of the sanctuary- plastic chairs pulled round to form a circle- the circle outskirts filled with little ones perched on chairs that leave their feet dangling.
conversations shared, her voice beautiful, animated- tears welling, a smile bursting forth when she introduces her sons. a puppy wandering in.
kneeling on the cool, tile floor, forming a circle around her, our hands grasping at one another's. Prayer forming a covering over us, binding us together as brothers and sisters, a blessing over a place that hosts 10 for worship, over a woman who is loving, who is serving, who is hoping, who is braver than I will ever be.
laughter echoing over the pool water, ripples as we tread to keep from being chilled, the sun setting as we swim, pretending the gliding water makes it summer.
Hillsong loud on the speakers, barefoot, the kitchen hot with the blue flames of a gas stove, crackling bacon, flipping pancakes, eggs forming in the pan. Singing as a meal takes shape, the night easing forward as we let it slip away, grains of time sliding away with peace and worship danced upon the tile floor.
a little boy and girl dancing their way down the sidewalk, scattering only to return. To laugh, to sneak up in silence and surprise, silent and stealth, joy playing across their faces, a finger held up to her lips, motioning for us to partake in the game.
soft-serve ice cream delighted in as we browse a mall. the sense of summer heightened by flip-flops and shorts and bare toes wriggling in the sun.
passing expansive fields, homes on stilts, the landscape filling the windows and our words the crevasses of the car. Tumbling, turning, twisting thoughts shared in a common reflective pool of pondering.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
swinging near
last week I was sitting on the couch, recovering from a brief bout of food poisoning, when Hol called me into our Cambodian bedroom.
I went to stand next to her at the windows facing the neighbor's home. We peeked behind the blinds and there, just a few feet away from us, was a little one, maybe 1 or 2 years old, sitting in a hammock in his house, being pushed by his mama.
as he swung back and forth his laughter rung out; the high, delighted laughter of a little one filled with absolute joy at swinging, at coming nearer and closer to his mama, at the moment of feeling safe while being flung to and fro.
his delight was radiant on his face- a smile so bright, so full, so complete. it reflected not only the beauty and adventure of swinging, but of coming near to the one he loves.
a glimpse of God through our window.
thank you Lord for the beauty of who you are revealed in the laughter of a smiling child.
I went to stand next to her at the windows facing the neighbor's home. We peeked behind the blinds and there, just a few feet away from us, was a little one, maybe 1 or 2 years old, sitting in a hammock in his house, being pushed by his mama.
as he swung back and forth his laughter rung out; the high, delighted laughter of a little one filled with absolute joy at swinging, at coming nearer and closer to his mama, at the moment of feeling safe while being flung to and fro.
his delight was radiant on his face- a smile so bright, so full, so complete. it reflected not only the beauty and adventure of swinging, but of coming near to the one he loves.
a glimpse of God through our window.
thank you Lord for the beauty of who you are revealed in the laughter of a smiling child.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
pineapple here we come
our bags are packed- filled with shorts, t-shirts, flip-flops and other warm weather gear that hasn't seen the light of day since we got to Mongolia in October.
our apartment is clean- ready for our apartment/cat-sitter to take residence.
our cat is clearly aware we are about to leave- she's been running around the apartment all evening, alternating between wanting to sit in our laps and wanting to attack all of the clothes we're trying to pack.
my students have been warned that they better behave for my substitute while I'm gone. they've also been reassured that I am indeed coming back in two short weeks (high school students can be dramatic- I got several "TWO WHOLE WEEKS" complaints).
our fridge is empty of perishable goods- we successfully used two cartons of milk in three days (think lots of cereal, some pudding, pancakes and hot chocolate), as well as 10 eggs and some vegetables. This has led to some interesting meals (mashed potatoes with spinach anyone?) but it's accomplished our goal of not wasting any food :- )
our itineraries have been printed, our camera batteries charged and our long layover activities carefully packed.
our minds have tried to wrap themselves around the reality that it is 88 (EIGHTY-EIGHT, people!) degrees in Phnom Penh right now. It was -30 here today, so there's not any real way to comprehend this fact other than to jump up and down, shriek and sing hallelujah. All of which I have done in the past 24 hours.
I. cannot. even. fathom. 88. degrees.
all this to say, Hol and I are headed to Cambodia tomorrow for two weeks and we're all kinds of capitalized letters, exclamation point filled excited.
we'll be visiting our fellow asia mission intern Joseph and seeing as how he and I flew to our interview weekend together way back in April- beginning this whole crazy adventure that led us to Cambodia and Mongolia, it will be wonderful to spend some time hanging out and experiencing life with him in his new home (bonus: he has a hammock and a puppy).
so if there are no (or limited) blog posts for the next 15 days....blame it on fruit, warmth, sunshine, flip flops and Cambodia :- )
(side note: I had grand plans to get some blog posts written before we left- including finishing up my triple crown series, writing about communication issues and teaching English. I may get to one or two of these tomorrow before we leave, but if not- know they are eventually coming.)
our apartment is clean- ready for our apartment/cat-sitter to take residence.
our cat is clearly aware we are about to leave- she's been running around the apartment all evening, alternating between wanting to sit in our laps and wanting to attack all of the clothes we're trying to pack.
my students have been warned that they better behave for my substitute while I'm gone. they've also been reassured that I am indeed coming back in two short weeks (high school students can be dramatic- I got several "TWO WHOLE WEEKS" complaints).
our fridge is empty of perishable goods- we successfully used two cartons of milk in three days (think lots of cereal, some pudding, pancakes and hot chocolate), as well as 10 eggs and some vegetables. This has led to some interesting meals (mashed potatoes with spinach anyone?) but it's accomplished our goal of not wasting any food :- )
our itineraries have been printed, our camera batteries charged and our long layover activities carefully packed.
our minds have tried to wrap themselves around the reality that it is 88 (EIGHTY-EIGHT, people!) degrees in Phnom Penh right now. It was -30 here today, so there's not any real way to comprehend this fact other than to jump up and down, shriek and sing hallelujah. All of which I have done in the past 24 hours.
I. cannot. even. fathom. 88. degrees.
all this to say, Hol and I are headed to Cambodia tomorrow for two weeks and we're all kinds of capitalized letters, exclamation point filled excited.
we'll be visiting our fellow asia mission intern Joseph and seeing as how he and I flew to our interview weekend together way back in April- beginning this whole crazy adventure that led us to Cambodia and Mongolia, it will be wonderful to spend some time hanging out and experiencing life with him in his new home (bonus: he has a hammock and a puppy).
so if there are no (or limited) blog posts for the next 15 days....blame it on fruit, warmth, sunshine, flip flops and Cambodia :- )
(side note: I had grand plans to get some blog posts written before we left- including finishing up my triple crown series, writing about communication issues and teaching English. I may get to one or two of these tomorrow before we leave, but if not- know they are eventually coming.)
Sunday, January 10, 2010
dobby
meet dobby the house elf....errr, house kitten :-)
Dobby is basically nothing like her namesake from Harry Potter, but after much debate we couldn't not name our new family member after something from Harry Potter. We did watch all six Harry Potter movies while at training after all (hi, fellow mission interns and us 2's- we miss you!).
The black market here is the go-to place to get animals, so Hol and I headed there a few weeks ago, knowing we wanted a kitten.
All we found were puppies (which while tempting, our Mongolian apartment is not the place for a puppy that will grow to be the size of a small horse), so we asked one of the puppy guys if he knew where we could find a kitten.
After communicating that we wanted a "mini-man cat" (kitten is not a known word here:-)) we exchanged phone numbers and he told us our mini-man cat would be ready in a few hours.
Not 10 minutes later (we were still walking home), Hol received a phone call from him, in which he said, "Your cat has arrived." Talk about a black market transaction- who special orders a mini-cat and gets it not 10 minutes later?
We returned to the market to find said puppy guy standing with another guy. The new guy unzipped his jacket to reveal a kitten and soon said kitten was tucked into Hol's jacket for the walk home. We exchanged money (roughly $9), the puppy guy announced how much we paid to his fellow animal sellers and we left, a wriggling and cold kitten in tow.
And that is how you get a kitten in Mongolia-
You place your order at the black market, you exchange money for goods that are tucked inside the seller's jacket and you walk home with a mini-cat. Easy.
P.S. Our mini-man cat turned out to be a mini-woman. Turns out the black market isn't necessarily as gender-specific as they claimed. Good thing we're not particular :- )
Dobby is basically nothing like her namesake from Harry Potter, but after much debate we couldn't not name our new family member after something from Harry Potter. We did watch all six Harry Potter movies while at training after all (hi, fellow mission interns and us 2's- we miss you!).
The black market here is the go-to place to get animals, so Hol and I headed there a few weeks ago, knowing we wanted a kitten.
All we found were puppies (which while tempting, our Mongolian apartment is not the place for a puppy that will grow to be the size of a small horse), so we asked one of the puppy guys if he knew where we could find a kitten.
After communicating that we wanted a "mini-man cat" (kitten is not a known word here:-)) we exchanged phone numbers and he told us our mini-man cat would be ready in a few hours.
Not 10 minutes later (we were still walking home), Hol received a phone call from him, in which he said, "Your cat has arrived." Talk about a black market transaction- who special orders a mini-cat and gets it not 10 minutes later?
We returned to the market to find said puppy guy standing with another guy. The new guy unzipped his jacket to reveal a kitten and soon said kitten was tucked into Hol's jacket for the walk home. We exchanged money (roughly $9), the puppy guy announced how much we paid to his fellow animal sellers and we left, a wriggling and cold kitten in tow.
And that is how you get a kitten in Mongolia-
You place your order at the black market, you exchange money for goods that are tucked inside the seller's jacket and you walk home with a mini-cat. Easy.
P.S. Our mini-man cat turned out to be a mini-woman. Turns out the black market isn't necessarily as gender-specific as they claimed. Good thing we're not particular :- )
Thursday, January 7, 2010
sharing our wounds
(this hospice visit occurred several weeks ago, but it's taken me some time to reflect on all that it held)
"Shattering erases our boundaries, removes our limitations, and makes us ready for the greatest glory of all."
-Pg. 10, Tessa Bielecki, "Teresa of Avila: Ecstasy and Common Sense"
I am sitting on a small wooden stool, by a hospice patient's bed. Oyuna, one of the hospice nurses, sits next to me, pulling medical tools out of her bag and sterilizing them as Dr. Bolera speaks with the patient and her caregiver.
Being present for hospice visits has led me to recognizing, remembering, recalling, relearning that each of these men and women are my brothers and sisters.
In sitting with them I have found the boundaries between myself and others being shattered, God revealing to me our connections, our sharing, our reality as his children.
I am trying to listen to the exchange in Mongolian, piecing together a few words here and there, as Oyuna has the patient roll over so she can change the bandage on what I assume will be a bedsore.
It is a very large, gaping tumor on her lower back- a crevass where there should be skin.
As she peels back the bandage, revealing the tumor, I find myself facing the urge to look away. I want to turn away, to shield my eyes, to not look at the physical manifestations of cancer and illness and pain and struggle.
Shattering.
I pray instead.
prayers that I would be present, attentive, that I would not shield myself from her, but be with her.
As I watch Oyuna clean the wound, I am reminded of how my reaction to this sister's physical wound is often exactly how I react to others' non-physical wounds as well.
I think of how all of us tend to face wounds of any kind (physical, emotional, etc) with the desire to turn away, to not see them, to not face that pain in another, to not be reminded of the pain, suffering and struggle that exist among us.
I watch Oyuna move her hands with care, struck by how deeply healing it is when others are present to our wounds with love and grace.
How suddenly that grace, that love, that compassion frees us from shame- frees us to be honest about our wounds' existence and to seek healing.
Shattering.
What does it meant to be present to my own wounds?
To the wounds of others?
What does it look like to embrace them with love and grace instead of hesitance and fear?
And I was reminded that most often what keeps me from showing that love and grace is my own unwillingness to be reminded of my own wounds.
For in facing the wounds of others, we must face those things that allow us to feel with our brothers and sisters. Empathy requires our own pain to be realized, acknowledged, seen, heard, known.
Shattering.
Healing is a process that requires one another- to give voice, to give witness, to share in carrying the burden until we can let it go, until we can set it at Christ's feet; fully, wholly, completely surrendered.
Sitting by this sister's bed, I thought about how seeing others' pain and struggle (of which there is much here, in the U.S. and elsewhere) requires me to face my own.
That Christ came to share in our struggle with us, to feel pain- that we might know the reality of solidarity embodied, broken and redeemed.
He felt so that we might feel.
And then he reached out his hand and asked us to seek healing, to share with one another in turning our hearts to him.
And then he said, "It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance." (Luke 5:31)
Shattering erases our boundaries.
"Shattering erases our boundaries, removes our limitations, and makes us ready for the greatest glory of all."
-Pg. 10, Tessa Bielecki, "Teresa of Avila: Ecstasy and Common Sense"
I am sitting on a small wooden stool, by a hospice patient's bed. Oyuna, one of the hospice nurses, sits next to me, pulling medical tools out of her bag and sterilizing them as Dr. Bolera speaks with the patient and her caregiver.
Being present for hospice visits has led me to recognizing, remembering, recalling, relearning that each of these men and women are my brothers and sisters.
In sitting with them I have found the boundaries between myself and others being shattered, God revealing to me our connections, our sharing, our reality as his children.
I am trying to listen to the exchange in Mongolian, piecing together a few words here and there, as Oyuna has the patient roll over so she can change the bandage on what I assume will be a bedsore.
As she peels back the bandage, revealing the tumor, I find myself facing the urge to look away. I want to turn away, to shield my eyes, to not look at the physical manifestations of cancer and illness and pain and struggle.
Shattering.
I pray instead.
prayers that I would be present, attentive, that I would not shield myself from her, but be with her.
I think of how all of us tend to face wounds of any kind (physical, emotional, etc) with the desire to turn away, to not see them, to not face that pain in another, to not be reminded of the pain, suffering and struggle that exist among us.
I watch Oyuna move her hands with care, struck by how deeply healing it is when others are present to our wounds with love and grace.
How suddenly that grace, that love, that compassion frees us from shame- frees us to be honest about our wounds' existence and to seek healing.
Shattering.
What does it meant to be present to my own wounds?
To the wounds of others?
What does it look like to embrace them with love and grace instead of hesitance and fear?
And I was reminded that most often what keeps me from showing that love and grace is my own unwillingness to be reminded of my own wounds.
For in facing the wounds of others, we must face those things that allow us to feel with our brothers and sisters. Empathy requires our own pain to be realized, acknowledged, seen, heard, known.
Shattering.
Healing is a process that requires one another- to give voice, to give witness, to share in carrying the burden until we can let it go, until we can set it at Christ's feet; fully, wholly, completely surrendered.
Sitting by this sister's bed, I thought about how seeing others' pain and struggle (of which there is much here, in the U.S. and elsewhere) requires me to face my own.
That Christ came to share in our struggle with us, to feel pain- that we might know the reality of solidarity embodied, broken and redeemed.
He felt so that we might feel.
And then he reached out his hand and asked us to seek healing, to share with one another in turning our hearts to him.
And then he said, "It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance." (Luke 5:31)
Shattering erases our boundaries.
a day in numbers
(in place of a ykylimw moment this week)
yesterday:
-40 : the temperature in fahrenheit when I woke up
3: the number of shirts I wore- including a turtleneck, a sweater and a sweatshirt. The crazy thing? I was not the least bit hot with all of that warm weather gear. Add a 650 fill down coat and I was comfortable.
20: the number of minutes I had to wait for a micro to come yesterday morning. You better believe I was doing the cold dance on the sidewalk, my eyelashes freezing as I danced.
1, then 4, then 1 again: the number of elementary students I had in my morning English class (I had a brief influx when we started playing a card game to practice numbers : - ))
2: pairs of socks on my feet. Spent most of the day wishing it was three.
-10: the number of minutes I had for the meeting I squeezed in between classes. I was definitely late to teach my 11:45 class yesterday. thankfully they didn't seem to mind.
12: the number of people who showed up for senior citizen group.
3: cups of tea that I consumed during said senior citizen group.
4: the number of times dancing was suggested as a desired activity by senior citizen group members.
23: (rough estimate) of the times Helen and I laughed during the three games of dominoes we played with the senior citizens.
6: magazines used for inspiration by my afternoon English class in drawing advertisements in English.
2: times that my bus home turned/went the opposite direction I was hoping it would.
15: moments in which I wondered A.) will I slip and break my leg on this icy sidewalk as I try to hurry because I'm late for dinner? and B.) why did I get fancy and take the bus instead of the micro?
60: minutes to make it to the restaurant to meet friends for dinner.
large amounts: of naan and other delicious Indian foods that were consumed by myself, Holli, Helen and our new two-month missionary Michael (Welcome to Mongolia!)
yesterday:
-40 : the temperature in fahrenheit when I woke up
3: the number of shirts I wore- including a turtleneck, a sweater and a sweatshirt. The crazy thing? I was not the least bit hot with all of that warm weather gear. Add a 650 fill down coat and I was comfortable.
20: the number of minutes I had to wait for a micro to come yesterday morning. You better believe I was doing the cold dance on the sidewalk, my eyelashes freezing as I danced.
1, then 4, then 1 again: the number of elementary students I had in my morning English class (I had a brief influx when we started playing a card game to practice numbers : - ))
2: pairs of socks on my feet. Spent most of the day wishing it was three.
-10: the number of minutes I had for the meeting I squeezed in between classes. I was definitely late to teach my 11:45 class yesterday. thankfully they didn't seem to mind.
12: the number of people who showed up for senior citizen group.
3: cups of tea that I consumed during said senior citizen group.
4: the number of times dancing was suggested as a desired activity by senior citizen group members.
23: (rough estimate) of the times Helen and I laughed during the three games of dominoes we played with the senior citizens.
6: magazines used for inspiration by my afternoon English class in drawing advertisements in English.
2: times that my bus home turned/went the opposite direction I was hoping it would.
15: moments in which I wondered A.) will I slip and break my leg on this icy sidewalk as I try to hurry because I'm late for dinner? and B.) why did I get fancy and take the bus instead of the micro?
60: minutes to make it to the restaurant to meet friends for dinner.
large amounts: of naan and other delicious Indian foods that were consumed by myself, Holli, Helen and our new two-month missionary Michael (Welcome to Mongolia!)
Sunday, January 3, 2010
a year in pictures
a year ago I had no idea that I would be....here. And yet here is right where I need to be.
funny how that works.
funny how that works.
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