a sense of place

My senior year of college I took an art course titled Topics. By the name itself you wouldn't think much of it but it was a coveted course and many enthusiastic art majors yearned to take it in their final year of overpriced highfalutin private liberal arts education. The draw of this course is that it is a precursor to your final senior art project in which your art is displayed in the pristine galleries of St Olaf College's famous Dittmann Art Center – a state of the art art facility with one of the best and fanciest ventilation systems you'll find in the nation. Topics is basically a semester long course to either test-drive an idea you have for your final senior show or to do something completely wacky and maybe piss off some people in the process. Or maybe I was the only one that wanted to piss some people off but I felt like it was my right, okay?


A Canoe in the Gallery, normal normal


An added mystery about Topics is just that; the topic. And the professor holds all the power to decide what the year's Topic will be (every year is a new topic.) John Saurer was one of my favorite professors up until that point because he liked my drawings and prints. (I mean, who could blame him? I'm like the most amazing artist ever in the world, amen.) He had a goofy demeanor and manner of speech. One thing he said all the time which I often repeat...to myself...is “Isn't that nice?” and he'd say it as he was carefully pointing at someone's interesting drawing. His curly mop and intense eyes only added to the effect. He is the quintessential “Art Teacher.” However I could say that about every single one of my art professors. There was the dreamy art professor that every girl (and boy) looked at all googily-eyed while he explained power tool safety in sculpture class, there was the turtleneck-sandals-with-black-socks-wearing professor that loved everything ever in the world especially if it vibrated with bright colors, and there was an art history professor that spoke with a such a slow droning robotic like voice that it put you right back to sleep during your 8AM class (I mean, come on! And the lights were always dimmed for the powerpoint presentation. This was before I knew how to drink coffee...)


The one and only Professor John Saurer



Prof J. Saurer, St. Colin Weaver, and Dreamy Prof Irve Dell


And back to the point. I had high hopes for the topic. We all did. We were all anxious to know the topic and create mind-blowing art that so perfectly expressed the topic through our own eyes that we'd simultaneously start a brand new groundbreaking art movement in the process. Because isn't that what every art major wants?

And then Professor John Saurer stands in front of the chalk board and slowly writes:

A....


Sense...



...of.....




…....Place.

Okay, I'm sorry but, what the feck? I was not impressed. My friend Loocis and I were not impressed (but we were kinda the misfits of the already misfit ridden art major scene.) I guess I never really took a lot of time to think about “a sense of place” or “my sense of place” in the world, in life, in the universe.

I do, however, have an extreme passion and love for the best place ever: the great city of Minneapolis. I have a strong sense of Minneapolis Patriotism. Does that count for “a sense of place”? For a while I made a point of saying I was from Minneapolis “proper” because there are many imposters out there claiming to be from “The Twin Cities.” But the problem here is that when some smear says they are from “The Twin Cities” they usually mean they are from some crumby eyesore of a suburb like Hopkins or even worse, Minnetonka. If you would, please, take a moment to think about what the word “twin” means you'd remember that it is something containing or consisting of two matching or corresponding parts. TWO. Not two plus 20 inferior, sidewalk-less parts. So let's just stick to “The Twin Cities” representing the two cities only, Minneapolis and St Paul.
And I'm done with my rant.
Maybe.


A sense of place can be good...


I was feeling awfully snarky my senior year of college and my response to the topic, A Sense of Place, was that I transcend place. I'm so just fancy, aren't I? I don't have a single place. I don't need a single place. I don't get attached. I just ride on. And I depicted my transcendence with detailed drawings of bicycle parts and my trademark doodles intertwined together. Aaaaand a ridiculous bike sculpture that was thrown away, probably by the groundskeeper when he tired of mowing around the awkward “art” piece in the lawn. John Sauer thought the drawings were “nice” but had a hard time grasping my interpretation of A Sense of Place.

Pah! Typical! Adults never understand. My artist's statement was a direct jab at him and a pretty vulgar one at that.
I mentioned my hyena pseudo-penis, if that says anything...


Ridiculous bike sculpture buried in the snow.

the bicycle drawings.


I've grownup a leeettle bit since that attempt at rebellion.And I've been away from home for almost 2 years now. What being away from home for this long has taught me is that I DO have a place. I have a great sense of place and it's home.
Minneapolis.
My parent's house.
In the perfect South Minneapolis neighborhood right on the Minnehaha Parkway.
Home is beckoning me. Home is haunting me in my dreams. When I have idle moments during the day (let's be honest, the whole day is a big idle moment) I imagine my neighborhood. Very particular parts of my neighborhood that for some reason stick out more than others. The hill along the creek that nestles all the geese and ducks. The parkway in my front yard. The bridge that my friend Annie and I climbed on like a jungle gym all summer long when we were still wearing matching pink overalls. I imagine taking my dog Beau for walks all the time. I imagine swimming at the little beach on Lake Nokomis, trying to re-re-teach myself to swim. Walking by the Mississippi River where the Minnehaha Creek spews out into it, the water disconcertingly foamy. Running down the path toward Lake Hiawatha; no feral dogs to worry about.

the creek and ducks.



Mr. Beau takes a walk!

You guys, I'm really excited to go home. I never realized how important home was to me until I left it completely.


The Minnehaha Falls.




Minnehaha and Hiawatha, I presume.

Peer Pressure Party

fyi: the photos in today's blogpost will not make sense


Today we're going to take a trip in my time machine (the 3rd time machine I've made in my life (thankyaverymuch!)) that I made out of a cardboard box, sidewalk chalk, and bobby pins. Don't worry, we're only going back in time by 3 weeks. I know 3 weeks isn't an impressive amount of time to travel forwards or backwards but a lot can happen in 3 weeks. Either way, all I really want to do is tell you about a party attended.

Like I said a couple of blogposts back, my friend Srey Lish was awarded a visa to the U.S.of A. and she left on the 26th of September, 2013. But before she left, she invited me to her going away party. She told me it started at 5PM on a Saturday night. This was already going to be an issue for me. It takes me between 15 to 20 minutes to bike to her house depending on how much sweat I want to release upon arrival. And since this was a "party" I was unsure of the dress code. Most of the "parties" I attend in Cambodia are funerals or old people celebrations. Those types of "parties" or better yet ceremonies, require me to wear a Sampot, which is a traditional Khmer skirt that is usually made of 2 inch thick silk that feels like it's been heavily starched to assure that a woman is in no way comfortable.

So I debated for a good 30 minutes about what to wear which is a usual predicament for many female-type-characters preparing to go to any event. Some how I decided to go in-between formal and casual. Semi-formal? No. It was more like casual Friday; high wasted, bell bottom jeans (yeah, I know) and my 2 inch thick polyester flow-y long sleeve 70s flower power shirt (No really? Yes.) that I found at an estate sale. Perfect choice, Laura. No one will understand what kind of statement you're trying to make with that one. I was trying to channel Goldie Hawn or Olivia Newton-John and I think I pulled it off quite nicely. ALSO, KEEP IN MIND, that I had to wear this while biking and foolishly thought the polyester shirt was flow-y enough to reduce the sweat. I don't know why I do things.

Hey look! A toucan! I drew this!


Back to the issue of time. I did not want to arrive at the party right at 5PM because, like, come on, who shows up to a party right at the start? Am I right? I am right. But the biggest issue being - "Hello my name is Laura, I am 27 years old, I am an American, and I am a volunteer and have to be home before dark." Good thing the sun sets by 6PM every day of the year here. So I accepted the fact that I would bike to the party, arrive by 5:30PM, eat some unknown meat, hug my friend goodbye, and promptly leave by 6PM............

I don't know how I thought I'd get away with that plan. When I got to the party, there was a good crowd already festivising and my friend sat me at a table full of her friends, all young Khmer guys of course, which was bound to be awkward. They mostly avoided contact with me as much as possible which is expected. But then the rice made its rounds and we had something to occupy ourselves with for a while. Srey Lish kindly had one of her best friends sit next to me and she was so sweet to me. I felt more at ease with her sitting with me at the boy table.

I made a quick analysis of the food spread out over the table: weird Khmer salad thing - I can eat that. YUM; pig skin and ears atop a bed of green tomatoes - dog food; unidentified meat - don't touch. I asked my new friend to the left of me what the unidentified meat was and the music was a little too loud for me to completely understand what she said...but I think she said "dog." And that was the moment when I came to the conclusion that it is very unfortunately, regrettably likely and possible that I have consumed dog meat without even knowing it at some point in my 18+ months in Cambodia. I told my new friend that I didn't know how to eat dog meat.

This dog is screaming in absolute horror!


Beer began to make it's way around the table and I was happy for the dog meat interruption. And BEER! I can count on 3 fingers the number of times I have drank beer out in my community. Many women do not drink in Cambodia. Traditionally it is not "sopeeup" or proper for women to drink. However, it is becoming more acceptable at parties especially among younger women. And as a barang (foreigner) I tend to transcend some cultural and traditional gender roles. In general, it's best to simply respect those traditions and saddle up with the other women or for me, it's more likely the children's table. But this party was different! It was indeed party time.

Soam srah beer Angkor muy kampong.


Oh but oops, it's 6PM. My pumpkin carriage awaits me.

I told Srey Lish it was time for me to go but she then preceded to beg me to stay and dance. She told me someone could drive me home later so I wouldn't have to bike home in the dark. She also offered me to stay the night but I've never been a fan of staying in strange beds in homes I'm not familiar with. (Or even homes I am familiar with - just ask one of my BFFs Xin. I think I slept over at her condo once but woke up as early as possible to go back to my bed.) And so the inevitable happened. I stayed at the party past my government issued curfew.

The table was placed in the middle of the dance floor and that was my cue to be one of the first and especially awkward people to dance. Let me tell you, Khmer people think I can dance. That should be a TV show. And you know what? I indulge them. I busted out all my latest and greatest moves. This time it was some of my more "modern" dance styles stemming from the LODAC collection. One thing that I appreciate about Khmer dancing is all the Khmer men dancing shamelessly and with great abandon. It's like dancing in Jerry Seinfeld's bizarro world. Albeit once the men get one too many beers in their systems it's overbearing and obnoxious - they can't take a hint!

And like a truly obedient rainy season, it began pouring. But instead of running for cover under the tent, we just kept dancing. I pulled my belled bottoms up to my knees as the red mud began to form under our feet. We circled around the table one thousand more times; slipping and sliding in the mud. This was the most fun I'd had in the village for a long while.

But the party didn't stop there. The moment I sat down to rest back at the boys table, I was challenged to a dual. A drinking dual. I "joll gaio-ed" (cheers!) with the boys table for a solid couple of beers and was invited to join "the mens" table. The mens table consisted of my friend Srey Lish's dad, the health center director who I helped get a new latrine, and a number of teachers from the high school. They meant business. When you fill your glass with beer, you don't drink at your own pace - YOU DRINK ALL. And I am not a gulper. I don't know how to chug drinks. But Srey Lish's dad was putting me up to the challenge and approving of my smallest accomplishments. And we're talking beer consumption here. I drank until I thought I would burst. And even a little more. Srey Lish said "wonderful" and hugged me for my great achievement.

the full toucan.


It came to the point where if I stayed any longer, I might explode from all the beers "chugged" and I lucked out because one of my host uncles was at the party. He is one of the nicest uncles. We made the perfect non-verbal exchange - I looked at him, he pointed toward home, and I nodded. He drove me home right then and there! Woooo! Free! I mean, I had tons of fun but there was no way I'd make it out alive had I stayed. And I don't know if you've ever tried talking to someone in a foreign language while being significantly inebriated but it's.....embarrassing. I could just hear myself slurring Khmer nonsense and cringing in my head but I couldn't stop my mouth from moving.

And so that was the party. And Peer pressure in Cambodia.

The full toucan. IN LIVING COLOR!

It's been, like, two months already. RIGHT?

Sua-s-day!
As you can see from the subject of this blog post, I've been in Cambodia for two whole months now!!! wooooooo!!!!...pause...awkward silence...
Okay. Scratch that. It's been one week. We officially arrived in Phnom Penh last Sunday. I am now in Takeo Province which is about two hours south of PP...I think. Well, know it all Google maps says it's 1 hour and 22 minutes south of PP but that's only true if you are traveling by Delorean or something. And not on Peace Corps Cambodia's watch. Eeek! Say what? I didn't say anything...

All of the K6 trainees are now with their host families as of Saturday, July 21st. My host mom's name is Sophany (Goa-ut chmoo-aw Sophany. Pronounced: Soap-ann-ee...I think) She lives on National Highway (very busy with absurd Khmer drivers), in a nice house with her husband (I can't remember his name....?) But he's a policeman and I finally saw him in his uniform during dinner tonight. He's legit, yo. No one gonna eff with us!
My host mom was a teacher but retired from that two years ago and is now a vendor. She sells bulk rice so there are huge bags of rice in the garage-type-part of our/their house. They also have a very sweet (English speaking) daughter who's 21 years old. She usually just visits on the weekends. Thanks to her I have internet! She's letting me use her internet USB stick thing. I hope to get one of my own tomorrow maybe and UNLIMITED monthly internet. Cuz I loves me some internets.

DO I LOOK LIKE A TERRORIST? THIS IS WHAT I WEAR TO KEEP THE BUGS OUT OF MY HAIR


Tomorrow we begin our day at 7:30AM with language and cross-cultural class with our LCF (Language and Cross-cultural facilitator) Linda. He is strict but I think he will be a good teacher. We have approximately 4.5 hours of this in the morning. Break for lunch and then go to the Wat for our first day of Technical training for our actual assignment, Community Health Education (CHE.)

Things I've noticed that I like/find funny/weird/silly/interesting/(or none of those):

- Host mom eye-rolling. Is this a good thing or bad thing in Khmer culture? Don't answer.
- I'm always tired! I take mid-day naps which, if you really know me, is not something I like to do. Naps often make me feel worse than before the nap took place. I am crabby after naps. And today it DIDN'T RAIN, so when I woke up from my nap I was covered in sweat. Iiiiick.
- My sleep schedule is odd...I go to bed around 9PM or 10PM and wake up several times throughout the night because I'm too hot or too cold (sometimes!) I then wake up before my "just in case" alarm anywhere between 5-530AM. And this works out fine for me since I can go running before it gets even hotter out.
- I love rain now. When you visit me in Cambodia, you will understand. Back in Minneapolis, whenever it rained, I would be pissed because that usually meant I would be soaked by the time I got to work or wherever. But NOW, I'd rather be soaked by the cool rain, than my sticky sweaty self. Sweat is a constant disgustingness sticking to every Peace Corps trainee.
- Little kids, everywhere I go, say "Hello" to me because I'm obviously the coolest person they've ever seen in their lives. (This is not a unique to me, BTWs. Every PCT gets this kind of attention.)

I'm glad I have this:

M and Ms; Boy am I glad I kept you guys to myself...


When I'm not by myself eating pretzel M&Ms, I'm eating delicious (seriously, pretty good) Khmer food with my family. We sit together on this wood-deck-type-thing with our legs crossed uncomfortably (and my feet cannot be pointing toward my host dad...) There's rice (obviously), some type of vegetables: today it looked like sprouts?(yum!), Som-law (Khmer Soup), potatoes (dom lowm barang), and green tea.

I talked with my LCF about running and he discussed this with my host dad. Neither of them wanted me to run on the National Highway...which is the road I HAVE to take if I want to go anywhere, BTW. So my dad suggested crossing the street and hopping the fence of the school to run around the campus. I followed said advice like the good daughter I am...and BEWARE OF DOG has never been more real to me (although that sign does not exist here.) I was able to run for about 5-7 minutes until the dogs that "own" the campus when kids aren't around on the weekend spotted me from their Dog throne. I could feel the three or four dogs tailing me and I tried to "confuse" the dogs by running around the building a "different" direction. The dogs were very angry with me and I've never been more afraid of any animal. I decided to stop running (as advised by the Peace Corps) and walked to the gate "with confidence."
Let's just say...I'm never doing that again. And for the record, this was not one of the dogs trying to eat me.

I'M DANGEROUSLY CUTE, BACK THE EFF OFF.


Today I did myself a favor and just hopped on my sweet mountain bike and road toward people. I was feeling weird because it's difficult to be surrounded by people that don't recognize your "mad-awesome" pantomiming skills. I tried to explain "mosquito net" to my mom yesterday with buzzing noises and waving my hand around my face...She just walked away. I'm making even more weird noises than usual to communicate with my host family.
Anyway...I got on my bike, and called my friend Willia. I knew I was somewhere near her house and that she wouldn't mind me just stopping by somewhat unannounced. She's amazing. I love her. She was napping when I called her and woke her up. The second time I did that to someone today (oops!) We gathered on the side of the road along with two other PCT friends, Miriam and Melissa. Then we visited one of the married PCT couples, Kayla and Kevin.
Long story short, I am going to make it my rule to call someone when I'm feeling weird/sad/lonely and meet up with them. I hope Willia doesn't mind being the first one on my list.

Willia: My Saving Grace


I should probably go to bed soon and before I go to bed, I have to go pee and that is also a scary ordeal...I'll spare you the details for now. This was a LONG post.


Love,
LoRAAH, PCT

TWO WEEKS

Hi friends.
I am now approaching the end of my rope. Like literally, this rope is only 14 days long (approximately 17 feet and 5.4 inches* long according to super scientific calculations processed through NASA (*completely fabricated number by Laura Olson)) and from there I'm not really sure what I will be holding on to. And if you haven't seen me lately...I look a little like this:
TWO WEEKS?
Seriously though, this (TOTAL RECALL) is one of my favorite movies of all time (TOTAL RECALL). If anyone wants to demonstrate their true "friend"-liness to me, it will be by watching this movie with me before I leave and discuss with me how much the remake will suck. Am I right? Or...am I right??? Noboday likes Colin Farrell.
COME ON PEOPLE!!!
Moving on to more serious topics though...:
I am so very NOT prepared and walking around like a stupid squirrel not really sure which way to go when a car is charging right towards me. This is very VERY hard.
And just a couple days ago I got my super-fancy-high-tech-carry-on-bag from Eagle Creek. Now I can actually practice packing. And I'm not kidding when I say that. I really need to practice packing. My checked bag cannot weigh over 50lbs (but I could have two.) I hope to have only one carry-on and one checked bag and later regret not having enough stuff with me when I get to Cambodia. That's what I usually do when I travel anyway...it's cooooooo.

I finally finished a large portion of my PRE-DEPARTURE-TRAINING packet which was 300 pages long, by the ways. And I owe a lot of my thanks to my extremely helpful person-helper dog, Beau:

EXTREMELY HELPFUL PERSON-HELPER DOG


But really he didn't do anything but put his face all up in my grill when I was trying to type some shizzz about development and project design. Whatevs. The real credit goes out to my friend Geneva who has always given me good advice in hard times. On like, "how do you kiss boys?" and "what if they have gum in their mouths?" (disgusting. OBVIOUSLY, you never kiss them and you NEVER talk to them again because gum (and boys) is disgusting.

What? Where was I? Who am I? I don't know anymore.
All that I do know is that things are getting real, REAL soon and I'm still not getting hit by the "real-ness" wave. What?
TANGENT: Have you heard this song?
This song brings back good memories and is all in all a really lovely song by Grizzly Bear. I believe my next two weeks in Minneapolis will be a lot like this song.
It makes everyone, even babies, wanna dance. Or just bounce up and down.
Listen to that song. Be happy. I'm happy.
Peace out
&
LOVE,

your Peace Corps Volunteer.

Look Who's Blogging...

Oh Gee Golly Bobby, here we go. 

I'm rockin' this blog thing to keep ya'll informed on my whereabouts (that's one word?) Maybe some of you people don't know and if you don't know, I'M GOING TO CAMBODIA. And it's a pretty big deal. I mean "Peace Corps" big deal, yo. And so much of a big deal that I'm going to blog about it AND I still don't even know 100% when I'm actually leaving....

WHAT?! 

You say "What? How can you not know 100% when you're going, Laura?" 

Well, let me tell you.  A handful (or more like 8 hands full...) of awesome individuals, including myself, are currently waiting for the Peace Corps and their travel agency to contact us. 

We were told we'd be leaving for staging on July 9th and that we were to hear from the travel agency, SATO, a month in advance. It is now July 15th, 2012. Let me count the days that I have left real quick...1...2...3...25!!! I have 25 more days until I get into an aeroplane, fly to Washington, DC, and meet my new friends for the next two years of my life. YIKES! 

I'm in a surreal state of mind lately. I spend most of my daytime staring at a computer screen, forgetting the original reason for being on the internets, and quickly turning to Facebook in order to fill the void. ARGH FACEBOOK!!! You make it so difficult to get anything done!!!! And I seriously do have A LOT to do. 


How would you prepare yourself for a two month "vacation"? I am one of the most productive people I know, so I have no trouble with my preparation. Like today, I toured the Summit Brewery in St Paul and drank some free beer. If that's not a perfect example of preparation, then I don't know what is. I also take my dog for long walks which allows me to think about all the things I have to do. Did I mention my dog yet? His name is Beau and he is a good dog. He is also sooooooooo happy I'm home all day wasting my time like it's going out of style (because it really is!!!) 

This is my dog, BTDouble-U's:

There's also a rat on my shoulder. FLIP YOUR DOGS EAR!!!


Other than being a professional time-waster, I've also had the chance to meet up with old friends, family, and (ex-ish) co-workers. It's like all of a sudden I'm a HOT COMMODITY! Who wants some Laura time?! Please grab a number and wait for it to be called...
Just kidding, sorta. I'm not actually that popular. But I am that popular with my dog. He won't leave me alone!!!


Enough about my dog. 


To close this off, I'd like to thank an awesome and talented friend of mine, Alison Deuhs Allen. She is an internet-blog-computer Master and I am yet a wee little interwebs-grasshopper. She basically did everything to make this bloggy thing look the way it looks.  I'm extremely happy with how it looks already and there is the possibility of making it look even more purty and unique. 


Check out Alison's blog: Deuce Cities Henhouse 

And now I'm going to go to bed. (probably not.)