This phrase, “the Camino provides,” is well-known to any pilgrim/peregrino. Let me count thine ways…
Friendship
The Camino Cast of Characters I met along The Way made the journey 1,000 times more memorable. Each of us was at some type of crossroad in life, figuring out our next steps, in many ways healing from something, and working up the courage for what life had in store next.
My advice? If you’re going to do the Camino, make sure you’re on it for at least two weeks. In those first few days, you get to know fellow pilgrims, and while you may see them only a few times at first, over the course of two, three, or four weeks, depending on daily stages, you’ll run into those same pilgrims again.
The more touchpoints you have, the higher the likelihood you will interact, build a relationship, and become friends. Friends who build a bond based on suffering, growth, and unique experiences that only the Camino can provide.
Life Lessons
In the days after my pilgrimage ended, I felt a bit of emptiness in my soul. I saw others continuing onwards to Finesterra and the sea (historically considered the westernmost point of the known world by the Romans and a significant endpoint for pilgrims). The thought crossed my mind that I could literally just keep doing this for the rest of my life. Humans aren’t meant to be sedentary in the way we’ve become. The body adapts to daily long-distance walking, your feet adapt, and it is no longer painful. You never know any of this until you push yourself to do it. Humans’ natural state is movement. I now know what I’ll be doing when I finally “retire” from this rat race.
Optimism and Hope for Humanity
Diverse in age, culture, gender, orientation, privelege, and belief, my daily interactions with fellow pilgrims showcased humanity at its best; helpful, working together when needed, encouraging each other through the tough stretches (both mental and physical), and acknowledging those trials and tribulations with a smile, a nod of the head, direct eye contact, and the words, “Buen Camino!”
Mission and Purpose
I will never look at a yellow arrow in the same way again. If I see a yellow arrow anywhere, I’m going to follow it. That’s what the Camino has taught me.
Routine
The Camino becomes a routine when you stay at Albergues with fellow pilgrims. Here’s a sampling of what that entails:
Wake up between 6:00 and 7:30 a.m., depending on how loud other people are in their morning packing, whether you want to start early, etc. No need for an alarm.
Have an albergue breakfast (usually cheap, watered-down coffee, hopefully milk, and if you’re lucky, you’ll get an egg)
By no later than 8:30, you’re on the trail, following the yellow arrows.
While on that trail, you take a break every 2-3 hours for 15 mins. Around 3 hours in, maybe you’ll have a coffee.
Your pace, how far you go, and whether you stop depend on your destination that day
By mid-afternoon, you arrive at the next albergue, and you’re tired and sweaty and smelly. Hopefully, they’ll let you in by 2-3 p.m. The first thing you do is shower, then wash your dirty clothes, and hope the sun is out so they will be air-dried by tomorrow.
Later afternoon, if you misjudge the day’s distance, or start later, here are things that may happen on longer, 30 km+ walks: 1) Beast Mode: that last hour or two before you finish for the day, and you just wanna power through and be done. The quickest way to do this is to get out the sticks, and 2) Meltdowns: this happens when it’s too hot, you’ve overshot your load going farther than you should have, or you get lost because markings are incorrect, or you missed a sign.
Later afternoon/evening? Make your own dinner from a grocery store that’s hopefully nearby (so you don’t have walk more), or you take the local pilgrim meal at the albergue (easier because it requires not thinking/making more decisions, you just sit and the food is provided and no movement is required), or you go out and find a pilgrim meal at a restaurant (if one exists).
By 9-10:30 p.m. (at the latest), you are in bed, hopefully using an eye mask and earplugs to drown out the sound and light.
By 10:30-11:30 p.m., you are asleep (Ed. Note: I tried to read before sleeping multiple times, and it’s a lost cause because I’m too exhausted and nodding off 2-3 pages in).
If you’re lucky, you’ll sleep well. All things being equal, there will be mild sleep deprivation on the regular. If you’re really unlucky, you’ll be next to one of the snorers (Ed. note: you’d be surprised by the noises some humans can make while sleeping).
Rinse and repeat.
Nature Therapy
A full brainwashing in the best way possible. On the Norte, stunning seaside views, with afternoon walks post-lunch, where you begin to tire, and the last miles are mostly on the side of a road somewhere, but you power through to finish for the day.
On the Primitivo, rain, mountains, lush greenery everywhere, and more mud and jungle green. On all paths of The Way, sweat, grit, dirt, mud, sun, sand, water, and everything in between that life has to offer when you head outside.
Improved Health
I am likely in the best shape of my life these days. My feet, after the first few weeks and the first (and only) round of blisters, have toughened up substantially. I can probably walk 30-40 km a day, no sweat, and there’s something pretty rewarding to that awareness.
Body Weight Redistribution
I have always been tall and lanky, but after walking for more than a month, most of my muscles are now in the lower half of my body. Pecs withered, abs lean, triceps from walking sticks solid.
Sleep Deprivation
You’ll come up with endless strategies on how to avoid the sleep apnea snorers.
Raw Emotion
Almost every day, I was moved to tears. Not always sad tears either. Just…waves of emotion. It was intense and beautiful.
Manners and Patience
An understanding that, oftentimes, unsolicited advice is unwarranted. The Camino helps one grow as an individual, helps one reflect, and helps one give oneself some grace.
Freedom
To choose your own adventure while still staying on some variation of a linear path, to put your troubles behind you, and to move forward towards some variation of a new life.
Presence
This was one of the most consistent, longest-lasting periods of daily, full living of life in the present. It wasn’t carefree, but your concerns were based on that day, not that week, that month, or that year. It was like reverting to some base period of childhood, playing in nature.
Reflection
I frequently chatted with other pilgrims along the way, and liberally used my Bluetooth headphones to jam to music (playlist below) and devour tons of podcasts.
Aside from these times, you will be up in your head, with thoughts about your place in the world and life in general.
Libations
In so many forms, and depending on the time of day, but always keeping a full bottle of water throughout, constantly. In the morning, watered-down coffee and delicious coffee, depending on the source.
By mid-day lunch, likely a glass (or two) of wine (Ed. Note: Spaniards love their afternoon siesta post-wine).
For the evening, maybe a bottle of sidrah (how I love thee!), or a refreshing cerveza, or a crisp white wine.
Sustenance
Carbs galore, as well as endless processed cheeses, meats, white breads, and fried eggs for those low-cost albergue breakfasts and pilgrim-priced mid-day meals.
On the flip side, a deep appreciation for the various regional dishes that Spain has on offer each evening (and you’ll only scratch the surface).
A New Job
I set out on this pilgrimage afraid of the future, what it held, and where I belonged within it. I ended it hopeful of a new life, no longer unemployed, bringing me a new sense of self-worth and a position related to my passion for building a more sustainable food system. The gratitude I feel in obtaining this position while on the Camino runs deep.
Do the Camino. Don’t Doubt Your Ability
In the days after my pilgrimage ended, I felt a deep sense of emptiness and loss of purpose. I saw others continuing on to Finesterra and the sea. I wished longingly I could do the same. To never stop walking. To never stop exploring.
The Camino Changed Me
I tend to travel a lot. I’ve been around the world, lived on four continents, and seen many places, peoples, and cultures. I didn’t think the Camino would affect me as much as it has. For months after, and to this day, I’ve maintained a deep longing for The Way, hell, for any path outdoors, any movement outside, anywhere. It has changed my lifestyle, how I exercise to maintain my mental and physical health, what I value, who I am, and the person I want to be. The experience of awe and full presence that the Camino granted me each day is perhaps the most important gift of all.
“Above all, do not lose your desire to walk: Every day I walk myself into a state of well-being and walk away from every illness; I have walked myself into my best thoughts, and I know of no thought so burdensome that one cannot walk away from it.”
In early April 2025, I was three months into unexpected unemployment, still quite bitter about the slow dismantling of USAID, and still processing the death of a dream I’d worked towards for half a decade. I was in the midst of my second long-term job search in less than two years, with self-confidence, self-worth, and hope for a better tomorrow diminishing daily. I found myself sitting in front of my computer, staring at LinkedIn, refreshing the browser, attempting to manifest relevant roles. Mentally, I was somewhere between the anger and depression stages of grief. The only thing that provided me with a modicum of sanity was outdoor movement via skiing, hiking, and biking. Kudos to Colorado para las montañas.
Around this time, the seeds of The Camino were implanted in my stubborn skull. After conducting some research (Ed. Note: thanks, Oracle), it became apparent I could complete this 500+ kilometer pilgrimage across Spain while still job searching and maintaining a minimal budget. Two weeks later, by way of airplane (Denver>London>Zurich>Madrid), midnight bus (Madrid > San Sebastian), and dawn train (San Sebastian > Irun), my Camino began. What follows is a first-person account of that journey, including the quirky cast of characters I met along The Way, as well as the lessons learned, the awe attained, and the gratitude gained, that to this day, remain.
“I was disappointed in myself for not being tough enough to take the flak, disappointed and ashamed. But as pilgrims must discover if they are to complete their quest, we are led to truth by our weaknesses as well as our strengths.”
May 11 (Sunday): Irun to San Sebastian (30.5 km/19 m): The hike started beautifully, but I’m hitting a wall. I’m hungry, my feet are sore, I know I smell, I haven’t showered since I left Denver, and that’s disgusting. It has been a rather dead crowd of actual pilgrims so far, yet I suspect that will change after the tourist areas (Ed. Note: I actually met Jaime of Manchester this evening).
May 12: San Sebastian > Zarautz (22.53 km, 13.6 m): There are two beaches in San Sebastian, and looking at the western beach as the sun hits this morning, it’s like it was made for humans; a picture-perfect postcard for humanity. It’s hard to leave this place… It’s 8:37 a.m., and now that I’m well rested, I don’t want to go. I want to spend another day here on the beach.
Carrying my bag with me, while hard, wasn’t as tough as day one without the bag, likely because I had sleep on my side. I’m grateful for this weather, these damned beautiful bluebird days.
May 13: Zarautz > Deba (29.5 km, 18.3 m): This coastal route is stunning and quite tough at the end. Had a few moments where my temper broke slightly (Ed. Note: I got lost). Many ups and downs, but the geological flysch is one of a kind.
It was here that I first met Loris, a mid-60s Italian man completing what I suspect was a walk of grief and grace. Despite our language gap, we’d frequently run into each other throughout our pilgrimage, and he always held a kind smile.
Also first met Myriam, the French girl who saved me at the end with water; she’s now my Water Savior. We stumbled our way down cobblestones into Deba. Have a job interview tomorrow afternoon. This will occupy my mind until it’s resolved.
May 14: Deba > Markina-Xemein (26 km, 16 m): Finally going inland. Muggier, greener, more hills, and a punishing descent into Markina. Each day, people go at their own pace and rest when they want. Sometimes with others and sometimes not. There’s no pressure either way. I’m getting into a bit of a groove. The true beauty of the day was meeting so many lovely people walking at the same stage and pace. You start to connect when you all spend a night in the same place. That connection happened today over dinner. There were Jaime the ginger, Sarah the naughty (both from the UK), and Laila the young from Berkeley, CA. My heart is full. Very grateful. As for the interview? I didn’t get the job.
May 15: Markina-Xemein > Pozueta Auzoa (32.6 km, 20.3 m): The morning started with a little Spanish nazi waking up everyone in the public albergue at 7 a.m., blasting music. Every proprietor has their routine, but I’ll never, ever forget waking up to this jam.
I spent the day walking and conversing with Laila about politics in the USA and what life is like from her perspective/generation.
It’s 10 p.m., and I’m now in a tent, outside in Northern Spain. It’s chilly, and there’s a solid chance of rain. My belly is warmed by a bottle of sidra shared with Myriam. I walked 30+ km today. My longest day so far.
May 16: Pozueta Auzoa > Bilbao (32.51 km, 20.2 m): All of yesterday and today, this morning, is MUD. Muchas Barro. A day that started with mud (which I’ve stopped giving two fucks about marching through), and ended with sunshine and entering Bilbao. Walking into this city is a shock. You’re in the first big city since San Sebastian, and it’s intense, but also, insanely beautiful. The vibes and colors immediately enchanted me. I had no expectations about this city, and it blew me away.
May 17: Bilbao Rest Day: My rest day consisted of a free walking tour (so much for rest!) that culminated in the best pinxtos of my life at the central market.
Bilbao has become one of my favorite cities I’ve visited. Stress? Finding lodging for upcoming interviews that also have fast, reliable internet.
Week Two: Camino del Norte: Physical Acclimation
May 18 (Sunday): Bilbao > Santullan (37.1 km, 23 m): Slightly hungover, and the crew I walked with before is four sheets scattered to the wind; some are staying for another rest day. On The Way, if you take one rest day, you’ll want to take more, and you get off track. I carry the weight of a troubled nation on my shoulders (or maybe it’s just my heavy bag). My right knee hurts in the same way it does after a long bike ride, and my left foot has a potential blister forming.
Had a great chat with Caroline from Germany (who saved my sanity along that bland bike path), took a dip in the sea, and continued onwards. After stunning seaside views, the last few hours, mostly on the side of the road, were rather rough.
May 19: Santullan > Laredo (40.7 km, 25.3 m): Mid-morning, I’m having one of those moments where I’m not in the present, I’m thinking about the destination more than the journey. Some of this is realizing that the distance today is 10 km more than planned, which sucks because I thought today would be easier than yesterday, but the point of the Camino is not the arrival, it’s the doing. It’s also due to stress about applying for jobs I should have applied for a few days back.
Mid-afternoon, the houses between Castro Urdiales and Laredo are stunningly beautiful and unique (Ed. Note: Soon after this, I followed yellow arrows that led me astray, and I had a meltdown).
I’m so damned grateful for this journey and realizing what I’m capable of physically.
May 20: Laredo > Guemes (34.8 km, 21.6 m): Awoke refreshed (despite sleeping in a full, musty dorm with a middle-aged, friendly Hungarian family). A solid breakfast provided by nuns in the monastery.
A morning walk along the beach with a new crew from the past few days, including Rachel, Phillip, Mario, and Julien, the unemployed (we bonded over this) filmmaker from France. A ferry across the river channel, more beach walks, and thinking about how much has happened this year, I got emotional on the beach. The beach is also beautiful.
Every day here is an experience of awe. You crave it and live off of it. I also cried because of the idea that I could come back to Colorado with a job. Started to dream a bit. Decided to take a dip in the frigid sea to refresh my soul. Twas splendid.
Stayed at Ernesto’s famous albergue. It was chill, a lot of outdoor space, very peaceful, just a good vibe overall. The dorm room was also pleasant, not much snoring. My first experience taking dinner with others at an albergue.
May 21: Guemes > Santander (19.5 km, 12 m): A misty morning walk that led to stunning beach views and many wonderful thoughts. One is, as I’ve gotten older and nearing middle age, I have learned to appreciate slowing down. Slow travel. Slow media consumption. Slow, long, meaningful conversations. Slow sex. Slow meals and eating. Another thought as I strolled along the beach before Santander:
“I want to walk that imperfect meandering hard sand line along the beach. That point between where the waves stop and your feet don’t sink too deeply in. Too far in the dryness, and you’re sinking; it’s hard to walk. Too far into the water, and you’re drowning. That meandering hard sand line, that liminal space.”
Post beach, lovely ferry ride to Santander, where I first met Annie from California, also on a journey of discovery. Grateful tomorrow for rest, specifically my own bed in my own room with no one else. One cannot imagine how much I’ve missed this.
May 22: Santander Rest Day: Having the mental capacity to switch between the Camino and focused job research, applications, prep, and interviews is not easy. It’s like living in multiple worlds. In the evening, met up with the original (OG) Camino Crew for dinner and drinks. Sad to say goodbye to Laila, Jaime, and Sarah, but alas, the Camino calls.
May 23: Santander > Santillana Del Mar (53.3 km, 33 m): The coast after Santander is STUNNINGLY BEAUTIFUL (and left me in tears). I will never forget the beauty of the first half of my day, nor the absolute hell of stumbling and limping to finish the second half.
In taking the alternative, coastal route, I’d unwittingly stumbled upon the Costa Quebrada UNESCO Global Geopark, which was described on a local sign as a “feast for the senses.” I couldn’t agree more.
Had a meltdown upon hitting a long, hot stretch next to a gas pipeline, and I lost it. The section seems to be never-ending…fuckin a. The Songs That Make You Smile playlist is saving me.
Dinner at the convent was spectacular. Here I met How-uh from Hong Kong and Ha-Neul from Korea, partners who first met each other on the Camino Frances. It’s also where I saw Theo of America again, the commie anarchist with held some rather intriguing views (Ed. Note: I don’t think the other pilgrims enjoyed our friendly but loud, obnoxious banter).
May 24: Santillana del Mar > San Vicente de la Barquera (35.4 km, 22 m): Not proud of myself for pushing this much. I have four new blisters to show for it. This may cut my trip short and put me down for the count. I need to understand blister care now. Slow down, ole boy. There’s a limit to the human body, and I think I found it. Lesson learned: do not push yourself. It can really set you back. To walk the Camino is to learn the art of blister care. I pray to the Gods these blisters aren’t the death of me (Ed. Note: Thanks to fellow pilgrims who provided me with medical advice and Compeed).
Week Three: Camino del Norte: The Body Adjusts to Routine
May 25 (Sunday): San Vincent de la Barquera > La Franca (24.4 km, 15 m): Today has been a day of finding balance between the Camino, my job search, and relaxing.
May 26: La Franca > Llanes (23.7 km, 15 m): Up until today, I went the whole Camino without rain, but today that day is here.
It has been drizzling and cloudy, and depressing all day long. The wetness never ended, souring my mood, tempered by coastal beauty.
I entered the day full of anxiety about my computer not charging and exhaustion due to sleep deprivation. The mid-afternoon drunken Russian whore at a central coffee shop in Llane didn’t help. She wouldn’t stop pestering me about taking her somewhere while I attempted to fix my laptop.
Now everything has been resolved. I now know what is wrong with my computer, where it can be fixed, and where I can get good internet for upcoming job interviews in Oviedo. In this, the Camino provides, thanks to the advice from a new cast of characters in Manu of Spain, Randall (Randalf) of America, and Jose of Spain. From Annie, calming my nerves, and making a delicious chicken noodle soup.
May 27: Llanes > Ribadesella (41.6 km, 25.8 m): On planning for lodging and rest, you must be spontaneous, but not too spontaneous. If there are albergues and you can reserve them, always try to do so a day or two in advance, but otherwise be willing to adjust your daily stages based on the advice of fellow pilgrims. Whatever plan you thought you had will likely be adjusted, but if you can reserve once you know your plan, do so.
Lessons from this? Always know the full daily kilometers if you choose the alternative/coastal route. Be completely ok with stopping, observing, and enjoying the unique place you are in if you happen to get lost along the way. In essence, savor the journey. I was so dead set on reaching Ribadesella that I allowed my impatience at being lost to get the better of me. Never again.
Evening, grateful for the delectable Asturian dinner I had with Annie. She’s a gem of a human.
May 28: Ribadesella > Priesca (28.8 km, 18 m): My most relevant lesson of this Camino? Patience and living in the present. If you see something beautiful, stop and enjoy it. Don’t be so worried about when you’re going to arrive (Ed Note: unless you have a job interview). You could do 30 km in five hours or do it in 6-7 hours and enjoy the journey, which is much more rewarding.
Today I’m grateful for the albergue here. It’s splendidly perfect. In addition to fresh free veggies from the garden, I made a salad of fish and beans, buying what I needed from the on-site mini-market. This place is run by a lovely human, who was kind enough to give us a tour of the local 10th-century Asturian pre-Romanesque church. You read that right. This church is over 1,000 years old.
New casts of characters? Avi from Portugal and Dae-Won, the mid-40s Korean who looks like he’s 25. I also learned Jose lives in Brussels and speaks 6-7 languages, Randall lives in Spain with a family and a wonderful life there, and the fast-talking, staccato-speaking Manu lives in Cambridge.
May 29: Priesca > Villaviciosa (9.6 km, 6 m): A wonderfully short day. I’m grateful for Annie. She let me use her laptop for my job interview (which I aced), saving me. Fingers crossed this job becomes a reality. I quite think I want it.
May 30-31: Oviedo Rest Days: Had an excellent local Asturian lunch with Annie, then a round of afternoon drinks with Manu. Job apps knocked out. Potentially now awaiting a job offer.
Found out today that my grandma died. I am happy she is at peace and in a better place now, with grandpa. Conflicted about cutting my Camino short to attend the funeral. I am here, on this pilgrimage, and I must finish what I started. That much I know.
Week Four: Switching Inland to the Camino Primitivo
June 1 (Sunday): Oviedo > Grado (26.3 km, 16.3 m): There’s constant rain here at all times, and weather reports point to more of the same. It is beautiful tho. And daily movement makes me a happy and healthy man.
June 2: Grado > Salas (24.7 km, 15.3 m): Wet morning and wet coming days. Just very wet. Solid chat with Annie on the trail.
A bottle of sidra with Julien and the Canadians (Phillip and Mario) post walk. Now, probably having the best albergue dinner on the Camino with white Spanish wine, and a good convo from Charlotte, the 60-something Dutch pilgrim telling me all about her single (emphasized repeatedly), wild, and carefree daughter (Ed. Note: Was she hinting at something?). What a lovely journey. It has been weird getting to know new people on the Primitivo when you’ve been on it for so long, and you already have your crew from the Norte. Especially adjusting to those who just started in Oviedo a few days ago.
June 3: Salas > Tineo (21.6 km, 13.4 m): Third day of wet fucking rain. A day of beauty and a day of mud mixed with the shit and piss of cows.
Moments where I’m sick of it and want to see the sun (60% of the time), then moments when you see a waterfall, or you’re walking on a trail surrounded by greenery and trees and moss, and it’s like a magical LOTR fairy tale.
Beyond the incessant mud mixed with cow shit, there was a ratty ass mangy, one-eyed cat begging on the road, then it went further downhill again, to shit slide territory. It comes, and it goes.
Met these two older French guys and thought I was high and mighty, being out on the Camino for so long, but they had been out for months, starting somewhere near their homes in France back in March. I’ve been bested.
After arriving, the sun came out to play, praise BE!! It was here that I first met the hilarious and jovial Luca from Italy (always on the hunt for weed, women, and a good time), as well as Carla and Sharmin, two youthful Spaniards who caught his gaze (Ed. note: sorry Luca, I couldn’t help it lol).
June 4: Tineo > Colinas de Arriba (23.7 km, 14.7 m): On the Norte, you usually didn’t have to plan where you were going to stay every night. I liked the spontaneity of the Norte, and some of that is lost on the Primitivo. You can’t be spontaneous; you have to book more than two days out. Too many damned (ahem, ‘new’) people on it, public albergues fill before noon, if you don’t book in advance, everything is full, and if there is no space, there is no luck, and you have to sleep outside, or continue to the next option (Ed. Note: This was mostly an issue due to the chokepoint of the Hospitales route, and everyone who planned to take it at the same time due to a forecasted clearing, sunny day).
The albergue here has been absolutely lovely. Good food, views, a peaceful environment, great prices, and surrounded by good people (Ed. Note: this is where I first met the Irishwoman and re-met Carmen, the sweet older Spanish lady who had a crush on Randalf). This afternoon, a weight has begun to be lifted from my soul. I accepted a job!! One day at a time, no more job searching, thank the gods!
June 5: Colinas de Arriba > La Mesa (25.6 km, 16 m): The Hospitales route. What a goddamned stunning day. This hike ranks among the most beautiful in terms of sheer beauty.
Towards the end, the place I thought I booked wasn’t booked (completo = full, not confirmed dummy), and I realized I may be sleeping outside, only to be saved by Manu, who used his sweet-talking staccato Spanish with the local middle-aged female proprietor to procure me a room. Good Asturian food, sidrah to wet the palate, and shenanigans were had.
June 6: La Mesa > Grandas de Salime (16 km, 10 m): You don’t need an alarm on the Camino because everyone else wakes you up around 6-7 a.m.
I’m finally understanding something that Henry David Thoreau and others talked about. Staying in the present. In today’s day and age, it’s hard to be present because you always have to plan and be prepared, and therefore, that always causes you to be slightly anxious. That’s the way of the modern world. If you were staying on a farm or doing what Thoreau did and going into nature and just being there for years, besides concerns for the daily necessities of life (food/shelter), you would be at peace with yourself and living in the present most of the time. As this relates to starting my new job, I’m realizing I need to consider what that fine line ‘living in the present’ happy medium is. To not get consumed by work.
This town is where I had one of my best meals on the Camino, partaking of cured meats, rottenly blue cheese, and fish pinxtos with Manu and Annie, followed by others joining, and meeting Leisel from Germany and Lieke from the Netherlands.
June 7: Grandas de Salime > A Fonsagrada (26.1 km, 16 m): 09:30, I’ve walked 10 km so far, and there is no COFFEE ANYWHERE. Woke up very early, left, and no coffee. That was stupid. I haven’t realized how much I’m addicted to coffee until now. Dear god. I just used the words “god willing” when someone told me there might be coffee later on, and I think I actually meant it.
Had a wonderful time here upon arrival, tho. Octopus lunch with Manu, Randall, and Grandpa Juan from Argentina.
Grateful for everyone’s presence today (Ed. Note: This is also the evening when the stinky, rude, older German men entered the dorm after midnight, making tons of noise and not muting their phones before sleeping).
Week Five: Conflicting Thoughts as the Camino Concludes
June 8 (Sunday): A Fonsagrada > Vilar de Cas (39.5 km, 24.5 m): Spent most of the day hanging with Manu, good convo, he’s a wonderful chap, love that guy. What am I grateful for in the heat of the afternoon? Much of this walk is under a canopy of trees, so I thank the shade they provide.
June 9: Vilar de Cas > Lugo (17.2 km, 10.6 m): A chill(er) day, exploration of the city, and good company hanging with Manu and Luca over drinks.
June 10: Lugo Rest Day: It’s starting to feel really fucking weird that it’s ending soon. Each day I have a purpose, a mission, and a routine. Now all of that is about to end. It feels rather disconcerting to say the least.
June 11: Lugo > Merlán (34 km, 21.1 m): A good convo practicing Spanish with Argentinian Grandpa Juan. Had a rather intense conversation over dinner with a free-wheeling Croat who holds a bleak outlook on humanity’s future.
June 12: Merlán > A Salceda (40.7 km, 25 m): Hit Melide mid-morning (where the Primitivo and Frances meet), which leads to a total vibe change. In addition to the weathered Frances pilgrims, I’m observing a lot of posers (I kid, kinda) who came for the last 100 km. This increase in overall foot traffic led to many thoughts, oftentimes slightly judgmental (Ed. Note: At least I’m self-aware, and not alone in these pontifications):
At all times, people are behind and in front. There is increased commercial activity. Little tables of knick-knacks and people flocking to them like sheep.
Increased levels of performative actions. People walking over a river path are getting videos of themselves going over the stone steps. I don’t know, maybe I’m being judgmental
You can delineate between those who have been on it for a while and those who are fresh based on the herd mentality
Thoughts from Annie: “It’s super annoying, like some social scene I didn’t ask for. I feel like I’m on a guided tour. Weird looks from people, I look like a grungy creature while these newbies all look so clean, and carry small backpacks. I’d go back to that Hospitales route in a heartbeat right now if I could.”
Thoughts from Manu: “It totally blows off the spirit of the Camino. A lot of little sellers are selling crap. Too many people, impossible to find an inch for yourself, capitalism madness man. No one is saying “Buen Camino” anymore; it’s nonsense. The first 1.5 weeks were the best for me in the Basque Country. We were completely alone, and we knew all the pilgrims. Now, at the end, I am around all these people, I have to squish myself… fucking hell.”
I will feel lost when this Camino ends, and that’s tough to swallow. Difficult to comprehend and deal with. I finally understand Forest Gump when he says, “I just felt like running.”
The albergue here has a legit chef. The menu del dia para cena is amazing, as is the local Spanish licor.
June 13: A Salceda > Santiago de Compostela (30.7 km, 19 m): Knowing this is going to end soon is very hard to accept. 06:30 start, plenty of rain, no people, and only my thoughts for the first hour. I got a bit emotional.
Almost every day on this hike, living in the present, while also getting up in my head thinking about life, has caused intense daily emotions. It’s the nature of the Camino.
Upon arrival, there was quite a celebration with friends, many cervezas drank, a late afternoon nap, and excellent seafood for dinner, followed by live traditional Spanish music in the main square (thanks to Jose and Manu, who knew of this tradition). A fitting end to the Camino, for which I am eternally grateful.
P.S. My Most Memorable, Recommended Albergues to Stay Along The Way
In general, the infrastructure along The Way is excellent, and you’re not worrying about where you’ll sleep each night (this statement is particularly apt on the Camino del Norte, less so around Hospitales on the Camino Primitivo, and I cannot speak to the popular Camino Frances).
You have the option to choose between fancier private rooms in hotels/Airbnbs, or go the more traditional Albergue route, which I highly recommend. An albergue is essentially a hostel, but specifically for pilgrims on the Camino, with two options to choose from: either the municipal/public albergues (around $11/night), or privately owned albergues (roughly $20/night). You usually get slightly better amenities with the latter. Here are the most memorable stays from my pilgrimage.
To get to the bones of what I’d like to discuss (the Camino de Santiago), I must first set the stage and discuss key happenings over the last few years, what those from my English teaching days would call scaffolding. I must provide a solid base of context, background, and understanding to build towards the upper layers of the wild, meandering shitstorm that’s been my life since graduating from The American University of Rome.
Life in Europe as an Unemployed Graduate Recipient
In the Summer of 2022, after completing primary research in Korea for my master’s thesis, I spent the Fall of that year back in Rome, compiling, organizing, and drafting it all into a final master’s capstone. After a live defense on its merits in December, I finally earned a social science master’s degree in sustainable food systems policies in the Spring of 2023.
There were some key moments of beauty, adventure, and awe that I shan’t forget during this time. I learned the benefits of slow travel, going on a two-week Italian bikepacking adventure from the Adriatic coast in Marche, through Umbria, Lazio, and Tuscany, ending at the Tyrrhenian Sea in Orbetello.
I also became an early adopter of Trusted House Sitters, which allowed me to explore Europe on the cheap, including Estonia, Finland, Amsterdam, Prague, and Venice.
International Development Roles are Highly Competitive
After 1.5 years of graduate school, the use case behind this pricey piece of parchment was obtaining my long-sought-after dream job, either working for one of the United Nations food organizations that are all headquartered in Rome (the World Food Programme, the Food and Agriculture Organization, or the International Fund for Agriculture Development), as a foreign service officer with the U.S. government (USAID or the Foreign Ag Service), or for one of the many non-profits focused on agriculture in developing countries (e.g. One Acre Fund, Alliance of Bioversity International and CIAT).
Over the course of 2023, for almost a full year, I experienced firsthand the table stakes involved in finding a job these days. It was a humbling, character-building life experience. I realized after one too many applications, in-person networking attempts, and a stubborn refusal to see the writing on the wall, that the pathways to a job in Rome with a UN food organization were either a pipe dream or involved sacrificing future earnings to start at the low end of the totem pole.
Unless you start as an intern (e.g., free labor), entry-level positions (consultancies) require prior experience, a Catch-22 if there ever was one. If you’re lucky enough to obtain a consultancy for the UN, you’re not considered a full-time employee. Therefore, you don’t get the benefits of a professional-level position, and since you’re technically a contractor, you have to take a month off every year between contracts. And future contracts are not guaranteed. Visas aren’t sponsored either. Nothing about this screamed job security at my age, nor was I even getting interviews for these consultancies.
To summarize, obtaining a well-paying, secure job in international development is extremely difficult, especially if you’re older (32+) and don’t have specific, direct experience related to each position. While I had Peace Corps international development experience, that was something more easily recognized as such by the US government, vs. the UN and non-profits. Hence, by early summer of 2023, around the time I’d submitted over 125 job apps, I started exploring the idea of moving back to the States. I assumed there would be more opportunities, no concerns over visas, and a better chance of obtaining a position if I were physically located in-country.
Why did I come back to the USA?
Since the summer of 2018, outside a six-month stint in the spring/summer of 2020, I’d been abroad for almost half a decade. I saw close family and friends once a year if I was lucky. All signs were pointing me towards my home country, but I maintained a stubborn refusal towards this acceptance (and held (still) a complicated set of feelings on the USA). It wasn’t until I saw an RPCV Facebook post in July for a house sit in Denver, Colorado, starting in mid-August, that I seriously considered moving back. For a variety of reasons (a free house sit, both of my sisters’ families living there, the stirring of emotions, etc), I made the move, with the help of my parents, who had also decided to visit Italy for the first time in early August.
America, Reverse Culture Shock Round II
Those first few months back in Colorado were a rough, scrappy period. I was lucky to be offered additional house sits, which allowed me to live rent-free. I also had the never-ending support of family and friends during this period (for which I am extremely grateful). On the flip side, I was up to 200-plus job apps, a smidge of responses, and no offers. Toss in a bit of heartbreak, and one can safely call this my round one mid-life crisis//growth period (more on round two later). Here are a few thoughts I scribbled down at that time:
My go-to “bar” since returning to the USA has been The Mercantile in the Denver airport (may its Priority Pass lounge access RIP). That gives you an idea of my comings and goings since returning to the States.
No one at this airport knows how to use an escalator effectively. Stand on the RIGHT, folks!
Everything is bigger here—the cars, the roads, the houses, the people. There’s just a lot more space.
In Denver, pedestrians yield to everyone, and walk cautiously (for good reason). Compare this to Washington, DC, where everyone yields to those who are walking on their own two feet. Compare this to Rome, and it’s a complete shit show.
It’s been a rough ride, a roller coaster I wouldn’t wish on anyone these past few months. But I suspect in the long run this bout of bad luck and depression shall pass, making me stronger and hopefully even wiser in the process.
Finally, a job offer!
In mid-November, I was finally offered a sales position with Agworld, an agriculture technology company whose software helped farmers be more efficient, organized, and sustainable. I remember exactly when, where, and how I heard this news, right before Friendsgiving, in Baltimore, via a Saturday morning phone call, as well as the emotions of that moment, and the weight lifted from my dwindling reserves of confidence after 245 job applications and almost a full year of searching. This position was one of the best jobs I’ve ever had from a quality of life standpoint. It was fully remote, I worked my own hours at my own pace, with little micromanagement from above. I enjoyed the people I worked with and felt the role was positively contributing towards my passion (more sustainable food systems). Since the role was remote, I continued house sitting, which saved me at least $1,500/month in rent and helped me start to dig out of the financial hole from graduate school.
USAID: A Career Dream Realized (Almost)
In February 2024, I was contacted by USAID about a Foreign Service Executive Officer position I’d applied to in September of the previous year. This was the dream position that I’d been building towards since leaving my career in public relations in 2018. It fit my skillset perfectly, requiring international development experience (Peace Corps), a master’s degree (one I’d just obtained), and management experience. Still, I was cautiously optimistic (a year of job apps and denials will do that to you). In late March, I aced the half-day virtual interview process, and in late May, I was advanced to the medical and security clearance process. At this point, the optimism became more palatable. In August, I completed the medical clearance, and after an intense deep dive into my personal life, my temporary security clearance was also granted in December 2024.
I saw this as a safe, secure, and well-paid role with the U.S. government that would allow me to live abroad again, begin my dream career in international development, start and build a family, and most importantly, improve human well-being in developing countries around the globe. For all its faults, USAID was the single largest donor to international development via the American taxpayer. Its mission and projection of soft power were something I generally agreed with, and I saw this move as a natural extension of my Peace Corps service, and perhaps, if luck was in my corner, I’d be stationed in Rwanda again.
A First: Getting Laid Off!
On January 3 of this year, I was laid off from Agworld. This was a lesson in character building. I’d never advocate this happen to anyone, and getting laid off is not a sign you did anything wrong; in fact, it’s a sign the company you work for mismanaged itself. So one should never be ashamed of it. What did this teach me?
To be more cautious about what a company says vs. its actions. To have a better BS detector when it comes to these things. To apply skepticism to whatever a company says because they don’t have your best interest at heart, they are trying to make a profit.
The Celebration of Ignorance Begins
Despite my surprise and initial frustration at being laid off from Agworld, I wasn’t worried; I still had my dream USAID job lined up. As President Trump’s inauguration neared, my communications with USAID’s HR department became increasingly ominous, and rumors of massive workforce cuts throughout the Federal government added fuel to the fire. Yet, I don’t suspect many saw what this administration had in store for USAID, a bipartisan organization with historic support going back decades.
Starting with a near-total, immediate freeze of all foreign aid in late January (more on this later), this administration slowly dismantled the agency over the course of the next six months. Through obfuscation, misleading claims, and an “America First” agenda (all hallmarks of this administration), Trump, Musk, and Marco Rubio claimed the agency was rife with fraud and abuse (false) and was not aligned with America’s interests. I beg to differ.
The U.S. having a positive presence in countries across the globe isn’t just a form of soft power that builds favorable inroads with the global community. It’s also a smart policy. Preventing famine, disease, or even conflict in foreign countries through programs, USAID can protect us (America first!!) from disease, protect our food supplies, or even protect our economic interests. All of this for a program that accounted for 0.7% of the United States Federal budget.
Mid-Life Crisis, Round II
The gutting of USAID and the loss of my dream job put me into a pit of despair that took months to crawl out of. It made me question past life choices, career transitions, and the investment in a master’s degree that now seemed irrelevant in Trump’s America. I had spent the past year anticipating this new career and life path, and putting my personal goals on hold (e.g. no one in Colorado wanted to seriously date someone who at some point in the near future would be moving to D.C., but TBD on when).
Despite my mental state at the time, I once again began a new job search, applying to positions from mid-January onwards. By the end of April, I’d applied to 40+ roles, made it to the end of multiple interview rounds, but had received no offers. My search was affected by the gradual insertion of artificial intelligence in all aspects of our lives. Common practices around interview prep, drafting a resume and cover letter, or looking for roles were all changing rapidly. Similar to getting a match on a dating app, I’d get a dopamine spike from seeing a job aligned with my interests and experience. I’d get another spike when there was a response to my application, when a company seemed to express any interest in me, when I thought an interview went well. Then that spike would crash when I was told in a panned email that I didn’t qualify, with no reason whatsoever as to why, or ghosted by a company you’d gone through four rounds of interviews with.
Searching for a new role was becoming highly discouraging, sapping my self-confidence and self-worth. I needed a change of pace, a change of scenery, and a reset on my outlook. But that’s for another post…
Why do I call this The Celebration of Ignorance?
The cruel (and weirdly gleeful) manner in which 60% of international development funding was immediately cut, with no attempt to reform USAID or have a slower transition towards less U.S. funding support, has horrifically impacted humanity worldwide. This policy action alone continues to cause more unnecessary deaths than any other action of this administration.
I could also list a myriad of other reasons, but to keep it brief, here are just a few more:
How the government has spent the past year defunding key research and development institutions in climate science (Fact: human-caused climate change is real, full stop)
How Trump’s USDA abruptly cut funding for existing sustainable food system policies if they so much as mentioned anything related to climate change (Fact: climate-smart agriculture IS good agriculture)
How vaccine skepticism has grown throughout the US, and funding has been drastically cut for research and development into cures for diseases (Fact: vaccines have saved hundreds of millions of lives around the world, and continue to do so. Fact: Trump’s own Operation Warp Speed, which helped develop, produce, and distribute COVID vaccines that saved millions of lives worldwide, was a direct result of prior funding and research into human viruses.)
I flew into Rome via Fiumicino and took the airport train to Trastevere, switching to another train that dropped me at Quattro Venti in Monteverde. I had once again packed too many bags for this overseas journey and carrying them the few blocks to my Airbnb was absolute hell. It actually felt like that. It was the hot, sweltering heat of early August 2021, and—around that time—Sicily had just broken the heat record for Europe.
Santa Severa. August 20, 2021. Or get gelato. August 25, 2021.
Since the summer of 2018, I have been in the midst of a meandering, oftentimes unruly, multi-continental transition towards a career related to my passion for sustainable agriculture. This stemmed from my upbringing on a small family farm in rural Kansas and never left me in the decade I lived in Washington, D.C. Completion of this graduate degree will get me one step closer to that goal.
Fontana dell’Acqua Paola. August 27, 2021.
Worldwide, the global agri-food system is responsible for roughly 21-37% of annual greenhouse gas (GHG) emissions contributing to global warming (IPCC, 2019, p. 10). This system must drastically change towards more sustainable, regenerative, agroecological production and consumption practices to ensure we can meet the needs of an ever-increasing human population and mitigate climate change. In my first month of this graduate program, I realized my life has a purpose. That purpose is to aid in halting and reversing climate change. To safeguard future generations’ ability to enjoy earth’s bounty.
“What you do makes a difference, and you have to decide what kind of difference you want to make.”
Jane Goodall
In the first month, I met many intriguing, passionate, artistic, and driven individuals, both within my own program’s cohort, and also locally within Rome. Many will continue to be lifelong friends well after this program has been completed.
My food studies cohort. Celebrating us. April 25, 2022.
Often in those first few weeks of a waning summer, I spent the evenings meeting new friends down by the Tiber river, after the sun had vanished over Belvedere del Gianicolo. At night, the heat became manageable while lazily sipping chilled, Pecorino wine on Isola Tiberina.
Views of the Tiber. September 18, 2021.Picnics with friends on Isola Tiberina. September 5, 2021.
Below is a random assortment of thoughts and observations over the course of the nine-and-a-half months I resided in Rome.
August 10: One of the first things I noticed about Rome is the graffiti. Mind you, I’ve only been to a few neighborhoods so far, but it’s everywhere and on everything. Buildings, trash cans, public transit/road signs. Even the Airbnb host apologized for it. Well, more likely he thought I would assume it was a bad neighborhood due to the graffiti.
Mad Max street cleaner. Monteverde. Graffitied car. Trastevere.
August 11: I’m still getting over my cold, which may be affecting my mood. Also, the creakiness of the ceiling fan in this Airbnb is driving me nuts. It either doesn’t work in the low setting, or it sounds like Mussolini’s fascist army is marching through Rome to attack me in the middle of the night. It is loud and it can’t be pushed off as an ‘Italian thing.’ Thank God the good sir AirBnB host Dalesioooo has agreed to provide me with another fan. Editor’s Note: In Rome, most apartments do not have air conditioning. I quickly adapted to this as best as possible.
August 12: I’m slightly hungover after meeting some graduate colleagues. I had a few too many with Alex from Austria. He’s a cool dude, younger, and has a baby face. On the flip side, it’s been a rough day. Rome is full of trees. Majestic, grand trees. A walking city, which I love. In this August heat, it’s entirely possible to walk to many locations and stay within the shade of these magnificent trees the whole time.
My bodyguard. Halloween 2021.
August 22: Italians know how to drink outside. Everywhere you go. Perhaps it is due to COVID and some structures may be more short-term, but the idea that you sit outside in this beautiful summer weather, nighttime being key, and enjoy aperitivo is perfection. You can do nothing but be joyful. For that, today I am thankful. And for finding places with an excellent deal for pizza and drink.
Editor’s Note: I suspect this is the day I found “The Spot,” otherwise known as Antico del Moro.
September 9: Is there a soundtrack that you associate with living in a new place or experiencing a new experience? Whether that’s food, travel, sport, a woman, a man, or whatever it is, is there a soundtrack that you associate with that?
That’s a good question to ask someone whether on a date or just in general when you want to know more about someone in your life. For me, in the life I’m living, constantly traveling and moving to new places, experiencing new people, things, cultures, and foods. It is the soundtrack that has also been my alarm for over a decade now. It is the soundtrack from the song Why Not by Jonsi from the “We Bought a Zoo” soundtrack. To this day, I can still associate that song with going to the Art Museum on the National Mall in Washington, DC while I was still living in Springfield, VA. I recall being slightly buzzed and really experiencing that art in a way that I hadn’t ever experienced before.
September 10: 30 days in. My Italian is horrible. When I do try to speak Italian, instead I want to speak in Kinyarwanda. The memories and the synapses associated with speaking another language are reopening and I’m remembering words that I otherwise thought I’d forgotten.
Camping and climbing in Tuscany with Arianna and friends. September 25-26, 2021.My 36th birthday. November 15, 2021.Matera, Basilicata. November 2021.
December 4: You know how kids play when they are younger and they don’t care what anyone else sees or if anyone is looking at them, they are just in their own world and in their own space, doing their own thing? But as they get older, they start to realize people may be watching them when they are in public and maybe they are too cognizant and self-aware that other people are present. Therefore, they can’t be fully present and enjoy the play that they once had because they are too focused on what other people may think of them. As you get older you start to lose that. You should never lose that. You should always be free to do what you want, feel how you feel, and play without worrying that someone else may judge you a certain way because of the way you are acting.
Frascati vineyards. September 4, 2021.Biking to Fiumicino. February 19, 2022.
December 7: I’ve been burning through half a bottle of wine and roughly 8 cigarettes per day. Coping mechanisms I suppose. Albeit this has been coupled with healthier alternatives like biking, listening to happy, chill tunes, wandering around outdoors, eating a primarily plant-based, seafood diet, and high-intensity workouts. Perhaps it all balances out? Such is the life of a grad student during the last few weeks of deadlines and finals before a Fall semester ends.
Editor’s Note: From mid-December to the end of January 2022, I traveled around Europe during the Winter break. This included Germany with my brother in December and a solo trip to Ukraine, Poland, and Spain in January.
Me and my brother in Munich, Germany finding saving fair maidens. December 2021.
January 13: You can tell a lot about a country based on whether people lock up their bikes. In Munich, Germany, some locked their bikes and others didn’t. If they did, it was mostly locked to a wheel. In Berlin? Different story. Everybody is locking up their bikes. In Poland? People lock up their bikes but in places, it seems safe to not do so. In Rome? You don’t leave your bike out at night, period.
Trastevere. November 10, 2021.
January 19: Madrid, Spain. I just saw a blind lady crossing the street. Think of someone who is blind and ventures out every day into a world they can’t see, yet still, they do it. And you’re afraid. Of what? To live. To do the thing that makes you happy, that you love, that you are passionate about because of what? Because of money, fear, the unknown, of change? It could be a variety of things. This lady, every day, she does this. She can do it and you sure as hell can too. Stop being afraid of the life you want to live, just do it. Do it now, don’t do it tomorrow, don’t do it in a few months, do it. Don’t regret that you didn’t do it.
April 6: Social science academic journal articles are 25% bullshit adjective filler words. Some uppity academics try to paraphrase the person before them and the person before that person. Kill me. Editor’s Note: Clear frustration is present as Spring finals approach….
April 10: I’ve lived here long enough to develop some observations in comparing Italy to South Korea. This has been tied to research for my thesis on rural development in Korea. In observing rural development in Italy regarding multifunctional agriculture, I have realized that Korea has many things in common with Italy. They just don’t have the myth or the worldwide attention that Italian food gets. I think there is a lack of knowledge about the history of Korean food and the fact that it is the original ‘slow food.’ I digress… the point is that I was on a field trip in the mountains of Abruzzo to a sheep farm. I realized that when you are looking at these old towns in Italy that go back hundreds of years, the reason you can still see them is that they are made of stone. Koreans have similar ideas and traditions in regard to agronomy, agriculture, and sustaining rural livelihoods, traditions, and cultures of a region. But quite a bit of that history was destroyed by Japan in the late 16th century and due to the early 20th-century occupation of Korea. Furthermore, Korean homes were primarily made of wood. In Korea, I noticed that the same types of things you would notice and admire in Italy that garner worldwide attention are the same things that I think Korea should be promoting themselves and be proud of. In many cases, for Korea that history goes back just as far as Italy. Korea obviously wasn’t Rome, but there are things they should be proud of. I suspect some of this has to do with Western people’s finding Eastern cultures and peoples unfamiliar, foreign, mysterious, and somehow uncomfortable, but I’m not about to unpack those thoughts.
Late April: Having a strong heart physically is helpful when your heart is weak emotionally.
May 4: Things that I’ve learned about my apartment and my living space… I can survive on 30 sq meters or less. My bedroom can be my kitchen, dining room, and office. I think I am ok with that. As long as the bathroom is separate and as long as I have a window that gets a fair amount of sun and looks out on a beautiful view of Janiculo. I can hear the sound of the sea in the form of seagulls. That makes me ok. Such realizations about living alone lead me to believe such a small space would be manageable were I to have these pleasantries.
Apartment views in Trastevere as the sun sets.
May 5: Ways that I am maintaining sanity during finals week of the Spring semester. Once again, cigs. Also, exercise on a daily basis to relieve stress. Dancing around my apartment while listening to positive music and looking forward to next week when I am done with everything I can I go to the beach and soak up the fucking sun.
Ostia beach. Post-finals celebration. May 12, 2022.
May 9: If you want a bike while living in Rome, buy a mountain bike. It is necessary for a variety of reasons, including cobbled streets, infrequent, disjointed bike lanes, numerous potholes, and edged sidewalks with no entry and exit ramps at street crossings.
The Park of the Aqueducts. February 12, 2022.
May 11: When you leave a place you leave a little bit of yourself behind. The part of you that was who you were before you lived there. Before you were impacted by the people, the food, the culture, and the experiences of that place. When you leave you are a different person, changed by what you experienced and the physicality of the site you lived in. If nothing else, over the last nine months living in Rome, studying in graduate school and meeting beautiful individuals, all these experiences have left an imprint on me, and I am no longer the person I was when I arrived.
Editor’s Note: On May 17, 2022, yours truly embarked on a jet plane back to Korea to do fieldwork research for his graduate thesis. An unsettling, emotional roller coaster ride, to say the least. As he pens this post (July 27, 2022), he is about to return back to Rome.
It has now been a little over two months since I left South Korea** and said goodbye to the friends I made there. I still crave Korean food and yearn for a cold, milky bottle of makgeolli almost every day. I still dream of the jagged islands around Tongyeong, the rolling tallgrass of the Yeongnam Alps near Ulsan, the colorful, historic Buddhist temples scattered throughout the country, and above all, the beauty of Busan, nestled among mountains which are only broken by the East Sea on one end and the Nakdonggang River on the other.
Rafting along the Seomjingang River next to Jirisan National Park. Traditional Korean food in a makgeolli pub.A cold day in December meeting some wonderful new friends from the States.
Not pictured in the above photos? The marvelous crew of co-workers I had while working at my private academy. I read many horror stories about private academies in Korea, but I have been quite lucky. I had a head teacher who had been working there for years, trained me well, and truly cared about his work. Whether it involved getting a ‘mart beer’ (or…five?) and trading stories over what happened in class that day or taking a weekend to explore new breweries and philosophize about life itself, they were always there and available.
My Slightly Disjointed Thoughts on Teaching English in Korea in the Age of Coronavirus
The warmth of the sun on my face as I walk to school each afternoon as winter sets in puts me at ease. It’s pleasant, makes the impending Zoom class more tolerable, and reminds me how much I miss and love the outdoors. Especially on days where it is my first and only interaction with its bright comforting warmth before it falls back beneath the towering Lego officetels and those never-ending mountains that surround you everywhere in Korea.
I love to whistle. Especially while listening to music and exploring the great outdoors. You can’t whistle with a mask on.
I spent my first three months teaching 50+ Korean students. Thirteen weeks and I didn’t see their faces until week 14. Why? Masks. Then there was a spike in cases, so we had to teach on Zoom. Only then could I see the expressions that made them beautiful, alive, and human.
A student’s drawing of me. The mouse (supposedly) is unrelated.
I worry about these kids. Often in class, I will show them pictures of mass crowds of people enraptured in a live musical performance, dancing to a DJ, or celebrating at a festival on a beach or at an outdoor sports field. Too often their immediate response is horror followed by loud mentions of “CORONAVIRUS!” While some may be joking, I worry too often that this situation, this current reality of living will become engrained in their psyche. They may hold within themselves a lifelong aversion to the activities that make life so wonderful. They may make mask-wearing a habit. Something that seems normal and should always occur.
Another student drawing of me.
I despise face masks. I frequently forget to don them when leaving my flat and it’s not until the angry glares, the people who shy away with fear, or the feeling of fresh air on my uncovered face that I realize what I’ve done. I never want to make wearing them a habit. That makes me happy. It reassures me to know my brain hasn’t programmed this in yet.
The eyes of a person can tell you many things, but a full facial expression is so much more enjoyable. It’s what makes us humans love to interact and watch ourselves as we do so. Do not misunderstand me. I fully realize why masks are so necessary in these times.
I hate this damn virus. It takes away so much that I love about this world and living. I yearn for the days when I can greet my friends with a hug, see their full, joyous smiles, and bask in the warmth and touch of those I love.
This is a love letter to Korea. And if you love _[insert anything]_, you will love Korea.
Quality, affordable healthcare
There are many ways one can conclude that America’s healthcare system is broken. One is living in countries and experiencing their healthcare system firsthand. In Korea, if you are feeling ill, you burn your hand a bit, or you get even a minor cut, it’s a given that you will go to the doctor. In America, you either have to think you are dying or your leg may be gushing blood before you’ll submit to the costs associated with such visits. I was required to purchase healthcare as an expat there on a work visa. The system itself was efficient, high quality, and low cost. Korea itself even has its own medical tourism industry.
Delicious, ancient food and drink
I came to Korea with some expectations regarding the cuisine based on Anthony Boudain’s episodes from No Reservations and Parts Unknown, as well as my own trips to Annadale, Virginia with friends for Korean BBQ while living in Washington, D.C. Needless to say, the food blew me away. It is based on thousands of years of agriculture history and tradition. It emphasizes a variety of foods high in both probiotics and prebiotics. Traditional Korean food is, by default, quite healthy.
A traditional Korean lunch, supplied with a healthy dose of banchan (small plates of food).
I also learned that (supposedly) Korean food is all about ensuring men have confidence in themselves. Sexual confidence. I’ve been told by multiple Koreans in many different scenarios that the specific food I was consuming is known to provide stamina. And we’re not talking your average stamina. No. Sexual stamina. This ties back to Confucianism (Yin and Yang), as well as the country’s history of patriarchy, but I just found it to be rather hilarious.
A heaping bowl of STAMINA.
A low cost of living
Teaching English in Korea is stillconsidered a lucrative profession due to the high salary paid to TEFL teachers in both public schools and private academies. I say still because in my discussions with teachers who have been living in Korea for almost a decade, they oftentimes refer to the past when things were even cheaper, and the salary stretched further. Nevertheless, the salaries paid for such a profession coupled with the countries’ low cost of living and high quality of life led me to understand why some expats who came to teach for one year changed their plans and never left.
Me cooking spaghetti in my apartment, as drawn by Yihwa.
I generally cooked my own meals on weekdays so I could spend my weekends living like royalty while still not spending much at all. To stretch my salary even further and ensure I could save $1,000/month, I mostly stuck to eating local, traditional Korean foods, drinking traditional Korean rice wine (MAKGEOLLI) and staying away from Western restaurants and bars. It still blows my mind the amount of food you are given in a traditional Korean restaurant for roughly $8, or the diverse, colorful and massive bowls of Asian noodles ranging from $6-$9.
Just a boy and his favorite makgeolli.Two soba noodle bowls. One slightly spicier than the other. Both delectable.
I lived in a high-rise, loft apartment on the 11th floor of a 20-story building. It was perfect for my needs and provided me with exactly the space I needed for only $450/month in rent. One thing I noticed is these types of buildings exist everywhere and they all look relatively similar. From on high, it’s almost like a sea of Lego apartment buildings popping up in the valleys of Busan. And they exist in every major city.
Looking down on the Legoland apartments of Dongnae-gu, including those under construction, while taking the cable car up to Geumjeong Mountain.
Parks
I was lucky to reside right next to Oncheoncheon Stream. It’s a stream starting near Beomeosa Temple that trickles down from the local mountains and connects to Suyeonggang River, which empties into the East Sea. The beauty of this natural situation is that the Korean government has turned it into a park, with bike lanes, frequently updated and maintained flower beds and sculptures, workout equipment, and badminton and basketball courts. It is positively delightful.
Oncheoncheon Stream
Within days of exiting my two-week quarantine, I walked some length along this park and immediately started researching ways to purchase a bicycle. By bike, I could reach Haeundae and Gwangalli Beaches in under 35 minutes while cruising through constant beauty and an ever-changing live painting of nature through the seasons.
The bike trail along the Suyeonggang River
The park itself was always full of happy families playing sport, young boys and girls riding bicycles, couples on romantic strolls, and elderly grandparents watching grandchildren, working out, or playing board games. It’s an oasis of activity and a sustainable ecosystem for the local Audubon. You could say this applies to all parks in Korea. The attention to detail and the desire to make nature beautiful are two things’ Koreans do quite well with their parks. Legions of senior citizen work crews are constantly toiling away to maintain this beauty and frequently change the flowers, depending on the season or the festival. And in Korea, there is always a traditional festival occurring.
Oncheoncheon Stream Park, reading before work.
Beaches
Busan has five different beaches, and all have their unique qualities. I chose to live in Busan for these beaches and spent a fair portion of my year frequenting them, as well as most of my last month soaking up the sun in June.
Spring in Busan, looking towards Japan and the East Sea.
Haeundae is the most touristic beach in Busan and easily accessible by public transit. Its waters are crystal clear, and it’s surrounded by a plethora of dining options. Due to the popularity of this beach and the ongoing coronavirus situation, it was the one beach in June where mask wearing was enforced. Mind you, this involved older men and women pointing at a sign in English they carried that stated “masks must be worn” but soon after they walked away, most people would remove their mask. I say this not because I was trying to flout the law, but only because I didn’t believe I would catch coronavirus while on a beach in the outdoors and not near to others.
While I enjoyed Haeundae, I preferred Gwangalli Beach for a few reasons. First, it was easier and quicker to visit by bicycle, something I would often do in the morning before my afternoon teaching began. Second, the lady who made my life in Korea so splendid resided in the area. From this beach, at night you can view the colorful splendor of Gwangan Bridge, which is lit up at night. The only downside was the water, which wasn’t nearly as clear and clean as Haeundae, but also not horrid either. You also experienced a more local crowd compared to the tourists who attended to Haeundae.
Playing chess at Gwangalli Beach
Other local beaches included Songjeong, Songdo, and Dadaepo. Songjeong was to the northeast of Busan and it’s known as the spot for surfing. I found it to be more local and quite lovely. I only attended to Songdo once, at night, but I suspect it has its charm as well. Dadaepo took roughly an hour by public transit to reach, but no beach could compare to the sunsets witnessed here. It’s partially connected to the nearby Nakdong river emptying into the sea, so there’s plenty of sand and it seems at times to be endless in its size. This was perhaps my second favorite beach after Gwangalli.
A pit stop in Songjeong beach while biking to Haedong Yonggungsa Temple.The sunsets at Dadaepo are magical.
Coffee shops
Koreans love their coffee and most importantly, their coffee shops. Coffee shops are stylish, there is always one within five minutes of where you may be walking, and they are often situated in locations that provide outdoor seating and stunning views of the surrounding nature.
Being active
Koreans love to hike. This may have to do with the endless mountains that are spread across the country coupled with the desire to escape into nature from the grueling pressure of constant learning in youth and the endless, long-hours spent toiling away once adulthood is reached. Luckily, I also love to hike and in Busan, being surrounded by mountains meant I could walk a mere 15 minutes and be amongst the beauty and nature of Dongnae.
Dongnae Historical Park, a 25 minute stroll from my apartment.Yeongnam Alps in October 2020.
Public transportation
In Korea, you can easily travel almost anywhere in-country without a car. This is due to superb public transportation, high-speed rail, and busing options. Owning a bicycle was a plus for me as well, but public transport here is phenomenal.
For instance, on public transit rail and bus, the card machines vocally thank you in an angelic female voice as you pay and walk through the turnstiles. It’s lovely and endearing.
If you hate __________, don’t live in Korea.
Learning a new language.
Overall, I admittedly put little effort into learning Korean, despite my initial enthusiasm that I would. Learning to read hangul is itself quite easy, but Korean is a language isolate, meaning it’s considered unrelated to other languages and I suspect it takes years to master. If you live in a major city here (Seoul, Busan, Daegu, etc) you can easily get by without knowing the language. But if you really want to understand the people and their culture, learn Korean.
There is more I could say regarding the negative aspects of Korean society, but this is a love letter. And for me, the positives far outweighed the negatives.
Additional random musings on living in Korea
It is impossible to find salty or cheesy chips. It is possible to find sweet, or slightly salty, or sweet and slightly cheesy chips. You like Cheetos eh? They ARE NOT the same in Korea as they are in the USA.
Korea is safe. Crime is low. The country even has a lost and found system that frequently aids people in finding their lost belongings, whether that’s a smartphone left at a bar, or a wallet with cash left at the beach.
Napkins are small. Like the size of toilet paper. I used to be annoyed by this but now I get it. Why use a massive paper towel roll and waste paper? You’re just going to scrunch it up into a ball anyways.
I was told that Koreans have a phrase for “Netflix and chill” that is translated as “Do you want to have ramen at my place?” Otherwise known as “Ramen and chill.”
Koreans love everything new. This has its benefits but can lead to a loss of history as old buildings are constantly knocked down to make way for the newest design/technology and materialism runs rampant. One student asked me why I still had an iPhone 6. My response was “Why not, it still works?” to which she emphasized, “Because it’s old!”
I know I’m going to catch hell for this, but fast food here is delicious. The pizza is insane. You want four different types of pizza in one large size? You got it! Multiple cheeses and a hot dog in your pizza crust? Sure! Burger King is almost classy here, and their local version of a Whopper with mushrooms is fantastic. The people working at the Korean McDonalds near my apartment seem content and happy. They don’t seem to hate their situation. It’s quite interesting. In fact, my greatest complaint with fast food here is that it’s drowned in sauce. Mom’s Touch is inedible due to this. As my mom used to say at a Sonic drive-in to ensure she got more Route 44 Limeade, “easy on the ice!” should be modified to “easy on the sauce!”
I am frequently approached by retired elderly men who want me to guess how old they are. And I suspect practice their English. All are friendly and probably have some amazing stories to tell. On a few occasions, I had the pleasure of hearing those stories.
Nature melds seamlessly with the city here. Sometimes too seamlessly. What I mean by that is national parks are so well-maintained that often construction to aid in everyone’s ability to traverse them could be considered overkill.
Mom jeans are a thing here. Like in style. It’s likely they will be the same in the US sometime soon.
I could spend hours talking about how much I hate the coronavirus, but had it not existed, I never would have gone to Korea. And for that I am eternally grateful.
**Moving forward it shall be referred to as Korea. It is my humble opinion that the country being split into two was and still is a tragedy from the fallout of World War II and the previous Japanese colonial occupation before that. It is my hope that in my lifetime, North and South will reunite in a peaceful manner, under a democratic government. If you are ever wondering what life is like in North Korea, I direct you to read Nothing to Envy by Los Angeles Times journalist Barbara Demick. It is compelling, fascinating, and horrifying all at once. After living for a year in the South, the cultural similarities between the North and South are still clearly evident, and run back through the thousands of years in which it was one country and society.
I’d spent two months cooped up at my brother’s apartment in Kansas City from April-May 2020, sleeping on a free futon mattress I’d been bequeathed from a former RPCV in the KC metro area, waking up around 10 a.m. and researching my options for roughly two-three hours each day, followed by afternoons soaking in a bathtub, listening to music, reading, drinking too much wine, and generally being depressed. I couldn’t just ‘be’ present in the moment. I couldn’t just do nothing. I had to keep my mind active. Reflection was too sad a journey to wander down. If I hadn’t applied for a job, researched a new opportunity, or contacted another potential mentor for advice, I would have felt I had wasted the day. Sure, in such times of trouble there’s something to be said for doing nothing. I couldn’t. Not entirely anyway.
These were the early days in America when lockdowns were still in place and staying home was acceptable. For me though, I had no home anymore, or at least it felt that way. Just family and friends willing to take me in and no idea what I was going to do next. Thus, it was a period of discovery and scattershot attempts to determine next steps. A stream of applications sent to private and public sector employers, in most cases doing so with no real skin in the game. No real heart or feeling towards wanting the positions I was applying for. Just blindly going through the motions. To some degree, I think many of us returned Peace Corps volunteers were all doing the same back in those days. But what choice did we have? All 7,000+ of us were evacuated back to an America under lockdown and led by a narcissistic assclown in love with the finer cleaning capabilities of Lysol injections.
One must start somewhere. If it wasn’t job applications, it was researching graduate schools. The problem with this option was rearing its ugly corona-shaped mug and spreading itself everywhere in the world. What would grad school, or any school be like in the Fall of 2020 with this virus? Would I really want to attend classes virtually and deal with the helter skelter nature of the constantly evolving situation? No matter. Research was done, input into a Google spreadsheet, and over time, two options narrowed themselves down as relevant to my desires, interests, and future career goals. Motivation statements were written, both applications were completed, and in return I received the favorable news of admittance to both schools. But which to choose? Decisions that important to my future were not something I could easily make at that time, so I held off.
So why was I lucky?
One of my scattershot attempts to find work paid off. And it was doing something I would feel proud to be a part of. My due diligence led me to accepting a position managing a team of contact tracers for the Washington, D.C. Department of Public Health, helping to stem the pandemic tide. It led me back to the city I’d once lived in and loved before leaving for Peace Corps Rwanda. It led me back to all the friends I’d made who lived there.
I was offered this position late May, which was right around the time another potential opportunity arose. I was steered towards teaching English abroad from a friend who had taught in South Korea for one month many moons ago. He introduced me to another chap who had lived there for over a decade as an English teacher. In chatting with this gracious fellow, he was full of guidance on what it was like to live in Korea, teach there, and survive in the age of coronavirus. As everyone knows, Korea was handling the pandemic quite well after being one country with an initial headline-churning surge in cases. Finally, the recent granting of my TEFL teaching certificate from Peace Corps helped solidify this is a valid opportunity.
Summer of Confusion and Combustion
At this stage in late May, I moved back to Washington, D.C. and settled into a temporary English basement in my old neighborhood haunt, H Street NE. That day was May 20, 2020; the murder of George Floyd.
As I’ve grown older and lived in new places of varying diversity and culture, and especially due to my time in Rwanda, my feelings towards America had been evolving. This idea that America is exceptional which had been drilled into our heads as school children clearly had more than just a few cracks in it. In fact, it simply wasn’t true.
The richest nation in the world was bungling their handling of a pandemic while the place I was evacuated from—Rwanda—turned out to be a much safer place to be, and with only a fraction of America’s GDP, healthcare budget, and influence. What Rwanda did have was a collective society, care for one another’s well-being, trust in their government, and a well-coordinated response. Was I surprised the country was handling things well? Not really. I was proud and grateful I’d had the chance to live there.
Add to this mix of thoughts in my head, the deep and continuing history of racism that came to a head on that day in late May and led to months of protests that ignited worldwide and forced people to start having the types of uncomfortable conversations they had never wanted to have, myself included. And an American leader who did nothing but fan the flames of racial animosity and division. Did I want to stay in America? I wasn’t sure.
I had a front-row seat to America’s handling of the coronavirus that summer due to my position. And a front-row seat was not something anyone would have wanted. Locally, D.C. was one of the first territories (it should be a state!) to hire and roll out a contact tracing team and they did so quickly, professionally, and admirably considering the circumstances. Nationally, there was no direction or leadership from the top. Each state had to institute its own methods for response, whether that included mask mandates, contact tracing forces, lockdowns, or in too many instances, nothing at all.
When our teams in D.C. had a low workload (a good thing) because new daily positive cases were low, we could do nothing to assist with contact tracing for other states that were experiencing surges in cases, such as Arizona at the time. Why? Each state had its own system in place and those systems didn’t ‘speak’ to each other. It was grossly inefficient and exacerbated America’s bungled response.
The Federal government could have streamlined its response in relation to what is required to effectively test, trace, isolate, and quarantine. It could have utilized the vast network of at the time empty hotels across America to be contracted out for individuals that needed to isolate due to positive exposure or a positive test result. It could have provided free food to families that couldn’t afford not to work, even if they had been exposed. It could have enacted laws making it illegal to fire someone who had to isolate due to positive exposure, instead of promoting the opposite with draconian executive actions that shielded companies from the legal liability to protect workers from harm.
Meanwhile, back in my hometown of Sabetha, KS, people were being made fun of for wearing masks in public spaces. Heckled for caring about their fellow humans… Arguing for their freedom to be an asshole… Claiming coronavirus was no worse than the flu… I could go on and on.
Something about this America just didn’t feel right.
Que to Korea. A recruiter I had been in contact with informed me in mid-June of an available position starting in late August at a private English language academy in Busan, Korea. I had kept this option open moving forward, including all that the application process entailed (FBI background check, apostilled transcripts, TEFL certificates, visa processes, etc.) because I wasn’t sure if I wanted to stay in America. Perhaps it was the reverse culture shock in returning to a country that seemed foreign to me after my first time living abroad. Perhaps it was the knowledge that were I to stay there, I’d be working from home, getting tested weekly if I wanted to see friends, and otherwise living an isolated existence that I’m just not meant to live.
The opportunity to leave was a godsend. I told the recruiter I would only move to Korea if the position was in Busan. From my research, Busan was a city of 3.6 million, the second largest in Korea so it had a cosmopolitan, international angle, but more importantly, it had the ocean, beaches, seafood, and it was nestled in between Koreas many mountains. It seemed to me from my research to be that perfect combination of urban plus outdoor adventure around every bend. The country was also handling the pandemic better than almost anywhere else in the world. Life there was semi-normal. I could save just as much on an English-teaching salary there as I would have saved working from home in D.C. These things all turned out to be true.
It was also around this time that I made the decision to defer my start date for graduate school until the Fall of 2021. In a way, I was also making the decision to defer ‘making a decision’ because I still wasn’t entirely sure whether grad school was the right path, and I also wanted to keep an open mind towards teaching in Korea, what that entailed, how I would feel, and where it might lead me.
So, in late July I put in a two-week notice at my contact tracing position and on August 7, 2020, I began a new journey. But that’s for another post…
I’ll leave you with three things.
First, I realized then that I had the privilege and luck to even have the option to leave when so many in America were suffering. So why not stay and aid in the country’s coronavirus response in a position that could be effective? Why not help contribute to ensuring new Presidential leadership and policy get put in place to end the needless death and suffering? Why choose to leave friends and family in a time of such uncertainty? To be blunt, my mental health came first. And my thoughts on America were like a pile of puzzle pieces that still haven’t been fully put back together again, even as I write this now, roughly one year later.
Second, direct your attention to this stellar quote focusing on hopes for a brighter future in America from Kiese Makeba Laymon, who wrote the following article in Vanity Fair on November 19, 2020 (please read it): “Much of the beauty here has been sacrificed, and most of it stolen. There is no commercial, doctor, or wellness regimen to smudge that truth. Home is gone, but there is responsible pleasure to be found in the wreckage, in the pathways of the wrecked, and in all the goodness beyond where we’ve been allowed to discover.”
Finally, takes some time to read and reflect on this Langston Hughes poem (below) entitled, ‘Let America Be America Again.’ It spoke to me then and still does to this day. America doesn’t need to “be great again.” It’s a constant struggle to improve. That’s what democracy is. That’s what democracy looks like. Hoping for some idealized version of the past when things were supposedly “great” is not the world I want to live in.
If you disagree or feel uncomfortable with this poem’s message, I urge you to do some research, speak to people who don’t have the same beliefs as you, determine your own heritage, ancestry, and just how ‘native’ you are, or if you have the privilege to do so, please, please travel abroad and gain some perspective.
Let America be America again. Let it be the dream it used to be. Let it be the pioneer on the plain Seeking a home where he himself is free.
(America never was America to me.)
Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed— Let it be that great strong land of love Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme That any man be crushed by one above.
(It never was America to me.)
O, let my land be a land where Liberty Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath, But opportunity is real, and life is free, Equality is in the air we breathe.
(There’s never been equality for me, Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)
Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark? And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?
I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart, I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars. I am the red man driven from the land, I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek— And finding only the same old stupid plan Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.
I am the young man, full of strength and hope, Tangled in that ancient endless chain Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land! Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need! Of work the men! Of take the pay! Of owning everything for one’s own greed!
I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil. I am the worker sold to the machine. I am the Negro, servant to you all. I am the people, humble, hungry, mean— Hungry yet today despite the dream. Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers! I am the man who never got ahead, The poorest worker bartered through the years.
Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream In the Old World while still a serf of kings, Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true, That even yet its mighty daring sings In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned That’s made America the land it has become. O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas In search of what I meant to be my home— For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore, And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea, And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came To build a “homeland of the free.”
The free?
Who said the free? Not me? Surely not me? The millions on relief today? The millions shot down when we strike? The millions who have nothing for our pay? For all the dreams we’ve dreamed And all the songs we’ve sung And all the hopes we’ve held And all the flags we’ve hung, The millions who have nothing for our pay— Except the dream that’s almost dead today.
O, let America be America again— The land that never has been yet— And yet must be—the land where every man is free. The land that’s mine—the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME— Who made America, Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain, Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain, Must bring back our mighty dream again.
Sure, call me any ugly name you choose— The steel of freedom does not stain. From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives, We must take back our land again, America!
O, yes, I say it plain, America never was America to me, And yet I swear this oath— America will be!
Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death, The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies, We, the people, must redeem The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers. The mountains and the endless plain— All, all the stretch of these great green states— And make America again!
After arrival in America, what follows is a log of my thoughts each day as I acclimated back into a weird version of the country it remembered.
Day 1
March 22, Sunday afternoon after landing at Dulles airport outside Washington, D.C.
Upon entering the terminal after immigration, Peace Corps and family were there to cheer us. It felt good to have this welcome.My friend and seatmate Kerong, for the 18-hour flight from Ethiopia to D.C.
Day two
3 p.m. Monday afternoon after arriving at my hotel for quarantine in Kansas City, Kansas. A blur of American culture shock coupled with the odd realization that this is not the America I remember. This is an America in lockdown with empty streets, social isolation, and, from what I gather, toilet paper as currency.
My mom is amazing, dropping off PBR to mix with tomato juice and other foods she cooked with love.
Day three of quarantine.
Today in a voicemail a friend noted how it’s “cold as f$$k” and there are no leaves on the trees. For me, since I arrived in Kansas City there has been no sun, only grey clouds, and rain. This is the complete opposite of the lush and varied green hues of Rwanda.
I realized if I don’t eat leftovers or the food I bought yesterday soon, it will go to waste. That gives me anxiety. In Rwanda, over the past 18 months, I’ve probably had to toss out bad food equalling no more than two pounds.
I constantly want to turn off the water when I’m lathering up in the shower. It seems like a total waste to allow it to just run right down the drain.
Day four
This afternoon I met a friend for a social distancing stroll around the plaza in KC. She was talking at 1,000 miles a minute while walking with such purpose as if she were in New York or Washington D.C. and was late for a meeting. Meanwhile, I’m calmly strolling along, just taking it all in, wondering if that was me just two years ago, way too wound up, neurotic, and constantly worried about the future and all the different tasks I had to complete with no time to do them.
Day five
The realization that we have no mission from anyone at the moment has hit me. Peace Corps was a 24/7 job. You were always representing America in everything you did. Even in being evacuated back to the states, we had a mission. It was to get home. Now, sitting here quarantined in a hotel room, it’s just….emptiness.
We can either wallow in self-pity or help build ourselves up and find a new focus on what we can do next. Luckily, we all have years of experience in being resilient; The loneliness of living in a village with no Americans anywhere near you, forcing yourself to stay motivated and focused on your mission. That is a gig we are uniquely qualified to excel at.
Day seven
Everyone’s getting a bit stir crazy about this isolation and I get it, it sucks. For me, to put this in perspective, imagine you were in this isolation you are in now, except first you had to pack up all you could fit into four suitcases, then travel 10,000+ miles over a one-week period away from your home and friends, and stay in a random hotel room that definitely wasn’t your home in a country that feels foreign and be completely physically alone for 14 days. So yes, I get it that it sucks for people. But it’s not that bad.
I went into a liquor store near my hotel and my head almost exploded. So many options.
We may now be RPCVs, but in our hearts, we will never, ever stop being volunteers.
Day eight
You don’t have to be crazy to go crazy.
Day nine
“How’s my quarantine going?”, a friend asked.
Well, my whole world has been turned upside down in the span of days/weeks and I have to figure out what I’m going to do next with my life when just two weeks ago, I had eight months to figure that out. That’s how my quarantine is going.
Day ten
I miss Rwandan coffee. It’s so damned good. And much better than this watered-down river mud that passes for coffee here in the states.
Day eleven
After taking a shower I put on a t-shirt that smelled like Rwanda and my home there. The slightly musty smell of Sunshine detergent and sun-drenched equatorial mountain air.
Post quarantine, after moving into my brother’s apartment as a permanent couch surfing resident. Dazed and confused.
Day 24
I’ve come to the realization that my happy place right now is a nice, hot bubble bath. Bucket baths were a necessity in Rwanda, but a container that one could lay in, like a tub? Not so much.
I realize it’s a luxury of even having the water to do such a thing.
Day 25
You know that feeling you get when you collapse into the familiar comfort of your own bed in your own room? It’s spectacular. I haven’t known what that feels like for almost a month now and I likely won’t for many more months either.
Day 31
This wasn’t just the toughest job you’ll ever love, as every RPCV likes to say, but for me, it was also the most rewarding job I’ve ever had.
Day 32
As I write these words, I know now that my life will never be the same. My Peace Corps service changed me, for the better. I can’t go back to the life I lived before, nor the job I had. I had a mission and I saw what positive change could bring.
I am so lucky to have been given the opportunity and the invitation to be a part of my local community. To be welcomed into their lives and families and be accepted as a fellow teacher and colleague. Every day I think about the students I taught in my village. They changed my life and I am forever in their debt.
I know I don’t just speak for myself when I say there are many of us ready, waiting, and eager to help stem the tide of this COVID-19 assault on our lives, our world, and it’s people. We Peace Corps volunteers are resilient, adaptable, hard-working, and eager to assist. Give us something to do. Allow us to be useful by giving us a mission to assist. To bring some flowers back to this dreary world. We don’t need large salaries, fancy accommodations, complex training, or benefits. We just want to help. Give us that opportunity.
Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art’s Donald J. Hall Sculpture Park, Kansas City, MO.
This post goes out to all Peace Corps employees, and especially those from Rwanda. From the moment you found out we had to leave until the time we stepped foot on American soil, you worked non-stop, with little to no sleep, to ensure we reached America safely. I am deeply in your debt. I will never forget you all and look forward to the day we can meet again.
In Rwanda, when you meet someone for the first time you say “Muraho!” with a smile. You give them two hugs, one on each side of their cheeks. This is done with sincerity, happiness, and affection. Rwandan culture is tactile, loving, and affectionate. Once you are friends with someone, you greet not with a handshake, but a hug. Men hold hands with men as they go on walks. Women hold hands as well. Friends drape arms over their buddies’ shoulders. I love this about Rwanda. And I miss it dearly.
With any greeting, there is always, eventually, a goodbye. That is life. In Rwanda, when you leave someone for a long time, you say “Murabeho,” and you hug them goodbye. You may also express love and togetherness by saying “Turi Kumwe,” meaning “we are together.” It’s a powerful statement that Americans could use right now. Another is, “Komera,” which means “stay strong.”
My co-teacher and friend, Niyonizeye Jereminatha
Now, all volunteers around the world had just a few days, and in some cases just hours to pack up their lives into a few suitcases and say those goodbyes in their local language to those they loved dearly. At my site, many of my colleagues lived far from our school, making it impossible to say goodbye in-person. Not being able to do that tears at my soul to this day.
My friend and Rwandan brother, Habarurema Jackson, and his son.
Goodbyes were infinitely harder in Rwanda because human contact was now highly discouraged due to COVID-19 and saying goodbye as one usually does was suddenly frowned upon. Despite this, I know many PCVs over the next few days who still hugged those they had come to love and consider family. How could we not do so?
My Rwandan family at my site. Attempting to smile for this picture was not easy.
After leaving our villages via motos, buses, or taxis towards pick-up points we had been assigned by Peace Corps, we all streamed into a hotel in Kigali. Those last few days were an exhausting blur of emotion and administrative tasks. We discovered initial plans to take normal civilian flights to our homes of record in the United States were no longer possible since Rwanda was shutting down all commercial air travel on Friday, March 20. There were fears we could be stuck in limbo for days.
Kigali City Tower, a few days before the country went on lockdown.
It was announced on Thursday we would be taking chartered planes that would pick up volunteers in Uganda, then our group in Rwanda, then another group in Malawi, finally arriving early Saturday morning, March 21 in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia for a ‘layover’ at a hotel near the airport that was full of hundreds of volunteers from all over Africa. Murabeho, Turi Kumwe, and Komera kept ringing in my ears.
From this point onward, my experience of this evacuation will be told from my own, first-person perspective.
March 21, 6 p.m., Saturday night at the hotel in Addis Ababa.
Everyone is running around like chickens with their heads cut off. It reminds me of the scenes in Home Alone where they are late for the plane and everyone is freaking out. There is a Madagascar PCV who is gesticulating madly as he discusses whatever the latest frustration is. One hour ago he ran towards the hotel front desk and preceded to get into what to him seemed to be an important argument as he pointed his fingers accusatorially every which way.
We just heard the news a few hours before that Rwanda has effectively shut down. It is hitting us as we make our way towards that last plane to take us to America. Once a beacon of hope. Now a slow-moving disaster.
March 22, 1 a.m., Sunday morning at the airport in Addis Ababa.
Walking through the airport to get on our plane has been surreal. We’re surrounded by other travelers in masks and a small minority in full-on hazmat suits. I just walked by a mother carrying her baby son with a plastic bag draped over her head to attempt to somehow protect them both.
As we stand in security line after line for hours, we are deathly silent and beyond exhaustion. There are no words at this moment that need to be said. Many of us know how we feel.
Guilt, over having to leave so suddenly.
Shame, over not being able to say goodbye properly to those we love.
Privilege, over having the option to fly somewhere else.
Despair, over realizing we will not see our friends and family in Rwanda for perhaps years.
Confusion, over having no idea what the next hour, day, or month will bring.
There is a deep sadness that may never go away until we are able to return to our host countries.
I overhear a colleague mention the concept of time and our complete lack thereof. Is it daytime, nighttime, or breakfast time? We don’t know anymore. It’s all a blur of endless, backbreaking security lines with bags.
Throughout it all, transportation and airport employees continue doing their job with patience, persistence, and grace. I will never forget this day nor these images which have now been seared in my brain.
Leaving Ethiopia feels like leaving Rwanda all over again.
Meanwhile, Murabeho, Turi Kumwe, and Komera keep ringing in my ears.
I’ve tried not to think about the past, about early March, about what seems like yesterday, when things were normal and I was surprising my co-teacher with birthday chocolates and a song.
Because up to this point to do so would lead to endless tears. I’ve kept my mind in the present, boxing away that pain for another day. Well, that day finally came.
To put into words how I feel now and how I have felt throughout this process is beyond comprehension. I will do my best to accurately describe and convey the abrupt process behind leaving my country of service, my friends, my family, and the people I love.
To keep things as clear and concise as possible, I will bullet point the announcements regarding the spread of coronavirus throughout the world and Rwanda as they occurred and as we were informed of them. Some things may seem superfluous, but it helps me internally to have this record.
Thursday, February 27
I was informed by our Country Director (CD) via an email from headquarters in Washington D.C. that my planned first-term school break vacation to Thailand in mid-April was no longer possible and any reservations must immediately be canceled. Travel to many countries where COVID-19 was spreading was now restricted.
Up to this point, I had been reading news about COVID-19 for over a month, and I was diligently hoping that Thailand’s initial response and hot climate (it had been rumored that this slowed the spread) would ensure a vacation was still possible. Looking back on this now, it’s laughable that an upcoming vacation was my primary concern.
In a phone call with my CD about these new travel restrictions, he noted that the virus was asymptomatic. For those who don’t know what that means, you can have no symptoms, still have the virus, and still spread it. After this call, I thought about what would happen if it came to Rwanda, a small country with an extremely high population density that is roughly the size of Massachusetts.
March 1-12
From this point onward, I still wasn’t concerned about having to leave the country. I was doing my job, teaching English, writing lesson plans for the next few weeks, and in my free time, I focused on finding an alternative vacation option. Then things started to decline in Italy and Iran, and Europe became off-limits as COVID-19 spread. So I whittled my options for a vacation down to South Africa or Zanzibar. Then the virus arrived in South Africa too. It started to become clear that I needed to consider not if the coronavirus would arrive, but when, and what that would entail.
It was around this time that I started to talk about it every day at school, in the teacher’s office, and to my neighbors who were nurses working at the local health center. Both teachers and nurses were unable to grasp the severity of this virus. They didn’t believe it could reach Rwanda and some believed the rumor that it was a foreign virus only transmittable by abazungu (white foreigners).
Tuesday, March 10
The first confirmed case of COVID-19 in the Democratic Republic of Congo was announced.
Wednesday, March 11
The World Health Organization declared a pandemic.
Thursday, March 12
We received an email update from Peace Corps HQ that effective immediately, all non-essential international Volunteer travel, such as international travel for annual leave, was restricted.
Saturday, March 14
4 a.m.: Rwanda confirmed its first case of the coronavirus.
6:40 a.m.: Peace Corps sent an update explaining we could leave Rwanda and choose interrupted service due to the continued spread of the coronavirus around the globe. It would be our choice and it would not negatively affect our post-Peace Corps benefits were any of us to make that decision. The overwhelming majority of Rwandan Peace Corps volunteers chose to stay. For those that did not, I did not judge their decision, but I had a sinking feeling that soon we would have no choice in the matter anyway.
1 p.m.: The Rwandan Ministry of Health closed all schools and places of worship, banned large gatherings, and encouraged people to stay and work from home whenever possible.
6:30 p.m.: I met up with Jackson, my best friend in Rwanda, at the local village pub. I told him there was a good chance that all Peace Corps volunteers would be forced to leave Rwanda soon. I brought a few beers that my friends from Washington, D.C. gave me when they visited in December of last year. I opened a can and handed it to him. It soon became obvious he had never drunk out of a can before. I showed him the correct form for doing so, but he just giggled, disappeared for a hot minute, and returned with a straw sticking out of his beer can. We both proceeded to laugh our asses off. It was a positive moment in what was otherwise a somber evening where we reminisced and tears were shed.
Sunday, March 15
I met up Jackson at the local pub again in the evening, fearing this may be the last time we would have such an opportunity. Brochettes were consumed, as were libations, and around 9 p.m. we walked the dirt road back to our homes, Jackson’s first, then mine. It was a trek we had taken at least once a month for the past year and we both knew it would likely be our last for a very long time.
Late that evening my life was forever turned upside down. Peace Corps headquarters in Washington D.C. informed us via email at 10 p.m. that all volunteers around the world were being evacuated and sent home.
It was as if someone had punched me directly in the gut. Despite confirmation of COVID-19 within Rwanda, the thought of actually leaving the country I loved serving a mission that brought me so much joy had not crossed my mind. Perhaps I was delusional, or perhaps I just didn’t want to accept the impending reality.
If This Isn't Nice, I Don't Know What Is 