Sarah's Spot

 

 

Rock Chalk Jayhawk! This year during the period known as “March Madness” where NCAA teams battle it out for the basketball championship was a simply amazing time to be a KU Basketball fan. Even if you are a mild fan, you were sure to be drawn in by the excitement. I was there in Lawrence to see it all unfold:

 

 Final Four Game: Kansas vs. North Carolina (i.e. vs. Roy) 84-66

 

Saturday early afternoon: Received a call from Kim saying the downtown was already filling up and her friends and she were going off soon to stake their claim to a table at one of the bars. I was determined to get a run in to be guilt-free while drinking a couple plus beers later on, so quickly changed clothes to get it done.

 

Saturday early evening: After a run and a shower, I drive over to Lawrence and meet Kim and friends at the Replay lounge. Coming down Mass Street I could already tell this was going to be a big night as the streets were packed with fans in Kansas blue and news vans were everywhere.

 

Saturday night (game time): By the start of the game every single bar in Lawrence was standing-room only and the bar patrons had had more than a couple drinks while waiting for the festivities to begin. This game meant a lot to Kansans, because North Carolina’s head coach was our former head coach Roy Williams and the wounds from his decision to leave Kansas were still deeply felt by the Jayhawk fans. It was a great game as everyone went crazy cheering at the screen when we scored and adamantly booing when the other team blocked us or put any points on the board. After some beers I have to admit that I had devolved to a more primitive form where points scored by Kansas equaled good and no points equaled bad. Ah good times, especially since we ended up winning by a considerable lead!!

 

Saturday night (post game): The second the buzzer sounded to signify the Jayhawks had won and they were on their way to the Championship game, everyone was on their way out the door to pour onto Mass Street. I had never seen the relatively small downtown area so packed with people…they were on the sidewalks, the streets, hanging out of 2^nd floor windows and even climbing up trees and light poles. Nothing but love was all around, as people went screaming and yelling the “Rock Chalk” chant as they hugged and high-fived each other. A few supporters either purposely or stupidly decided to drive their cars through the masses either trying to leave the scene or to join the parade of people. No matter their intentions they soon became part of the chaos as random people climbed to the roof of the cars to yell out drunken cheers (and even strip as was the case with at least one guy). This was bad news to those unfortunate drivers as I saw car after car with dented-in roofs and passengers trying to push the roof back up. Hilarious! The madness that night continued on for several hours before the crowd finally dissipated.

 

Championship game: Kansas vs. Memphis 75-68

 

Monday early evening: I head out a little early from work to join friends again at the Replay Lounge to claim our table before the crowds hit.

 

Monday evening (game time): Same scene pretty much as Saturday…packed bars, drinking everywhere and everyone in Kansas blue ready to cheer on our team. The intensity of this game remained much higher this time around as Kansas and Memphis went back and forth battling it to the end to stay on top. The last couple minutes of the game I could barely watch as Kansas had to comeback from a 9 point deficit. Looking around the room I could feel the gut-wrenching pain mixed with a glimpse of hope that we could pull this off felt by the other fans. Then the impossible happened, it was the last few seconds of the game and Kansas had to score a 3-pointer to tie. Chalmers took the shot with 2.1 seconds left on the clock and it went in! Overtime was an incredible rush as Kansas dominated over Memphis and made a clear-cut victory.

 

Monday evening (post game): Again same scene as Saturday pretty much though this time no one was dumb enough to try to drive his/her car down the street and the streets were even more packed (if that’s possible) than before. Apparently in Houston there was a large Kansas fan base in the stadium, but at home on the streets of downtown Lawrence there was an estimated 40,000 people celebrating the victory. The parties out on the streets lasted past 2 a.m. (the time the bars close in Lawrence) despite the rain and lightening that started around 1 a.m. Definitely, these two days were going down in KU history and I saw it all! Now, where’s my championship t-shirt?         

How hard is it to go from the culturally diverse, mind-numbingly disfunctional, and always moving and changing Cairo life back to the slower, predictable life in my home state of Kansas? HARD. There is no denying that life is affordable here and a good place to raise a family, but for a young single lady who has seen a bit of the world it can be a bit confining. Still trying to make it work, but I'm trying to figure where in the U.S. would work for me. Where is that city with beautiful places, music, culture, a diverse perhaps international population, offering mild weather with all 4 seasons, low to moderate crime, an affordable cost of living, low to moderate pollution, maybe a sense of a city that never sleeps? I'm beginning to think this place doesn't exist in the States...or maybe it doesn't exist anywhere... Is my future in the U.S. I wonder. 

 

One life lesson I've learned from traveling to different spots is that a place will always have its tradeoffs, this is an unavoidable fact. With the sweet always comes the sour. Finding a place where the scales tip towards the sweet, truly makes a city great. Of course, there is always the added twist that people make the place, so, even if you are in an amazing place, you won't enjoy it unless you have good people around you.

 

I've pretty much decided, though it's been nice to be near to family and old friends, it is a temporary situation living in Kansas and by the end of next April I need to be looking to move elsewhere.

 

Until then it's a life of living a comfortable life in Topeka.

Pros:

Cons:

 

To offer you another opinion of life in my sure to be cursed zip code of 66606, I found the following amusing commentary while browsing the internet:

 

I wrote a book back in 1997 called "Earth on Fire" that was later turned into a movie called "Constantine". "Earth on Fire" is based on a fictional/factual fantasy surrounding the spiritual and mortal astrocities of living in Topeka, Kansas and curse of it's satanic zip code 66606.

The book is due to release on 06/06/06 on Amazon.com.

Topeka, Kansas was voted as one of the worst cities to live in, and your website statics have proven this unfortunate fact. Though I wish I could have done more to save the city from salvation I could not for, I too was tried spiritually and had to relocated to Lawrence, Kansas where I will continue my research and writing.

Please pray the souls dwelling in Topeka, Kansas it has been forsaken (Jeremiah 7:31 Topheth aka Topeka)

 

 

A vacation by definition should be a time of relaxation, but my trip to the desert oasis of Siwa was anything but. During my stay in Egypt, I coined the phrase “Egypt wrecks me” with good reason. I have always thought of myself as a healthy person, but while in Egypt I suffered from an ever-changing list of ailments. Maybe it was the pollution or the lack of getting a workout in on a regular basis or the quality of the food and water…whatever it was I soon became thankful for my stints of good health and knew I had to get out of the country eventually before it killed me (kidding ).

So, it was around late November, I believe, and my apartment roommates, Angela and Marisol, and I were off to take our last trip together to the desert oasis of Siwa. We traveled with Angela’s coworker Moustafa and made what would have been a multi-segmented trip by microbus into a record time trip by car. About a week or so before the trip I was suffering from an unusual new pain that left my entire body feeling stiff and sore from head to toe and making my brain hurt from every step I took from the vibrations. It was a weird ailment, but it seemed to have gotten better except the top of my right foot was still stiff and sore. During the ride to Siwa, I kept trying to stretch my foot out in attempt to make it more flexible.

Early in the morning, we arrived to the dusty quiet oasis. As we checked into the hotel I noticed that suddenly my foot was very stiff and painful to put pressure on. Not one to complain, I worked on it by stretching and putting pressure on it until I could walk on it.

That day we stayed in town, just walking around and eating good food. Angela and I rode bikes out to the historic Oracle of Amun, the Mountain of the Dead and Cleopatra’s Bath and Marisol and Moustafa soon attempted to follow us by first walking and then by car. Due to some misunderstandings with the locals due to sites being known by more than one name, we didn’t meet up with Marisol and Moustafa until after sunset. Meantime, we rode our bikes through the lush oasis where we were surrounded by thousands of short palms. We hiked up the Mountain of the Dead and saw an amazing view and then biked to the Oracle. Later on when we all met up, we stopped in for water and tea at a camp and listened to the interesting tales of the owner who had made his life out there in the desert. All during this time my foot seemed sore, especially if I stepped off my bike onto it, but it was manageable.

At night we had a truly uniquely Siwa experience by riding in a donkey cart manned by a young boy to a far-out camp where the Bedouins (desert people) were singing and playing drums by campfire. It was too funny of a night since our donkey “broke down” on us by refusing to walk any further. Neither our driver’s persuasion or the Mexicana’s whistling and making kissing noises as she called out “burrito” to the donkey would convince it to walk any further, so, we hitched a ride with some guys via pick-up truck the rest of the way. It was a night to remember, because it was one of the last we would be all on a trip together. Of course the night is filled with a few moments of indescribable drama as we lose the Mexicana for awhile and find her later on in deep conversation with a donkey as she has her arms wrapped around it. That’s another story…

That night I couldn’t sleep, because I felt a constant throbbing pain coursing through my foot. I am a little scared because I never had this happen to me and it lasts for hours. I have no meds and just try to deal with the pain, which I sadly admit ended up with me whimpering. I eventually got up to get some water and could barely put pressure on my foot. Putting a little pressure on it though seemed to actually help my foot and the pain went away so I could sleep.

The next morning we head off for a day in the desert. My foot is still sore but since it is Friday the pharmacy is not open up till the afternoon and I leave without buying meds. We have an amazing time cruising around the desert in a 4WD jeep going up and down the mountains of sand with breaks to enjoy the large pools of natural water and the small hot sulfur pools in the area. My favorite moment was when we climbed on top of the jeep and rode on top holding on for dear life as we dived down the mountains of sand and back up again. I was sooo excited to try sand surfing, but I sadly knew that my sore foot wouldn’t give me the support I needed to do it. Our driver doesn’t make it any easier by taking us straight to the advanced course for sandboarding as we stopped at the top of a tall hill with a straight plunge downwards. “Where’s the bunny slope?” one might ask. No one could stand while boarding down so we took to sitting down and sledding to the bottom. Angela and I went first and all was good till we hit hard at the bottom and barrel-rolled together off the board. For a second, we lay in pain and laughter and Angela grabs her neck in pain as I kind of accidentally kicked it with my foot during the roll. Trying to climb up the mountain of sand back up to the top was impossible for me and took a good 15 minutes or so for everybody else, talk about the best workout in your life. 

That night we camp out with a group of others and eat delicious chicken. We drink a few drinks and I learn that I am so so glad that I never have done drugs after seeing the red-eyed Bedouin taking puffs off the hashish-laden water pipe. We guess that he is in his late 20s but actually he is around 18, my god the effects of drug use.

Later we go to sleep under the stars. During the day my foot was feeling alright, and I refused to complain about it when it did hurt since no one needs to hear that. The Mexicana and Brazilian had taken to calling me “poor American” during this trip and I deserve the title I guess after the pain returns in full force that night. During the day at that time of year the desert was warm, but at night it cools off drastically so combined with the pain I feel the discomfort of the cold and of sleeping on sand. After an hour or so of pain I start whimpering a little and Angela says she thought that she had her dog beside her . Moustafa tries to help me through the pain by talking to me of other things, but it’s hard to focus. Later in the night I try to get up to use the bathroom, but I tear up in pain as I try to put pressure on my foot, it was bad. A guy comes up to me and asks if I’m alright and I lie saying I’ll be alright as he looks at my foot. Stepping on my foot seems to do it good again and the pain goes away so I can sleep.

The next morning I wake up early and seeing that Angela is opening her eyes, I get her to help drag me across the camp to the bathroom. Too much detail here but let me just say I luckily can manage the squatting only bathroom unassisted from there.  

After breakfast, we head out of the desert and start making the journey back to Cairo with a stop along the way in the coastal town of Marsa Matruh for some delicious seafood. I would like to say that I was smart enough upon return to Cairo to immediately seek a doctor, but a week goes by before my friends pressure me into going. Hey, it ends up like I thought it would with the doctor advising me to rest my foot, though he does give me some helpful drugs I didn’t have before.

 What can I say about this trip? Well, I’d be lying if I said it was the best time of my life. Definitely it was hilarious to look back at my perseverance during this trip in enjoying the time through the pain. The truth though is that I had a good time because I was with the people I loved and the trip was in this amazing desert backdrop that I don’t have the words to describe.

Two months have passed since my return to the States and the reintegration process has caused some unexpected feelings. Before traveling abroad, you are always warned that the reverse culture shock of coming home is far worse than the culture shock you'll experience while abroad. I can understand now why this is. When you go abroad, you can usually find a community of other foreigners that are going through the same feelings as you and so therefore you have people to relate to. Plus, you know your experience abroad is for usually only a temporary amount of time, nothing permanent.

The return home becomes more shocking, because you don’t have those people around you to relate to in your reintegration period and you don’t know how permanent your situation will be staying there.  

Coming back I felt empowered by my experience and feeling like I’ve had a whirlwind adventure. I soon found I had to stop myself though from going on and on when talking about Egypt, because people that didn’t have the same experiences only wanted to hear so much, it’s understandable.

The first few weeks were spent with my family taking life pretty easy…lots of lazy days. I didn’t feel like doing too much and spent a lot of days at home though did meet up with some of my closest friends and took a trip out with the family to visit my sibs.

However, life goes on, so during this time I was looking for my next job/place to live. I have the objective to always be happy with where ever I’m at, I really wanted to be happy and not frustrated with returning home. So, I decided staying in Kansas to reappreciate life here and be close to family is what I sought, at least for now. Less than a month later I took a job in Topeka, Kansas’s capital city, a short drive from my college town of Lawrence, relatively close to Kansas City and a two-hour drive home to Wichita. A week later I took a quick trip out to Los Angeles to visit a friend there and returned the next week to pack and move.

It all might have gone too quickly, because soon I found myself in my first single apartment in a city where I knew no one. This is when I started to struggle a bit. It was hard coming from an active city with a large variety of friends to a small, quiet town of strangers. I was feeling pretty low and lonely real fast, and wondering if I just screwed up.

Life rebounds though…every day a little more. My work started and I began learning the ropes of a new occupation. I was pleasantly surprised everyday by how much I liked the team of smart and witty guys I work with (yet again I have found another workplace of all males and me, :S). Still to meet new people in this city, that will take some time to get established, but have had some fun times with my friends in nearby Lawrence. Living alone isn’t too bad, things on my own terms, and I keep pretty busy at night.

I guess the thing I miss the most is my closest friends I met in Cairo. I will be one lucky woman if I can meet such incredible, dynamic people who were there for me as much as these guys were. I miss being around different nationalities too, can’t quite get that in Kansas and being around just Americans feels too confining. Some things never change and it has been interesting trying to take my sense of discovery back home. With new vigor I look for what’s interesting in my home state and for new places I’d like to see. I look at life a little differently after my stay in Egypt, a bit of an odd duck out here, but I always was one I guess. Certain aspects of American life are now unimportant/boring to me while others that others might not notice I appreciate and find fascinating 

Lastly, it’s interesting the parts of my Egypt life I struggle to abandon. Still I find myself wanting to respond with an “inshallah”, “khalas’, or “yalla”. Nothing beats those words. I make myself a few of the foods I ate back there, resist the urge to cross busy streets w/out the aid of crosswalks, actually have tapped into the nile fm web player a few times, and prefer nescafes and teas to filtered coffee. Old habits die hard.

I tried to cut it down the best I could. I sent things home...twice. I tossed things into the garbage. I left things in my apartment. Yet when packing up to leave Egypt, I just couldn't get it down to one bag. *Sigh*

 

I knew I was going to pay for this, but I just couldn't leave with any less stuff. So, the journey starts with two bags and one backpack...

 

From Cairo to Thessaloniki: A smooth trip with the luggage...had a friend to drive me to the airport in Cairo and a friend with a car to pick me up, perfect.

 

From Thessaloniki to Athens: This part of the trip I was on my own. After maneuvering my "body bag" sized duffle and heavy medium-sized bag off the train into the station, I stare at the map displayed near the metro trying to figure out which way is the hostel I looked up earlier on the internet. While doing this I meet up with a young French guy who is backpacking through the country and he offers to watch my things while I go ask for directions. Figuring it is safe to leave the bags with him, I go off and find out the way and then we head off together in search of the hostel (he was looking for a place to stay as well). Normally, the walk there should have taken less than 5 minutes, but with my luggage it took me probably 20 minutes or more. I was a sad, but determined sight to see. My bags I think weighed in all around 80-90 pounds, which is about 2/3rds of my body weight. An impressive load and to make matters worse neither of the bags had wheels so needed to be carried. I thought about all the times I've held heavy boats over my head back in my crew days and knew I could handle this. It was a pitiful walk of walking for about a minute or less then setting the bags down for a few minutes before starting the walk again. I remembered my crew teammate's words that the only time she felt like she was angry at the world was when she was having the weight of the boat she was carrying press down into her shoulder. I knew what she meant.

 

Eventually we make it almost to the hotel and the French guy goes ahead with his luggage and then comes back to help me carry mine the rest of the way. I was pretty tired by then and luckily the place was nice and affordable, because I wasn't going anywhere. The staff and the French guy helped me take my luggage up the winding staircase to my room, big thanks!

 

From Athens to the airport: The next day after sightseeing, its time to go back to the train station to take the tram to the airport. I take my bags down the stairs one by one. A little sore, I pick them both up and say goodbye to the hostel staff. Again more clumsy walking as I try to carry the bags to the station. On one of my breaks along the way, I set down the bags panting and red-faced and a well-dressed business man comes up to me.

 

Greek man: (speaking in Greek to me) 

Me: "I'm sorry, I don't speak Greek."

Greek man: (more Greek words)

Me: "I don't understand Greek."

Greek man: (still speaking in Greek...) "Parlez-vous français?" 

Me: "I don't speak French".

Greek man: (still more Greek)

Me: (I think he's asking me about where I'm going so I start motioning to the station and pointing to the sky while making my hand sail like an airplane to try to tell him...I don't know if he understands... I think and hope that he'll just take the initiative to grab my bag and start walking with me, but he doesn't. He just keeps going right on speaking a language he knows I don't understand.)

Greek man: (loves speaking that Greek...)

Me: (I give up and start walking, even though I'm still tired.)

 

I finally make it to the station and plop down next to my bags to wait for the train. Woooo

 

Athens Airport: I was hoping I would get lucky, but no, the British Airways check-in lady tells me I'm only allowed one bag. To check in a second would be 90 Euros, straight-out highway robbery!!! I try to tell her a quick pity story of bringing all this luggage home from a long stay in Egypt, but all that results in is that she asks if I can make the two bags into one. I do it and right in front of the check-in counter. My backpack comes off and goes in the big duffle and then everything of considerable weight goes in from the medium bag till it's light enough to be a carry-on. Whew, it gets check-in at a grand total of 39 kilos! 

 

Ooops, I forget to check my new carry-on bag for liquids and lose a bottle of hair spray and my raspberry scented Bath & Body lotion to security. It was a little like scolding when she held each item separately in the air sternly saying "Not allowed". Is that necessary?

 

Paris Airport part 1: After a layover in London, I arrive late in the evening on a plane full of Asians. I wait patiently for my pile-of-bricks-bag to spin through the conveyor belt in baggage claim, but it never does. Later, I learn that it never made the flight and that BA will call me when it arrives and arrange to have it dropped off at the address I provided. I go to meet my friend Babs and we take the hour metro ride to her place.

 

Paris Airport part 2: Days pass and still no call from British Airways. I try calling them...about 10 times or so, but no one ever picks up. I begin to think they are still angry over the Boston Tea Party and have taken vengeance by kidnapping my luggage. Hmm... I check online and it says my luggage arrived, but the phone number I provided was wrong. My friend assures me it isn't. We call up the company that's suppose to deliver the bags and they say they don't have my luggage and laugh in agreement as they confirm that British Airways never picks up their phone. What to do? My carry-on luggage amounts to a few souvenirs, socks, a hoodie and some underwear and my standard comment about everything else is "It's in the other bag..." I decide to just bite the bullet and head to the airport to get it since I still have around a half a week left in Paris. Twenty Euros and many hours later, I haul my super bag through the metro system to the apartment. Never generalize that French people are unkind as I have two men and one woman offer to help me carry my luggage along the way. Awesome! The last guy even walked with me all the way to the flat from the metro after strapping the heavy bag over his shoulder.

 

Paris Airport part 3: With the help of my friend, I carry the bags to a bus that will take me directly to the airport. It's the last leg of my trip. I have one initial scare at the check-in desk when the lady informs me that on my flight to Dublin I'm only allowed one bag. No, not again!!! Knowing the rules, I tell her that I have a connecting trans-atlantic flight and get therefore two bags. She checks them both. All goes well the rest of the way and I arrive in America with my well-earned two bags.