Back to where it all started

On the eve of my return to the Beloved Country, I’ve been thinking a great deal about the last 5 years of my life.

Over five years ago, I started to plan for my first trip to Brazil. Though I had dabbled in international vacations (London, Paris, Mexico, Canada), my time in São Paulo would be far from anything I had ever envisioned. I remember that flight well–one of my first plane rides on my own and the longest by far of my life.  I felt as if I was leaving for the weekend and as if it were for the rest of my life.

I didn’t know any Portuguese or anyone at all in Brazil for that matter. I had no notion of what a city of 20+ million would feel like or what the stark realities of favela living would call to my attention. I had no idea of how lonely you could feel in a place where relationships were measured in months I’d known someone. Nor the extent to which trying to communicate, take classes and make friends simultaneously in a language I’d never spoken before would frustrate me.  I couldn’t begin to understand how tired, emotional, and stressed, I would be after 6 months imitating o jeitinho brasileiro.  How raw I’d feel. How ready I would be to see familiar places, hug my friends and family or even walk into Target.

I could never have imagined how easy it would be to fall in love with a country where I had neither roots nor heritage.  What it would feel like to be at home in a completely foreign place. Or that I could feel like a piece of my soul was being ripped out when I had to return back to a tiny undergraduate campus of 1600 in Memphis. I had no idea that my time in São Paulo would point me to exactly what I wanted to do with me life. That my thirst for adventure would be permanently piqued.  Or that in spite of significant travel experience post-Brazil, I would continue to reference my time there as a turning point in my life. It would continue to be the best place I’ve ever been. I could have never believed that 6 short months would be enough to change the way I thought, felt, acted and dreamed or that I would ache with saudades for language, food and culture that weren’t really my own.

These are things I have trouble talking about when I return home from abroad. Still. Even though it’s gotten easier and clearer, I still find I’m at a loss for words. People often ask about your “trip” or “experience” when you arrive, with the best and most earnest intentions of hearing your stories and sharing in your emotions, but I’ve never found a way to satisfactorily answer those questions. For me. For them. For anybody.  Living abroad, especially coming from the West and living outside of the West, is one of those difficult to fully encapsulate kind of stories.  I imagine much like giving birth or fighting in a war–thousands have tried to tell their tales over centuries, to perfect the art of sharing the experience, but the only real way of understanding is to do it yourself.

If someone would have told me before I boarded that plane to São Paulo over the course of the next 5 years I would visit over 20 countries across 5 continents, I would have laughed. Outloud. What an absurd idea. But I did and Brazil started it all.

Wish me luck on my return to the place where it all started. I’m feeling those jitters one only experiences after being separated from a love for sometime.   Will we still have enough to talk about it? Will he still think I’m pretty? Are we still sure about this? I guess we’ll find out.

In the meantime, I promise to continue perfecting my art of storytelling…até pronto.

Kingdom of Bedazzled*

They say less is more, except “they” has never visited Cambodia.  This phrase definitely wouldn’t translate into the Khmer vernacular. From weddings to bed sheets to ad campaigns and everything in between, the object seems to be to incorporate as much as possible into the design. Literally, as much as possible

My first few weeks here, one of my housemates and I went bed sheet shopping. Thinking it would be a simple and easy task, we went on our own–armed with zero Khmer language skills. Not only were we miffed to discover that no such thing as a “top sheet” exists, we struggled to choose a pattern that wouldn’t keep us up at night. Think Lisa Frank meets 90’s reject floral furniture coverings.

Even when you look hopefully towards a Cambodian man, praying that amongst the flowers and puppy dogs he’ll produce a nice set of solid sheets from his pile,  there was no such luck to be found. It required some back-up in the Khmer-speaking form of a work colleague and another trip to the market. At least then we were able to find some decent floral patterns (I even managed to find a nice, simple plaid) and request two bottom sheets.

Another challenge has been working on a label design for a new honey project our organization is launching (more on this in the next post and why I’m coming to feel like Queen Bee of Battambang).  I was tasked with assignment of producing a nice label to slap on our jars of delicious honey to sell to barangs–that’s me and most of you out there.  Now, there are things I know and things I don’t. The traveling, eco-friendly, all-natural, local product scene–I’ve got that down. I mean, throw in vegetarian and you’ve nailed my demographic. We like simple, clean designs using natural colors and hip fair trade lingo. Above all, we’re a sucker for a great story and a socially responsible product.

The Cambodian demographic is an entirely different can of worms, though. Things like realistic pictures of bees, flowers or honey comb and multi-color text are a sure way into their hearts (and pocket books). So attempting to rectify these  completely different visions of style for two distinct (though at times overlapping) demographic, has been…well, a challenge.  Luckily one that has given me a ton of insight and taught me a few important lessons (including finding a better poker face and learning to eat a slice of humble pie now and then).

I still cannot, even remotely, relate or understand the Khmer definition of beauty or aesthetically pleasing.  Like at weddings where some of the most beautiful women you could imagine, cake on 12 pounds of make-up and white face powder. Ugh. White face powder is a whole other blog entry too.

But my favorite example so far has been a restaurant on the outskirts of Battambang (on the road out to Wat Banan). The restaurant is owned by a retired doctor who decided to buy a several hectare plot of land to grow food for his restaurant (cool) and build his own private Wonderland (weird).   Scattered throughout are the open, hammock-filled bungalows where you dine and hundreds of statues of animals, people and other strange category-defying creatures. Rabbits, peacocks, Angkor soldiers, crocodiles, Santa Clause, giraffes, elephants, swans…Oh my! Do I need to go on?

Sometimes it’s infuriating and sometimes it’s mind-boggling. But mostly, it’s incredible that different cultures and people can look at the same design. One will see beauty and the other disaster. I guess it makes you think…

*I’ve seen very little actual bedazzling here in Cambodia, but since it’s my favorite hideous 90’s trend I had to give it a shout out.

An Ode to Breakfast

I love breakfast. I can eat it at any time of day or  for all three meals in one day. It’s probably the most American thing about me. Because when I say breakfast, I don’t mean eating any kind of food when you wake up in the morning (like they would here in Cambodia).  When I say breakfast think cereal, eggs, milk, juice, cheese, oatmeal, yogurt, fruit, toast, hashbrowns, fried tomatoes, pancakes, honey, waffles, crepes, french toast and maybe a mimosa or two.

Even mentioning it makes me crave a lovely Sunday morning brunch in New York City.  Okay, time to stop the food porn.

Unfortunately, breakfast of this fashion is not well known outside of the West–and forget about brunch, my darling New Yorkers. No way.  But when I travel, it is one of the things I miss most about living in the US. Don’t get me wrong, wherever you find travelers roaming breakfast is not far away (aka at the tourist restaurant with the same menu all over the world–breakfast, spaghetti/pizza, and a few local dishes) . But if you venture off the beaten path, you’re likely to discover that most people around the world eat the foods for breakfast as they do for lunch and dinner, irrespective of income level or status.

In Asia, this means rice, rice and more rice. When I’m in the field (silly expression international development practitioners use to describe their work in rural areas as opposed to in the office), I literally eat rice three times a day. The food is nice and the staff  sweetly prepare a special vegetarian dish for each meal for me–but at 7 am the last thing I can face is a steaming hot plate of vegetables and a giant mound of white rice. Especially when the woman next to me is happily munching on cow cheek.

It is on these mornings that I dream of a large bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats and a big glass of apple juice.

Breakfast, O Breakfast, how I love thee.

Bicycling in Battambang

The basic rules of traffic here in Battambang are…well, there are no rules. Don’t be silly. Traffic zips and zooms about. No stop signs. No traffic lights. Only the vaguest concept of lanes. In other words, it’s 100% defensive driving.

Battambang is a pretty small city (even a town by some standards) divided in half by a river. I live and work on one side of the river, but most of the activities (bars, restaurants, etc) are on the other side. You can cross the river on one of 4 bridges (one is foot or bike traffic only though). The middle bridge, closest to my house, is the most convenient for getting around in the city center–it’s also the busiest and most chaotic.  You share the road with all manner of vehicles. By all manner, I mean all manner–cars, trucks, tuk tuks, motorcycles, other cyclers–some of whom have entire stores attached them, carts pulled by donkeys or water buffaloes, flat tractors with long beds filled with 20 people, small vendor carts with motos attached and really anything with at least two wheels.

We bought bikes our first week in the city because it’s an easy, fast and cheap way to get around. My first night out on the bike was a complete disaster. I managed to not fall off or hit any cars or land in a large pile of monks, but just barely.  After purchasing my new-to-me-bike, one of the other interns from Columbia and I decided to meet a few folks for  dinner on the other side of the river. Well, for starters it was rush hour and to top it all off, it was getting dark and I realized my bike light was merely for decoration. So there I am, trying to figure out how to turn left on to the busiest bridge in the city during the busiest traffic hour with no pause in traffic, no street lights, and no bike light (to alert other cars to my presence). Needless to say, I was panicking. By sheer dumb luck (with a partial walking of the bike), I managed to maneuver into the flow crossing the bridge. I soon realized that my cautious pace was not fast enough for the residents of Battambang–all manner of vehicles (see above) and people began honking at me and telling me to go faster.  At one point a moto pulled in so close to me on my left, I was sure he would hit me. I was considering dodging off my bike to the side but I noticed a large group of orange-clad monks passing on my right.  I’ve learned, since being in Southeast Asia, that monks aren’t allowed to touch women and it’s a sign of the greatest disrespect to touch or bump into them. Play dominos with a group of monks or fall off into the rushing moto? Well, neither sounded appealing. I managed to keep going–barely.  It was one of the most frightening trips of my life. Way too many close calls for comfort.  This was all a few weeks ago now…

I’ve never been much of a biker (understatement of the century) and I’ve always been petrified of city biking.  In fact, my lonely bike has sat in my NYC apartment all year waiting for the opportunity to get out on the town. In 10 months I took it out to the park once and it was not an altogether enjoyable experience.

Nevertheless, getting confident and feeling ready for biking in the big city was one of my goals for this summer and it seems to be working!

Last weekend I biked with a group of interns from work to Phnom Sampeau (site of a few Buddhist temples and the killing caves under the Khmer Rouge). It’s about 26 miles round trip from the caves to my house and it’s a pretty nice hike up a steep hill to the top. All together the trip took us around 4 hours–including the hike up to the top, touring the temples and the caves, a little fruit picnic and enjoying a fresh, cold coconut water. I felt exhausted afterward, but extremely pleased in my improved biking and endurance on the trip.

Now I’m getting more and more used to the flow of traffic. I know (or at least know better) when and how to cut through the intersections. I’ve actually really started to enjoy the freedom of biking around the city and the 360 degree view provided (though it’s very similar on a moto). Last night I even discovered the joys of tipsy bike riding back home after a few drinks at the bar. Don’t worry, there are no cars on the road in Battambang after 9 pm. The whole city goes to sleep by then–except the crazy barangs.

First stop Battambang. Next stop NYC? I think so!

PS-I promise to post some more pictures this week!

Quick Tip #7: Learn some of the local language

No matter how short your visit, learning some of the local language and practicing it with residents will go a long way (note: may not exactly apply to Parisians–exercise caution avec la france).

Make it a goal to learn 5-10 words and phrases including “hello”, “how are you”, “goodbye” and “thank you”. Something I always find useful is learning numbers.

Though my Khmer will definitely not mature past the basics this summer, whenever I speak more than “thank you” , Cambodians light up. It’s usually followed by a round of laughter where everyone comes an stares at the barang speaking strange Khmer and then a rush of questions in Khmer.  Unfortunately, this onslaught of Khmer quickly fills everyone in on the actual level of my comprehension (somewhere between vague and non-existent).

Nevertheless, the prices seem to fall and the smiles stretch for miles. Like last weekend while visiting Siem Reap (home to Angkor Wat), I bargained a hammock down from $6 to $2.50 and the woman threw off the last .50 cents because she liked my Khmer numbers!

moi.bi.by.boon.praum.

It’s such a small gesture and it goes so far.

Turn off the heat!

Sorry it’s been so long. We got busy faster than I realized at work and the weeks kept zooming by.

I’m back in it though. I’ll be posting about the last few weeks in posts to follow, but first thing’s first. We gotta talk about this heat. Typically, May-October is the rainy season in Cambodia. You’re supposed to expect torrential downpours everyday around 2pm. Not only does the rain provide a nice break from the relentless heat, but it refills the water sources used for people, animals and crops! In other words, this country depends on a healthy rainy season to get through the dry months of winter. In fact, 75% of Cambodia’s annual rainfall is supposed to be falling from the skies…right about…now.

Still no luck.

All of the rivers are lower than expected and a lot of the farmers in this region have been unable to plant their rice for the season. Rice is one of the most water intensive crops and no Cambodian meal is complete without the starchy-goodness.  I’m not all excited to see what the low rainfalls and the lags in crop production will mean for your average Cambodian family. Less food means higher prices (laws of supply & demand) and without the income that most families usually earn from agriculture, higher prices will put an even greater burden on the poor.

If I wanted to make this blog more political, I would probably point out to any Americans reading this who still don’t believe in climate change that it’s a luxury not to believe it.  For billions around the world the drastic effects of over-consumption and disregard for the planet are seen on a daily basis; their livelihoods are literally being threatened out of existence. I would also probably say that if you don’t believe it because you can’t see it in your own life at this very moment, I have a few travel recommendations for you. Ah, who I am kidding? I’ve never been politically apathetic in my life. If you or someone you know says stupid things like “climate change isn’t real”, slap them up the side of their head and buy them a ticket to the nearest agrarian-based economy.

But back to the heat, in addition to no rain, temperatures are at record highs throughout the country! On my bike ride to work this morning, at a mere 8 am, sweat was literally dripping down my face–8 am and I’m dealing with face sweat? Bikram definitely did not prepare me for this.  And here in lovely Battambang the electricity will be out for the next 5 days.  (To be fair, the electricity is out while the regional government converts from the Thai power source they’ve been using for years to their own fully operational power plant–the sign of good things to come in Battambang) Luckily, the office has a back up generator and the electricity is supposed to come on at night (no guarantees, of course).

No rain? High temperatures? Little prospect of AC for the weekend? Well, there is no rest for the wicked, I suppose…

Thanks for tuning in..more soon!

Favorite Travel in Transit Story

Since I just posted a list of transit suggestions, I thought I should follow it up with my favorite transit experiences. Favorite, in a manner of speaking. To be honest, it was one of the worst trips of my life, but now it’s one of my favorite stories to retell–so I really can’t get too bent out of shape.

My friend Hannah and I planned an epic journey from Amritsar  to Jailasmer (India). Though they look relatively close on the map, we could find no means of arriving from one to the other without going back through Delhi (aka 20+ hours on the train).  Being brave, modern women we scoffed at the mere 20 hour journey and the prices for the *2nd class AC train carriages (mistake #1). So, obviously we bought 2nd class non AC tickets (being slightly unenthusiastic about the possibility of sharing a 20 hour train ride with a goat in 3rd class). We were guaranteed that our tickets would give us one window seat and the seat right next to it during the day and sleeper seats (which are really just the day benches but the top one stops being for luggage storage and they pull down a third bench in the middle) at night.

This is probably a good time to explain that I wasn’t feeling so hot (everyone feeling the foreshadowing?), which is why I insisted on a window seat.  To be honest, I don’t even remember the train ride from Amritsar to Delhi. It passed without incident, which, for Incredible India, is quite…incredible.  In Delhi, we had a few hour wait between trains and, a craving for some familiar food in the big city. So, we head to TGI Friday’s (mistake #2).  We finish lunch and head back to the train station.

Here, ladies & gentlemen is where the real fun begins.

We start by trying to locate our carriage B3.  I assumed that B3 would follow B1 and B2–but you know what they say about assumptions. There I am huffing and puffing along the massive train line with my 40 lb backpack, only to discover that B3 is on the other end of the platform from B2. Obviously.

Finding the correct carriage, we board and look hopefully towards our respective seats (window plus one), but a large Indian family had already taken up residence. Surely, there was some confusion. We wander over there and politely suggest that they’ve made a mistake.

After 10 minutes of Indian head wobbling and laughing, I realize the large sari-clad lady sitting by my window is not going anywhere. At this point, I’m feeling down right terrible. The Delhi pollution and heat did nothing to help my stomach and queasiness–not to mention the sprint through the train station looking for stupid B3. The train starts to get more and more packed and my claustrophobia (which runs much lower than anyone else in my family, but still makes me panic when I can’t see an escape route or feel fresh air) was starting to boil.

I’m near to tears trying to tell the head-wobbling family and the man who was pretending to be a train official that I will begin puking any minute and it would really be better for everyone if I sit by the window, but nothing seems to be getting through there. My frustration continues to unravel and Hannah, bless her, was locked in an argument with Jabba-the-Seat Stealer to get me some air (and a launching pad).

Alas, a real train official comes by. I’m basically crying while trying to explain the predicament (ah, the frustrations and joys of traveling in a world far from home) and Hannah is also loudly telling our story to Mr. Official.  We expect him to kick the perpetrators out of our seats and claim a loud victory. Instead he looks at us, looks at them and says “follow me”. As luck would have it, he moved us up to the 2nd class AC tickets (you know, the ones we just didn’t need to buy…since we’re savvy traveler types).

The difference between the two types of cars is astounding–like the difference between New York City and Russellville, Arkansas. We had long padded sleeper seats (one each) and no one was there to challenge our dominion over said seats. The inside was 70x less crowded, less noisy and a million times cleaner. In other words, a perfect microcosm of the extreme disparities of wealth and over-population in India.  As a tribute to my impatience or perhaps karmic retribution, I spent the majority of the train ride dashing back and forth between my bed and the toilet (Delhi-Belly, coming out of both ends).

Ah, but we arrived. In one piece. And Jailasmer is one of my favorite travel destinations. Oh India–it truly is incredible, in every sense of the world.

*Train tickets in India are sold by class with significant jumps in price between each level. They are: first, second AC, second non AC, and third–oh and roof seating which is always free, but never guaranteed.

Quick Tip #6: Forms of Transport

Getting around in Cambodia is fairly easy–in the sense that you have 25 options and you can arrange almost any form of transport to take you anywhere you want (especially if you’re willing to pay). Caution: patience required. On any type of shared transport (shared taxi, minibus, or bus) you will undoubtedly make unexpected and prolonged stops. In other words, in the land of rubber time, you should forget the “exact time” they told you and expect to arrive at “some point”. If you’ve traveled in Latin America, Africa or other parts of Asia, it’s the same or… same, same but different.

So armed with courage, a little faith in humanity and a lot of patience, you should be able to navigate your way through big cities, the countryside and across national borders without too many problems.

Inner city transit usually happens on foot, bike, moto, taxis, buses, or–where lucky–the metro/train. But, depending on where you are in the world, don’t be afraid to hop on a tuk tuk, a cycle-rickshaw, or really anything with wheels/hooves. Always be sure to negotiate a price first and make sure your driver really does know your final destination. Sometimes drivers will cut a deal with you on the price if you agree to go in and look at their friend’s shop. They get a commission for just bringing you by. It’s harmless and sometimes you can even find good stuff.  If you’re in a hurry though, make it clear that there are no extra stops.

Transit between cities exists in just a many forms: private and shared taxis (very common in Cambodia), minibuses, large buses, trains, hiking/treking, and boats–to name a few. Most of them will depend on your time and travel preferences.  ALWAYS bring snacks and toilet paper–10 hours will quickly turn into 15 or 20 for thousands of inexplicable reasons.

Overnight bus tip: In some buses you will get the option to try sleeper carriages (pass if you’re claustrophobic, think overhead bins on the plane but with sliding doors) and bed or semi-bed recliners (cama and semi-cama in my beloved South America).  Of the three, I usually choose the semi-bed (for long bus rides it’s a million times better than just the regular seats), because the price difference to full bed isn’t worth it for me.

Just remember, emergency care is not always easy to access and in many places it doesn’t exist. So, have fun, try new adventures but use good sense. Sometimes it’s worth an extra $1 to bump up your transit plans.

Wherever you go and however you chose to get there, remember to tread lightly. The path you’re taking is only around because those who came before you took care (or, at least, didn’t destroy it). The planet is hovering over a great, dark abyss right now, so let’s try not to kick it over the edge. There are ways to enjoy travel and leave plenty behind for future generations to enjoy too.

I’ll post soon on green travel tips, but in the mean time..check out these sites:

Responsible Travel

Travel Green

Rustic Pathways (my roommate’s former employer)

What are you doing in Cambodia?

As much as I like the vision of a roaming jet-setter without purpose or time constraints on the road, it would definitely get old.  Well, only the without purpose bit.

This summer, I’ll be completing the field work requirement for my master’s degree. I’m currently a student of the Master’s in Development Practice (MDP) program at the School of International and Public Affairs at Columbia University in New York.    The core of our degree curriculum is that an integrated approach to development challenges is required to make any substantial changes for the lives of the poor around the world. In other words, we can’t solve poverty by looking only at income or that AIDS is simply a problem in health.  Both poverty and AIDS (as well as hundreds of other issues confronting the developing world) will required multisector policies and action to change lives at the individual and community level. Thus, our program promotes an integrated analysis of agriculture, health, education, management and sustainable development for policymaking and field work.

It does, however, seem to  focus mostly on agriculture and health. Gender issues (and all social issues for that matter), urban challenges and cultural studies are all conspicuous by their absence–as is my beloved Latin America.  I’m afraid that’s a subject for another day, though. In spite of a few qualms here and there, I firmly believe that an integrated approach will yield the greatest impact on the lives of the poor and struggling worldwide, and I’m very honored to be part of such an amazing group of students working all over the world this summer.

Students in my program (all 27 of us) are spread out across much of Africa and three sites in Asia: Senegal, Kenya, Ethiopia, Uganda, Mozambique, TANZANIA, Bangladesh, East Timor and Cambodia. All of the sites in Africa and the one in East Timor are Millennium Village sites. The other two Asian sites are managed under different organizations, but still promote the principles of the Millenium Village (MV) concept: given a certain dollar input per person  (between $60-120 a year) a poor, rural village can achieve the Millennium Development Goals in 10 years based on a series of integrated policies.

This summer, I’ll be working for an MV-type project in the Battambang Province in Cambodia. The project is small, locally run (mostly) and only in this area (for now). It does have some pretty stringent confidentiality requirements for its staff and interns, so I won’t be able to publicly describe a lot of detail on my projects or work here (it’s kind of silly, I know–but I think much of the confidentiality restrictions comes with good reason and I like working here, so that is that). The headquarters are based in an urban setting, but a lot of the work happens in a rural area very nearby (which I will be visiting later today and staying overnight until tomorrow).

My job this summer will be to help the women’s empowerment coordinator and assist in developing the capacity of women in the rural area, as well as, help the organization realize its mandate in improving the lives of women.  I’m very excited about this opportunity. I’ve worked some with women’s groups before (in the Arkansas Delta while in undergrad and later in Rwanda while I was a Watson Fellow) and I’ve always enjoyed the experience. In a post to soon follow, I will describe the conditions facing women in Cambodia and give context to the need for greater empowerment, autonomy and agency among women in this country. I will also discuss why Battambang has so many NGOs working in the region and how being the final stronghold of the Khmer Rouge has affected the people who live and work here.

But for now, it’s time to get back to work! If there are any questions you have about MDP, the integrated approach, Cambodia, women’s empowerment, or anything else I will do my best to answer them!

Until next time…

Quick Tip #5: What to do when you look different than everyone else

I am the world’s best tribute to the recessive gene. Okay, so there’s been no official competition, but I’m fairly confident in my chances at the title should the opportunity present itself.  I have bright curly redhair, blue eyes, pale skin and a zillion freckles. This particular genetic combination is, biologically speaking, rarer than your chances of being struck by lighting or eaten by a shark. It’s rare enough in the West (with redheads making up about 4% of the population in Europe, Australia and the US), but virtually non-existent in the rest of the world.

Thus, “blending in” has never really been a successful travel strategy for me (except for my 2.5 month stint in Northern Ireland). Kids in the US think my freckles are strange enough to point and ask questions, in many places my skin and hair will be rubbed, prodded and the subject of general laughter, ridicule and other kinds of conversation. It’s typically good-natured, but it’s still hard to not let it get to you.

A red flag waving in the wind

Here are some strategies I’ve come up with to try to deal with the extra (often unwanted) attention:

1. Keep your cool. I’m not particularly fond of my freckles, but I’ve come to accept them as part of the redhead package (which I love). I know the first time seeing someone with very pale skin covered in a mass of brown dots must be strange. People usually want to understand your differences and see how you are similar, not tease or belittle you. So, let them poke a little and ask questions. Keep your smile on and try to joke about it, rather than get frustrated and angry with them.  Besides, I don’t want to give any other culture fodder for the redheads are bad tempered stereotype.

2. Know your audience. In Latin America the attention is usually benign and I’m seen as exotic rather than diseased. In India, women and men dye their hair red for luck and to show youthfulness. In Rwanda, red hair is associated with albinos and vitamin A deficiency–signs of sickness and bad luck. Knowing those little things about how my stranger-than-usual gringo/mzungu/barang appearance affects local people when they see me, helps me to manage the situation a little better.

3. Try to blend in where possible. Though physically I may stick out like a sore thumb, I typically try to adapt my dress to fit in a little better. Covering up whatever seems necessary (including sometimes my hair, i.e.:  in a temple or conservative muslim area) and trying not to make my foreign-ness any more obvious.

4. Remember you are, in fact, a foreigner. The well-traveled will often tell you that the most successful moments of their travels have been the times where they felt treated like locals. Received local prices, knew how to order their favorite local dish in the local language, or made a joke that traveled across the great cultural divide. You get the idea. But, it’s important not to take yourself too seriously. You are a foreigner (no matter how genuine your interest in the location) and you will probably always be one.

Enjoy these little moments. They’re stuff that makes travel exciting and keeps you on your toes…however tired your toes might already be.