Evacuating Kenya (Goodbye for Now)

Goodbye, friendly sidewalk home

I had never imagined that my departure would have come about the way it had - one month early, last-minute, and wearing a face mask. 

I had plans for April, the last month of my time in Kenya, too. I was going to Naivasha for a weekend to meet hippos. I was absolutely hell-bent on finding a dikdik in the Karura Forest. I was contemplating taking the train to Mombasa for another weekend. And I was planning to visit a colleague in Malawi for my final week on the continent. Instead, I didn't really get to say goodbye to any of the friends I had made in Nairobi and escaped the borders closing on me, which would have left me somewhat stranded during the COVID19 pandemic.

Two weeks before I had found out I was going home, I had started self-isolating, anyway. I had previously been in Uganda for a conference and had picked up some sniffles between Kampala and Nairobi, so I was playing it safe. Shortly after, the office decided to implement working from home practices and most of my colleagues started calling me while they, too, started to socially isolate. I had limited my travels to only the grocery store for those two weeks, save one trip to DHL to ship home things, as I had a sinking feeling that I may have to evacuate the country at any given moment and didn't want to leave anything behind.

Kenya at the time had only 7 confirmed cases of COVID19 (while NYC had about 9K, for comparison), and the country was acutely aware of its healthcare limitations and did not want to test the system. Kenya started canceling public events, shutting down schools, encouraging people to us M-PESA money over cash; and airlines started to slow down their services. Rumors were going around that the borders were going to close any minute, but they were just rumors. I had decided to stay put unless I had received some kind of ultimatum from the US or Kenya - I was better off in a warmer climate where my asthma wouldn't get triggered and I could relax on the lawn outside for hours. Not to mention that US was considered the global hot zone for COVID19. 

Sadly, three days after I made that decision, in late March the US government did, in fact, send out an ultimatum to US citizens overseas - either come home now or don't come home, and we're not going to help you get out. Shortly after, Kenya announced they were probably going to close the border soon, so Kenyan residents should probably get out of the country if they can. My decision was made for me.

The morning after, I made my way to the Kenya Airways office to change my departure to "as soon as possible". My Uber drove through traffic on a beautifully sunny day in Nairobi, and the country looked almost as if nothing was happening with the world. Cars were crowding the roads, people were walking around. My Uber driver had casually shared with me that Kenya would probably be fine from COVID19, because the virus wouldn't survive well in warm weather, so no one was particularly worried yet. I ended up hearing that a lot throughout that day as I frantically packed my bags and worked out my logistics, and I was worried that Kenyans didn't seem to be understanding the severity of the virus. To be fair, East Africans typically need to worry more about diseases like Ebola, which is endemic in that region and a very violent way to die. Still, it felt surreal watching the headlines of a world on fire while many Kenyans around me were living as if nothing dangerous was afoot.

I got to the crowded airline office and found out that "as soon as possible" was two days in the future since all of the other flights had been sold out overnight, and the only available seats were Business Class. I gulped down the steep airline fee to upgrade to Business Class and secured my spot on a now-sold-out plane back to NYC, taking off in a little over 48 hours. In those 48 hours, I paced and called Mr. CT Lawyer multiple times to frantically figure out how he'd pick me up at the airport and how we'd arrange me to live with him in quarantine for 2 weeks after I landed. I wasn't able to see any of my colleagues or friends - Kenya was starting to make it hard to meet up in groups, and I had begun to think that maybe I should steer clear of people anyway, so I spent time hanging out with my housemates when I wasn't in planning mode calling the US. I also started to find out that a lot of my other foreign colleagues were frantically packing up and going home, as well - to Canada, Australia, and the US. 

At least my friend who Uber drives in Nairobi (Calvin) agreed to drive me to the airport and see me out of the country. On the day of departure, he picked me up and drove me through the now-deserted city streets (which were full only 2 days prior). We got to the airport in record time, and I was there far too early for my flight, so he agreed to sit with me in an outdoor airport cafe for my final dawa (oh, how I miss those already) before takeoff. While we sat sipping dawas, Kenya announced the border closing would be in three days, and that the number of cases had more than doubled within 24 hours.

The airport was mostly empty, save for whoever was flying to JFK or Jo-burg that night. The airport was tense and silent; you could tell no one wanted to be near each other. Everyone was wearing a face mask, now, and we all looked around with wide eyes and anxiety, quietly hoping that the planes would get into the air and not have a surprise announcement from the arrival country that no more planes would be allowed in. It was a long wait inside the terminal.

I knew my airplane was sold out, but I hadn't realized just how crowded the waiting room would be. Everyone wore masks and darted glances at everyone near them, trying their best to inch away from whoever was nearby in hopes of feeling some kind of safety that wasn't going to come for another 15 hours. You could tell much of the plane's passengers had had no intention of leaving Kenya at any time before the ultimatum, too. Many of the people on the plane were families with infants who probably shouldn't fly 14-hour legs across the globe. Others wheeled around elderly parents who apparently did not want to stay around while the country figured things out. The elderly parents looked jarred - I wondered if some of them were being torn away from homes they had not wanted to leave, with pleading adult children who had secured dual passports for the family two decades earlier for a moment exactly like the one we were suddenly in.

Once we loaded into the airplane, we all pulled out packets of wet wipes and started vigorously cleaning our seats and surroundings. We shared wipes with others, but otherwise, no one wanted to interact, other than sharing bulging eyes, as if trying to convey the thought, "can you BELIEVE what we're going through, right now?!"

I found out soon after take-off how lucky I was to get a business class seat - the flight was much more bearable with anxiety because I could put my feet up and actually sleep. And the bathrooms were clean and big. On one bathroom visit, the stewardesses started to talk with me and shared that they were hoping that the US would ground all planes before they would have to return to Kenya. Apparently, while we were loading into the plane at the Nairobi airport, the Kenyan government had started to enact a new rule which meant that anyone landing in the airport from that moment on would be automatically shuttled to a forced hospital quarantine for 2 weeks....paid by the quarantined. They were hoping that they would, instead, be forced to shack up in a hotel in NYC and wait it out there while on the airline's watch. Unfortunately for them, that didn't happen.

I've never been so scared landing anywhere as I was when I landed into JFK that morning. We all left the airplane with masks on, expecting hours of testing lines and screenings before we could get out of the plane. Instead, we found ourselves walking from the airplane to the luggage belts in about 5 or 10 minutes, with only one stop for us to get quickly stamped by mask-less customs agents. The airport, other than our flight, felt completely abandoned. It only made me want to get out of the airport faster. My family picked me up shortly after to start my voluntary 2-week quarantine as the world blazed around me.

Kenyan Healthcare

My beautiful birthday cake

A Holiday in Jordan

Quintessential Jordan picture:
Petra's Treasury

I just got back from a wonderful 8-day trip through Jordan. I had originally just planned on going for a 3-day conference about water management, but I decided to road trip across my first Arab (and Middle Eastern) country. I ended up having a really interesting and peaceful week.

I didn't see all of the popular spots in Jordan, like Aqaba or the Baptism site, and I didn't walk through Jaresh (I drove by it), but I do feel like my trip was perfect for me.

I hired a Jordanian company called Dry Ver Jo to drive me around the country while I was there. It was one of the best decisions I made because I never worried about how I was getting anywhere, and my driver(s) showed me around the country's back roads and took care of me when I got my typical trip's food poisoning. My main driver was Abdullah; he was fantastic and made me feel like I had a best friend in Jordan driving me around and even brought me out for dinner on my last night.

Days 1-2: Dead Sea
I started my trip near the Dead Sea, for the conference. It's a hot and humid place, which isn't surprising as it's one of the lowest points on Earth you can visit without getting into the ocean AND has heaps of salt on the surface of both soil and water.

The first thing I did after arriving was to make my way to the Dead Sea, a 7-minute walk from the hotel I was staying. I could see clearly the lake's recession as the hotel's path to the water was riddled with derelict beach areas when the water was once much closer to the building; I found this very sad. The sea is receding about a meter annually because its tributary (the Jordan River) has been diverted too much by countries further upstream (which has also led to a lot of sinkholes in the dregs of the dying sea).

The sea is definitely saline, and when I finally made it to the waters, I floated like a rubber ducky and made the mistake of putting some of the water far too close to my lips (it tasted like nasty salt).

For the rest of my stay in the area, I was mostly in a conference room listening to academics talk about the history of water reuse. It was a fine conference, albeit small and a bit "aged". I was very jetlagged during the conference, but I forged through it and met some interesting water historians.

Days 3-4: Wadi Mujib & Petra
Part of the conference included a day trip to Petra to look at ancient water systems. We piled into a tour bus and drove three hours south to visit the famous site.

I have to explain something: I have never liked being part of tour groups. I find them too restrictive when exploring. This day trip reminded me how much I don't enjoy being part of groups - much of the conference attendees were slow to move and were interested in capturing pictures while a guide patiently tried to usher us from the Petra Museum (with a lovely exhibit describing the culture of the people who built Petra - the Nabateans) and through the Siq. About two hours into the tour, I grew impatient and asked to break away at a faster speed so I wouldn't miss out on seeing the rest of the site (at their speed, we'd only get to the Treasury and would have no time to see the rest of the place).

Petra is beautiful and fascinating; there's a reason why people flock to see this archeological location. The buildings were expertly carved out of the canyon's soft sandstone for different purposes - an amphitheater, tombs, monasteries, homes, etc. It was hot when we were visiting and Petra doesn't have a lot of shade, but I pushed forward and was awed when I got to the Treasury. It's the most famous (and photogenic) aspect of Petra, and with good reason; the carvings are still very much defined, and it's a brilliant view when you reach it from the Siq.

I also walked down the main thoroughfare and saw the panoramic sights of the city of Petra, with the smaller carved-out houses in the rock (and donkeys inside to seek shade), the tombs and church further up flights of precarious steps, and through the sandy old road. I was due to meet the tour group shortly after I broke away, so I didn't have time to climb up to see some of the tombs or monastery up close, but I didn't mind (I liked looking from afar just as much).

One of the incredible things about Petra and the Nabateans is their sophisticated water management systems from such an early time. Jordan has always had water quantity challenges, but they had perfect water piping systems and cisterns that stored and reused water within their habitats. Some of those systems could probably be adopted in parts of the world still. So neat!

A bummer of Petra (for me) was seeing the sad animals being overworked. The donkeys drag carriages up and down the rocky hills of the Siq. These donkeys are prodded to go fast and trip across cobblestones until they are heaving and clearly distressed. It was really sad to see them zoom back and forth in the site and even sadder how many people were willing to pay for their use. A suggestion: don't use the donkeys in Petra.

The tour group drove back to the Dead Sea for the night. The next day I made my way back.

Along the way, we stopped at Wadi Mujib. Before I showed up, I didn't know much about Wadi Mujib other than it was supposed to be a beautiful place in a canyon and a fun side adventure while in Jordan...so I got there and asked the admission's fee. The entrance guy looked at me in my linen pants and politely asked me if I was ready to swim, climb, and crawl through the canyon. Clearly not sure what I was getting myself into, I changed into some more "athletic" gear and headed into the canyon with a tour guide.

Wadi Mujib's adventure is a great and safe experience, but it's also hard. I found myself in a canyon with a stream-cum-rapid that I was wading through to get to the big waterfall at the end of the 2-hour hike. The further along you are, the deeper and faster the water gets. My guide made the trecking a lot easier; we'd watch people in front of us struggle and he'd respond by showing me a much simpler method to get past a rapid that saved me time and energy (thank god I paid extra to have him join me!). It was still a tough course to get through, though, and there were moments where I slammed into rocks or had to drag myself up a pile of rocks with a rope and felt myself pull one of many muscles along the way. I also accidentally got a lot of water in my nose and mouth at different parts of the journey, which I suspect gave me the sickness I had a day later. Sadly, my fear of heights kicked in strongly about 2/3 into the trek, and I made my guide turn around after forcefully shouting at him "NO!" in Arabic (rather, "La!" / "!لا").

I'm glad I did it, but I felt the pain from that adventure for a few days after.

En route to my next stop, Abdullah brought me to a tea shop on a cliff in the mountains near the Dead Sea. I got some sugary tea and enjoyed a gorgeous backdrop of rolling hills and distant views of Palestine. An old man was sitting at the tea spot and started talking to my driver about me. The old man informed us that he was a fan of Trump (much to my dismay and Abdullah's confusion) and was a proud veteran of the Jordanian Army. He pulled out of his wallet a medallion from his service and asked me to wear it for one of my pictures. I was touched and honored that he shared such an important thing with me for a few minutes.

After that adventure, we drove on to Wadi Musa, where I had arranged to stay at a Bedouin camp for a few nights. The camp I stayed at was in the middle of an empty desert area near Little Petra, so it was beautifully quiet. At night, they lit a campfire to warm up tea and one of the nearby rock formations lit up with twinkling bags of light they had placed in its crags.

Day 5: Little Petra
The next day I woke up feeling like I was in an otherworldly place - the camp felt like it was some outpost on the moon!

I had decided to spend most of the day reading quietly and relaxing - it was my vacation, after all. Before sundown, though, I wanted to walk 30 minutes over to Little Petra for a while. Way back in the day, Little Petra was likely the suburb of the popular Petra, and important people I think would "park" their camels and caravans at this place.

Honestly, I liked Little Petra a little bit more than the other one. It was quieter (most tourists don't bother visiting), it was shaded, it had some preserved ceiling art, and I could more realistically envision people coming into this area and living there.

One of my favorite parts of visiting ancient sites is visualizing people back in the day living there normally - it makes the place feel more real to me.

A younger shopowner at Little Petra showed me around the area, and I happily followed him knowing I'd pay him afterward. With my Wadi Mujib injuries, he helped me safely climb up and down steps in the area and showed me places I wouldn't have bothered looking into if he weren't with me. He was concerned about my limp and showed me a local tree that apparently people use to help soothe muscles. He then invited me to apply it on my leg in his cave a few minutes' away.

For the record, this man lived in a cave. The cave had carved out pillars and was clearly old (with some new carpets and mattresses lining the floor). Essentially, he appeared to live in a Nabatean-built cave and modernized the place a little bit. I was floored! Apparently, much of the Nabatean caves that were part of the Petra civilization are not completely what the tourists see, and some people are still using these caves to live (and others probably have still yet to be fully discovered).

I put on my homemade ointment (that may have helped a little bit) and hobbled my way back to my camp for the night.

Day 6: Wadi Rum

Early the next day I got picked up to drive even further south to the UNESCO-protected desert in Jordan - Wadi Rum. This was the place they filmed The Martian and Lawrence of Arabia. I got to the desert village a little after midday and my bedouin camp in the desert picked me up for my five-hour Jeep tour through the protected area.

The Jeep tour was incredible - it was as if we were driving through Mars for much of the trip. The Bedouin man who was driving me around showed me some breathtaking sights and took me all over. We started in an area that had prehistoric petroglyphs carved into the stone walls, climbed a number of red rock formations so I could hover over a natural arch, then he drove me far away from any other living beings, in absolute silence and desolation. He showed me how the desert has two regions: red and white. The red region is where the camps are and is better traveled by tourists; the white region is furthest from any road and is not allowed to have any camps built in it. There were camels hanging out all across the desert; some had tourists on their back, some were just hanging out as if life was mellow and they were just along for the ride. My guide drove around the desert as if there were well-marked streets through the barrenness of the desert that I just couldn't see for some reason. I'm still baffled.

The camp where I was staying for the night was the last camp in the desert and the closest to the white desert and without any internet or connectivity. I also happened to be the only person there for the night. They asked me if I wanted to change my camp to be with other people, but I was excited about having a very quiet and alone evening in the middle of nowhere. I had the whole night to myself (and three guys running the camp) with the dunes and starlit sky. One of the camp staff brought out an oud and played some traditional music just for me. We sat and talked quietly over a small campfire, and I watched shooting stars.

I was very much alone in a lot of ways that night, and I really enjoyed it. I enjoyed being the only person using the bathrooms and the silence echoing in the stillness of the desert. What I did not enjoy was a night in and out of the bathroom with some medium-level food poisoning (most useful in Arabic during my stay - "Ana murad"/"انا مريض"/"I'm sick"). The camp staff guys were concerned about me and, with limited ability to speak with each other, helped me decide that the next day I'd go see a doctor in Amman while I started taking some Cipro I had carried with me "just in case".

Day 7 - 8: Amman (and North)

The next day my driver friend picked me up early at a nearby tourist rest stop and drove me (slowly, at my request) from Wadi Rum to Amman. One of the local women at the conference had helped me find a GI doctor and I had booked an appointment for early in the afternoon to make sure I hadn't picked up those irritating parasites (that I'm prone to getting while overseas).

The GI doctor was very helpful and well-informed. He checked out my gut, got me to leave behind a sample for testing, and instructed me to get a second opinion about some of the treatments I am taking for other more chronic GI issues. With his visit and the lab tests he ran, the tab ended up being $100...without any insurance. In the US, that bill would have been the same WITH insurance. And the healthcare in Jordan felt more personal and less like a factory. If you ever get sick in Jordan, rest assure there is really great, affordable care out there.

My hotel in Amman was fine. The hotel manager had very limited English but tried to talk to me anyway about things that strangers shouldn't ask guests in their hotel. I kept to myself and avoided him as much as I could.

The next day I went for a tourist jaunt across the city. It was a jarring experience - not just because I had just spent the last 3 or 4 days in very quiet, secluded areas of the country and I was accosted by the noises of urbanity suddenly, but also because the people I encountered were less kind and less helpful. It was a helpful reminder that people in cities are not good reflections of the rest of the country I'm in. I mean, I knew this already - I'm a New Yorker, after all.

I started the day at the Amman Citadel. It resembles a Roman ruin but dates back much further than that. I slowly walked around the fort and admired some of the ancient water storage sites they had built so long ago.

After I was finished, I made a mistake. I agreed to let the first taxi driver I met to drive me around the city for two hours. The guy was a creep and talked to me all about his taste in women and asking me all about my weight management (ugh). He ended up stealing about $20 from me on top of what I had originally agreed to pay him, and he pissed me off a lot. It was my fault, I know, but it was another reminder that city people are not always the best people in the world. That's what I'll say about him.

I visited the Amphitheater and its two museum exhibits about traditional cultures in Jordan. They were interesting to see and I do recommend people to visit at least for a little bit.  The remains are quite well preserved and are neat to walk through, as well.

The creep taxi man also made me go to the King Abdullah Mosque in the city. It's not a particularly old mosque - it's not quite 40 years old yet, and I was honestly unimpressed by it. Don't get me wrong, it was nice; it was just like going to any other modern building in use with stained glass windows, which I was not interested in. There was also a tourist shop under the mosque that I was pushed to visit and I decided to at least make the stop useful to finish up my Xmas shopping, so I spent too much on some nice souvenirs. Much of it was soap (spoiler alert?).

I also went downtown to buy 1.5 kilos of spices (za'atar and sumac) and ditched the creepy cabbie to get some lunch. I stopped at the famous Al Quds for lunch and ordered some delicious mansaf, which is a rice dish with a tangy yogurt sauce, nuts, and chicken. I also sacrificed my glutenfree health to give knafeh a try (a popular local dessert with unsalted cheese and a honeyed pastry top)...and it was very much delicious and probably worth the pain I will deal with for the next few weeks.

By this time it was sunny and 95F/35C out, but I wasn't ready to quit my tourism quite yet. I walked uphill for about an hour to see Rainbow Street, which is apparently a popular and swanky tourist spot. Much of the uphill walk was a multi-story staircase that felt like it was going up forever; I trudged my way up and took my sweet time, panting and sweating bullets. By the time I got to Rainbow Street, I was far too hot to enjoy it and opted to double fist iced sodas for a few hours at a local shop before I made my way to my evening dinner.

I had booked my dinner plans as a cooking class at Beit Sitti (Grandmother's Kitchen). The place is a great cause - they hire older women who are refugees from local countries to teach tourists common Arabic dishes for a few hours. The class was lovely and in a small house with a beautiful balcony for us to enjoy our class's output. We cooked a one-pot rice dish called maglubah and some eggplant dish like baba ghanoush. 

The next day was a searing 100F/38C, so I decided to change my trip plans with Abdullah. We were scheduled to visit Jerash (a well-preserved Roman city) in the north for the day; instead, we agreed to drive around it a few times in the airconditioned car and eat more knafeh at the gorgeous Ajloun Nature Reserve. I gazed down over a balcony at the reserve center at a sea of oak trees before we hopped back in the car and got dinner in Amman.

For my final dinner in the country, Abdullah brought me out to a local restaurant that specialized in more generally "Gulf country" food. I got fish, rice, and a bowl of delicious lentil soup that I plan on trying to cook for myself sometime. It was a wonderful send-off from a friend before I passed out in my airport hotel for an early morning flight back to NYC.

Last Thoughts
My trip was rejuvenating and fascinating. As usual, here are some overarching things I wanted to mention about the trip.

• Deserts are Surreal: Drying through the country meant mostly being in a desert. I found it unreal driving through it because the color palette of the region was monochromatic and meant that everywhere I went was very hot and super dry. This isn't particularly poignant, but it was a new experience for me and I felt it very differently compared to most other experiences I've had. I'm not sure if I liked it or not.
• Jordanian Hospitality is Awesome: Barring a few unpleasant encounters in Amman, everyone I met in Jordan was extremely nice and hospitable. People were eager to help me get oriented, travel, eat good food, and feel better after my bout of diarrhea. Sometimes I was shocked at how people didn't often seem interested in taking money for helping me, which made me feel even more awe for their compassion and kindness to a stranger. It humbled me.
• Solo Traveling is Safe: Most people I met (especially other tourists) were particularly concerned about me being alone and going through Jordan mostly solo. People kept asking me if I was safe or if it was "wise" to go to XYZ area alone...but I found being alone was a super way to really experience the area without having to manage others and their expectations in my travels. The one day I toured with others reminded me how my pace is so different from others, and Jordan people's kindness and interest in my well-being made it okay for me to be alone. Even being completely at the mercy of the camp staff in the desert with no communication with the outside world felt completely normal and secure. I don't feel this way at home, usually.
• Arabs Have Opinions about Arabs: Jordanians have a lot of opinions about other Arabs, which surprised me especially given their hospitality and generosity. Some Jordanians I met warned me about Syrians, others felt very poorly towards Saudis, and some went on about the corruption of all Egyptians. And so on. I was slightly sad to hear that Arabs apparently fiercely judge against each other, especially while the rest of the world judges them at least as harshly.

Leaving Brisbane

When I returned to Brisbane, I was surprised with the challenges I had with readjusting. I had major jet lag from the flying, and people commented for a week or two that I seemed flat or unwell. I’m not really sure what was going on, but I was hurting for a little bit after returning from SE Asia. Either I missed the lifestyle I had grown accustomed to in Phnom Penh, or I was recuperating from months of being sick off and on there. Either way, it was hard.

I do know that I was struggling to adjust to the bus system in Brisbane. In most of my adventures through SE Asia I was used to hailing a tuk-tuk driver with a simple nod of my head and for small denominations of dollars get carried to anywhere in the area I desired to see. In Bangkok, there’s a transit system that operates regularly, much like the NYC subway system only above ground. In Brisbane, on the other hand,  I lived in a place where buses were maybe every 30 minutes normally needed at least one transfer somewhere to get where I wanted to go. There was a lot more planning that had to happen for me to get anywhere.

Brisbane, after all, is a very large suburban-urban area. Or, as many people told me time and time again, Brisbane is a big country town.

Which meant I was at the mercy of the usually-late TransLink buses that would take me from Point A to Point B..with about 20 points between the two. During Brisbane’s cool winter time. With shops closing at 6pm every day (as opposed to SE Asia’s “open late” culture). Being a famously impatient and cold-adverse person, I did not take to these readjustments easily.

Most of my first four weeks of being back emphasized finishing my piece de resistance – my Final Project for the Masters of Integrated Water Management! I am pretty good at time and project management, so I was ahead of schedule and was able to calmly hunker down and polish my 70-page paper over and over again until I could submit it several days early. I booked several health appointments during this time (I wanted to check everything before I left since it was cheaper there than in the US), where most professionals remarked how calm I seemed considering how close my deadline was.

Admittedly, my calm demeanor and confident project management did not prevent me from stress eating. And I did have a hospital run a few weeks after returning…but that was mostly because I had had my medication adjusted just before and my health insurance told me I needed to make sure I was not reacting adversely to the change. Unfortunately, I had another infuriatingly bad run with the public hospital system in Australia (with a doctor yelling at me about how we are all going to die someday while I was asking him if I was okay) that may haunt me for a while to come. Don’t worry – I am still fine, just angry at a cocky doctor who was less than helpful with a simple concern.

Also, one week before submitting my paper there was a full-time conference on WASH in Brisbane. This was a huge week, as I was wearing several different hats every day at the conference, depending on the audience and time of day. I was working my consulting job a few hours during each day of the conference while I also represented my masters program…while trying much as possible to network for my own emerging WASH career. In some ways, the week was overwhelming because of the amount of people I talked to, but I also felt in my element. I am a social person who is hungry for learning and likes to network, after all. It was also very fun to see those I met in Phnom Penh and throughout my consulting/education come together and weave in and out for a few days.

And then, I submitted my paper.

I submitted it early, and it was anticlimactic. I was expecting some kind of little trumpet announcing my completion, or maybe a hug. Instead, I simply got an email saying, “Assessment Received”. And that was that. A few days later my friends from the class got together to celebrate our completion of the program – only then did I feel like I was really done.

Of course, my six weeks back in Australia included reuniting with friends and seeing people I had met throughout the last year and a half. I met up with friends as much as I could before I left – for dinner, for lunch, for festivals, for walks.

Some of my closer friends and I took a few days to rent a cabin in the Bunya Mountains and enjoy some relaxing freedom with each other before we started to return to our own countries. On our trip, we stocked amazing amounts of food that we cooked between long hikes around the mountain trails. There were wallabies carpeting the landscape with little joeys poking out of pouches everywhere! The air was clean (and COLD!) and smelled like trees and wooden stoves. At night, we’d go outside and gaze at the Milky Way in the darkness of a quiet, lamp-less place. We talked about funny and serious things over wine and movies. We fought off red-bellied black snakes before munching on trail mix. The retreat was a lovely respite from the rest of the world.

I worked until I left to return to the US (I am still consulting, too) so I did not have a lot of downtime before leaving. But that’s okay, because it meant I was busy and productive, which I like. 

A few days ago, I got on a redeye plane that took me out of my Australian Chapter of Life and placed me soundly back into the US for the next chapter that I have yet to open. I got a bit emotional while I left, but by now I have moved back and forth so much that it's become almost standard procedure for me.

In reflection about Australia, people asked me if I would take a job and live there. The answer is, I’m not sure.

The whirlwind 18 months have been so incredible and eye-opening that I feel it really gave me a chance to learn about my adult self and become more me. Australia was definitely a key piece to my transformation and incredible experience. It’s definitely a beautiful and peaceful place with more adorable and fuzzy animals than you can shake a stick at. And the people I’ve made friends with in Australia are outstanding and supportive friends. I am so glad that they are in my life and I wish I could safely bottle them up and take them with me wherever I end up. 

That said, I’m used to a different lifestyle that lets me be more mobile without a car or worrying about early business closing hours. I’m not used to watching TV in the evening - I'm more about  exploring interesting social events in random parts of the world. In some ways, the Australian culture is perfect and family-friendly and relaxed and secure…but I don’t think it’s for me. I like messy, adventurous, buzzing, aggressive places and cultures…like what I've experienced in NYC and Phnom Penh. I like dirt and tightly-packed streets where I can escape for a weekend. I like knowing that I have a small patch of city I can walk around and get everything I want without taking a 45-minute bus where I will feel carsick. 

I think if I was a quieter person with a lot less demands on a place (i.e. free and diverse activities, late-night options), and with a family to care for, I would jump on the opportunity to stay in sunny Australia. For now, I think I will love my Australian Chapter and look forward to visits back for friends and vacations.

A Quiet New Year

About a week ago was the Khmer New Year. Most of the foreigners (aka expats) fled the country for holidays in cooler climates, and locals headed into the provinces to visit family over the holiday. I, on the other hand, opted to stay in Phnom Penh and work on my research project, furiously coding transcripts and trying (with tired eyes) to interpret my codes into a tangible story. I’m still working on making sense of the data and putting together my analysis, so I’m glad I stayed behind.

People here asked me what the city was like during the week everyone was gone. Honestly, I didn’t venture out too much because of my research, but I did go outside here and there. Simply put, it was hot and empty.

Firstly, it was hot. Of course, this is not an interesting observation; it is consistently in the 30s C / 80s-100s F. But that week was exceptionally hot – most days wavered between 39C / 102F to 40C / 104F (and that is not including the increased degrees for the “RealFeel” measurement). I hid in my bedroom with the aircon  nonstop in order to avoid melting; going outside seemed extremely unappetizing.

Also, Phnom Penh was silent and empty. The quiet meant I could sleep longer into the morning, which I found rather pleasant. And the streets were free of parked cars and people; only a couple cars would be driving down the main roads, whereas normally it’s packed and congested traffic nonstop. The reduced number of people made it easier to walk down the streets because there was no competition for space.

Actually, this walking around on the street was short-lived. Whenever I tried wandering more aimlessly up and down the street, I would get some tuk-tuk drivers’ attention. Normally, this attention includes someone shouting, “Hey lady want a tuk-tuk ride?! Where are you going??”, trying hard to make a transaction. Over the New Year, though, the attention was more tuk-tuk drivers’ adamantly yelling for me to get back on the sidewalk and put my phone away. It seems that some people take the week’s emptiness as an opportunity to speed down empty streets recklessly. Also, someone mentioned that theft goes up in the New Year because people want nice things like smartphones and will ride down the street on their motorcycles to snatch your belongings if you’re too close to the street.

The tuk-tuk drivers weren’t asking to give me rides, they were just genuinely concerned about my wellbeing. Which was a strange change of pace for me, being used to politely declining constantly as I walk down the street.

Despite the emptiness, I did have a little bit of a social life. There may not have been very many things open or people around (every restaurant I like to go to was closed), but I had a few friends who stuck around as well, and we'd go out to enjoy each other’s company over cold beverages (Brown Coffee was open, of course).

One friend had a dangerous allergic reaction to some strange ingredient in a meal while in the city that week. I tried to help that friend find an EpiPen or some allergy help so that they could figure out what happened to them. Just to let you know: Cambodia doesn’t have EpiPens. Try all you might, you will not be able to successfully source EpiPens in this country (and if you magically can, I am going to guess it’ll cost a lot). Luckily, this friend went to an embassy and sourced an EpiPens that way, but otherwise was looking at having to go to a clinic for a stab of adrenaline if anything else happened. This medical mishap was alarming for me in some way. I wonder, if someone has a child who is allergic to some food, what do you do? If someone is deathly allergic to some kind of insect or surprise allergy (and is a baby?!), what happens? It reminded me how some things that work in countries like Australia and the US are far cries from how things work in countries like Cambodia.

Don’t get me wrong! Cambodia is progressing and evolving at lightning speed. There are so many developments happening here, even for the 3 months I’ve been here! And so much is happening that it’s very exciting to be here and watch it change and morph into a new kind of society. That said, I do miss the immediate healthcare of other places. 

Field Work and Amoebas

Last week, while fighting a really nasty viral infection (in my nose), I got invited to join some development agencies and government officials on a field trip a few hours east of Phnom Penh to the rural areas in Tboung Khmum and Kampong Cham. The field trip was a way for national government guys to come and see how water and sanitation is working on the ground in rural villages (because guys working in Phnom Penh have little context of what’s going on), and talk about ways to improve the sector’s work with local governments. It is really important for national government figures (and researchers like me) to go out and see the action happening because sometimes it’s impossible to fully understand the picture when there are no faces to picture for policies and work being done.

What is your research, Kim? Well, I’ll tell you. The national government here has been giving more responsibility to local governments (read as: decentralizing) around water and sanitation. My focus is sanitation. The problem is that local governments here lack a lot of skills and knowledge needed to do what the national government is (vaguely) telling them. So, I’m trying to figure out what kind of roles the local government needs focus on for improving sanitation in rural areas, and what capacity is needed to do that work. Did you follow that?

Back to the trip, I should point out two complications I had during those two days: (1) I felt like I was dying from the viral infection, as my nose screamed fire and throat scratched with all of the gross internal residues coming out of me; and, (2) I was the only non-Khmer (aka Cambodian native) person in this field trip, so the conversation was mostly in Khmer – some generous development workers took turns translating for me what was happening. So between my spacing out with delirium and translation, I’m almost certain I missed key pieces from the conversations that happened. That said, I did get a pretty good idea of some of what’s going on for my research.

We drove for hours down roads that were dusty and very dry. It is dry season here, but it was very clear that the drought the country currently has is taking a toll on agriculture; fields were charred and crackly with dryness, and gusts of winds blew through the open spaces, pushing dust into swirls in the air. The houses we saw were simple wooden structures, balanced mainly on tall stilts – presumably to avoid floodwaters that are currently unfathomable with how dry it was.

Going through the rural community we visited, I noticed that trash was strewn around the land everywhere; I saw debris in the open well, in the straw-like weeds near the village hall, in front of houses, and in the dried up waterways near some houses. This village also had about half of the population (of about 100 or so households) defecating out in the open, so wasn’t a surprise that trash management was not going too hot. Some people had bought the building blocks for a toilet, but many had the structure pieces lying in piles near their home, unconstructed and abandoned. Buying the toilet itself is pretty cheap – most of these people can buy a toilet for about $25…the problem is the structure in which to build around the toilet, which can be about $200. For a lot of rural families, that is half of a year’s income.

The people were brought together into the village hall so the local government could tell them about the benefits of buying a toilet and play games to highlight the consequences of going out in the open. I told Mr. CT Lawyer about this meeting in more detail earlier; based on his reaction to my story, I will spare you the rest of what was discussed.

I found it interesting that the demographics of the village at the meeting were mostly elderly people and little children. I saw this in rural Thailand as well; the younger people, including parents of babies, set off to cities like Phnom Penh and Bangkok to work in the factories in hopes to send money back to their destitute families in rural areas from their better-paying livelihoods. Grandparents raise grandchildren, and parents try to support families so they don’t starve. The livelihoods of simple rice and other kinds of agrarian farmers just do not provide enough for survival anymore in much of the world, especially as climate change intensifies.

We stayed overnight in the city of Kampong Cham, right on the Mekong. A few of the people helping me with my research and I went out for BBQ at a local restaurant. After BBQ, though I had thought we were done eating, the group moved on to another restaurant for rice porridge (they put salted eggs and fish in the porridge). Cambodians are thin people, but I (with my generous hips) could not keep up with the group’s appetite – I struggled with the porridge while some of them took seconds and thirds of porridge. I asked them how they could pound back the porridge so easily, and they explained that it was more for the socializing around the porridge they enjoyed. Apparently there are lots of restaurants in cities that are open until early the next morning just so groups of friends hanging out late can enjoy some porridge together. They had wanted to go out for Karaoke after porridge, but my ashen face was very clear to them and they (thankfully) put me in a car to go back to the hotel and crumble into my bed.

Many of our meals were held at some tables under a roof held up by a few poles that sat on the side of the road, and were given meals from pots on a table near the road, or from a kitchen hut in the back of the roofed area. For the days we were on this trip, I did not really understand what I was eating most of the time. A lot of it looked like stews or stir fries of some sort, but the contents were beyond my comprehension. My helpful supervisor, WASHy Virak (my trusty translator and key advisor while I’m here), would explain to me what was going into my mouth if he was next to me. When he wasn’t near me, I would squint my eyes and point at things with a look of confusion to nearby eaters. One thing I ate looked like mushroom stems but was much chewier than I had anticipated. I got adamant responses from other people like, “No mushroom!”, but not much explanation of what it actually was. A while later, Virak explained to me it was pig’s intestines. Another thing I thought were mung beans turned out to be squid. I clearly am not good at the guessing game.

It’s been a few days since the educative trip out in the field. Somewhere between there and the rest of my current visit in Cambodia I have eaten something that was unclean, most likely from having some kind of fecal matter on it and not washed off before I ate it. Last night I got a tuktuk to drive me to the International SOS Clinic to figure out if my fever and the amazing amount of pain was from dengue fever or something else. As they hooked me up to an IV drip and took blood and other samples from me, we discovered I am currently suffering from amoebic dysentery (read as: parasites, likely not from the rural trip). I’m glad that I don’t have dengue, but I cannot say that this amoebic infection is any better (nor do I want to find out ever). The doctors pumped me with medicines and handed me over a very fancy bag full to the brim with several different types of medication to help me manage and eradicate the amoebas from my body. I am currently in very close relations with my bathroom.

I told my Australian supervisor (Bronwyn) about this, and she replied with, “Ah yeah, I’ve been there.” I also got a few notes from other development workers recently with similar stories of sickness as a result of being in the field doing work. Dengue fever, malaria, tapeworm, food disease (been there), amoebic dysentery (on it), etc. It seems almost like a rite of passage for people working in development work to get super sick (often)…an occupational hazard. I keep thinking to myself, And we all signed onto this?! I love working and feeling like it makes a difference, I love learning about contexts I normally would never dream of, and I love how interesting it all can be. However, I have been so sick so often in my travels the last few months, I have my doubts about continuing this work for the long haul; I don’t know if my body can handle it forever. It is clearly an easy target for germs.

Fairs & Flus

*This post is written in memory of Vivian Wusthoff - my grandma who passed away this week. I was trying to post this piece earlier because I knew how much she loved reading my blog. Sadly, she died before I could.*

It has been another month since my last post about my life here!

I can explain.

I had the plague flu for 2 weeks straight; Influenza B, probably. As the large numbers of people battled this really wretched plague flu in Brisbane this winter season, I became a statistic halfway through August. I battled a fever, hacking coughs, and overall horrible-ness for an inconsiderate amount of time. I was really frustrated with this, as I had two (TWO!) flu vaccines since last year. This particular Influenza B was taken out of the vaccines a few years ago and has seen a significant come-back over the last few months.

After two and a half weeks of struggling to breathe, I'm finally alive again.

The day before my plague flu came into full-blown awfulness, I went to a huge event in Brisbane called Ekka. Queensland's August Ekka (short for Exhibition, as Aussies love abbreviations) is a week-long fair that hosts carnival rides, shows, animal competitions, cabarets, art competitions, and lots of food exhibitions within an intimate fair grounds. The way I saw it was a cross between a US State Fair and/or a 4-H Showcase, with a bit of carnival flair added.

I was feeling overwhelmed with studies and felt like taking a solo romantic adventure morning walking through Ekka. I mostly spent my time in the animals sections, which truthfully was the only part I had planned on visiting in the festival, anyways. I got to hold a baby chick, feed some baby goats and sheep, and socialize with well-groomed puppy competitors. I also tied a free colorful balloon to my wrist as I walked along the grounds and ate a strawberry ice cream that was rich and delicious. It might have been strange to the other guests with small children to see a grown woman eagerly bouncing up and down for animal cuddles with a balloon strapped to her arm, but I refuse to apologize for anything.

I made my way through a exhibition of competitive fruit cakes, decorated cakes, jams, vegetable displays, and crocheted blankets (among other things). I was perplexed that these prized food competitions were displayed behind glassed shelves, and I wondered how we know which one was best when all we can do is gaze on the fruit cake like a vision of Mary in a slice of toast.

I was surprised how American everything felt there. The crowd seemed to be mostly farm and country folk as I made my way through the fairgrounds, and there were lots of people aimlessly wandering around the Ekka. There was one difference, though; there were not nearly enough heavily deep-fried foodstuffs on sale. Some of the food for sale even seemed healthy! I was alright with this.

I was starting to feel the drain of the plague flu as I explored the Ekka, and I ended up going home early to nap. I had seen the animals, and that was all I needed.

Once I was bedridden, my life became isolated in my bed for days. I did not want to give anyone my sickness, so I hid from my friends and classmates for a week. In a refreshing display of civilization, my client refused to let me work (neither in the office nor at home) while I battled my fever, saying that "we don't do that in this country". So, in the end, I found myself with little to nothing to do for a very long period of time. With little ability to read and work on assignments, I ended up watching an entire Australian show - including all of the show's seasons and two movies - called "Kath and Kim".

"Kath and Kim" was a show that ran for a few years here, and it reminds me of a strange mix of the "Beverley Hillbillies" and "Arrested Development". Essentially, the show focuses on a strange mother-daughter pair living near Melbourne, and their bogan (read as: hick/redneck/hillbilly) lifestyle. The show is always ridiculous, and you can never tell if the characters are from the 80's, 90's, or modern time. They eat short hot dogs (called "footy franks") regularly, and they are very hard to understand sometimes - at least for my NYC ears.

I found myself completely involved in their lives for a number of days, and learning a lot of little pieces about the Australian culture I hadn't already experienced. For example, I now understand that people are quoting the show when they say, "I feel it in me waters!"

The downside of my anthropological research in Australian bogan lifestyles was that it was the only human interaction I had for a week, and it started to mess with my communication/social skills a bit. It took a few days to get out of it once I was back in the outside world.

Now that I am better, I am stressed again with school and work, and I am currently trying to catch up with life. I doubt I'll be completely caught up until two weeks from now.

Hospitalization, Take Two

Apparently I was not quite fine after last weekend's adventure in the Emergency Room.

Throughout the week I have been feeling curious soreness in my lower back on the sides, but I brushed it off to being sedentary for too long.

This Sunday morning (though some may have called it Saturday night still) I woke up in a pool of sweat and found out that I was peeing blood again, only worse than before in color and pain. Upset, I ended up in the hospital for the second time within a week. I was a crying wreck, which I think helped me get help a lot faster than the week before...despite the overdosed druggies and drunks permeating the ER floor again. I was answering questions between sobs and a flood of texts messages and phone calls to family in the US.

The doctors speculated that my previous doctors were not as thorough as they should have been, and that my antibiotics dosage was not strong enough for what I was battling. Ultimately, they thought that the UTI had crept into my kidneys a bit.

I ended up staying there for about 7 hours and got an IV drip with some powerful antibiotics, bled a good amount, and was kept in a more private room until later in the day for a thorough ultrasound evaluation.

What a harrowing experience.

The good news is that my kidneys are alright, aside from the infection, and I was released with a prescription that should stomp out my infection (finally). I have to go to the doctor in a few days for a follow up to make sure the medicines are actually working this time. After this fiasco, I hope to not need a doctor again for a while.

This time at the hospital, doctors were not shy to observe/admit that last week's doctors messed up on me. I heard doctors say with scorn, "Why on earth would they have prescribed you with that antibiotic? That would not have done the trick! Is that even used for UTI cases?!" And, "They didn't do an ultrasound on you last week??" Let me point out that I was in the same hospital as I was in the week before.

In another instance, I heard one young doctor admit that hearing someone referring to her as "Doctor" was soooooo weird. And another doctor said to me, "We clearly did not do right on you last week since you're back in here."

Throughout my confusing and tiring journey through the corridors of the hospital, I felt confronted with a lot of apprehension whenever I heard doctors made these remarks. I kept thinking in response, "If they said that in the US, they'd have a malpractice lawsuit on their hands!" Part of me was relieved to hear the doctors criticize their fellow medical colleagues because it helped me feel like it was not my fault I was in the hospital a second time for the same problem (despite trying really hard to take care of myself). Another part of me, however, felt less sure of the treatment I was getting because of their doubts around their predecessors' treatments on me. Weren't they all working on the same team?

I talked to an Aussie I know in the medical world, and they let me know that Australian-based doctors do joke about how so many things in the US system - in words or actions - would get them sued.

During my stay, locals have questioned me in amazement about the lawsuit culture of the US, and have asked me questions about people living in fear of getting sued, or living with hopes of suing. What is it like to know that no one is safe from the legal hounds?

It is kind of a joke that Americans are so susceptible to lawsuits, I agree. However, as a scared and sick short-stay patient, more votes of confidence from the medical team would have helped me ease my anxiety while I was there. My blood pressure was wild as I battled minor panic attacks, and I felt like I had to think of even more questions to ask before leaving the hospital to make sure that I was getting the right treatment. With little to no sleep all night, making sure that I had asked enough questions was frustrating and only made me more worried.

Also, this is the second time in the last few months (if you recall/heard) where I have had to go to the doctor's office soon for a persistent problem, and the more recent doctor begins to question the actions of the previous doctor, as I was not given the right treatment.

It is so bizarre to miss the American healthcare system while I am in a developed country with a perfectly acceptable medical industry, simply because I am not quite sure the doctors are doing a good job of ensuring my healing process.

Edited note: I understand that doctors in the US likely make as many mistakes as they do in Australia. What I am trying to illustration is that how they express it to me as a patient did not make me feel better, but more anxious. Wording their thoughts differently to me, I suspect, would have given me some more peace of mind while I managed the pain and fear I had.

Adventures in the Hospital

I have been delinquent in writing blogs, and I hope to rectify that this week. I have been working a lot (as in, working a consulting job…more on that later), and my boyfriend has come to visit me from the US for the last two weeks (also more on that later). And other excuses. But I think I will first start with a little experience I had last night.

I don’t think my body likes Australia very much. I’ve gone to doctor offices quite a lot the last few months because of health snafus that have cropped up – things that have been peculiar and “first ever” problems for me – a bit too close together on the timeline.

My boyfriend left yesterday morning, and despite crying a lot I felt fine. By 7pm I started feeling the hints of something not quite right, and I went to the doctor’s office before they closed to get some medicine. By 9:30pm, I had gotten antibiotics but was feeling worse quickly, and was calling nurse hotlines to see if the swift progression was normal. By midnight I was in amazing pain and driven to the Emergency Room at the nearest public hospital by my roommate (Ecuadorean Monica) and admitted.

If you must know, it was all for a UTI. Normally, those are not too big of a deal…but I don’t know if I’ve ever had such an aggressive UTI before! I was peeing blood redder than I had ever seen before, hence the hospital adventure late on a Saturday night.

I have been to the hospital a bunch of times in recent years for others, but I had never gone to the hospital for myself as an adult. In fact, the last time I was in a hospital for myself was when I was dragged there as a teenager while on a mission trip in San Francisco because of a UTI (I swear I do not get them often!).

The public hospital I was in was like any other public hospital I have visited in the US – in design, décor, and system. I was put in a dressing down and plopped on a bed in a large room lined with semi-private bed areas for other fellow patients and scurrying medical staff. They strapped a wrist band on me with my basic information and a bar code. That was comforting for me, to know that in some ways modern medicine has made it easy to transfer ailments from one national hospital system to the next. The doctors were all pleasant, but obviously tired – it was, after all, a Saturday night in an urban area with a heavy drinking culture. I was honored to witness many sloppy drunks wheeled in while throwing strong and belligerent slurred words to the patient medical staff.

Because it was busy, and I was only peeing blood, I was not given priority, so I waited for 3 hours to be seen. My roommate thought I had been forgotten, but I could tell I probably was not forgotten, as a hospital bed is high-cost real estate in busy hospitals. Monica was patient and chatted with me about life and politics and healthcare for hours and hours, while I texted my boyfriend and friends about my well-being and status of the last red colors that had painfully come out of me. It was difficult to stay awake, waiting for someone to see me, and I did not feel like badgering the clearly weary staff. While I was in pain, I waited, thinking about the experience and the questions I wanted to ask.

Last month I had gotten first aid certification training and felt a minor urge to walk up to the busy nurses and declare my competencies in first aid, in hopes to maybe even be some help. They were busy, though.

The medication given to me hours before was delayed in working my complicated body. Halfway through my hospital visit, though, the medicine finally appeared to do some good, and the blood was getting less obvious and the pain started to dull a bit. I started going to the nurses about 2.5 hours in asking if I could leave now as the pain and blood had subsided a bit, but they refused. Because of the blood, they wanted to check me for kidney issues before I was released. I sighed and waddled back to the bed in my over-sized gown. For anyone in the hospital who saw my behind last night when I tried to negotiate the nurses, you’re welcome.

It is amusing to me that lately when Aussie doctors hear the medications I have taken in the past for similar things, they have consistently responded with, “Oh, that pill is a bit outdated…” I wonder sometimes if outdated medications, then, stay in the US because of the expensiveness of American healthcare, or because they’re the “tried and true” medicines. All I care about is that whatever they gave me yesterday, though I ended up in the hospital, have been working at last.

The hospital was a bit of a hike from where I live. There are a lot of hospitals here, and even one that is three minutes from my house. A lot of them, however, are private and are super expensive and not covered by my overseas health coverage. I think it is odd that there are not a lot of public hospitals in the area, especially since the city has been rapidly growing over the last few years. I asked Kylie why this was the case, and while she noted the hospitals outside of the city, she mentioned that there were some budget cuts that have made it harder for the current public hospitals to accommodate everyone. Having watched the zoo that was the hospital last night, I think that might be a good place to put money back in, guys. 

Though I know this is a challenge in a lot of the world, and I am mulling over what kind of solutions there could possibly be to make people peeing blood able to peacefully get out of the hospital before 3am.

Don’t worry, I am fine now. I’m sore and not 100%, but the kidneys are functioning alright and the antibiotics have been working. And now I know where the hospital is!

Medical Hiccups

It's been a while. I've been finishing up my semester and have been pulled away from self reflection and adventure writing. Instead, I've been writing for long assignments that have been coming and going in my life as if through an ever-revolving door that might be spinning a bit too quickly.

But I'm back, for now.

The first story that I can share since coming back from the darkness that is the school library is about medical shenanigans that happened recently.

Let's just start this off by saying I am shocked how much I currently miss the American medical system. Not specifically the amount of money I have to shell out to get care or the mind-numbing loop holes US insurance companies have to back out of payments - of course I don't miss that! What I do miss is knowing exactly where to go should I need some good quality services now-ish.

I should note as a disclaimer that most of these experiences here have been inside the university health services center. That said, it's been a pretty rough go of it for a few weeks.

I woke up one day with some part of my body swollen and clearly not right a few weeks ago. Being a diligent and impatient New Yorker, I ran to the student health center as soon as it opened and got in with a doctor to check it out. I was put in with a guy who kind of mumbled and swabbed the area for testing and sent me home with low-strength antibiotics and an anti-fungal cream, scheduled to come in the next week for results. Perplexed though I was about having antibiotics and anti-fungal at the same time, yet ever-obedient, I took the medication like a champ for the next few days.

A couple of days later, my swollen self was looking (and feeling) worse. Unfortunately it was the weekend, and I live in a place where none of the medical offices here are open beyond the 9-5 drudgery of the week. My sources tell me that urgent care options have only entered Brisbane in the last year or so. Desperate, I called a home-visit doctor service and waited for four hours until a doctor showed up and quickly decided that my antibiotics were too weak for the infection and that anti-fungal cream was clearly a mistake. He recommended I take a double dose of what was left of the antibiotics. The antibiotic cream the home-visit doctor gave me worked like a charm, and I wondered why I wasn't given that before.

I get back to the university doctor for my results and things start unraveling. First of all, he made an awful lot of comments about the American health system, flipping from why his analysis must be right because he's using American products to why the American system is not up to snuff and why I should be grateful I'm getting medical advice in Australia. This has left me thinking he's got some dark past with some American lady who's left him with many therapy visits to feel better.

I won't get into the details of the ordeal, but let's just say he knowingly gave me an inadequate amount of medicine and told me in a very candid way that the test results indicated that I might have some health problem that would need further investigation (not exactly like I need more health problems in my life). He also told me information about this potential health problem that I know from research is offensively incorrect. To make it worse, I now had a whole week ahead of me to be worried about my health and lament not being able to call my doctors in the US about what was happening to me and get information I can trust....and during finals.

So I requested more in-depth blood tests (which probably should have been his idea) and was leeched of a few vials of blood. Feeling uncomfortable with this doctor, I requested at the front desk to be put with a female doctor next time to talk things through, which seemed to confuse the appointment receptionist. I came out pretty upset and irritated with that doctor. I also found out this guy specializes in Men's Health...so I'm not entirely sure why I was put in the same room with him at all in general.

Yesterday I went back in for the blood tests. The doctor I had originally seen, despite requesting another doctor, was given to me once again and I politely hid my inner rage of having to see him again. The guy, unsurprisingly, took the first half of the 10-minute consultation to stare at the computer screen without addressing me. I requested a print-out of my results so I could share the time in silent contemplation with him, which seemed like a great idea to him. I peered down at my test results to see everything in the clear....I am free of syphilis and Hepatitis and a bunch of other fun things he ordered for testing. Except, he hadn't ordered the initial blood test that was the whole reason my blood was taken. I asked him what happened, and he looked around saying, "Oh, I just assumed they would have tested for that. Oh well, I'll call the lab to see if they've some blood left for testing."

Now I have to email next week for the results I have already been waiting over a week for, from a doctor who seems to lack bedside manor skills in the worst way. And I now have anecdotal evidence that (alongside my experience at NYU) absolutely no student health center in the world will ever be able to adequately serve me and my high-maintenance body correctly

All of this is to say is that, aside from the student health center I have no idea where in Australia I can go get a doctor who can give me the service and support I need to feel healthy and comfortable while I'm here. I don't have the public health insurance option, so most places I'd have to pay for consultations. I don't like the feeling of uneasiness I get when trying to figure out if I can go to doctors here, and who can take care of my special needs well. And also, who will recognize me as in need of Women's Health, not Men's Health. I'll be trying a new clinic next week that is near my home and pay a little bit of money to see if they're a better option for my sad, sad body.

In NYC, I know exactly where to go when I feel unwell and know that I won't have to come into the office three times for one issue, unless it's chronic. I won't even need to come into the office for test results, as they're digitally sent to me. I asked the doctor at the university why things weren't digitized here, and he snarkily said, "Well, if we did that you'd have to pay as much here as you do in the US!"

Don't worry, though - my other upcoming posts will be a lot more cheerful.

Health, Food, & Stormwater Details

One of the downsides of being so away from the US is being far from my family. When there's a health problem with a loved one, I am too far away to do anything useful or helpful. And I am most definitely too far away to make a quick day trip to them to see how things are going.

Since I've been in Australia, my parents have taken turns admitting themselves into the hospital, for various problems. Each time I get notice that they've had a health "hiccup" and it needs "fine tuning", my heart sinks. I feel guilty for not being in the country to help out, and I start wondering if the universe is sending me signals to stay put in the US and give up my nomadic lifestyle. I doubt my path a bit.

Fortunately, my parents are incredibly supportive of my travels, and have maintained positive outlooks whenever they have to go to the hospital. And I know they both have support and family with them - that helps a lot. But still.

This is definitely one of the hardest parts of living abroad for me.

Speaking of health, I wish I had realized that living on the other side of the planet also meant that I might need to manage my health differently, too. Why is this? Because I had gotten a flu shot in October in NYC, when it was flu season there. Simple enough.

I went to the doctor's office on Wednesday to get prescription refills for while I'm here. The doctor looked at my laundry list of medical conditions (probably the word "auto-immune" came up one-too-many times for her), and asked me if I wanted a flu shot for the upcoming flu season.

Because we're going into fall now, and that's when flu season turns up - not in October, but in fall. Such a strange thing to have needed to remember! Since the vaccine I got in the US was not effective for this year's outbreaks, they had to make a new shot for the rest of the world.

I received another dose of flu shots - this time, with the new strains for which to look out.

I wish it hadn't affected me as much as it did, but I was bedridden for a good evening and felt gross for a couple days afterwards. I felt queasy and weak, and my arm's vibrant red took a solid 3 days to lessen. If I still get flu during this season after all of my shots...I don't know what I'll do.

On other more pleasant thoughts, I got to eat Eritrean food with most of my class. The restaurant is run by volunteers who are often refugees from that area of the world in hopes to gain skills for future employment. Being the altruists that we are, we went as a large group to try out the food.

For those who don't know, Eritrean food is a lot like Ethiopian (and I love Ethiopian food). That means we had heaps of spongy injera bread with a selection of stewed vegetables and meats at which to pluck away. The only difference I perceived was that the portion sizes were enormous!! We had ordered enough for the 13 of us, and we took home at least 4 containers back with food.

It was fun to teach my classmates how to eat the foreign food, though I was surprised that the only people who had experienced this meal before were the Americans. Cali Michael and I pulled apart our injera and dug into the stews while everyone else (even the South Asian!) politely managed the dishes with forks and knives.

Another nice day was yesterday. Aussie Kylie invited a few of us to her family's house in the sea town called Redcliffe for a Good Friday lunch, as nothing else was open for us to do in Brisbane all day. People really take Easter seriously here - everything is closed Friday through Monday for the holiday weekend.

We drove up in the morning and found ourselves in a magnificent, sun-drenched apartment with Kylie's welcoming family. Her brother had just come back from a holiday in Japan, and there was delicious incense burning subtly in the background.

The day was full of delicious foods (We had lamb lollies, guys! My rite of passage to Australia has finally come.) and pleasant conversations. I brought Bundaberg soda to share, of course Kylie's dad is actually a local hotshot in the water governance world, and he was interested in our classwork and interesting to listen to.

There was a yacht race on the waterfront located right out of the balcony, and we enjoyed watching the boats tug along towards Moreton Bay. Afterwards, we walked along the beach sands and scoped out the festival stalls sitting on the boardwalk. Redcliffe is a very peaceful and laid back sea town, and the picnic grass just behind the beachfront was riddled with plenty of people to watch. We were able to ogle at the sweet puppies that pranced up and down the shore and talked about the management of stormwater run-off in the area. It was a wonderful reminder that sometimes I need to get out of my place to resettle my brain.

A brief & simple water lesson!

For those who are interested in what stormwater run-off is, it's basically the water that comes from rain or storms and drains into a body of water. Often, urban areas combine that water with whatever wastewater accumulates into public sewage systems (including those storm drains you see on the sides of the road) and dump them into the waterways, like the sea. Think car petrol and grass clippings and exhaust. Sometimes this combination of urban waste and stormwater can make huge issues in the safety of the water, both in the sea and sometimes even in the water underground that you may use for things like wells (we call it groundwater). It pollutes the water with all of those gross things that come from our houses and cars, and can create quite a lot of trouble with wildlife. Like weeds.

It's especially bad when it can flood, and then it's just a free-for-all with the grossness that can get into all of the water supplies. I know NYC has this problem in certain areas, like the Bronx - one of the stormwater drains into the Bronx River and really makes the river smelly and toxic for aquatic life (especially after storms). And swimming is definitely off the table, unless you want to glow in the dark. Nasty.