I don't like 'em anyway you cut it, auditionee or auditioner, because either way someone is staring at you and expecting something, which has always made me uncomfortable (see: why I refuse to teach in a classroom and have had to be talked into teaching contemporary technique classes). As much as I can talk about being one of the few trained choreographers here, I still often feel like a little kid on the big kid's playground.
Anyway, this one was kind of a mess, somewhere around 25 young kids, of two hip hop groups, mostly guys and of the seven girls, only three or four could actually dance. They did a routine of entirely sexy movements, while all the while staring at the ground. Charming. The guys were a bit better, in the one group all tough, the other group looking like a motley crew of kids in comparison, but turned out to be equally good dancers.
I was looking for a couple things -- the plain old ability to move your body is pretty important and not that obvious apparently ---
Well I guess I haven't actually said this yet because I haven't actually signed a contract yet and I didn't want to talk myself into where I'm not, which I've done before, but seeing as they're having me audition dancers I think I can safely say that I'm signing on with Cambodian Television Network to choreograph the back up dance for their weekend concerts. They have five, three are "slow" and under my responsibility.
The current state of backup dance on the concerts is pretty abysmal, with freelancers that aren't together and have no energy or stage presence to speak of (sorry, just telling it like it is.) They are hiring a whole new group of dancers -- proving to be more complicated than anticipated thanks to the turnout at auditions -- and choreographers (yours truly) to build it up from the ground and make something worth watching.
I think it's going to be a fascinating experience for me and my career, and am quite looking forward to it, but getting the songs on Wednesday for a Saturday concert and thus having two days to prepare close to 12 songs is going to be extremely challenging -- especially since I'm going to have to basically teach the entire vocabulary and technique to the dancers.
As such, I was watching for fast learners, very important. I always watch for stage presence. This time I added a couple other criteria to the list -- do they respond well to being put under stress (learning a lot quickly and being tossed out on their own, corrections, etc), and do they seem like fun people?
The last might seem strange, but let me tell you what -- if we are going to be working together every week under extreme conditions, we damn well better like each other. We don't have time for butting heads or personal problems.
Drama comes here too -- one of the groups was upset because the assistant for the fast choreographer taught their phrase, which they felt gave that group an unfair advantage. They were still talking about it when I left. I hate drama. I try to avoid it as much as I can, though artists have a disproportionately large amount of it, which I've never understood.
Anywho, it will probably all come to naught, as the production managers get last say, and they'll probably stick me with my last choices. Welcome to television, Gillian!
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Imprinted on my eyelids: Friday night out
I remember the place like this: black chalkboard walls and low blue light, people and live rap and then whenever someone took a picture, everything would go pure white for a full second except for whatever I had been looking at at the moment the flash hit, imprinted in white.
The latter half of the evening was like that, flashes of white and the memory of an image floating in my eyes, like capturing little bits of eternity. It was a fundraiser for detainees and the heart of the urban art scene here, spoken word poetry and performances, on the spot rapping, some crazy reggae style Khmer band, and DJs, in a little random bar where the bartenders juggle the bottles while making one of the three cocktails available.
I was there until about two, dancing and as happy as a clam, but at a certain point I was getting tired and my feet were hurting, having worn heels (and jeans, it's been positively cool), so I managed to head outside precisely as a rainstorm was hitting and was absolutely thoroughly soaked by the time I arrived home.
The night didn't begin there, though, it began in a really too-cold auditorium at a show that started a half hour late and ran an hour late for the closing of the Youth Arts Festival. The show itself was an eclectic mix of things -- a somewhat too-long but nevertheless interesting shadow puppet performance, a duo of old, extremely good musicians singing apparently hilarious stories in Khmer to judge from the audience reaction, and a blind, very old man sitting in a chair and recounting a story with at least five characters -- by himself, each character with a distinct voice and style. It was really quite surprising.
What followed then were a couple of attempts at contemporary dance, one made by the kids I worked with in Siem Reap (who have been a joy to see around at the festival, as they are also so happy to see me and so sweet) which left me with my hands over my face and solemnly swearing I had nothing to do with the piece (which I didn't), and one choreographed by someone I don't know but danced by a couple of my students, which left me scrambling for a notebook and a pen.
I don't want to say they were bad, but they looked to me like what someone thought contemporary dance should look like. It looked like people doing technical movements without having the backing or the training to do them cleanly and well, and the second piece was essentially taking what the two kids do best -- for one, looking statuesque and sexy, and the other, bending in all sorts of crazy ways -- and doing it for five minutes.
In any way, it told me exactly what I need to teach them, so that was fine.
The coolest part for me was afterwards, when one of my other students was performing with her band outside, and I got to have some dance bonding time with the kids. I did notice sometime halfway through that I was the only white person around, but no matter, they didn't care and I didn't care. It ended strangely with the group very angry because apparently the organization was terrible and they were frustrated with CLA because of it. I guess drama is everywhere you go, and as always with drama I'll be staying very far away, especially if it's between an organization I am intimately implicated in by working for the ED, and students to whom I am very tied to as well. As always, I'll just stay on both sides and let it play out as it will.
But in any case, the night continued for me in spectacular fashion, as I saw another student, now more friend, at the event and got to chat for a bit before hitting the dance floor.
Good music, good friends, and dance, dance dance. That is all I will ever need.
The latter half of the evening was like that, flashes of white and the memory of an image floating in my eyes, like capturing little bits of eternity. It was a fundraiser for detainees and the heart of the urban art scene here, spoken word poetry and performances, on the spot rapping, some crazy reggae style Khmer band, and DJs, in a little random bar where the bartenders juggle the bottles while making one of the three cocktails available.
I was there until about two, dancing and as happy as a clam, but at a certain point I was getting tired and my feet were hurting, having worn heels (and jeans, it's been positively cool), so I managed to head outside precisely as a rainstorm was hitting and was absolutely thoroughly soaked by the time I arrived home.
The night didn't begin there, though, it began in a really too-cold auditorium at a show that started a half hour late and ran an hour late for the closing of the Youth Arts Festival. The show itself was an eclectic mix of things -- a somewhat too-long but nevertheless interesting shadow puppet performance, a duo of old, extremely good musicians singing apparently hilarious stories in Khmer to judge from the audience reaction, and a blind, very old man sitting in a chair and recounting a story with at least five characters -- by himself, each character with a distinct voice and style. It was really quite surprising.
What followed then were a couple of attempts at contemporary dance, one made by the kids I worked with in Siem Reap (who have been a joy to see around at the festival, as they are also so happy to see me and so sweet) which left me with my hands over my face and solemnly swearing I had nothing to do with the piece (which I didn't), and one choreographed by someone I don't know but danced by a couple of my students, which left me scrambling for a notebook and a pen.
I don't want to say they were bad, but they looked to me like what someone thought contemporary dance should look like. It looked like people doing technical movements without having the backing or the training to do them cleanly and well, and the second piece was essentially taking what the two kids do best -- for one, looking statuesque and sexy, and the other, bending in all sorts of crazy ways -- and doing it for five minutes.
In any way, it told me exactly what I need to teach them, so that was fine.
The coolest part for me was afterwards, when one of my other students was performing with her band outside, and I got to have some dance bonding time with the kids. I did notice sometime halfway through that I was the only white person around, but no matter, they didn't care and I didn't care. It ended strangely with the group very angry because apparently the organization was terrible and they were frustrated with CLA because of it. I guess drama is everywhere you go, and as always with drama I'll be staying very far away, especially if it's between an organization I am intimately implicated in by working for the ED, and students to whom I am very tied to as well. As always, I'll just stay on both sides and let it play out as it will.
But in any case, the night continued for me in spectacular fashion, as I saw another student, now more friend, at the event and got to chat for a bit before hitting the dance floor.
Good music, good friends, and dance, dance dance. That is all I will ever need.
Monday, November 12, 2012
The White Building
The White Building is not white, but it is notorious. At some point it was built to house artists, a kind of low-income, subsidized housing project. Since then, it has adopted the tag "slum" and if you google it, the majority of the articles talk about the prostitution and drug dealing that found its way inside.
It's often used as a symbol of Cambodian poverty, with its graying, dingy exterior, prison-like halls, washing hung out on the deteriorating walls and tin roofs.
However, it is also home to many artists and families. I have heard all sorts of differing things, the good the bad and the ugly. I see it all the time, stretching down Sothearos blvd and just behind Cambodian Living Arts' main office. It certainly looks awful, people milling about and the usual shops on the ground floor.
I'd never been inside, as I never thought it was my place, and I'd heard enough mixed reviews not to have any particular expectations when, as part of the Cambodian Youth Arts Festival, I found myself among a group of people heading there to check out a gallery that had been set up inside.
I did feel strange about being there, even with other barangs, just because you are such an anomaly and I'm pretty sensitive to energy like that. Despite how helpful the guys chilling in the stairwell -- just sitting, in the dark -- were in directing us to the second gallery, or the residents watching you go by, it did feel like intruding.
The galleries themselves were fascinating -- one was in clearly a schoolroom, where they had classes in everything from ABCs to Yoga, and had set up about ten small TVs, each playing a tape following one resident and letting them discuss their relationship to the building. They were subtitled in English, and that was interesting.
Then the second was much more of a traditional gallery, young artists from the building -- photography, painting, collage, music and video, and a young man working on the spot -- drizzling paint into a Styrofoam box filled with water and passing a sheet of paper in the water to pick up streaks of paint. All the materials used were apparently readily available in the building.
The apartments I saw were cozy and well furnished, and the hallways were filled with young children, who shouted "hello" as loudly as they could and touched my hands as I passed. They loved the exhibits, crowding around the TVs and giggling, or hovering, fascinated, as the artist working with the paint, water, and paper.
I can't say I made any judgments or learned it to actually be one thing or the other. As with many things, I think the truth is always more complicated than the words spoken about it. It was clearly a community, clearly desperately poor but still going on, the kids still kids. It was precisely what it was, and nothing else.
I'm glad I got to see it.
It's often used as a symbol of Cambodian poverty, with its graying, dingy exterior, prison-like halls, washing hung out on the deteriorating walls and tin roofs.
However, it is also home to many artists and families. I have heard all sorts of differing things, the good the bad and the ugly. I see it all the time, stretching down Sothearos blvd and just behind Cambodian Living Arts' main office. It certainly looks awful, people milling about and the usual shops on the ground floor.
I'd never been inside, as I never thought it was my place, and I'd heard enough mixed reviews not to have any particular expectations when, as part of the Cambodian Youth Arts Festival, I found myself among a group of people heading there to check out a gallery that had been set up inside.
I did feel strange about being there, even with other barangs, just because you are such an anomaly and I'm pretty sensitive to energy like that. Despite how helpful the guys chilling in the stairwell -- just sitting, in the dark -- were in directing us to the second gallery, or the residents watching you go by, it did feel like intruding.
The galleries themselves were fascinating -- one was in clearly a schoolroom, where they had classes in everything from ABCs to Yoga, and had set up about ten small TVs, each playing a tape following one resident and letting them discuss their relationship to the building. They were subtitled in English, and that was interesting.
Then the second was much more of a traditional gallery, young artists from the building -- photography, painting, collage, music and video, and a young man working on the spot -- drizzling paint into a Styrofoam box filled with water and passing a sheet of paper in the water to pick up streaks of paint. All the materials used were apparently readily available in the building.
The apartments I saw were cozy and well furnished, and the hallways were filled with young children, who shouted "hello" as loudly as they could and touched my hands as I passed. They loved the exhibits, crowding around the TVs and giggling, or hovering, fascinated, as the artist working with the paint, water, and paper.
I can't say I made any judgments or learned it to actually be one thing or the other. As with many things, I think the truth is always more complicated than the words spoken about it. It was clearly a community, clearly desperately poor but still going on, the kids still kids. It was precisely what it was, and nothing else.
I'm glad I got to see it.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Things are changing, or I'm noticing what has always been
I'm still a spectacle.
It is not unusual for the inhabitants of a tuktuk full of Cambodian people to openly stare when I bike past, or for one to poke their friends and point. I wonder sometimes what they are saying to each other, if they are making fun or just remarking. Heck, white people in tuktuks stare too and comment to each other, and I wonder about that too.
Sometimes I think it's amusing. Mostly I just find it annoying and somewhat perturbing.
And yet.
A kid in Brown café smiled at me the other day. I don't know why he did, as he was almost certainly gayer than Christmas, but he was there with a friend and when I left, he offered me the most stunning smile.
In town for the Youth Arts Festival, my students from Siem Reap have started, as far as I can tell, a contest to see who can get the most hugs from me. They smile and wave and generally cause an uproar whenever they catch sight of me.
At the opening of said Youth Arts Festival, I found people I knew everywhere, the heart of the arts scene here, and was truly disappointed that I wasn't able to talk to all of them.
Again to my surprise, I think I've been adopted.
I don't really understand how it happened, but honestly -- it's wonderful.
EDIT: I just used the tag "home" for this post. In fact, the toughest thing about being here is how far away my family and friends are, and I can't just go for a visit whenever. But somehow, as places tend to do, whether or not I have anything to do with it, I used the tag because I think it's becoming true.
It is not unusual for the inhabitants of a tuktuk full of Cambodian people to openly stare when I bike past, or for one to poke their friends and point. I wonder sometimes what they are saying to each other, if they are making fun or just remarking. Heck, white people in tuktuks stare too and comment to each other, and I wonder about that too.
Sometimes I think it's amusing. Mostly I just find it annoying and somewhat perturbing.
And yet.
A kid in Brown café smiled at me the other day. I don't know why he did, as he was almost certainly gayer than Christmas, but he was there with a friend and when I left, he offered me the most stunning smile.
In town for the Youth Arts Festival, my students from Siem Reap have started, as far as I can tell, a contest to see who can get the most hugs from me. They smile and wave and generally cause an uproar whenever they catch sight of me.
At the opening of said Youth Arts Festival, I found people I knew everywhere, the heart of the arts scene here, and was truly disappointed that I wasn't able to talk to all of them.
Again to my surprise, I think I've been adopted.
I don't really understand how it happened, but honestly -- it's wonderful.
EDIT: I just used the tag "home" for this post. In fact, the toughest thing about being here is how far away my family and friends are, and I can't just go for a visit whenever. But somehow, as places tend to do, whether or not I have anything to do with it, I used the tag because I think it's becoming true.
Friday, November 9, 2012
Very much to my surprise, I'm staying
You might remember that at some point on this blog, in a fit of uncertainty and culture shock, I wrote that I had no idea why I'm here.
Well, actually?
I still don't.
And yet, somehow, despite everything -- I think I'm staying. For how long is anyone's guess. I'm going home for a visit in March, that's for sure, but when I come back -- and yes I'm coming back -- I think I'm here until I leave. My head is trying to attach a date, because it likes doing that and it feels uncomfortable enough with the concept that I somehow ended up here, of all places (like every single one of my friends: why Cambodia, of all places???).
But my instructions from the universe are pretty clear: stay until you know it's time to leave. (Thanks, that's super helpful...)
I don't know why. When I think about it I'm very confused. Not three months ago I think I was muttering and cursing about how I was sure as hell learning a lot but damn it get me out of here when the time is up.
But if I kick my head out of the game, I am left with this calm, perfect certainty that this country is not done with me, nor me with it, and for whatever reason this is precisely where I need to be, until such time as it is time to leave.
Intellectually, what my brain can understand is that I'm very used to spending short, intense amounts of time in places, smushing a bunch of life-changing experiences into 6-11 months, at which point I go home to Denver and have my parents help put me back together for another go at it, onto something else. That was what this trip was supposed to be like, too.
Except it feels different now. This isn't anymore about packing a boatload of experiences into a short time and then moving on. When I go home in March, it will be as a visit. And then I will return to the same place. This time I feel like I'm actually building something, maybe setting groundwork for a much longer something. I'm not on the semester system anymore and maybe my soul is transitioning before my mind can. Okay, we don't have to move every six months, so I'm just gonna sink in some roots here, do you mind?
Uh....well, I guess not?
Well, actually?
I still don't.
And yet, somehow, despite everything -- I think I'm staying. For how long is anyone's guess. I'm going home for a visit in March, that's for sure, but when I come back -- and yes I'm coming back -- I think I'm here until I leave. My head is trying to attach a date, because it likes doing that and it feels uncomfortable enough with the concept that I somehow ended up here, of all places (like every single one of my friends: why Cambodia, of all places???).
But my instructions from the universe are pretty clear: stay until you know it's time to leave. (Thanks, that's super helpful...)
I don't know why. When I think about it I'm very confused. Not three months ago I think I was muttering and cursing about how I was sure as hell learning a lot but damn it get me out of here when the time is up.
But if I kick my head out of the game, I am left with this calm, perfect certainty that this country is not done with me, nor me with it, and for whatever reason this is precisely where I need to be, until such time as it is time to leave.
Intellectually, what my brain can understand is that I'm very used to spending short, intense amounts of time in places, smushing a bunch of life-changing experiences into 6-11 months, at which point I go home to Denver and have my parents help put me back together for another go at it, onto something else. That was what this trip was supposed to be like, too.
Except it feels different now. This isn't anymore about packing a boatload of experiences into a short time and then moving on. When I go home in March, it will be as a visit. And then I will return to the same place. This time I feel like I'm actually building something, maybe setting groundwork for a much longer something. I'm not on the semester system anymore and maybe my soul is transitioning before my mind can. Okay, we don't have to move every six months, so I'm just gonna sink in some roots here, do you mind?
Uh....well, I guess not?
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Tuesday Night Chatter
Can be summed up quite simply:
Stress.
And the elections. (which is a main cause of said stress.)
It is not the only, as this week is the first week of about a month long stretch of insanity. On the work side, I'm leaving one job (I think) and as such have a million projects to finish, starting another (I think) and getting a trial by fire as far as I can tell, and then on the job that isn't changing, there are two incredibly important things happening (a festival and a delegation) both of which I am doing a lot of work for, not including the incredibly important grant for which I am in charge of translating all the documents. (ulp!)
On the personal projects side, I had to pull the plug on one project due to a gross misunderstanding of the project's goals, process, and expectations with my collaborator, for which nobody is really at fault but you just can't work like that. Until it was resolved yesterday, it was cause for a lot of uncertainty and anxiety on my part. Then, in a couple weeks, I'm starting a new project, which I'm very excited about but will add about 20 hours of rehearsal with my students to the schedule (hence why I'm leaving the one job, I think.)
And then there are these elections.
Which is all I really want to say about them, except that it's very scary.
Anyway, all of this I am assuming is why my stomach has been tied up in knots all day, as that's usually how I process stress. I don't want to be a drama queen and I can imagine you, my dear readers, are wondering to yourselves, so when is she going to talk about Cambodia and not about all the stuff she has to do??? -- and I wouldn't blame you.
To tell you the truth, I don't know what 'Cambodia' is right now. I don't know what stories to tell and what makes a good story. Right now, Cambodia is what I'm doing. It is not anymore the markets or the crazy this I saw. While it is not "home" in that way, and I don't think it ever will be fully -- it is comfortable. The mad traffic is normal -- the fact that four months after buying the bloody thing I realized that my back brakes are controlled by the LEFT handlebar on my bike is not -- as well as the food and the crazy fruit. And the "hello lady" shouts I still get.
I am no less of a barang than I was before but perhaps I am getting used to being one, being the Foreigner, and it doesn't jar me quite so much as it used to. Occasionally I pick my head up, like at lunch today while pulling out the meat from a still very much intact fish (which for my previously fishhead-shy persona would have been impossible), and notice the changes.
It is the subject of another blog post about how I feel about that. In the meantime, I think my point is that these projects, the work -- not the elections, thank god -- that is what Cambodia is right now. If I think of some more adventure type things to discuss, I will.
Basically, tonight is about -- sometimes I think my head is not big enough to fit everything it's supposed to be keeping track of -- and the bloody elections.
We should talk more after tomorrow.
Or not, depending on the outcome -- if it goes badly, you'll find me somewhere in a corner. Then we'll have to talk in a week or two.
Stress.
And the elections. (which is a main cause of said stress.)
It is not the only, as this week is the first week of about a month long stretch of insanity. On the work side, I'm leaving one job (I think) and as such have a million projects to finish, starting another (I think) and getting a trial by fire as far as I can tell, and then on the job that isn't changing, there are two incredibly important things happening (a festival and a delegation) both of which I am doing a lot of work for, not including the incredibly important grant for which I am in charge of translating all the documents. (ulp!)
On the personal projects side, I had to pull the plug on one project due to a gross misunderstanding of the project's goals, process, and expectations with my collaborator, for which nobody is really at fault but you just can't work like that. Until it was resolved yesterday, it was cause for a lot of uncertainty and anxiety on my part. Then, in a couple weeks, I'm starting a new project, which I'm very excited about but will add about 20 hours of rehearsal with my students to the schedule (hence why I'm leaving the one job, I think.)
And then there are these elections.
Which is all I really want to say about them, except that it's very scary.
Anyway, all of this I am assuming is why my stomach has been tied up in knots all day, as that's usually how I process stress. I don't want to be a drama queen and I can imagine you, my dear readers, are wondering to yourselves, so when is she going to talk about Cambodia and not about all the stuff she has to do??? -- and I wouldn't blame you.
To tell you the truth, I don't know what 'Cambodia' is right now. I don't know what stories to tell and what makes a good story. Right now, Cambodia is what I'm doing. It is not anymore the markets or the crazy this I saw. While it is not "home" in that way, and I don't think it ever will be fully -- it is comfortable. The mad traffic is normal -- the fact that four months after buying the bloody thing I realized that my back brakes are controlled by the LEFT handlebar on my bike is not -- as well as the food and the crazy fruit. And the "hello lady" shouts I still get.
I am no less of a barang than I was before but perhaps I am getting used to being one, being the Foreigner, and it doesn't jar me quite so much as it used to. Occasionally I pick my head up, like at lunch today while pulling out the meat from a still very much intact fish (which for my previously fishhead-shy persona would have been impossible), and notice the changes.
It is the subject of another blog post about how I feel about that. In the meantime, I think my point is that these projects, the work -- not the elections, thank god -- that is what Cambodia is right now. If I think of some more adventure type things to discuss, I will.
Basically, tonight is about -- sometimes I think my head is not big enough to fit everything it's supposed to be keeping track of -- and the bloody elections.
We should talk more after tomorrow.
Or not, depending on the outcome -- if it goes badly, you'll find me somewhere in a corner. Then we'll have to talk in a week or two.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Just not my scene: The backpackers
I got talked into going. I suppose in the end it was a good enough evening, but --
I've mentioned this before, and I don't want to point at it as bad or wrong. It's just that in Phnom Penh, and more concentrated in Siem Reap, there is this scene of almost entirely expat, young people, who are here to party, hang out with each other, but just in different countries. Most of them are just passing through, here for and not everyone who was at the Halloween party at Eighty8 last night is like this, but there were certainly plenty.
Apparently the guesthouse is known as a 'backpacker's hangout'. In Phnom Penh these are more spread out, though we have our own version of Pub Street on 278, where I also found myself last night.
I don't want to get into a holier-than-thou kind of thing. I freely acknowledge that I am becoming more boring by the minute, as anything that doesn't have to do with my projects, work, and career is getting less and less interesting and I literally have to be dragged out at night. It's not because I'm trying to make a point, it's just not where my head is at right now.
And for whatever reason, I just don't understand this backpacker scene. I don't get why you would go to a foreign country and spend your time partying among people like yourself. Maybe it's just an evening thing and you spend the days exploring, but what if you're spending the day just seeing the sights, looking at the places the guide says to, and then going back to party? Or maybe I'm missing the point.
Either way, I don't get it. I guess if it works for the people inside it, that's fantastic. And it's not like I'm saying I want to avoid all expat scenes. Part of the challenge of being here is learning to balance the cultures -- eschewing western culture altogether is not the solution, and I find often that a good western coffee shop does wonders in the midst of a crazily different world.
But there's a different energy, between the backpackers and the coffee shop. The former just has an energy I'm not comfortable with.
New plan: embrace what has been called my "getting-old"ness and zone in on what matters the most to me!
I've mentioned this before, and I don't want to point at it as bad or wrong. It's just that in Phnom Penh, and more concentrated in Siem Reap, there is this scene of almost entirely expat, young people, who are here to party, hang out with each other, but just in different countries. Most of them are just passing through, here for and not everyone who was at the Halloween party at Eighty8 last night is like this, but there were certainly plenty.
Apparently the guesthouse is known as a 'backpacker's hangout'. In Phnom Penh these are more spread out, though we have our own version of Pub Street on 278, where I also found myself last night.
I don't want to get into a holier-than-thou kind of thing. I freely acknowledge that I am becoming more boring by the minute, as anything that doesn't have to do with my projects, work, and career is getting less and less interesting and I literally have to be dragged out at night. It's not because I'm trying to make a point, it's just not where my head is at right now.
And for whatever reason, I just don't understand this backpacker scene. I don't get why you would go to a foreign country and spend your time partying among people like yourself. Maybe it's just an evening thing and you spend the days exploring, but what if you're spending the day just seeing the sights, looking at the places the guide says to, and then going back to party? Or maybe I'm missing the point.
Either way, I don't get it. I guess if it works for the people inside it, that's fantastic. And it's not like I'm saying I want to avoid all expat scenes. Part of the challenge of being here is learning to balance the cultures -- eschewing western culture altogether is not the solution, and I find often that a good western coffee shop does wonders in the midst of a crazily different world.
But there's a different energy, between the backpackers and the coffee shop. The former just has an energy I'm not comfortable with.
New plan: embrace what has been called my "getting-old"ness and zone in on what matters the most to me!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)