At long, long, last we come to stories (well a story) about Europe!

You thought it would never happen but here we go! It's Europe time! (Actually in real time it's Asia time but let's try to stay on task here).
Should you ever want to feel at home, but at a home that none of us save perhaps Madame Stewart herself (and her lovely team of helpers) could ever keep so spotless, so absolutely immaculately, comfortably, gorgeous, with hosts that are so thoughtful, generous, and really just plain wonderful and fun, then you should search the globe for the location of Juli and Kerri and go to wherever they might be and beg them to let you stay with them. After what was perhaps my best overseas flight ever (little movie screens and I slept for about five hours!) I arrived in Amsterdam and into the blessed folds of Juli's care. Incredibly after dropping my things at Juli and Kerri's Rotterdam apartment (here's the part where my jaw drops with the stunning beauty and design of their apartment and the most comfortable/luxurious guest bedroom in which I've ever stayed...i could go on), I had enough energy to go out. So out we went to a large street market. I could easily go day by day and tell you about the wonders each day held but in the interest of being fair to other countries and my own internet constraints I won't. But I will give a highlights tour! Really everything was a highlight though, but here goes nothing. There was the Dalai Lama exhibit (after which I began thinking seriously of adding Tibet to the itinerary--next time), the former WWII concentration camp in Belgium (the only one to have a specially designed torture chamber--yep that was special. If you ever want to feel the presence of residual evil that's your place. It was inexplicable.), a trip to Amsterdam to find the Van Essendelft row house complete with family crest--success! and one of my favorite days, a sojourn to Delft where traditionaly mini pancake puffs called poffertjes were consumed ala "Bill Clinton" (whipped cream, strawberries and powdered sugar--i shudder to think about it). Delft also provided the best sandwich of my life thus far, well top 5 for sure. Delft and really only the Dutch also provided some R-rated gummy candies for our little Halloween dinner and even Lael benefited later from their gummy goodness. Another trip highlight was realized when Juli, Kerri and I had dinner in an old wind mill. Despite being a very very picky meat eater I felt it necessary, in a moment of perfect poetic justice, to order the stuffed breast of Guinea fowl. It was delicious. The pleasure of sweet, sweet revenge. In Holland I ate well, I slept well, I bathed well (trust me that was thrilling), and I enjoyed every second of it. Perhaps I ate too well as I've continued to pad my frame with what I like to call the recent-grad-gut, the post-college-chub, or the general addition of winter warmth. Hmmm, too bad it's not really that cold here.
After the five days I was in Holland zipped away I found myself ensconced on the fast train via Brussels to my (again at least in the top 5, or 15), and the rest of the world's favorite city, Paris. But that's a story for another day, or at least another hour.

A current update, I'm writing from an internet cafe in Bangkok and for those of you truly loyal readers it is a rather emotionally significant internet cafe because it is where I finally wrote the email detailing my Global Semester abroad experience that I like to call "near death on a train." In a complete turn around though I have become totally enamoured with street vendor food and so here I sit literally stuffed with tasty and ridiculously inexpensive tidbits. For example, for less than 4 US$ I had a dinner consisting of the following: one bowl of chicken and fat noodle soup, 1 bottle water, 1 green coconut (for drinking), 5 little packets of an oddly seasoned lavender sticky rice paste substance filled with some sort of sweet bean like paste bought from a really cute old lady--I think the rice maybe tasted of cumin(I only ate one--good, but one was enough), 4 leaf packets of sticky rice--2 filled with sweet mung bean paste and 2 with pink banana and red beans (also bought from two really cute old ladies), and finally a plate full of tiny gooey coconut pancakes. I am nearing food coma. And No Mom, I did not eat it all. Though not for lack of trying... ;)

So this is were I leave all of you, at least for the time being.
I apologize for the randomness, length, run on sentences and irregularity of these entries but I do hope that in them you find at least some small enjoyment. I wish I could be more descriptive and really hope to revisit a more focused but more evocative style of blogging sometime in the near future. On that note, off I go to walk off some of this rice weight! ;)

All my love,
Sara

Thanksgiving (and SOON the european adventure)

Happy Thanksgiving friends! I wanted to write and tell you about my great adventures creating Thanksgiving in the lovely seaside city of Galway on the coast of southern Ireland. It began with several excursions to the local grocery store, a handful of called in favors to find a turkey, well, two turkeys, and borrowing of pots, plates and glasses from a lovely cluster of Irish friends--friends of my dear darling friend who is living here with her boyfriend for the time being. She too is going home to good old Minnesota, but she'll be back in time for Christmas, unlike yours truly. Ok back to the food, which is of course the most important part of Thanksgiving... well sure behind people and family and stuff...I suppose. ;) So yesterday the whole process began with the first wave of the great attack: The List. For anyone who knows my beloved mother, you will understand the importance, nay, sanctity of The List. In fact The List is so vitally important that my Mom made doubly certain that I had started mine days ago (What she didn't know is that much of it was mental...hehe). Anyway, The List (in my Mom's case) is basically the battle plan, the master plan, the grand scheme, in fact it is everything. So back to the first wave of the great attack. Yesterday friend Lael and I did the unthinkable--we handled, coddled, washed the turkeys. Plural. I hate touching raw meat. But I managed, both Lael and I touched bits of raw bird that I never ever wanted to have to handle. It was a moment of true pride when we saw them clean and ready. As we had slightly frozen birds we were unable to brine, we were unable to salt rub, and so we did the best we could and we improvised. There on the table sat a can of hard cider, "hmmm" I thought. So in went the turkey, in went the cider, in went clove, star anise, salt, herbs and water. And thus our turkey, Albert, marinated. Alfred found his way into the kitchen sink in a similar bath but topped off with ice cubes. Lael and I crossed our fingers. The rest of the afternoon I intermittenly crumbled the crackers, I mixed seasonings, I mixed spices, and dearest friends, best of all, after several episodes of "Grey's Anatomy" I made pie. My baking guru (well, one of them) the best and most beautiful lady I know (who, by the way turned 89 yesterday), my Grammy, has discovered the loveliest pie crust recipe ever to grace the earth. So two gorgeous pumpkin pies emerged one cooled, cut and plated and the other nestled in the one and only borrowed pie pan. Day 1 of the plan had been executed. This morning I hauled my sorry self out of bed at 8:15 to prepare Albert's roasting pan--carrots, leeks, onions, a good rinse, and Lael was roused to help put Albert in his roasting bag. Out she came with a grumble but the bird made his way into the bag and into the oven. And we made our ways back to bed. The rest of the day we cleaned like mad, took a golden Albert from the oven, made gravy (batch number one), made the first batch of stuffing, made the escalloped corn, the mashed potatoes (a HUGE quantity), and put dear Alfred into the oven. Apparently hard cider brined turkey makes excellent gravy. The gravy has always been of utmost importance to me and this was perfect--creamy, salty, flavorful--perfect. Ahhh ecstasy. Lael mulled the wine and our guests arrived, Irish cream of veg soup, brownies, toddler, two six year olds, plates, bowls, and more wine in tow. We had a total of 11 people for Thanksgiving, 3 of them 6 or under. Everything was lovely: veg soup and bread, mulled wine, two kinds of stuffing (one veg and one sausage), escalloped corn, mashed potatoes, gravy, turkey, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie with whipped cream, sparkling wine, and brownies. It was lovely. It all turned out, it was all yummy, scrumptious, and delicious. The whole night, the food, the friends (old and new), was great--such a grown up experience. In fact, as they say in Ireland, "It was feckin' gorgeous."

I wish you all a wonderful Thanksgiving and this year I am thankful for friends and family, for safe travels, and for realizing what a world of opportunities is out there, and also for realizing that there is no place like home!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Love,
Sara

finally finishing up tanzania!

wow. so it's been forever since i last graced you loyal readers with my wit, poise and well, let's face it, incredible klutzyness and downright ridiculous tendency to have sketchy bathroom catastrophes. Anyway, suffice it to say I'm back. so last i wrote i was in mufindi i believe, but let's skip right along to the amazing iringa safari adventure! so afer my fond farewell to the beloved foxy family i was off to Iringa to meet up with the Tanzanian Minnesota contingent. Well, let's make a long story short, once my dear old Dad and family friend Ken came on the scene we were off to Ruaha wildlife park and there we visited our wild savannah friends--most notably: little lady cheetah who chirped so sweetly to call her twin babies before slinking all three away into the night, a gorgeous leopard who catwalked across a bright sunlit dry riverbed of a runway, and perhaps my favorite, the two newly gorged lions. Actually, they deserve a paragraph themselves. We happened upon two nice sleepy male lions lying near the dry riverbed, happily content after their feast. There they lay fat and sleek, the one gorged to the point of true rotundness, his ballooning tummy up in the air. As we watched mr. lion flapped his massive paws in the air before literally groaning and flopping over onto his other side as if to say "uhhhh, soooo full, soooo full. why oh why did I eat that last bit of wildebeast? so wrong but it felt so right." As we continued to watch he continued to slowly flop from side to side every couple of minutes in his vain attempt to get comfy. It was actually one of the funniest animal antics I've ever seen. Other than my chubby lion boys there was the usual elephant, giraffe, zebra, and birdy experiences. Actually one of the coolest things that happened was being awakened one night by the low, earth shaking growls of a male lion outside our safari camp area. It was one of the most oddly beautiful things I've ever heard or experienced. It was so soulful, unworldly, physically gripping, and addictive. I listened for several minutes and when he'd finally roared his claim on land and lionesses into the sky, and all was quiet, I waited up hoping to hear more.
The rest of my time in Tanzania was lovely, I stayed with some wonderful missionaries and being with family, Daddy!, and good family friend, Ken!, was amazing. We all got to visit a school where the students performed traditional dances, SO COOL!!!, and an acrobatic type show as well as some serious athletics--namely leaping over an incrementally raised string. It was just absolutely cool. Someday I'll be able to post pictures...
So that basically wraps up Tanzania. It ended up being a really good experience, it was hard but I learned alot about myself and the world, and honestly wasn't that the goal? Of course I also had some pretty amazing adventures and left with some crazy stories. I am glad to have moved on (for quite some time now...oops!), but I will miss Tanzania and the people I met there.

Well my dears in the interest of keeping up it's time to be moving right along to....drum roll...the European Extravaganza!

I'll be writing about that tomorrow, really, I promise!

Lots of love!

and now Mufindi

So our story brings us back to Mufindi where I spent an absolutely idyllic smattering of days. Master of Ceremonies as well as Social Coordinator Fox put me through my paces. In fact on my first morning (although Mr. Fox was not there) I was awakened, an exhausted blob, and merrily sent off on a horse back riding expedition with Daudi. Frequently, during our hour and a half long expedition Daudi would hopefully suggest, "We trot now?" or "Maybe we can try cantering now?", only to be stopped shortly afterwards by my squeals as I would start to slide sideways off the horse. Pretty sure that's not supposed to happen. "up down, up down" Daudi would command as we trotted and dutifully I would try to follow, but my feet would slide forward in the stirrups until I was lucky if I could get any grip at all. It was a good try though, and with the correct shoes (for me) we were both certain that I would be more successful... Anyway, as we made our awkward way through the luscious green tea fields, Daudi decided to tell me about AIDs in Tanzania. He proceeded to inform me that AIDs is so prevalent largely because Tanzanians do not like to use condoms. He explained, and I quote, "They do not like to use a condom--to use a condom gets in the way of the sweet sweet love. They say it is like eating a banana with the pod on...[he explained]the pod makes the banana bitter but if you peel it, it is again sweet." I kid you not. I honestly didn't know what to say, well, except "Yes, but isn't it better to miss out on some sweet sweet love and not get AIDs?" Anyway, you get the drift.

The following days, after that first fateful morning, were saddle sore but awesome. The Foxes arrived and all activities well and truly commenced. There was touring the farm, going to the coffee plantation with the Foxes and a peacecorp worker from a neighboring village, taking enforced walks, visiting the fish hatchery, International Croquet tourniments, eating, visiting the livestock and vegetable garden, taking hot baths (truly, that was amazing), and just generally learning about what it's like to be a tea farmer in Tanzania. I have to say croquet was a definite favorite. It was an enormous upset when Peacecorp Jim and I, Team America, beat out Team England as well as Team Belgium/France. It was HUGE. ;)
All games of course, are played according to "Local Rules" which is really just what Mr. Fox thinks will make the game more viscious, the stakes higher, and the whole experience better really. Of course, Local Rules also state things like "No one over 65 has to roll down the hill if they lose", or "Siestas are allowed only for those over 65" to name a few. During my roll down the hill I was pushed by a certain gentleman (ahem, FOX) so hard that I made a THWUMP sound and was forever excused from future hill rolling penalties! It was worth it. Besides being home to the best soups and best triple strawberry ice cream Sundays I'd ever found in the world, much less Tanzania, Mufindi also was home to two of the most wonderful, fun, and interesting people I've ever met in my life. Upon leaving I almost cried, although I was going to meet friends and family, because I wouldn't be at Mufindi and wouldn't be with my surrogate Mufindi Fox family.

Well, yet again, not caught up but I still believe! Check again soon for the combined "Iringa, Safari, and Farewell of Tanzania and Holland" update!

Love,
Sara

8 hours in a big bus

Hello my darling friends!
Alas, again I find myself woefully behind in blog updating. So I will attempt to bring things up to speed and maybe just maybe I will stay on top of updates at long last (always the optimist!).
Perhaps the best way to start is to take you with me on my adventurous journey to Mufindi. Our stranded little group was fast approaching a state of panic. Guests were coming to Mufindi and there was no one there to host them. So a solution was reached--I would be put on a bus from Dar to Mafinga where I would be picked up and driven to Mufindi to greet the imminent incoming guests with open arms. With promises of luxury, air conditioning, and a complimentory soda and coconut cookie, I agreed to the plan and prepared for my early morning (the bust left at 6:45 am). At 6:15 I was bundled off to the station and found my way onto the bus and to my seat--the very last row of seats across the back--the middle seat of five, at least I would have an entire aisle's worth of leg room. It wasn't quite what I'd envisioned, naively forgetting that Tanzanian luxury in most cases is quite different from what we might term luxury, so I settled into my shabby seat and prepared for whatever the bus might throw at me. In a wonderous stroke of luck my left side bus neighbor spoke nearly perfect English (not all that common in the general population) and he and his friend basically took it upon themselves to look after me. They told me where we were stopping and why, chatted with me when I was awake, told me when it was safe to get off and make a mad dash to the toilet, they offered to share their food with me (fried chicken and fries), and most importantly they promised to tell me when to get off the bus at my destination (no anouncements were made--you're just supposed to know).

The bus was in fact not air conditioned and as the hours slid by the temperature rose. During the hottest part of the day we passed through flatlands, whizzing past tiny enclaves of small red clay huts thatched with grass; colorfully dressed women tending to their livestock and children in the yard. After the majority of these tiny villages were behind us we hit solid scenery. There is a particularly spectacular section of the 7 hour drive to Iringa, the stop before Mafinga. You drive for about an hour through a valley surrounded by blonde hills covered with the ancient and bizarre baobob trees--there are thousands of these other worldly trees and it is incredible. It is completely inexplicable and can only be approximated through photos. But, of course somehow we had to the valley at some point and that's where the real excitement began.

Driving is insane in Tanzania. It is even more insane in a bus. There is no caution, and everything is executed at top speed. As we climbed out of the valley, hurtling around hairpin curves, I became convinced of my impending doom. I had become accostumed to the rocking, to the speed, to the passing cars and looking ahead into an oncoming car's windshield only to dodge back into the correct lane at the last possible instant, but this was too much. We took the curves of treacherously narrow roads so quickly that the bus would noticeably sway to one side, and then, just as tipping seemed impossible to avoid, we would rock back into alignment. Twenty minutes of this had the girl next to me vomiting into a plastic bag, and me gripping the armrests and chattering nervously to my newfound friends. Imagine going around swithback curves in a 50 seat bus, about 15+ feet tall, at a speed of at least 60 miles an hour. I'm not kidding and I'm not exaggerating. I continued to be shocked at the dangerous driving even after I'd escaped the bus with my life. There was particularly special moment though when Mr. Fox called my phone to ask me where I was, near Iringa I said, where are you? "Flying several thousand feet over Iringa right now!" Well, I'm down here waving to you from the bus, I replied. Actually, despite fearing for my life the whole thing was kind of fun.

So to wrap up our special little tale, after carsick girl got off the bus, I asked Ungu (my new friend) to grab one of the roasted corn on the cob snacks that vendors held hovering temptingly just outside the bus window. I handed him the money but instead he treated me, his friend, and the women ahead of him to the mahindi (swahili for corn on the cob). After that comradery abounded. I shared my cob with the guy on the other side of me and he shared cashew nuts with the rest of us. It was a wonderful final hour on the bus and a memory of Tanzanian generosity and friendship that I won't forget. True to his word, Ungu told the attendant where I was disembarking, and between the two of them there's no way I could have missed my stop. I in fact met in Mafinga and driven sleepily to Mufindi where new adventures awaited me...

But that's another story for another time.

Current news: I've said goodbye to Tanzania and am now staying with family friends for several days in the ancestral homeland--Holland! I'll catch up on blogging somehow!

Love,
Sara

Interpol and Chaos

As I'm sure you've all figured out I am now happily ensconced at the Mufindi Highlands Farm in central Tanzania (although not for long now). So how did I get here you might ask. So here's the story of the great adventures of coming to Mufindi.
The adventure began early one morning I set out with Mr. and Mrs. Fox, saying goodbye to Lazy Lagoon. Along we went in Mr. Fox's fancy new SUV, bouncing through the Tanzanian countryside for a quick stop in Dar before heading onwards... After we'd said our goodbyes to the Fox's Dar contingency we were off to run errands before making our escape from the city. As we drove to our final city destination a traffic police officer beckoned us to the side of the road, where we were informed that Interpol was conducting a search for imported stolen vehicles in cooperation with the Tanzanian government. We were in a quite a rush we told them, and so they popped the hood and disappeared into a van to run the engine serial numbers. Mutely we sat and waited. The three officiers approached as if in slow motion--"Sir we regret to inform you that your vehicle has been positively identified as being stolen. It was stolen from Japan and we have no choice but to sieze and impound it immediately." Silence and shock. We were escorted to the police station, where father Fox was made to write a statement. And we waited, and waited, and waited. We never gave up hope that their in this country of lax government control that the car might be returned to us--the police had determined that the Foxes were in no way responsible or knowledgeable about the theft. But to no avail, the brusque French, and handle-bar mustachioed South African, Interpol officiers would have none of it. At last after withering in the heat of the day and having spent in waiting outside in the dirt courtyard of the police station, we returned to Fox son number four's house to stay the night, certain that the car would be released the following day.
I slept the beginning of the night comfortably in a mosquito net tent on the floor in the livingroom. Around 2 am, I was awakened by the sound of my tent zipper being opened...I froze and then whipped around to see the falsely angelic blond curly haired head of one of the 4 year twins hovering in my tent. "Go back to bed!" I hissed, and soon fell back to sleep. Two hours later at the brutal hour of 4 am I woke again. This time the face of the seven year old looked down at me through the mosquito net. The scene unfolded as before and back to sleep again. At 6:15 am I woke up for good, the boys were getting ready for school and livingroom traffic was beginning in earnest.
There were so many other adventures during our time in Dar--for the three days we stayed there it was my job to supplementally bottle feed ten doberman puppies who'd been rescued along with their skeletally thin mother, too thin to feed them, from abandonment. There was the occassion of the scrambling 9 Jack Russell puppies whose freedom from the bathroom and resulting scampering and mischief throughout the house was the twins eternal goal. At the sight of one bouncing puppy all adults were on the offensive, screaming at the twins to "PUT THOSE PUPPIES BACK NOW!!!" to no avail...one could almost hear the tripping of circus music in the background. Soon the twins began to reguard me as an archenemy who stood in the way of all things fun and naughty but in the end we made friends, despite a particularly nasty Sara-issued time-out, after I died a dramatic death at the wrong end of a Lego gun. I have never been a beer drinker but in Dar I gratefully sat down with Mr. and Mrs. Fox to a relaxing glass after the traumas of each day--the screaming, running children, the yapping, scrambling puppies, and the lack a car to take us away.
The final straw occurred when one of the Jack Russells, who, true to form, crawled into one of the doberman's food dish seconds after being (legally) let outside, was bitten or hit or something by the offended doberman. All I heard was screams and yelling "She's killed the puppy!" the poor little animal was rushed into the house where for some reason I was the one to hold ice to it's tiny head now ballooning to twice the natural size. I was also the one to hold the little animal as we rushed to the hospital. The poor thing shivered and whimpered, ice white tongue hanging out and foam collecting around its mouth, while I tried not to panic for me life as wife of son number four zipped through the traffic disregarding all safety precautions routine in driving. To make a long story shorter, against all odds the puppy survived and is actually back to normal (so I'm told) and suffers no brain damage. I was a bit traumatized however.

The highlights were food, TV (sick I know), the adult outing to the movie theater to see "John Tucker Must Die" (the only movie playing, and again, sick I know), and finally eating relatively authentic Chinese food for a change. So, at long last I was put on a bus to Mafinga to catch a car to Mufindi...but that's another story for another day...

Love to all of you and as always, I eagerly await hearing from any and all of you!!!
Sara

Bats and bye bye Lazy, Lazy goodbye...

Hello my dears! It's been so so so long since I've been able to touch a keyboard but now I have some limited daily access so that's lovely! As my dear mother intimated, life has been full of adventures over the last few weeks. So much like my journaling I have fallen behind and it is so difficult to catch up and keep current at the same time. SO I will attempt to bring everything up to date in the next few days with key anecdotes and then finally maybe I can be on top of things again! Ah well, that is the way life is in Tanzania. :)
So my first and perhaps favorite story from my last few weeks at Lazy involves critters, as usual. It was one particularly hectic day and at last I'd retired to my banda. I should preface by saying that there are TONS of mosquitos on the island and where there are "mozzies" there are bats. I should also say that I rather like bats. I scream, naturally, when startled but I find them to be interesting and "so-ugly-they're-kind-of cute". Anyway, again as is so often the case in my stories, (and why is that?) I was in the bathroom having just stepped out of the shower and into my pajamas. I had my hair wrapped up in a blue tower of a bath towel and was fiddling around at the sink when I saw in the mirror a blurry shap fly at me. A soft flapping and fluttering down my back produced a gentle screaming squeal and I dropped flat to the bathroom floor expecting to see a large moth or something of the sort. Tentatively I looked up. There clinging contentedly to my wicker lamp shade was a large eared little bat. Apparently I had been his first choice for a land spot and having behaved so abominably and uncooperatively he had resorted to hanging from the light shade. So, seeing as though I wasn't really confidant in said bat's navigation abilities I crawled/scuttled out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. I spent the rest of the night making hurried and low to the ground trip to the bathroom to brush teeth etc. and there the bat remained until the wee hours of the morning. When I finally got up in the morning the bat was gone at last and my real disappointment was that I hadn't been able to document the situation with a photo. I needn't have worried. The bat was back again the next night, preceded by a tailess gecko dropping onto the canopy of my bed with an alarming plop. So another night of nervous bathroom behavior ensued. Finally as I settled into sleep around 5:30 AM Mino (the puppy) decided it was time for someone to play with him and ran up and down the beach barking his loudest. This was too much. After 15 minutes and waiting for him to shut up, I wrapped myself in various pieces of cloth and flew wild haired down to the beach to scream at him. There I met Lara also in relative undress attempting to engage him in other pursuits besides adding to the early morning cacophany of noise. The solution reached was that the night watchman were kept on an extra hour in the morning solely to play with the puppy... Another morning I awoke to find three of the more feral cats running circles around the roof of my room--racing as if their lives depended on it. This accompanied with the patter patter thwump slide or scratching noise of the other cats attempting to climb into the banda completed the chaos. It seems to me lucky that I was ever able to sleep through the night. Between cats, dogs, bats, lizards, mozzies, bush babies, rats squealing, guinea fowl, and whatever else might turn up sleeping or trying to do so was always a great adventure!
So more soon, and more entertaining I hope. I am loving it up here in Mufindi with the matri/patriarch of the Fox family (the family that owns the lodges where I've been working). Mufindi is up in the highlands of Tanzania and is a working farm, tea/coffee plantation, and guest lodge. It's absolutely lovely and actually COLD at night, like a Minnesota fall, which is just exactly what I needed to clear my head. They are hysterical and wonderful people, two English expats in their late 60's, and absolutely brimming with vim and vigor. There are no guests right now and as the only real human entertainment I am being run rather ragged actually, especially after life on the sweltering beach. More that later! Suffice it to say that I am really happy up here and can't wait to catch up on my blogging and emails, which means I can't wait to hear more from all of you! Sending you all my love!
Sara