The world is full of crazy people - yes I am one of them - but there are others.

The majority of my writing is done while I run.  Most likely because running is a time of reflection and enables me to organize my thoughts.  But, sometimes...it's because people are idiots.

There are only two reasons why a person would honk at a runner:

1.  Because runners are sexy.

we all know he's a runner...

2.  Because said honker is a disgrace to humanity and wants to annoy, irritate, scare, and aggravate said runner.  

Let's just get this clear.  There is no good time to honk at a runner.  (Unless they are running out in front of you and you are breaking the speed limit and have no control over your car and therefore because of YOUR idiocy you have to warn them about said idiocy and caution them to avoid aforementioned idiocy.)

Okay, so you want to appreciate a runner's sexiness. Fine. Do it. Drive by, and soak it all in. I do. There are many fine runners (and I don't just mean that they have good form...although they most likely do...really good form.) Basically, when you honk your horn. I'm more likely going to think you are honking for reason number 2. 

This is me running...pretty much every day. Man, SEXY!

Let me explain potentially what could happen when you honk for reason number 2 with a personal anecdote:  

I was having a great run.  I was at a comfortable pace and out for a comfortable distance.  I passed 5 miles and had over 1 mile left.  It was already dark (yes world, judge me...but I had big decisions I was making and I NEEDED TO RUN. AND I have a headlamp. (I hope you inserted the "I know what I'm doing" tone in that previous sentence. You can use it in the next one too with a little more sass.) And this time I avoided sketchy parks. And it was actually before midnight. My music stopped, which was great, so I could sort through all the crazy ideas in my head.

And yeah, it was dark...so I KNOW I was looking real sexy. (Headlamps, yo). I recently turned out onto a sidewalk that parallels a busy street and in very deep thought when all of a sudden a car snuck up and tapped their horn. But, NEWSFLASH. Even if you barely tap your horn, it doesn't just barely beep. It blares and blasts a cacophony of sound that startles even the sexiest of runners. I didn't just jump; I, as elegantly as possible with as much swanlike grace, tripped and fell in a chaotic mess of confusion trying  to maintain what composure and hope the previous 5 miles had wrought.

Sure, to the driving idiot who honked the horn, it might not have been that sexy. And maybe he even thought: how could someone so uncoordinated manage to run at all. BUT, his opinion became VOID as soon as he thought it was a good idea to honk. So, yes...Mr. License plate 366 YPO...okay, I didn't actually get your license plate. But, I know it had a 6 in it. Because in the south, 6 is satan. So, I'm really just assuming. ...and I actually don't even know what my license number is...I hope it doesn't have a 6...if it does, I'm changing it. 

Yes, you had your fun. But, what if I start running with eggs in my hand...and next time you honk I can chunk it at your car. Who will be laughing then? Okay, most likely you...again...because I'll probably end up with egg yolk all over me...

Sigh. Sometimes, we are just too sexy for our own good. 

He's still sexy...

Some people just may be innocent enough to honk for reason 1.5: If you are honking because you feel it's going to give me the motivation to run an extra mile, thank you. Please stop.

I decided morning runs are the best...and running before tourists is even better! (Also, why do tourists and terrorists sound so similar?)

Here is a collage of a few morning runs from the week, lemon tarts I eat without shame because I love calories, and I became legit #businesscards

The curse of being a klutz with fast reflexes

SO, Good news! I am a 2-wheeled commuter. 

My awesome roommate in Taiwan shared stories of her adventures biking to work in DC and I always envied her paved trails and easy access. GUESS WHAT. Now the world should be envious of me.  But, not really...I'll explain later.

This is what I imagined...

When I moved to DC and started working, it was the first thing I thought of.  AND I was ecstatic to learn I had access to a gym with a lovely locker room so I could pretend that I don't sweat! 

Regrettably, I don't live in the most convenient part of town.  But call it courage or just crazy, I am persistent and decided I would take the 11 different roads and 4 trails that eventually equal 14 miles to get me to work.  Thank goodness for google maps.  BOO FOR TRAFFIC.  For about half the ride I'm on a legit bike trail, so it's heavenly.  But, the other 7 miles ... It's okay, I rode a bike through Bangkok and Cambodia...they barely have roads...I can handle this.

I was biking when I took this picture...(SEE, I'm somewhat coordinated...)
but, these two girls were holding hands, and it was precious!
I <3 Cambodians!!

However, today I almost died.

Let me angle through my brush with death...actually it was a brush with an idiot...they can kill you.
Today, I was within 100 feet of my destination...which meant I had biked basically 14 miles already - safely, also means I had biked somewhere around 70 miles since Monday with no other threats...not even a dog. (I needed a car on wednesday, so i drove, but 3 days out of 4 is a good start!)

However, after riding 14 miles (remember, I wasn't even sweating) and passing through my last intersection using an actual crosswalk that even had a handy countdown which signalled that I had the right of way for another 36 seconds, I kissed the zebra.  Although I still played it safe, when I saw a nice truck signal that he would wait for his turn, I decided I could trust him and clipped in; crucial detail...I have clipless pedals ...logically, this makes no sense because I actually clip my shoes to the pedals...but, whatever...it's like wondering why we call a pen a pen (which I did until 6th grade...and never got it...)...but...the bigger problem is that once clipped in, my feet are secured to the bike, yay when you are pedaling up hill!!!  nay when you crash. WHICH IS WHAT HAPPENS NEXT.  While I swiftly pedal across the crosswalk, another F450 (WHY DO YOU NEED A TRUCK IN ARLINGTON?  YOU. ARE. NOT. A. COWBOY.) BARRELS through.

Um. CUTE!

Good news, I have tiger like reflexes.  Bad news, I am a super big klutz. Put those together, I managed to stop before getting run over, but I didn't unclip and kind of bounced my way to the pavement. I'm sure it would have been hysterical if it didn't hurt so much.  And I could care less about the bruises and scraped knees.  BUT, I somehow managed to bruise my rib - as only a klutz could - and now laughing and basically breathing are completely out of the question.

Not going to lie...I might have sworn...it's a good thing I'm not Muslim...since Ramadan started last night...and I would have broken it day 1. (Did you know that cursing is forbidden especially during Ramadan!)

So, I've learned that I laugh more than I realized throughout the day. That's good. Except now, I don't really want to laugh.  Isn't that Murphy's Law?

Anyways...I suppose I'll have to keep jumping through hoops until all wannabe cowboys finally realize they should just move to Russia. Russians love cowboys.

Hey, Putin! let's be friends...but, I'm kind of a klutz...

One Way

So, last week I took a bus up to NY for a job interview.  I also visited some amazing friends from Ukraine on the side because I have a habit of not doing anything unless I can make it 10x more complicated and fun! (also should include popcorn or chocolate)

Anyways. The interview was great and I would be amiss if I didn't say it was a great opportunity.  ...I'm not going to tell you anything about it…because.  (yes, I have a 4 year old niece and this is usually how I answer all questions…)

After the interview I had a few hours to kill (I'm not sure if I have actually used this phrase, but a Georgian friend reminded me about it...and I'm totally down with murdering time) So, I decided to do what all crazy tourists typically do whilst in NYC for a few days: run in central park. I mean if I was contemplating a move...I should test it out.

It was a little rainy, so the park actually seemed kind of desolate. WHICH IS AMAZING. I mean, hello, I'm in downtown Manhattan in one of the most famous parks in the world and I barely even saw a pigeon. 

So there were other runners...and walkers and bikers. However, they were all going the opposite direction that I was. At first I didn't notice anything…but, then I started to feel like people were uncomfortable as they ran by me…I was pretty sure I was clothed correctly, so what was their problem? And then I had this thought…no one else has been running, walking, driving, or biking this way.  

And then I saw the one way signs.  Aren’t those just for cars?  And don’t runners usually run in the opposite direction of traffic?  I was totally fine.  But, then I started to wonder.

AM I REALLY GOING THE WRONG WAY.

Am I committing a major cultural faux paux in downtown NYC in front of the 7 pigeons I did see and a couple dozen complete strangers and their dogs that I will most likely never run into again?

pigeons in Ukraine - by Masha!!

Perhaps because I was contemplating a major life decision and I wanted direction, I began to feel a little uneasy.

However, I then tried to use some reason (I know, that’s usually a bad idea….)   I was surprised that amidst all the chaos of this great city, there seemed to be order and unity...and I didn't know what to feel...since I was actually breaking it. 

Yet, I've run in at least 15 countries and I have never been told the direction in which to run. (although, in some cases, I would have appreciated it…specifically in Thailand when I could have died like 6 times…trust me, I was safer petting the Tiger than running)

So, then I just got this feeling and thought...I'm in new York.  They can't tell me what to do. I run to free myself and my thoughts. I won’t accept their rules. So what, if it draws attention. My experiences have taught me better than following the crowd and to appreciate differences whether in opinion or direction.

AND that’s how I got my answer.  I was going the wrong way. I was already happy in DC. And despite the opportunity, I did not want to fall into a system of habit and convention, doing things because it’s popular with the masses.  I mean, I haven’t been living that way most of my life…so why start now?

Thus, I'm ready to announce to the world - that I started a job in DC. Perhaps making my conscience cry a little...but, in the end, I have some great running and biking trails that I will never regret!

all around central park is 7.5 miles

I had a beautiful run on a portion
of the Mt. Vernon trail = 15 miles 

I can only run the same 7.5 miles so many times before I get bored...even in Manhattan.

And...then there is the absolutely ridiculous video that reminds me of my grad school roommates - 

I THREW IT ON THE GROUND.

(warning: followers a little less faint of heart...

don't watch...especially past 2 min.)

"I'm an adult...you can't buy me, hot dog man."                                 "Happy Birthday to the ground."

 SHOUTOUT!! (TINA'S GETTING MARRIED!)

Crazy Couch Hoarders in DC

I don't think I have ever promised to keep people updated, because I don't like breaking promises.  But, if you missed it...I just moved to DC.  Well, technically Alexandria, VA but I am hoping to find a job in DC like dog-sitting - preferably Bo, Obama's Portuguese water dog, and then he'll see what a trustworthy and responsible person I am and will ask me to be his new bodyguard (aren't they hiring?).  Gotta have options, guys (that's my only one right now...but, I'm still working on it).

Dude...I live here...well not there, but kind of close!

Anyways.  Moving is a big deal.  You sometimes need stuff (at least toilet paper) but I only had my car so, I filled it up with other life things, decided to buy/borrow toilet paper as needed, and headed across the country.  It was a splendid trip with a brief stop in Knoxville, Tennessee. (Does anyone else think Mississippi and Tennessee had a competition for who could be most repetitive?).  There was a civil war special exhibit and we totally saw Abe Lincoln!  Apparently he was fond of the south? (hmm, my recollection of history must be a little foggy)

If there was a sexiest man alive back in the 1800s, pretty sure Mr. Abe would win...

But, once I finally arrived in the beautiful state of VA, I decided I should probably actually use the room I was renting and somehow acquire the 'essentials' instead of just sleeping on my roommate's couch.

THANK YOU CRAIGSLIST!!  I wish I could tell you about the exciting people I met whilst on my own adventure and the crazy truck rental and the first time where a lack of elevators caused an existential life crisis making me question the reality of life.  But, then you would miss the story about how my roommates and I ended up with 5 couches.

I will preface this by saying, I adore my roommates!  However, one girl will soon be moving and that's sad for so many reasons, one of which (and this is definitely at the bottom of the list) is that she owns both sets of EXTREMELY COMFY cute and cozy cuddling-worthy couches.  (The only reason why I actually got a bed was because her couches would be gone at the end of the month...)

So, since I had rented a big truck to haul stuff, my roommates and I decided to find a couch as well.  AND we did!! (again...we totally hit up craigslist. And for all of you who are judging, your scorn means nothing to me.) It was perfect and fluffy and classy and would make a nice replacement and It was ours!  Until the day of our scheduled pickup when the girl messaged back replying that a misunderstanding caused her roommate to give it away to a friend.  C'est la vie. 

WELL, thankfully there were about 200 trillion other couches (yes - many of them even free).  AND we got busy (this was already past 9:30 pm).  Mostly because we ONLY had the truck for a limited time, so we messaged every couch owner that seemed to be disease-free hoping that we would get at least one perfect stranger whose schedule was conducive to ours and would gladly let us come even at midnight if we had to so that we would have a couch to call our own.  We probably sounded more desperate than we actually were...but it worked.  By 11:30 pm we had an appointment to pick up a couch at 7:15 am.

By 6:30 the next morning (yes, we woke up at 6 am to acquire said couch) we had two additional invitations to retrieve couches from garages and porches.  They weren't the best options, but we wanted something for our guests to sleep on when they come visit! (AND YOU WILL COME VISIT!)

First couch - we had no picture, so we stopped by at 0650 to stalk couch on front porch.  It was red it wouldn't do, so we left it and went further.

Second couch - we committed to pick up at a comfy cozy couch at 0715, although it wasn't our favorite, when it's Free...you take what you can get.  We met a cute little family preparing for their day as their 2 year old daughter, eating cheerios, watched us carry a couch out her front door.  I think even she could tell we were crazy...just walking off with her couch.

Third couch - the picture actually looked nice, so we thought we have 2 couches to replace, we can get 2 couches.  We arrived at the garage at 0820 and notified a man named Al of our presence.  But, upon inspection of the couch, we realized it was just mediocre...and tried to hide our disdain as Al dug through the trash to find the legs (that's totally normal, our disdain was most likely for the couch).  We felt obliged and decided to load it up as well, hoping we could clean it up and hide it in our basement.  At least it came with what looked like a comfy mattress...and maybe after our fairy godmother graced it with a wave of her magic wand, we could invite even more friends to visit!  (So, When are you coming??)

BAHAHA!! Sorry, just ironic...I do need a job, you know... ;)

It was about this time when we were breaking our backs lifting this sucker into our truck (no, Al did not help us, although he did cut us some slabs of wood to put under the sofa, since his efforts at dumpster diving were in vain), that we received a new notification.

Once loaded and enroute back home, I checked and squealed!  Our dream couch, not the first one that stood us up, but an even fancier, bigger - perfect for collecting popcorn kernels, loose change, and random socks - better couch was available for us to pick-up at our convenience.  Wiping the sweat off our brows, my roommate and I looked at each other and agreed that we had to have it.  Surely there were other couch hunters that could relieve us of our surplus.

don't worry, we did not get this couch...

However, we needed room in our truck especially since, the owner of this perfectly plump couch warned us about 27 times that this was heavy and bulky.  BUT, we were experts by now and cast all concern to Canada, where they could use a few more things to worry about now that winter is over...maybe?

0900 we started unloading the previously acquired cushions and couches into our backyard, hopefully hiding them from our neighbors who complain even if we set the trash out 10 minutes early.

It was also that time where the previous 200 trillion couch owners on craigslist started to reply.  GUYS.  We could start our own couch garden.  We were overwhelmed, but knew we had to focus.

1045 ish we rolled into a gated complex (only people who own awesome couches could live there) and found the 3rd floor apartment (yes we were warned, but we had basically just started our own moving company).  I love stairs.  This was one time, where going up was so much more fun than coming down.  OH MY GOSH, another existential crisis ensued as I imagined I was dating superman so he could carry me on the couch down the stairs. Sigh. That is not my life. (yet...)  Once we got half of the couch down stairs...yeah, we are beasts...or just crazy...admittedly, we started with the lightest pieces, we rolled and dragged and pushed all the others out into the balcony to wait until we felt ambitious enough.  But, we didn't.

We were defeated.  The last 2 sectionals were made out of plutonium.  Thus, we went on a search for superman, although even Gaston would suffice at this point.  No lie.  It was a bustling complex with what seemed like a plethora of burly men out ready to work.  After walking around for a couple minutes, we found such man with beautiful eyes, also struggling to retrieve a ginormous deluxe mattress out from a garage.  We approached and brilliantly offered to exchange help for help!  (at this point, we would have just kissed him for help). He benevolently accepted and instantly became our hero.  We walked him over and up as he courageously took on the challenge.  He shall be praised for his determination because after some intense lifting, dragging, pulling, maybe some swearing, and a lot of sweating we succeeded in loading our 3rd couch into our truck.

We also invited him to join our moving company, but since we only had the truck for a few more hours and he was also becoming a renowned sous chef at the one and only Oyamel in DC, we decided instead to enjoy a wonderful Mexican dinner next week, where we can again thank Kevin for his kindness!

SO, our logic, incase you struggle to interpret crazy: we only needed one couch; but our favorite couch didn't become available until we already had two inferior couches in our possession. We weren't trying to become couch hoarders, it just happened in our attempt to obtain the perfect couch.

Okay.  There were definitely more details excluded, but it was definitely an adventure of epic proportions and couches.  Now, we have a couch for each roommate...and still one to share. Hopefully this week someone will be as desperate as we were and come to claim those we can live without...if we can...
MEANWHILE, who is coming to party on our couches?

This post is brought to you by Lysol, Budget Truck Rental, and a nifty red vacuum cleaner.

Admiring Arkansas

Hello world.  Sorry for the utter betrayal of my blog by leaving many epic tales and adventures unaccounted for.  Maybe perhaps in the future I will make an effort to convey them with as much enthusiasm as I lived them.

For now I shall neglect travels in Eastern Europe, New Years in Spain, the Obama road trip to Chicago, blizzards in Boston, and gentleman on Broadway to convey my fervor for Spring in Arkansas.

I returned to visit my grandparents and to help them recuperate from some previous tragedies and I've recollected such fond memories from this state that I realized I have actually never written a blog in the US about the US. Therefore, today I will abolish my unpatriotic practice and share a few highlights from the good ol' south and embrace the American within. 

I think Arkansas might be the most underrated state in the US. For some reason, it's a state with hidden gems - literally, it's the diamond state, but also such awesome things like the Little Rock 9, the dawn of segregation, Hattie Caraway, the first female senator (WHAT! - that's pioneering in civil rights and women's rights), and millions of acres of luscious national forest.

It gets it's bad rap for it's hicks & hillbillies, country roads, possums, humidity and walmart. (A significant portion of Arkansans would want to add Bill Clinton to that list…and sometimes getting compared to Mississippi...whose accolade of merit is Elvis...which, yes he's awesome, but Johnny Cash is equally as iconic.) However, Arkansans are just humble and would rather soak up the brilliant sunshine than get involved in a prideful debate.
(clearly, I need to work on my humility...)
Deep down, they are satisfied with life and need to prove it to no one; satisfaction that comes with the colors of Spring. If you have never spent a spring in Arkansas with it's brilliant dogwoods, redbuds, daffodils, and pear trees (although stinky, the beautiful fluffy white mystical awesomeness seems to come straight out of a fairytale), you don't really know what spring is. (or allergies...for that matter)

Today, I will attempt to redeem Arkansas. Or at most explain some of its peculiarities I admired, approved, or embraced whilst an inhabitant of this blessed state. (No, I will not be divulging the secret to moonshining.)

Southern charm and Southern hospitality

I don't think I really need to explain this.
But, something I've always found endearing while trying to maintain composure on the endlessly curvy/hilly roads, everyone that drives by waves and smiles. Just like in the westerns, when you drive your buggy into town.

Arkansans are loyal and true and always full of love!  (okay, I could say the same things about Kansans. There may be more than just tornadoes connecting Kansas to Arkansas and the confusing ’s’ at the end - it’s kindness. People are awesome despite geographical locations...that's really the point here.)

Religion

Usually my faith seems strange for others especially overseas to understand; it's slightly extreme. A majority of my Arkansas friends, though not Mormon, have no qualms with sitting in a church pew a few hours every week; they know the books of the bible, and are faithful followers of their beliefs! I’ve been inspired so many times by the hope and conviction of friends from other faiths.

But, even for all those that don’t really claim a religion, there’s football. Specifically the Razorbacks. If you are an Arkansas resident and not a razorbacks fan, you should probably not admit it. Just go with it. It’s not like the SEC is lacking in excitement.  

On a side note, I went out on a hike last week in the buffalo wilderness and was totally startled by a hog in my path. At first I thought he was cute and my Instagram instincts kicked in, but then I reverted to my brain and my flee instincts actually still work better. Alas, wild baby goats make hiking alone so much more pleasant. (In that regard, Taiwan has you beat, Arkansas.)

Hunting

Arkansans love their dogwoods as much as they love their hunting dogs (admittedly, I don't know anyone who has a hunting dog...but, some cliches just make excellent literary parallels so it stands). Hunting is also a legit sport and I would bet that half of Arkansans own at least one hunting rifle and would secede with Texas if the 2nd amendment was ever revoked. Fishing tournaments, big racks…talking about deer..., rifles, bows, and duck calls. They don’t need a grocery store to have enough meat for winter.

I don’t hunt, but, I have pulled a trigger on some semiautomatics…strictly for zombie apocalypse training, that's all. Honestly, I cry when I run over a squirrel in my car.  Poor squirrel.  :(  But, that doesn’t stop those less faint of heart. Actually, even squirrel hunting is a thing…not that you really hunt squirrels. I remember packing some ice cream in a communal dorm freezer at college only to have to find room amidst a Ziploc of skinned squirrels. Must I say, I chose another freezer for my ice-cream. 

I'm not attesting that Arkansas is perfect. No state ever is (unless you are a chemist that likes working with gases…or Alaska). BUT, I have brilliant friends, kind friends, happy friends, thoughtful, hilarious, strong, beautiful, loving, charming, caring, hard-working, patient, sympathetic, courageous, courteous, passionate, phenomenal, philosophical friends who all live in the state of Arkansas. Sure, it's not so metropolitan, but for Arkansans, it's unnecessary. Simple can be better: enjoying the budding trees, long friendships, sense of community, and majestic thunderstorms.

Thanks to the many kind-hearted friends in Arkansas that love me no matter how far away I go and have open arms whenever I do make it back!  And mostly, thanks for the memories!!

It can also get quite muddy...

I will say...if you can't stand snakes, chiggers, mosquitoes, and intense humidity...you might not make it.  I deal with it, because it's just natural.

Running around Armenia

Running

There really isn’t a running culture in Eastern Europe or Eurasia.  And even more rare are female runners.  That’s a reason I get a lot of weird stares…like they think I’m robbing a bank or a spy chasing after some villain, but maybe I lost him?  (seriously, can I be a spy? Putin, if you are reading this…I’m watching you. and yes. that is a tiger.)



Sometimes I do feel like I’m in some survival training as I try to manage the suicidal sidewalks or lack thereof and instead am confronted with the even more dangerous highways as I feel the impact of the electrons of the cars reaching into my personal forcefield to say hi.  Seriously? No one drives on their side of the line anyways, so why do you insist on doing it when a runner is in your lane?



Why do I continue to risk my life for a hobby that only results in shin splints and arthritic knees?  I believe my run in Yerevan will summarize it perfectly.  I will highlight the truths learned on my journey which is less about the calories burned and more about the adventure literally and mentally. (Although, I admittedly run so I don’t feel guilty for consuming catastrophic quantities of chocolate to celebrate office-Friday)



I went running yesterday to my favorite spot in Yerevan.  It was 6 miles, but I could have done more.  Here’s why: with every step I discovered more culture of this beautiful country - some good, some great, some humbling, some annoying.



1.  Sidewalks - even if you can find them, they are uneven, a mess of holes, or turned into a parking lot...for those lazy people who drive cars and can't even stand to walk 2 blocks to actually park their cars.  It's like they forget they have legs or something.

2.  Cancer???  I inhaled so much 2nd-hand smoke, I might need a lung transplant.  (I have to admit, this is one issue that makes me appreciate America with it’s smoke-free restaurants, I can actually have my cake and eat it too…)

3.  People love to hangout.  Walking is a hobby here.  Just going on a stroll with your baby, your boyfriend, your best friends is a typical everyday activity.

4.  GUYS HOLD HANDS!! And they aren’t gay… It’s so cool. 



5.  And girls and guys can’t keep their hands off each other.  PDA can be nauseating.  One couple making out in the park is kind of sweet and cute, but…15…seriously?  Let’s just have a special park for lovers and they can all gather there and tell me so it’s not included on my route.



6.  Guys bring girls flowers.  It’s so adorable passing a couple with the girl carrying a(n obnoxiously) large bouquet of roses or a guy just heading out to meet his date unashamedly carrying a colorful collection of flowers.  Sometimes I’m tempted to stop running… ;)

(AND when there’s a BIG bouquet…they can’t make out until they’ve found a place for the flowers! WE ALL WIN!!!)



7.  It’s not always 'like riding a bicycle'.  Most people don’t learn to ride a bike. BUT, it’s a new fad and it’s awesome running by a reasonably smooth surface (remember how rare those are) seeing so many ADULTS trying to ride a bike for their first time. 

8.  Men will pee anywhere, especially when they are drunk. 

mouth-watering?

9.  Bakeries - America, you don’t know what bread is...and I pity you.
  FACT: bakery fumes are filled with fascinating powers.  I could run 100 miles if every mile there was a bakery.  AND, in Armenia, you don't find a bakery, a bakery finds you.  There are no less than 5 bakeries within a 1-mile radius.  (So, once we stop the cigarettes…I think Armenias will be superheroes!)

10.  Strength; Not my own.  I ran to the genocide memorial.  It has a beautiful park, usually away from smokers and a great view over the city.  It reminds me that Armenians have sacrificed.  They are resilient.  And they are building a stronger future.  I have so much hope for my friends here that inspire me by their kindness and love.  



Dear World,

We study history because otherwise we would forget how stupid people become when they do not remember the past.  It’s a circle really.

But, I do believe the only way we’ll end tragic events like genocide is to remember their history, the pain, the loss, the destruction, and especially the lies that enabled them. And then remember the survivors - their strength, endurance, hope, and sacrifice.



I know this isn’t in my usual blog-style.  But, I am choosing to remember.
And running through Armenia is a good reminder.


update:
3 days later I started a tour of Southern Armenia for work. 
I've been in two small villages with more observations!

I was able to lace up my running shoes (not literally...I'm one of those lazy people who will rarely untie them) in Yeghegnadzor (everytime I try to say it, someone corrects me...I'm pretty sure my mouth was just not meant for this city)  HOWEVER, my feet were!  I was in heaven!!  I found an idyllic country road and got in another 5 miles!  It was perfect!!

SO, my list has to continue:

11.  Running reminds me that there are many different ways to enjoy life!

I ran down and through the valley of Yeghegnadzor!

I passed by strangers, once I found a real road leading back into town, who just stared as if I was a creature from space.  There were maybe two restaurants in town and even the grocery story I visited only sold meat, cheese, and bread.  SO, they are enjoying home cooked meals everyday.  Probably not going out clubbing, concerts, or even the movies (didn't see one of those in town yet either), but they wake up in heaven every morning!

A view from downtown!

It's not dirty...but, that's my underwear...hanging outside your window.

So, my life isn't as glamorous as some may think.  True, I have enjoyed many different cities throughout the world.  But, I think this post will highlight a less-than polished perspective of the mundane moments I have endured whilst traveling.

Inevitably, when you are least prepared the worst happens.  Sometimes it's the inability to prepare (first example) and sometimes it's just optimism (second).

I have travelled extensively for the past few years and I cannot even remember when my checked-luggage was late.  There was that one time I missed my plane to Kyiv and my luggage actually arrived BEFORE I DID.  Let's talk about being betrayed by efficiency.  I had to heckle with customs officers for hours in my broken Ukrainian and their broken English (this was my first trip to UA) in order to finally retrieve it.  There's nothing that beats jet-lag after a ridiculously long international flight, than the first introduction to Ukrainian bathrooms and 'card-board' toilet paper, OR the arbitrary lines formed in post-soviet countries to avoid waiting but instead become an endless maze that even the most skillful navigator who upon reaching the surface will find that the 'exit' is temporarily closed whilst the passport officer has his/her 15-min bathroom break, OR an over-bearing 'welcome' from an unhappy and corrupt customs worker who I now realize probably made me wait for hours thinking he could get a bribe out of the new American whose luggage was sitting just behind his desk wrapped in cellophane. What he didn't count on was my extreme naivety.  (that was then...now, $10 otta do it...or increase by $5s...oh, and it's called a "tip" not a bribe.) Yeah, thanks to Ukraine, I grew up fast.  That was just the first day but it didn't tarnish my trip too much since I keep going back!

And now that brings us to present day.  Only slightly reversed.

Usually for a long trip, I'll sufficiently pack a carry-on with all the essentials.  But, my optimism and excitement for a 14-hour layover in Vienna made me disregard all travel-blogs as I thought about enjoying Strudel and a concert in Mozart's flirtatious city.

Hello, Vienna! Took this picture of the Riesenrad while biking through Leopoldstadt.

I could store a bag in a locker, but really? When was the last time I didn't get my luggage?  (Actually, I remember now...Ukraine 2 years ago...had a nice "tip" to pay when it was finally found...But, I certainly didn't remember that with visions of Vienna circulating throughout my head).  Therefore, I 'threw all caution to the wind' as I optimistically packed my magical Thai sling-bag with travel size toothpaste, makeup, water-bottle, i-pad, an umbrella (because I at least headed the advice of the weather man...WHO WAS WRONG.  Go figure. Try to be prepared and it's useless. Don't prepare and armageddon starts.)  and my running shoes (yes, I cannot bear to not have them for one day...and yes, I will run in 100 COUNTRIES before I die.  Unless I die prematurely...in that case, please see my funeral instructions for details: Amy's Funeral Pyre), and of course the necessary clothing allowance.  (Thai sling-bags are essentially the precursor to the carpet-bag, which the charming Marry Poppins transcendentally flaunted for the entire-world to revere.)

The fact that my trip to Vienna, which this post will not portray, was practically perfect, made the particular coincidence on this said occasion of which my luggage got stuck in Vienna -  despite the 17 hours in which a semi-observant person working for Vienna airlines could have figured out what to do with 2 abandoned black bags - only a minor nuisance and not the supreme tragedy it could have been.  Although, the 2 hours it took after arriving at 3:30 am in Yerevan to locate my lost luggage was slightly irritating (irritation caused from sleep-deprivation mostly and REMEMBER THOSE ARBITRARY POST-SOVIET LINES...yeah, those came in to play again.)

More Vienna...I think the church has re-branded itself.
I didn't know H&M was Catholic?
History Lesson: This church was constructed to honor the survival of Franz Joseph
from a knife-attack...how many assassins did these emperors endure before WWI?

Assured my luggage would most-likely arrive the next day, I made it to my apartment and slept a few hours before going to work.  That was Wednesday.  Luggage was promised to be delivered on Thursday.  And, I had a recruitment trip on Friday.  With only one spare change of clothes (one of which was strictly for exercise and a cultural faux pas to wear anywhere in Eastern Europe or Eurasia for anything else but exercising...yes, American college students, you don't actually have to wear gym clothes to class...in fact you may be shunned if you do.) I prudently decided to do some laundry.  Yes, it was in my sink...but, when living in hotels across Eastern Europe doesn't come without learning a few tricks.  Especially since laundry-mats are a novelty and as rare as the truth in a Kremlin media-release. 

That is where this story reaches it's apparent climax.  My apartment is situated on the 10th floor close to Yerevan's center.  My windows look out over a busy street, with stunning views of the opera house, Soviet-Mother Armenia, the Ferris wheel all lit up at night, and the Cascades.  It is out one of those windows that I hung, evidently not so securely, my laundry to dry for the night.  Waking up at an unquestionably early hour whether from my body trying to familiarize itself with it's new time-zone or an illuminating realization that my underwear was hanging outside a 10-story window, I felt I should be concerned.  Now, it wasn't torrential and I wasn't ashamed of lining up bras and socks to drip-dry, but even a slight sigh at 10-stories is enough to whip a pigeon in circles.  I rushed to my window to rescue my laundry!  The breezy-morning had taken its toll but I was able to retrieve all but the most pertinent part to every-day attire...you know...the underthing...undies...my loin cloth.

Yeah, it was gone...but, in the radiant light of the sunrise I spotted it precariously perched on my 9th-floor neighbors line.  Watching in disbelief, wishing for one arm to be 9 feet longer, I waited for another gust of wind to come along and take them all the way down so I could at least run down to the street to pick them up off the side-walk.  I was not about to introduce myself to my neighbors in broken Russian and have to explain what my underwear was doing on their balcony.  But, I'm still waiting.

Yerevan!

Oh, and Happy Independence Day, Armenia!!