Best of Malaysia

We just got back from a week in Malaysia. It is one of the most interesting places I have ever been, mainly because of the Muslim culture. On the ceilings of our hotels were arrows pointing the direction to Mecca. All the restaurants posted what dishes were hallal or not. Malaysians themselves don't wear the full burka but the city was full of Arab tourists who did. One of our cab drivers told us that since September 11, it has been difficult for Saudis or other Middle Easterners to get visas to vacation in Europe, so they now come to Malaysia instead. As he put it, "Now you drive down the road and see black, black, black." I even saw a woman in full burka riding a jet ski. She had a neon orange life jacket strapped on over the burka. All very interesting.

My other favorite thing about Malaysia is the food. We ate fantastic Indian food, Middle Eastern food, Italian food, and Western food. We got to eat at Chili's (!!!) and sip Chai Lattes at Starbucks. My friend Beth says that it's impossible not to be happy when you eat at Chili's. It's just a happy place. I couldn't agree more. I'm now convinced that chain restaurants are the best things ever. They all look the same, have the same menus, same food, even the same decorations on the walls. It's like I'm taken back in time to the Chili's on George Bush in College Station where Sally would always order chips & salsa and I'd add way too much salt. Or the Chili's on Burnet Road in Austin where my daddy always orders peppercorn hamburgers. Or the Chili's in Kingwood where we all ate after my marathon. All the same! It's a great feeling when you miss home.

Another favorite thing about Malaysia is that my new best friend got to go with me. Yes, of course Kevin the Permanent Best Friend came. I'm talking about my new best friend. For Christmas, my parents decided to be entirely too generous and buy us a Canon Rebel camera. It's my new best friend. It makes vacations so much more fun. So here are my best & favorite shots from our trip:



This is a cannon ball tree. The name needs no explanation I think! The cannon balls look like coconuts but they're not. To tell the truth, I really have no clue what they are.



This is Kevin doing his Jesus impersonation. It really looks like he's walking on the water, doesn't it?



Can you even believe that I took this picture? That super-zoom lens was certainly a good purchase! If you look at the monkey on the right, you can see a little baby attached to her chest. There were monkeys EVERYWHERE. We saw them almost everyday. All the green & animals of the tropical jungles was quite a welcome relief compared to the concrete jungle we call home.



One morning, we went to a Butterfly Farm. I'm not really sure why they call it a "farm." It's not like the butterflies pick up their hoes every morning and dig potatoes.

The timing of our vacation was perfect because next week we're doing a kid's day camp at our school. So now we're tan and rested up to wrangle these rather rambunctious little friends. I'm not exactly sure how brown thighs will help out with that but I'm sure it can't hurt...

Snakes, snails and puppy dog tails
That's what little boys are made of

Sugar, spice, and everything nice
That's what little girls are made of

Is it a boy?

It is a girl?

What do you think?

The answer:

None of the above.

It's an appendix.

Which, after this harrowing weekend, Kevin no longer has.

Let me first preface this story by saying that we are SO thankful for Father's provision. The medical care was much better than I expected, and with the help of a lot of friends, we never once felt at a disadvantage with the language. So feel free to read on without a nagging feeling in your stomach that fears for Kev's life.

It all started on Friday morning when Kev was complaining of a little bit of stomach pain. We assumed it was the same ol' thing that happens rather frequently when you live overseas, especially in light of the fact that Kevin had eaten spicy local food the night before. After lunch, he went to bed, hoping he could sleep it off.

Within a few hours, things were certainly not slept off! The pain was worse, the groans were louder, and I had no idea what to do for my guy. I certainly didn't want to fall into the category of hypochondriac where every headache is a brain tumor and every stomach cramp is appendicitis. But you just can't be too careful with these things...

After consulting some American doctors and everyone's hero WebMD, our other American friends in our city & I decided it best to take Kev to the ER. Without a car of my own, this of course proved to be a bit of a challenge for several reasons:

1) how exactly do you say hospital?
2) how do I explain to the cab driver that he needs to go back inside my apartment complex to pick up my husband who can't even walk?
3) what do I do if there are no cabs?

All of these proved to be a challenge when a cab driver did in fact reject me after I told him I needed to go to the hospital. On cab #2, words of some manner came out of my mouth, and he indeed went to pick up Kevin and delivered us to the hospital. Perhaps I accidentally said something along the lines of "Please drive like a crazy maniac" because he certainly did.

As you can imagine, hospitals here are not like back home. You have to pay for every test before it's done, and your friends/family members play the role of hospital nurse/orderly/lab technician. We nabbed a hospital bed in the hallway and rolled poor Kev all over the place as they did various tests on him. Our favorite was the ultrasound, where Kevin had lucidity enough to ask the tech in our new language if he was pregnant. Her response: "Oh humor."

While Kevin was having his blood drawn, I had to step out of the room for a bit to collect my emotions and to keep from passing out. I figured an emotional breakdown or a collapsed wife wouldn't really contribute to the situation. So there I am, trying not to cry, when what do I see? A man (a really dirty man mind you) making his way through the ER with a wheelbarrow full of rocks. Big rocks. Really dusty rocks. Never in America...

They finally diagnosed the problem, and Kev was whisked away to surgery around 10 PM. By 11:30 PM we were in the recovery room. On Saturday afternoon, we were moved to a private room (which was really more like a deluxe sweet, complete with leather couches, a private bathroom, and a mini-kitchen) and we got to go home on Monday afternoon.

Overall, we were visited by 13 local friends, 5 Americans, and 3 kiddos. We received 24 juice boxes of milk, 15 oranges, one bouquet of flowers, one box containing 12 cans of gruel (the literal translation), one loaf of bread, two pastries, and four cucumbers. If the gifts alone don’t convince you of what an interesting experience this was, then perhaps next time you need your appendix out, you should head to our side of the world!

A Rose By Any Other Name

...is still as sweet. A dumpling by any other name is still just a dumpling.

Forgive my lack of enthusiasm over dumplings but I'm just not a big fan. The ginger-y/pork-y/weird-unidentifiable-green-vegetable-y taste just doesn't do a lot for me. Kevin likes them though.



But despite their unappetizing appeal (to me at least), they sure are fun to make! Gigi taught me how to make them recently. These people are so amazing at working with dough. Her's were a thousand times better looking than mine. Here's looked like dumplings; mine looked like a squashed version of a turkey. Even after you rolled everything up and cooked it in the boiling water, you could still tell which ugly ones were the products of my Western hands.

The best part is that she let me eat just one and then laughed when I excused myself to have a salad for lunch instead. Why exactly did I move to this country when I really don't care for the food? Well, there is a reason and I hope you know what it is!

Don't you think I need one of these?

I think I do. Let's try to convince Kevin, ok?

My New Friend

I made a new friend today. Well, sort of...

Here's the deal: after my morning runs, I like to stretch at the make-shift playground that's right in front of my apartment building. Now mind you, as it is in most places around this country, I am far from alone. My company usually includes grandmothers who can kick their toes to their nose drill-team style and other such folk who are in the mood for a morning workout.

When I show up, I can create quite a stir among the crowd. They like to talk to me, (talk about me is more accurate) and comment on how great my language is.

(A short aside...They don't really mean it. They really and truly say it to everyone. You can open your mouth for .5 seconds, say hello in local language, and they'll go on for a while about how great your language is. Anyone of you could do it too. Promise. So seriously, I'm not bragging in the slightest.)

There are some regulars out on my playground. It's hard for me to remember their names all the time because...well...they're just so foreign. But I remember their faces! I saw one such friend this morning and remembered her immediately. She is a quiet, mousy sort of woman. She's around 30 years old and not married (which I've been told labels you as strange in this culture).

I wanted to be super sweet to her today, so I try to strike up a conversation involving the ever-titilating topic of the weather. She gives me a cursory response and then flips herself upsidedown on the monkey bars, immediately sending me on a nostalgia trip to good ol' North Oaks Elementary School recess. Trying desperately to resist my childish desires to tug at her ponytail or tease her for wearing a bra, I press on in my small talk. Our topic this time: Father's Day.

This topic whips her into more of a verbal frenzy, which would seem like a good thing but I guess after my third or fourth blank stare, she decides that something must be done to help my listening comprehension. So she positions herself about six inches from my face and starts addressing me in a rather loud voice.

After enduring a bit of this, I politely excuse myself to go home for a shower (humid weather + morning runs = necessary shower). Once I enter my building, I decide I need to take some risks in making friends. I mean, how am I going to meet people and build real friendships if all I talk about is the weather and holidays? So I march myself back up to her and ask her if she wants to come over for lunch sometime. I think I embarrassed her but she ended up saying yes.

When Gigi came over later, I told her what I did and she affirmed that I most likely embarrassed the chick. Oops. I also confessed to Gigi that I've forgotten my friend's name, but now Gigi is conspiring how to subtly re-discover her name and write it down for me.

Our lunch is later this week, so we'll see how it goes...

My Second Birthday

Today is my second birthday, my re-birthday if you will. Eleven years ago today I became a Christian. I remember eleven years ago hearing about Jesus' life & purpose in a new way. It was more than smiley bumper stickers saying "Jesus loves you!" It was more than being a good person or going to church. It was more than walking old ladies across the street, feeding the poor, or even participating in Bible studies. Instead, it was real-life--my real-life--colliding with another real life lived thousands of years ago.

Living life for my own pleasure, convenience, and advancement is an offense to God who created me. My sin of not only ignoring him but of falling short of his every standard for my life caused a rift in my relationship with him. But the good news! O the good news! Jesus lived a perfect life on my behalf and died the death that I deserved, taking my punishment. His resurrection proved him more powerful than death and more powerful than the sin & selfishness in my own life. What was there for me to do but to abandon the feeble control I thought I had over my life and to turn to this Jesus who demonstrated his love for me in such a way?

Now of course eleven years ago, I didn't understand everything there was to understand (I still don't today for that matter!) But my fifteen year old heart recognized how it craved to know and be known by my Father in Heaven. I chose to follow him that day and haven't regretted it for a moment since.

Happy Re-Birthday to me! Praise God who gives new life!

Rachel continued...

Now I know it's probably unfair to find such humor in the locals' English. I mean, to count how many ridiculous things must come out of my mouth everyday is just innumerable. But since Kevin's little language partner's "soft grass" antics were such a hit last week, I feel obliged to share her most recent musings.

"Your ears are too small for your head."

And my personal favorite...

"The grass on your arm has grown."

Soft grass

Kevin has recently made friends with a family. Once a week, he goes to their house for dinner. After dinner, he studies English with their 8 year-old daughter, whose English name is Rachel. In return, Rachel studies our new language with Kevin. It's somewhat of an imbalance because kids here have been studying English ever since they sit foot in a classroom (which starts really young here). Us...we're going on five months!

Rachel will read a sentence in English, then Kevin will read in our new language. Needless to say, it takes Kev a little longer to get through his. This leaves Rachel a little bit bored, so she has to find something to do to occupy herself. her favorite past time of late? Petting Kevin's arm hair.

This was last week's arm-hair stroking discussion:

Rachel: There's a fly in your arm.
Kevin: (pause in translating) Really?
Rachel: I think the fly thinks your arm is grass. Soft grass. (Pensive pause from Rachel, who then looks at her own arm) I have no grass.

Who ever thought that body hair would ever provide such entertainment?

99.9% Sure

It's getting hot these days. Summer is here. Temperatures are rising. Women are busting out their sun umbrellas to keep their skin for becoming "black." The grandmothers are no longer asking me after my morning runs if I'm cold because I wore shorts.

Summer heat means one thing: it's air conditioner time. It's pretty impressive I think that we made it until June to turn on the AC. You can't do that in Texas for sure.

So on the day of AC's maiden voyage, I coincidentally had a stomach ache. I told Gigi about it and this was her prompt diagnosis:

1) You're pregnant.

2) You must have gotten sick from the air conditioner.

I'm 99.9% that neither of those were the cause of my stomach ache.





And I'm 99.9% sure that that is not Ben Franklin.





(Come on. Someone...anyone...please tell me you caught "The Office" allusion. Beth? Lee? Jenn? Anyone? Don't leave me hanging!)

Friend for hire

When I was in college, one of my good friends & roommates used to joke with each other that the only reason we were friends was because we were being paid by the other's mother. When you're too socially awkward to make friends on your own, your mama's got to step in and make some friends for you. It was only a joke back then...

Welcome the day where I am really and truly too awkward to make friends on my own. I now actually pay someone to be my friend. Her technical title is "househelper" but I like to call her my "Friend for Hire." Her blog name will be Gigi I think. You'll be hearing a lot about Gigi in the days to come because she's now pretty much my best friend. She's a local gal who comes over to help my keep my house in order, cook authentic local food for us for lunch, help us handle the myriad of issues (usually involving something breaking in my house) that pop up during daily life here, and reproduce the impossible to find/expensive to purchase foreign foods I so desperately miss. So far, she's wowed us with her salsa, made the most amazing snickerdoodle cookies, and put my dough skills to shame with her pizza dough. Pretty soon she'll be tossing her dough up in the air like a real Italian, singing "When the Moon Hits Your Eye."

But the best part of having Gigi around is the language practice. Truth be told, this was the number one reason we hired her. It's nice to have someone around to correct my bad grammar and to mercifully listen to the endless supply of ridiculous sentences I come up with. Plus, we laugh together, go shopping together, and just do life together.

Here are my favorite Gigi moments so far:

Today my tutor and I learned the sentence structure for "Although...I still." My sentence went something like this: Although he is attractive, I still don't want to marry him. Kevin is the best husband. Gigi looks at Kevin and with a serious face says something to him that we don't understand. After a quick dictionary consult, we figured out what she said: Aren't you moved? Ha! My homework is now an emotionally touching endeavor!

Yesterday, we were making English muffins in the kitchen and listening to her favorite local radio station. It must have been English hour or something because I could understand nearly all of the songs. There were a few songs I could understand but didn't recognize, a Christmas song (don't even bother to ask why they play Christmas songs in the summer...), and then the pinnacle of childhood musical nostalgia: Mariah Carey's "Dreamlover." I told Gigi that I actually knew this song and started to jam out on the chorus. She told me it sounded lovely.

Then I realized she thought I was being serious. "No! No! No!" I wanted to exclaim. "You can't sing Mariah Carey seriously! That's just wrong! You sing Mariah Carey when you're alone in the shower. You sing Mariah Carey when you're driving down deserted Texas highways with the windows rolled down. You do NOT sing Mariah Carey seriously! That's like reciting Spice Girl lyrics as if it was Shakespeare or looking at the back of a cereal box as if it were a painting at the Louvre." But seeing that I don't know how to say Spice Girls, cereal box, or the Louvre in order to explain my position to Gigi, I just stopped singing.

My new friend for hire will certainly provide some hearty Blog fodder, don't you think?!?

Foreigners on parade

Last week was a big holiday in our city, so our apartment complex threw a big party to celebrate. The festivites began with a hands-on activity of making the traditional food associated with this holiday.

It involved folding two big bamboo leaves just so, filling them with sticky rice & sweet dates, and then somehow turning this whole mess into a lovely little leaf package tied up with string. (Cue Julie Andrews singing "These Are a Few of My Favorite Things"). Seems like a difficult task? It was. But thankfully we all had the assistance of an overly-eager set of grandmothers. They're always so willing to tell us foreigners what we should and shouldn't be doing!

I finally made one that seemed somewhat correct and even met the approval of the grandmothers!

Did I mention that no one else besides the foreigners was asked to attempt to do this? Everyone else simply watched us. Am I starting to feel like a sideshow? Starting to? Oh wait. No. Felt that way for a long time.

The celebration continued with some singing performances. That's pretty normal around here. Then they had a contest involving marbles and chopsticks. The goal was to use chopsticks to move the marbles from one plate to another. On your next rainy day, you should try it. It's not easy! Our American friend Rachel had a ligitimate victory against an adult. I, on the other hand, barely eeked out a win against a little boy.

Again, let me take a moment to mention that it was only the foreigners who competed. I think next in line for the agenda of entertainment was the trapeze artists or the bearded lady...

Then it was time for some impromptu correographed dancing put on by a few Asain folks and...you guessed it...the foreigners! Now I know that "impromptu correographer" dancing is an extremem oxymoron. It's not, however, when half the group knows the dance and the other half (namely, the foreigners) have no clue. So we (husbands included) did a little dance show that greatly resembled Jazzercise for the delight of the crown.

After about two hours of these little shananigans, I was ready to go home. But that's when the opera singing began. And went on...and on...and on. If you've never heard our local opera singing, just imagine high pitched voices and even higher pitched guitar-ish instruments. I know it's culturally beautiful but I have never been more reminded of the subjectivity of beauty until forced to listen to this for so long.

The show must go on! And it did. More opera until something magical happened. A group of important looking people showed up, made a quick tour of our shindig, and then promptly left. Then the party immediately ended.

I was later told that the secret to concluding the party was a group of people from the local government office. When you've got two foreign families living in your apartment complex and present at your holiday celebration, this apparently earns some bragging rights. Our friendly local leaders were supposed to show up when the rest of us did but were a little late (two hours late that is). So the show couldn't stop until they arrived. So it was opera song after opera song until they came, saw our lovely smiling white faces, then left.

Foreigners on parade!

Our cultural day

Sunday is our day off. I mean the entire day. We meet for worship on Friday afternoon so Sunday really is wide open. Sometimes we don't leave the house all day long. But sometimes we get daring for a little adventure. This past Sunday was one of those days.

We mounted our trusty new steeds (read: amazingly amazing bikes...pictures to come!) and rode out to this fancy park in town. It was supposed to cost nearly $8 (almost equivalent to my beloved Honey Bunches of Oats that I can buy at the import store!) but we have this nifty season pass thing that lets us into the city parks for free. That means I get to buy myself a box of cereal, right? I mean I was saving money, wasn't I? I digress...

The park was acutally quite enjoyable. This past Thursday was a holiday, so the government rigged a plan to give everyone a three-day weekend by giving them Thursday & Friday off. Yes, you counted right. A three-day weekend would mean going back to work on Sunday, which is exactly what everyone did. A little strange in my book but it made for a pleasantly vacant park (or at least as vacant as one might expect in one of the most densly populated countries in the world!)

We meandered around for a while. Kevin got a creative bug and wished he has his journal. I got a creative bug and played with my fancy camera. Very few people bothered us, with the exception of one guy who asked us to pose in a picture with his friend. What do they even do with the random pictures they take of us foreigners?

So that was our day. Thrilling life we lead, isn't it?

Back by popular demand...

Yes, that's right! It's time for another rousing edition of...

KEVIN & BECKY'S MOST RECENT LANGUAGE BLUNDERS!!!!!!!

Becky: My friend Rachel went back to America because her grandmother is...
Correct answer: sick
My answer: refridgerator

Kevin: Excuse me, I need to go to the...
Correct answer: restroom
Kevin's answer: radio

Becky: It's Monday so my ... is slow.
Correct answer: brain
My answer: bird

So hopefully all of your "birds" are not "refridgerator" but in perfect working condition so you can properly make your way to the "radio."

Until next time...

I'm back...

My most sincere apologies for once again leaving the blog world in a lurch. First it was a depressing week and, following the advice of the age-old sage Thumper Rabbit's mother "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all," I did just that: didn't say anything. Then it was a busy week. It's not that I didn't have anything to say, it's just that I didn't have time to say it. Then two weeks turned into three which turned into four and so on...you get the idea.

Then the emails came. The thoughtful provocations and not-so subtle suggestions to pick up the blog once more. In fact, one friend interpreted my lack of posting as (and I quote) "Oh my gosh, we're having so much fun every minute of every day here, that I have absolutely NOOOO time to post anything, even though I have tons of amazing stories that make you laugh so hard you pee in your pants, and even though our internet works whenever you need it!" You said it, Ash. You said it.

So here I am, attempting to be back on track. I can't make any promises but at least this is a start, right?

More news to come later...

A weekend of extremes

This past weekend was a perfect example of the highs and lows of living overseas...

There is a little friend in my class. His name is Barrow (yes, like a wheelbarrow...is that even a name? Has anyone ever known anyone named Barrow? Who gave him that name? Maybe it was Christopher-turned Chris-turned Aady...) Instead of mimicking my every phrase like sweet Jacob does, he picked up just one of my phrases and used it as the answer to any and all of my questions.

Me: Barrow, what color is your shirt?
Wheelbarrow: Good job.
Me: Barrow, is your shirt green?
Wheelbarrow: Good job.

Well, I suppose there are worse phrases he could learn from me! These are the moments I love living in this country.

After class, we went home for lunch and a quick nap before heading back to school for our afternoon classes. Right in the middle of my nap, my Asian teaching partner showed up at my house, unannounced. So there I was, in my stripped PJ pants, welcoming her into my furniture-less home. These are the moments I don't so much love living in this country.

Kevin and I ended up going out to dinner with my teaching partner after our afternoon classes ended. We went to a western restaurant in town (not KFC or Pizza Hut!) and I had the best minestrone soup of all time. The best part about the dinner was the Asian man singing karaoke songs by the Backstreet Boys or Mariah Carey in English. These are the moments I love living in this country.

Our dinner companion had borrowed her father's car for the evening. This was our first non-taxi ride since we've lived here. Admitidly so, our friend was not very confident behind the wheel, which is not really a good thing when navigating traffic here is more like a game of Frogger. Plus seatbelts are not an option here. On the way to and from dinner on the highway, the spedometer never went about 40 kmp (which I'm told equates to around 30 mph). These are the moments that I fear for my life living in this country.

Attached to the restaurant where we had dinner is an import store. Now when I say store, you should read closet. It is tiny, tiny, tiny but has so many western delights (for not so tiny prices). I came home with a bag of real Rold Gold pretzels and a bottle of balsamic vinegar. They also had an entire shelf filled with almond Honey Bunches of Oats (my favorite cereal in the whole, wide world). These are the moments I love living in this country.

Until I checked the price tag of my dearly beloved breakfast...nearly $10 a box! These are the moments I don't so much love living in this country.

That night (or her morning rather), Sister Sarah was having a knitting party in Louisville. She had invited three of the all-time coolest people in the world to her home. I mean, four of my favorite people in one place--what can get any better than that? Since I couldn't be there (for obvious reasons), I thought it would be fun to Skype so I could see them all. Thanks to my new discovery of call2.com, I was able to call them on my cell phone. These are the moments I love living in this country.

However, sadly enough, it was at that very moment that our computer went nuts and our internet decided to cut off. These are the moments I don't so much love living in this country.

Well, the adventures continued on Sunday but this seems like enough examples for one night. Let's just say that life is never boring in this neck of the woods!

Our first package!

Aren't parents wonderful? All your random mail that still gets sent to their house, those things you ordered from target.com but arrived the exact day you got on a plane to move across the globe, your important tax documents (yes, Uncle Sam's reach extends even across the Pacific)...parents just pack it up in a big box and ship it over here!

But the best part of all! Mom sent me Crystal Light peach tea. It's like southern comfort right here in Asia. (This one's for you, MND crew! A nice, cool class of Cristal.)

If you've noticed, all of our recent posts featuring us sitting are taken on our bed. Why? you might wonder. Well, it's because we don't have any other furniture besides our bed. We're trying to coordinate one big Ikea shopping trip in the capital city. Everything has to be in stock before I go, so until that happens, our home will remain a cave. A cave with a cozy bedroom.

It's in these instances that I wish my parents would just go ahead and pack up some living room furniture in a big box and ship it over. Whaddya think, mama?

What exactly is going on here?

In our new language, the words for "study" and "go to sleep" sound surprisingly the same. I think ol' Kevin here is experiencing the similarity personally.

The Stove Saga

All it really is is a glorified hot plate: two burners and some buttons. If you're willing to get your hands dirty, you can even lift the entire unit out of the countertop. Who knew that such a seemingly simple decive could spiral such a saga?

My first hunch was that maybe I just didn't know how to work it. I can't read the buttons so my feeble attempts to operate it resembled the hunt & peck method akin to eighth grade keyboarding class. No matter what combination of buttons I pushed, I got the same result: incessant high pitched beeping, no heat, and extreme frustration.

I asked two of my local (and literate mind you!) friends if they could diffuse this dubious device. Despite their best efforts, no immediate solution was reached. So we called the landlord to seek his expert advice. Unfortunately, he was out of town on vacation and could not be reached.

Two weeks later, we finally heard back from the landlord, who had this brilliant piece of technical advice to offer: unplug it, wait 24 hours, plug it back in. Seriously? That strangely seems to resemble what you do if your PC is acting up, not your stovetop. My other American friends thought that sounded like a pretty reasonable idea, so, even though I was convinced they've all lived in this country way too long to believe such a ridiculous idea, I tried it anyways. No luck.

So the landlord himself came to my house to investigate. He took away my stove and brought it back later that afternoon looking like this:



Yes, there is certainly cardboard on top of one of the burners wrapped in packaging tape. The landlord told me, "You can't use this today. You can use it tomorrow." (And I actually understood him!) Apparently, the 24 hour recovery time is common for Asian appliances. To prove his point, he took my new crockpot (courtesy of Asian e-bay) and put it on top of the recovering burner.

My local friend that had been helping me with this (since January!) called me to ask if it was working. I turned on the other burner (not the bandaged one with the crockpot on top) to check. And guess what!?!? More beeping...no heat...more frustration.

Another call to the landlord elicited this final piece of electrical advice: I have the wrong kind of pots.

Now if that isn't the stupidest thing I've ever heard! You're telling me that my stove is SO smart that it can detect what kind of pot is on it before it decides to heat up or not?

Yes. That is exactly what they said.

This news sent me into a downward sprial of culinary depression that lasted at least another two weeks. Our diet, now vastly improved with the addition of the crockpot, still consisted of far too many pb&j sandwiches. My microwave vegetable steamer was going into overhaul with the absence of a stove to boil water.

That is until one fateful day...

Another national friend verified this hypothesis about the wrong kind of pots. Still skeptical, I borrowed a different kind of pot from an America friend. Ten minutes later, I sent her a text at 9 PM that said: "You'll never believe what I just did! Boiled a pot of water!"

So at 9:05 that very night, with her kids in bed and my studying put to rest (where we both should have been!), we went out to buy me some pots. We were the only folks in the deserted store (which is truly a rare phenomenon around here) and perused the pot selection until our heart's content...well, really until they kicked us out of the store by turning off all the lights.

Here is why I'm thankful for this adventure:

* the words for "pot" and "stove" are forever etched in my mind. Nothing like experiential learning to make it stick!
* I now own four pots that work on my stove.
* I can fry an egg for my husband.
* I was thoroughly humbled by my disbelief of the rationale behind my broken stove.

So the next time someone tells you you might need new pots, I'd take their word for it!

Jacob have I loved

We just had our third week of English classes with the kiddos this past Saturday. They are truly a riot! I work with kids ranging from ages 3-9 who are in the lowest level English classes. Kevin works with the older, higher level kids. We are at the school on Saturdays from 8-12 in the morning and then in the afternoon from 3-5. It is a full day, but these little kids make it such fun.

I just wanted to take a moment to highlight some of my favorite little companions:

Jacob- He is my favorite little boy! He's about five years old and is the quietest little guy. He shows up to class early and just appears at my side, grabbing for my hand. He knows very little English so he just repeats everything I say to him:

Hello Jacob. How are you today?
Hello Jacob. How are you today?
Now you say, "I'm doing well."
Now you say, "I'm doing well."

It's somewhat reminiscent of the repeating game I'm sure we all used to drive our parents crazy with when we were younger, but the annoyance factor dissipates quickly when he looks up at me with those big brown eyes!

Paul- This is the most precocious Asian kid I've ever met! He is the son of one of our national teachers, so his English is quite advanced. He is afraid of elevators so everyday after class, we run down 8 flights of stairs together to wait for his dad at the bottom floor. This past Saturday, he decided to wear his hat with the ends turned up instead of covering his ears. When we asked him why he was doing this, he said he was Captain Hook.

See you later Captain Hook! we said.
Goodbye Smee! he said.

Now the other great thing about being an English teacher here is that you get to assign English names to the students. Every Saturday, I'm surrounded by some of my favorite people from home: Sarah, Beth (who cries during every class), Mark (who pronounces his name with a defiant "Mark-uh" at the end), and Chris (who was originally named Christopher but decided it was too long, so we changed it to Chris but then I guess he decided he didn't like that either so he changed it to Andy but decided to spell it Aady). I tried to name a Shannon but the mom didn't much care for it and chose Alice instead (sorry Shan!)

So those are my little friends who hang out with me on Saturdays!

Pesky Pronouns

OK so I'm sure some of you might be getting sick of all the stories of my language bloopers. But sometimes those are just the most entertaining things that happen. I do promise I'm writing some new material in my head currently (that's where all good blogs begin!) But until then, here's another language blooper!

So I get back from my morning run and am stretching on the brightly colored playground equipment in front of my apartment. This is where the old ladies come to stretch in the morning as well. Usually they chastise me for not wearing enough clothes (and I can actually understand them!). But today my stretching companion was an old woman who was doing drill-team kicks all over the place (quite impressive I must say). She had a chihuahua with her that was wearing a yellow & red sweater.

This was the extent of information exchanged between the two of us:

-The dog's name is Coco.
-My friend lives in a building that way.
-She thinks I have pretty eyes & that my language sounds good.
-I do not own a large dog.

To wrap up our delightful(and probably the most substantial conversation I think I've ever had), it was only proper for me to extend the standard pleasantries:

You are pleased to meet you.

Oops. That's not what I meant to say. Those pesky pronouns strike again!