There and Back Again: The Travels That Shape Us
Back in the mid-1990’s, I packed up everything I owned, put my Mazda Protégé on a ship and moved halfway around the world by myself to be a diplomat for the State Department in Krakow, Poland. I was 24 years old and didn’t think twice about whether it was a good idea or safe. Communism had just ended and it was still the Wild East over there. We’re not talking freshly-painted Prague with vendors selling tschotskes to backpackers on the Charles Bridge. We drank our water bottled and our shots of potato vodka straight from the freezer. Our phones, we were told, were likely still bugged, but there probably wasn’t anyone listening anymore.
For the next two-and-a-half-years, I made a life in that distant, unfamiliar part of the world. Only thinking back now can I appreciate the many ways that my once in a lifetime experience changed me. Here are just a few of the lessons I carry with me still:
How to be alone. In Poland, I lived out in the country. My neighbors had cows and chickens and I often heard horse hoofs clopping against the pavement as the farmers went to market early in the morning. There were no cellphones or internet. Sometimes I filled my government-issued house with Peace Corps volunteers in need of a hot shower and some television. Other times, I was by myself and might not speak to anyone else for days. It’s a kind of solitude that helped my writer mind to grow (and in the beloved chaos of our connected lives and the noise of three preschoolers, something I often miss.)
Just go. “Out there things can happen and frequently do to people as brainy and footsy as you. And when things start to happen, don't worry. Don't stew. Just go right along. You'll start happening too.” I had not read Dr. Seuss’ And Oh The Places You’ll Go when I went abroad. But I traveled like a madwoman when I was in Poland. Having already seen most of Western Europe as a student backpacker, I was determined to go in the other direction, east, and borrowing from Kevin Costner in Dances with Wolves, to see the frontier before it was gone. I hopped a train from Krakow to Odessa (24 hours, no dining car) went as far toward the Balkans as the war would permit, traveled to Pinsk (not surprisingly, there was no guide book.) I drove my car so far I reached a sign telling me that I had reached the end of Poland and had to turn back. And I was rewarded with the stories and adventures of a lifetime: I stood on mountains and gazed down on other countries and saw people smuggling vodka in the walls of trains and under their clothes. I drank beer out of great steins with the Solidarity miners hundreds of feet underground while we linked arms and sang hearty songs, and once in Gdansk accidentally stowed away on a ship carrying a bunch of highschoolers to a place called Hel. I also became really good at figuring out how to get back from anywhere.
Appreciation for the abundance. Even as a diplomat, life was harder in Eastern Europe. We couldn’t get many vegetables in winter, and when they were available we wondered what being downwind from Chernobyl had done to the soil. Medical supplies were scarce: the doctor who made house calls would ask for a kitchen spoon because he did not have a tongue depressor, and I had to ask for the lead apron before my x-ray. It made me realize how much we have here and take for granted. Once I came back to America when my mom was in the hospital and was horrified that my doctor brother blew up a rubber glove as a chicken to amuse her. Didn’t he know that medical supplies were precious?
And then it was time to come home. It was been sixteen years since I returned the United States, and while I have very much reentered “normal life” so many of the effects remain. Having weathered winters that lasted October until May, I’m seldom cold. And I still appreciate the value of a good produce department in the supermarket, and the taste of fountain Coke with ice.
But perhaps what stayed with me most were the friendships. So many people opened their homes and hearts to me and I will forever remember their warmth and generosity. And humor. Earlier this spring, I popped onto Facebook to find that the U.S. Consulate Krakow had a posting about one of my books being filmed as a movie in Krakow. I was puzzled (and alarmed): I had not even sold the film rights. I picked up the phone and called the consulate and spoke with a former colleague, Basia, for the first time since leaving many years earlier. I asked about the film posting. She said, “April Fools!” After all those years, they still remembered enough to punk me. I was touched.
Where have you been abroad and how have those experiences changed you?
(originally published with Jungle Red Writers August 26, 2014)
For the next two-and-a-half-years, I made a life in that distant, unfamiliar part of the world. Only thinking back now can I appreciate the many ways that my once in a lifetime experience changed me. Here are just a few of the lessons I carry with me still:
How to be alone. In Poland, I lived out in the country. My neighbors had cows and chickens and I often heard horse hoofs clopping against the pavement as the farmers went to market early in the morning. There were no cellphones or internet. Sometimes I filled my government-issued house with Peace Corps volunteers in need of a hot shower and some television. Other times, I was by myself and might not speak to anyone else for days. It’s a kind of solitude that helped my writer mind to grow (and in the beloved chaos of our connected lives and the noise of three preschoolers, something I often miss.)
Just go. “Out there things can happen and frequently do to people as brainy and footsy as you. And when things start to happen, don't worry. Don't stew. Just go right along. You'll start happening too.” I had not read Dr. Seuss’ And Oh The Places You’ll Go when I went abroad. But I traveled like a madwoman when I was in Poland. Having already seen most of Western Europe as a student backpacker, I was determined to go in the other direction, east, and borrowing from Kevin Costner in Dances with Wolves, to see the frontier before it was gone. I hopped a train from Krakow to Odessa (24 hours, no dining car) went as far toward the Balkans as the war would permit, traveled to Pinsk (not surprisingly, there was no guide book.) I drove my car so far I reached a sign telling me that I had reached the end of Poland and had to turn back. And I was rewarded with the stories and adventures of a lifetime: I stood on mountains and gazed down on other countries and saw people smuggling vodka in the walls of trains and under their clothes. I drank beer out of great steins with the Solidarity miners hundreds of feet underground while we linked arms and sang hearty songs, and once in Gdansk accidentally stowed away on a ship carrying a bunch of highschoolers to a place called Hel. I also became really good at figuring out how to get back from anywhere.
Appreciation for the abundance. Even as a diplomat, life was harder in Eastern Europe. We couldn’t get many vegetables in winter, and when they were available we wondered what being downwind from Chernobyl had done to the soil. Medical supplies were scarce: the doctor who made house calls would ask for a kitchen spoon because he did not have a tongue depressor, and I had to ask for the lead apron before my x-ray. It made me realize how much we have here and take for granted. Once I came back to America when my mom was in the hospital and was horrified that my doctor brother blew up a rubber glove as a chicken to amuse her. Didn’t he know that medical supplies were precious?
And then it was time to come home. It was been sixteen years since I returned the United States, and while I have very much reentered “normal life” so many of the effects remain. Having weathered winters that lasted October until May, I’m seldom cold. And I still appreciate the value of a good produce department in the supermarket, and the taste of fountain Coke with ice.
But perhaps what stayed with me most were the friendships. So many people opened their homes and hearts to me and I will forever remember their warmth and generosity. And humor. Earlier this spring, I popped onto Facebook to find that the U.S. Consulate Krakow had a posting about one of my books being filmed as a movie in Krakow. I was puzzled (and alarmed): I had not even sold the film rights. I picked up the phone and called the consulate and spoke with a former colleague, Basia, for the first time since leaving many years earlier. I asked about the film posting. She said, “April Fools!” After all those years, they still remembered enough to punk me. I was touched.
Where have you been abroad and how have those experiences changed you?
(originally published with Jungle Red Writers August 26, 2014)
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Sharon Thanks so much for sharing - I love hearing about your travels and I'm so eager to travel with my own kids when they are big enough! Best, Pam
Move forward a few years - I majored in international economics and minored in French. I wanted to do nothing more than work and travel overseas. I spent time in Mexico and the pace and way of life was intoxicating, so I brushed up on my Spanish. I planned it all out. However, life had a different idea and once again, I stayed in the US.
For many years, other than taking a few trips to Canada, I focused only on seeing more of the US. I still haven't traveled as widely here as I would like, but I've spent good chunks of time in the places I've been. I've been a New Yorker, hiked at midnight in the Alaska sun, experienced Hawaii as a local and been up and down both coasts quite a bit. The key has been time. One has to spend long amounts of time and really "be" in a place. No more jumping out of a car, snapping a picture and calling it good. It's been great so far, but there is much left to experience.
Then dream of dreams: This July, with my husband and kids in tow, I spent two weeks in Paris. In an apartment. While we definitely saw all the sites, I felt like I was living there. I brushed up my once fluent French and did most of the talking and ordering for the family. Apparently the accent is still good enough to fool a few people along the way! I found myself more often than not to be the one helping another tourist find their way. I went to the boulangerie every morning for our daily bread, became familiar at the local tabac where I bought espresso, and enjoyed spectacular bottles of wine, sitting at night on the balcony and watching the city go by. I found a simplicity of life that I wasn't expecting in a large city. When we traveled to Normandy, I got chills, feeling a familiarity with a place I had never been but that I recognized with every bit of me. I feel like I found part of myself in France, a part I hadn't seen in a very long time, and this time, I intend to not let it go.