Beyond the Sky and the Earth

So it's a new year, and once again I've resolved to blog here more consistently. I always appreciate comments on or about the blog, but I'm not that concerned, really, with how many people read these posts. I just know that the details fade fast, and that if I don't make a written record of my travels and of my life in Seoul now, the memories will be fuzzy later.

My blogging resolution was reinforced by a book I just finished - and actually this post will be sort of a report on that book rather than a description of my latest journey (an amazing trip to Peru, which I WILL write about soon; the picture above, from Lake Titicaca, is a preview). Beyond the Sky and the Earth is the memoirs of a Canadian teacher's three years in the tiny Himalayan kingdom of Bhutan. (Thanks to my high school friends Sarah and Sarah for recommending the book!) I loved it for several reasons; one is simply the fact that Jamie Zeppa's descriptions of Bhutan - of the mountains and the complete quiet and dark that you can feel in a Himalayan village, of the people and their warm curiosity, of nerve-racking rides in buses, loaded with people and chickens and tubs of kerosene, that lurch and sway over narrow clearings through recent landslides with long, steep drops below - brought back such vivid memories of my trips to Nepal, which are, hands-down, the best I've ever taken.

Mostly, though, I loved it because she articulated so many of the sentiments that I've experienced in my expat life, especially during my two years in Armenia. She explains the oddity of longing (and I really don't think it's an exaggerated use of that word) for a bagel, then returning "home" and eating one, only to find herself craving the simple foods she ate day after day in Bhutan (or, in my case, Armenia: salty homemade cheese and fresh bread and tiny cups of sweet Turkish coffee).

She explains how overwhelming it is to return to North America and be confronted with the sheer amount of stuff that people have, and with the number of choices there are in the cereal aisle. And how it suddenly seems so wasteful to see so many cars each carrying but one person down the road.

She explains how, when people ask what Bhutan is like, she always seems to say too much or too little, and to walk away from those conversations feeling like the other party doesn't really get it. That just happened to me in Peru, actually. Somehow it came up that Nepal tops my list of been-to destinations, and I tried to explain why I found it so magical. Even though I was talking to other people who share my love for travel, even though we were, at the time of the conversation, traveling in another spectacular, fascinating, mystical place, I'm pretty sure I failed to make them understand.

She explains how hard it is to live in a village where everyone knows everything that you do, even if you have nothing to hide. A co-teacher in Armenia once told me that her daughter had seen me in a store a few months back - and that I had bought markers, and that her daughter had been surprised that I was able to ask for them in Armenian. Harmless stuff, of course, but I sometimes hated the sense that people were watching so closely. Another time, a woman who lived in the building next to mine asked why I burned candles in my apartment. I don't think she suspected a seance or some sort of other odd behavior; she was probably just surprised that I didn't find it wasteful to use candles and electricity at the same time. (Shouldn't the former be saved for a time when the latter went out?) I don't think she had binoculars or anything either, but it did weird me out a little bit that she was peering into my windows that carefully.

So many details like that resonated with me, but I think even people who haven't shared the same sort of experience can probably appreciate the author's explanation of how living in another place can change not only your perspective, but your sense of self and of your place in the world. I think she's absolutely right.

For the record (in case anyone hunts it down based on what I've written here): the book's ending is disappointing. Nevertheless, it's a good read. It's a good explanation of what makes traveling so awesome, and a good reminder to me that someday when I'm reminiscing, my travel memories will be much more vivid if I have a record of them in writing.