I'm living in Tunisia this summer learning about refugee law at the UNHCR and living in a spectacular blue house in the Medina of Tunis, a UNESCO world heritage site. If you didn't catch the first month, check out Arab Treats in Summer Heat: Tunisia Month 1. Highlights from this month include meeting ambassadors at cocktails, going to Sousse on a whim, dipping my toes in the Mediterranean, exploring historical Roman sites, buying birkenstocks for $1, networking at the UN, surviving Covid, and eating Jeanne's pasta. Top takeaways by week include:

1. Highlight Week 1: journey through a carpet bazaar.
2. Highlights Week 2: the Mosaic museum in Sousse and El Ribat in Monastir
3. Highlights Week 3: exploring ancient ruins in Carthage
4. Highlights Week 4:  electronic & traditional North African percussion concert

In my last blog post I introduced the month by discussing my lovely house and my favorite foods. I thought I'd start this one off with some phenomenal doors followed by funny, coincidental, and heartfelt moments that helped make this month extra wacky. (Note that I could have easily made this into many blog posts, but part of the fun is seeing how much adventure can be had in a month. I suggest reading it in parts!)

List of elegant hotels I pretended to be staying at and it worked because I dress fancy:

• The 5-star boutique hotel in the Medina, Dar El Jeld, where I got a phenomenal rooftop view
• A five star resort in Gammarth, the highest class neighborhood in Tunis, to walk around the ornate halls of the Four Seasons (not fancy back home but REAL fancy here)
• The lakeside Hôtel Les Berges du Lac (even the name is fancy) to do some morning Italian in the dining hall before work
• The slick Hotel Villa Didon where I had a drink overlooking Carthage near Roman Ruins,

I have reflected on the fact people tend to take me more seriously when I dress professionally. Perhaps part of the reason is because I look older (just turned 26) so people perceive me differently than when I was backpacking in Ecuador at 19 with a baby face. As someone who has always existed in this world preferring comfort over fashion, I'm only now realizing that fancy pants trick people into respecting me more. I say "trick" because clothing is just fabric we've been socialized into putting values on. It's wild, when you think about it, that we'll subconsciously stand a bit taller when people are dressed nicer, even though we're all just wearing underwear underneath. Well, we hope so anyway.

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This week took an unexpected turn when I tested positive for Covid on Friday. Before that, though, I had a exciting start to the week at UNHCR, enjoyed my rooftop each day after work, went to the bar "Le Malouf" with my housemates, got bit by a cat and feared rabies, and had the best day ever where I bought a ticket to Rome and went on a serendipitous journey through a carpet bazaar.

A Friday I won't forget: 
Recounting my Friday gives you a glimpse of one day of my month which explains how magical things can be when you let yourself experience new cities to the fullest. 
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​A useful traveller tip for plane tickets: The cheapest airline from Tunisia is Tunisair. Their reviews are terrible, yes, but they are also half the price of other international airlines. Since I'm headed to Italy in August to see my partner, I decided to buy my ticket from them, even though I expect to be delayed at least a few hours (which is why the earlier the flight, the better chances you have of not being cancelled). If you book on their internet site you still need to go in person to pick up your ticket. And their phone line doesn't work. (Ha!) So I went to their office, and for the first time of my life I bought my plane ticket in person, in cash, at their office in the Kasbah. Watch out for their opening hours! 
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​Fancy Hotels and Rooftop Carpets? Yes! 
After buying my plane ticket, I headed into the Medina on a street I hadn’t taken before. The doors were impressive (some of them you saw at the start of this post).

At this point, I REALLY had to go to the bathroom. I noticed a sign etched into a stone saying “hotel spa this way.” I made a beeline. I walked in and was greeted by a spa smell and liked it. The walls were top to bottom tiled with hand painted ceramics. I asked the slick-haired receptionist if I could go explore and he said “bien sur!” At first I thought it was small but it just kept going and going. I even recognized a ceramic turtle from the Sarrasin region! (They have a tradition for pottery techniques protected by UNESCO).

After taking a silly bathroom selfie for my parents, telling them I found them a hotel if they wanted to come visit, I continued up a staircase. There was a fancy event going on, so naturally I peeked my head in to see what was going on. After refusing a tempting baklava considering I wasn't part of the conference in the first place, I turned around and bumped into the man from the Canadian embassy. He is the one who helped me last month by redirecting my email to a woman who invited me to a conference, where I networked and found my current internship. Good thing I refused the baklava, considering he would have known right away I wasn't supposed to be eating it! 
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The stairs continued to a rooftop restaurant. I walked into the glass-surrounded space to the bartender. With a big smile, I asked if I could see the roof (in broken arabic I googled moments earlier). He happily brought me outside, probably thinking I was adorably horrible at arabic. I had a view of the Kasbah from above. With a 360 degree view of the Medina sprawling below, the waiter asked what I was doing for the rest of the day. When I told him I wanted to go home to drink cold water, he grabbed my water bottle out of by backpack and went to fill it up with the coldest, most refreshing water. Waiting out on the terrace, I gave suggestions to foreigners who'd landed that morning. One month in and I was already a tour guide, giving seasoned expert suggestions. 

A useful traveller tip for plane tickets: The trick to exploring places like this is to always have a big smile and ask nicely. The worst thing a person can say is "no" so ask away!

After thanking the bartender, circling back downstairs, nodding at the slick-haired receptionist, and making my way out into the Medina, I bought a lebanese sandwich from a local vendor. It made me smile when I saw him give a small piece of ham to a street cat. While waiting for the sandwich I caved in and bought some postcards and jasmine oil, before somehow orienting myself enough to find the Zitouna mosque. My sandwich smelled too good to wait until getting home. I sat and ate, observing shop owners and mosque-goers. 

Quite happy with my after-work adventure, I started in the direction of my house, only to find someone outside the mosque selling beautiful carpets for prayer. When I told him the carpets were beautiful, he told me the carpet festival was happening today. Did I want to go to the carpet festival? Of course I did. When he asked if I wanted to see the carpets at the palace of the king, I grinned, knowing I had to say yes. He called another person to watch his shop, and led me straight, right, left, right, straight, right, left through the winding streets in the souk, or covered market. 

The store he brought me to looked like a regular souvenir store from the outside. When we stepped in, I was surprised he didn't stop at the carpets right in the store, but went straight to the back and up a staircase not visible from the street. For some reason I had a gut feeling this guy was a good guy, considering he was walking fast ahead of me, clearly interested in showing me carpets without ulterior motives. I hopped up the stairs to find carpets wall-to-wall, ceiling-to-floor, of all sizes and colors, stretched out with their minute details: flowers, animals, trees, zig-zags, squares, people. When I stood oggle-eyed, he told me impatiently that we weren't yet at the palace of the king! So I followed him to a giant wooden bed, which apparently used to belong to the bey, or king, whose photo was in the corner. Snapping a quick photo, he told me impatiently that we weren't yet at the roof of the palace of the king! He turned on his heel and I followed.

Hammamet Round 1: 
Hammamet is one of those beaches everyone tells you you've gotta go to. So on Saturday, I met up with two of my coworkers, Mouna and Ghita, at the louage station (ie. communal minivan station) to head there. After about an hour and a half we were on a LA-like avenue with a view of the ocean sipping on juice and swimming in the Mediterranean. Not a bad life, eh? Most places in Hammamet need reservations, but not these casual beach bars where if you pay for a (often non-alcoholic) drink, you don't need to pay for the umbrella.

SOUSSE Spontaneity
​Let's start this one off with photos from where I worked over 3 days. Not bad, eh? The whole "work from home" thing takes on a whole new meaning in Sousse. 

The cab took me to my hotel, a B&B Hotel Residence Monia I paid $30 for. It had basic amenities, but was secure and had air conditioning so I was happy. I read my book on the porch before falling asleep. The drive from the port to this downtown area took me on Ave. 14 Janvier and Ave Hedi Chaker, which I later learned looks so modern thanks to the influence of the former president/dictator Ben Ali. Apparently there's a political rivalry between the town of Sousse, Ben Ali's holding grounds, and the town of Monastir 20 minutes away, as that was Habib Bourguiba's (ex president prior to Ben Ali) holding grounds. 
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Unfinished reflections on traveling as a woman:

​Although it's sometimes bizarre to be the only woman in sight - because yes, you do become hyper aware of it - I've rarely felt in danger in Tunisia during the day. Considering there are 99% men drinking coffee on terraces at all hours of the day, everyone knows women run the country because they're the ones always working. This is the case in a lot of places. Unlike how I felt in India when I was the only woman around and fearing my physical safety, however, I suppose here for the local men I'm just a bit of an anomaly, maybe a cartoon character, when I accidentally ask for coffee in a men's-only cafe with a giant smile and a straw hat traditionally worn by men. My experience in Tunisia has been that people are curious but generally outwardly respectful. Although they could be saying degrading things that I don't understand, or at least thinking them, sometimes ignorance is bliss. Sometimes I choose to pretend to be ignorant so I don't get too mad on my way to work.

Sexism works differently in different parts of the world. Whereas in Latin American countries some men occasionally yell overtly sexualized comments (not fun considering it's safer not to respond), and in Kenya some men study you from head to toe clicking their tongues (I'm not sure what's worse), and in France men pretend to be friendly before trying to brush your body on the train (gross get away), here in Tunisia I feel that most men are either disinterested in me or too surprised that I'll smile and say hi before they have a chance to do it first. I'm not a modest, shy lady.

I don't want to diminish the very tangible fear of walking in the street at night and worrying for my bodily integrity. Trust me: that's awful, and like in any country I've visited, I have had the fight-or-flight response a few times here. On one occasion, when I refused to kiss a man's cheek past midnight, and he asked why, I said "it's past midnight and I'm a woman." He laughed and walked away instead of grabbing me. I felt my insides shaking as I turned the key to my door, realizing he was too close and my shirt was soaked with sweat. In his presence I could pretend I wasn't scared by deflecting him off with a joke and giving him my phone number, but my body knew I was in potential danger. At a certain point, these accumulated experiences make you avoid people's eyes when you walk. That's no fun. 

Being a woman also means your brain is considered less powerful because of your assumed genitals, which, let's face it, makes no sense. Women have the experience of being taken less seriously, from political commentary to daily decision-making, than if they were men. Some men will roll their eyes. But no. This is a daily experience. Every woman I know has had the experience of saying something, not getting a response, and five minutes later a man says the same thing and people respond to it. Even if it might happen in different ways to different degrees, it happens in classrooms in Canada just like it happens in community meeting under acacia trees in rural Kenya.

We all have internalized sexism. Everyone. We assume the bank president is a man and that the woman by his side is his wife, and not the reverse. White people who say they don't have racial bias are objectively wrong because we ALL have racial bias, and men who say they aren't influenced by gender bias are also objectively wrong because we ALL have been socialized according to gender norms. Denying our bias does nothing to dismantle it.

I'll close these thoughts by underscoring that sexism exists everywhere. It bugs me when people in North America assume "men elsewhere are worse so sexism doesn't really exist here." I've been to dozens of countries, but Canada is the only country I've ever filed a police report for sexual violence. Rather than deflecting responsibility elsewhere, more productive reflection would involve digging internally and questioning the context one is familiar with before making all-encompassing (and often ignorant) statements about contexts we don't understand. The truth of the matter is that we've got a lot of work to do everywhere. ​

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Sousse Medina
After the museum I walked through the Sousse Medina. It was similar enough to the Tunis Medina, but this one was on an incline, a bit sandier, and you could walk along the outer wall. I found some lovely coffee shops and went to a rooftop (listening to a work meeting on Zoom, might I add), making my way back through market stalls. I unsurprisingly bought some almonds. Through the Medina and past the Great Mosque of Sousse, I drank 2 liters of water. It was hot. 

​A useful traveller tip for Sousse coffeeshops : The two coffeeshops I found most inviting in the Sousse Medina were Cafe Aladin with a traditional vibe and a rooftop of the Medina, Cafe El Kasbah which looked like it had a great juice selection in an inviting, open atmosphere. Café Jawaher also looks cool from google images but I didn't see it. For less adventurous souls, the one that overlooked the busy industrial port was on top of a busy tourist shop called Cafe Beb al Medina. 

It was too hot to sit in the sun exploring more, so I grabbed a taxi and went to Monastir 30 minutes away, typing parts of a report on my laptop (ha! every moment counts!) looking forward to seeing the sea.

​Monastir Ribat
I want you to imagine entering a historical fort filled with well preserved mazes and secret hiding places, second staircases with doors hidden from views leading to new floors complete with strategically placed windows and crumbling sand. Let's summarize my time in the Monastir Ribat pretending I was Indiana Jones. With a mighty grin on my face seeing the sand lining the ground, taking turns into dark alleyways, and discovering hidden sleeping quarters with low ceilings and kitchens in round towers, it was by far the most unexpected highlight of my time in the Sousse area. It also brought back great memories of exploring Cambodian temples. 

I also want you to imagine me in my tourist dad outfit you saw above, having jumped in the ocean with all my clothes on. That's how wet I was, quite literally dripping, my pants suck to my legs like a wetsuit, the sand sticking to my cheeks. But the truth is that I hadn't jumped in the ocean at all. The fact I was exploring this area in 45 degrees C or 113 degrees F gave me a new appreciation for the dark corners of the fort, where the temperatures dropped quite a bit. Now you can understand how I drank over 6 liters of water that day, eh? 

Sousse Day 3 : 
​​​​From drinking margaritas to eating chocolate crepes, Chloe was the star of the show in terms of classy outfits... but I was the one with the better beach hair. While Chloe did important work things, I exercised for the first time with proper weights (I've been using flower pots on the roof, so it was a nice change) and swam in the ocean, working on a report from the beach and the poolside. 

The car ride home to Tunis was a movie moment. We shared music and watched the sunset as we sped by olive trees and hills in the distance. Sometimes even when you're in a place for not long enough, you can still get a gut feeling that some friendships will last long after you go. And gut feelings are usually right. 

I'd like to take a moment to remind everyone that we're still in week 2 of the month, if you'll believe it, so it's time for the UNHCR highlight reel. 

• Attended meetings about mixed migration movements in the South of Tunisia
• Was the photographer for a soccer game as part of World Refugee Day events
• Participated in the painting/pottery World Refugee Day event

Sunset views 
I also went out for coworkers after work one evening at Tangerine, a rooftop bar, and then explored the impressive Four Seasons resort before coming back home and eating dinner with my housemates. 

Hammamet Round 2: 
Considering Hammamet Round 1 ended with Covid, Hammamet Round 2 ended much better. With Chloe as our trusty driver, her, Matthieu, Jeanne, Amani and I enjoyed a lovely housemates day on the beach. We ate seafood, swam, and enjoyed the water. At one point I veered off and explored the Hammamet Medina, which I found a bit too touristy for my taste, but enormously enjoyed my tiramisu gelato as a treat. 

The final funny thing that happened this week was that when we came back from Hammamet, we of course went to Porto Novo down the street to buy the best makloubs in town. There had just been a soccer game between Club Africain and Esperance, the two Tunisian teams. While paying for my makloub, I saw a beeping pickup truck with the opposing Esperance flags. They had won, and these fans were showing off in Club Africain territory! I cheered because I didn't care who won, but I was VERY quickly quieted by my housemate who told me that it was dangerous for my safety. I guess this Club African v. Esperance rivalry is real, and because I live in Beb Jedid, I have not choice but to be a diehard Club African fan. 

As I've mentioned, I do Italian in the mornings before work. While I often just go right to the office and set up in the conference room before the day starts, other times I explore local cafes nearby. That's how I ended up in the fancy schmancy Berge du Lac hotel doing my morning Italian on Tuesday. I went in, dressed elegant enough to pass as a guest, and they let me in. You know this place is fancy when there's a lion set up outside. I set up my computer with a view of the lake. Not bad for irregular verbs. 

UNHCR Highlights

• Drafted official responses to NGOs and European governments on behalf of UNHCR (Whaaatttttt?! Yep.)
• Participated in counseling sessions

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Queer Art Evening at the British Ambassador's Residence​

Although many enjoyed the photography most, my favourite was a realistic portrait of two women wearing burkinis looking in each other’s eyes. Another aspect I enjoyed from the evening was meeting a fashion designer with impressive makeup, wearing an outfit he designed that mixed aspects of traditional men’s and women’s clothing. A walking art piece! As I wrote in the blog I wrote for the McGill Centre for Human Rights about Queer activism in Tunisia, homosexual relations are criminalized in Tunisia. It was that much more powerful, then, that the Ambassador raised a rainbow flag outside the residence, seen by everyone on the interstate. I spent quite a bit of time with the Argentinian Embassy team chatting away (in Spanish for my Spanish-loving soul) about these and similar events.

​There's nothing like driving 30 minutes from home and seeing ancient historical conquests and phenomenally preserved artwork. Carthage was home to the Phoenicians, then the Punics, then the Romans, then the Vandals, and finally the Byzantines. Chloe and I spent Saturday visiting these sites, and met a remarkable man who has been working in mosaics and restorations for 40 years. We went to the Roman amphitheatre, the archeological Carthage site (where we met our friendly impromptu guide), the Baths of Antoninus (my fav), and Byrsa Hill before enjoying a panorama view of the sea from a classy hotel terrace. As a bonus, this impromptu guide explained the holdings of a cavern where the recovered mosaics are kept, where we saw thousands of years of history classified into neat rows. Plus, he told us jokes.

Before we get to the ruins, a huge thanks to Chloe for driving that day and showing me her fancy hotel hideouts. 

1. ​Roman Amphitheatre 
It was neat to imagine what went down in this theatre so many years ago. Of all the sites, this one was the least impressive perhaps because most of the steps were re-done. Stay tuned though, because next month I go to El Jem, the most phenomenal amphitheatre in Tunisia comparable to the colosseum in Rome.​

Near the Amphitheatre and a short walk up a slope brought us to a house inhabited by an aristocrat in the third century with mosaic birds in the paved entrance. This region was where all the upper class lived, and thus where many mosaics have been recovered. 

Our next stop was the Baths of Antoninus. This was my favorite, because many of the structures were still intact and we were free to walk around all the sites. The Baths of Antoninus or Baths of Carthage are the largest set of Roman baths built on the African continent, close to 300 metres in length. In fact, they're more of a thermal complex than a singular bath. We explored the ins and outs of the caves, impressed to see Roman Script still engraved on some of the rock. Chloe shared her favorite podcasts. I drank all the water.
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Drinks with a view
After our hot day filled with history, Chloe brought me to a sleek hotel with a view of Carthage to grab a cold drink, called Hotel Villa Didon. We talked politics, history, and philosophy solving the world's problems with fancy little breadsticks and olives. Pinkies up!

Finally we've made it to week 4. Pat yourself on the back if you've made it this far. Hopefully you've enjoyed reading as much as I've enjoyed sharing. From tiny shrimp, interesting music, and a random Japanese restaurant, it was a great way to end the month.
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That's the beauty of having local friends who bring you to the best digs. For 110 dinars, or about $11 CAD each, we had a feast and each had leftovers for lunch the next day. Word of the wise: people are allowed to smoke inside so I'm glad we left when we did to avoid the fog. 10/10 recommend.  
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Musical project Frigya

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The Cliff
​Considering Chloe and I's track record of going to fancy places all month - from a five-star hotel in Sousse, to the Hotel Didon in week 3 - I wasn't all that surprised when she suggested grabbing a drink after our pottery club at The Cliff. Although the prices might be exaggerated for meals, the drinks menu is affordable and the view is divine. 

​UNHCR Highlights

• ​Drafting letters to the EU (casual)
• Learning about disembarkations from Libyans in the South of Tunisia
• Archiving missing files
• Researching Sierra Leone and Libyan torture for different cases
• Emergency meeting at the office - that was exciting

Since we have the whole confidentiality thing going, I can't share much more about the cases or the specifics of the work. What I can share, however, are conversations I had with colleagues. I enjoyed gripping stories of colleagues who had lived in various war zones, been shot at by armed groups, been kidnapped, negotiated with rebel groups, etc. I've heard many of them say the adrenaline from these humanitarian missions is almost an addiction. One of them lived in 30 countries in 30 years. I cannot imagine how many life experiences she has had. 

Day in the Marsa
After a lazy morning hanging out with Jeanne and Chloe in our little courtyard (I <3 my house), we went to Bistro Nippon, which is a Japanese food restaurant run by a friendly Japanese man who re-creates Japanese spices with those available here. My favorite part was chatting with Jeanne and Chloe about life with a view of the pottery on sale. Does it get much better? 

Finally, to finish off the month, please enjoy the following photos taken at A mi chemin which represents the dynamic between Chloe, Jeanne, and I. Jeanne is the responsible adult who pays for our coffee while Chloe and I take silly mirror selfies. I think it's quite representative of our friendship. 

From doors, carpets, shrimp, louage rides, mosaics, taxi conversations, music, fancy restaurants, ambassadors, a funny straw hat, beach hair, sunsets, baklava desserts, losing a debit card, sweating, learning history, bartering, meeting Walid the taxi driver, and generally taking each day as a new day, June was an adventure. 

For starters, I live in the Medina, which translates to "old town." We're not talking "old" as in old Quebec founded in the 17th century, but we're talking about a city founded in the year 698, which is approximately 1500 years ago. For somebody who lives in Canada, a (settlor) country that recently celebrated its 200 years, that's a lot to wrap my head around. Tunisia has been colonized 7 times, by the Carthaginians, the Romans, a stint by the Vandals and the Byzantine Empire, then the Arabs, the Ottoman Empire, and the French. Amazingly, bits of each of these historical epochs can still be seen as you walk through Tunis, from Roman ruins, to European ceramics, to French pastry shops. I live between the Zitouna mosque - the second oldest mosque in the Maghreb region - and the Kasbah - which literally translates to fortress but in this case refers to the administrative capital of the country. Considering the Medina's streets are too narrow to be driven in, I have to walk about 5 minutes to get out and onto Beb Jedid road where I can hail a cab.

Living in the Medina means I live in a UNESCO world heritage site. There are some 700 historic monuments in the Medina, distributed in 7 areas, among which the most remarkable are the Zitouna Mosque, the Kasbah Mosque, the Youssef Dey Mosque, Bab Jedid Gate, Bab Bhar Gate, the Souq el-Attarine, the Dar el-Bey, Souqs ech-Chaouachia, the Tourbet el Bey, and noble houses such as Dar Hussein, Dar Ben Abdallah, Dar Lasram, the Medrasa Es-Slimanya and El-Mouradia, the El Attarine military barracks and the Zaouia of Sidi Mehrez. 

I live in one of the historical houses (scroll through the slideshow below) right near Tourbet el Bey. In Arabic, "Tourbet" means cemetary, and "Bey" means "king," so I live right near the tomb of the kings who once reigned here. The house is a treasure. The ceramic tiles in the house are hand painted and the doors are made of carved wood. Believe it or not, found the house I'm living on Facebook in a group for people searching for housemates. (Shoutout to Martin for commenting on my post!) My guess is that the king used to live here, but note that's not backed up by any kind of actual historical knowledge. I just want to believe I'm living in a royal palace. 

Each of my housemates is so lovely I could write a blog about all of them. Jeanne is a down-to-earth woman who lives in the moment with cool shoes and a laugh that just fills your heart because it comes from her soul. Martin somehow knows everyone in Tunis, has a phenomenal fashion sense, and takes the time to let people know he cares.  Matthieu has slick shades, witty humour, and makes Tunisia's best Omek Houria (spicy carrot salad) despite not being Tunisian at all. Chloe is an enthusiastic social butterfly who makes everyone in a group comfortable simply by being herself. Amani is a badass Tunisian activist who will one day publish her book that will change lives. Just briefly, I want to emphasize how grateful I am to them for including me in their social circles and inviting me to share moments of their lives. From eating dinner together to having deep chats over coffee, I don't need to explain myself to be understood, which doesn't happen so easily so often. My heart is full in this house.

It would be downright rude for me to write about my house without mentioning our pet, Batman. Batman is a cat whose name was decided before her sex was obvious. We love Batman, our gender-defying cat who is as social as a dog. (For a picture scroll to Week 3.)

The house is nestled between winding roads just wide enough for a donkey cart, with mosques and birds visible from the roof, and cats around every corner. In the afternoons after work, I've picked up the habit of taking a snack in the little courtyard before heading to the roof terrace to exercise, sometimes hearing the mosque prayers in the background of the cardio video on my phone. It's calming up there because hardly anyone goes onto their roofs, so I'm in the middle of the busy city but can't hear traffic (no traffic since cars don't fit in the Medina) and I feel alone, away from the hustle and bustle of the day despite being right above it. I'm lucky enough to catch the sunset most days with the birds circling in the dozens above my head.
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I'll name just a few culinary experiences so far. In the northern town of Bizerte about an hour from Tunis (see below for Bizerte adventures), apart from the beach, one of my highlights was drinking sweet hazelnut tea and eating freshly grilled fish I bought from a fish market. In the Medina of Tunis I ate at a fancy restaurant called Fondouk el Attarine complete with two appetizers, a salade and an entree (I chose cous cous), and dessert for $16 CAD (see below for pictures). Of course, going to the local market is also quite the experience, and cheap. As for desserts I've eaten way too many baklavas (layered pastry dessert made of filo pastry filled with chopped nut), a kaak warka (marzipan rosewater cookies that are white in color and shaped like rings), samsa (triangle pastries stuffed with roasted nuts​), bambalouni (fried dough ring doughnuts), ghraiba homs (chickpea cookies apparently dating from the Ottoman empire), makroudh (semolina dough with date filling inside doused with honey), Kaber ellouz (almond balls colored to look like sugary peaches), and assida boufriwa (hazelnut creme in a cup).
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Now that we've got the basics out of the way - housing and food, of course - let's dig into how I've spent my month so far. 
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The Marsa: On Saturday I hailed a cab and it took 30 minutes (for $4 CAD) to arrive at the Marsa, an upscale community located right on the coast of the Mediterranean, east of the city. Jeanne, a wonderful host, invited me to grab coffee and Italian food at Pizzeria COME Prima with her and her friends there. We walked through a plateau area with a nice view of the Mosque Al Ahmedi before walking right up to the beach. It was very exciting for me to go down the stairs because when I skyped the housemates when I was back in Montreal anxious about the trip, I saw this same view as Jeanne hopped down the stairs in the background of Matthieu's phone. It was crazy to be ther, in person, enjoying a sight I had seen from an ocean away.

Sidi Bou Said: Afterwards, I walked to Sidi Bou Said, the most picturesque Greek-like town you never knew existed. All the buildings are white with blue roofs, and the ceramic tiles makes it my paradise. 

There were two clear highlights of my afternoon in Sidi Bou Said. The first was sipping a coffee and eating various treats at Café des Délices with a badass Russian woman backpacker named Ulyana (impromptu encounters are great). The coffee was overpriced but I'd say it was definitely worth the view of the ocean on the tip of the peninsula overlooking the beach below. 

The second highlight was being invited by a local shopkeeper into a restaurant called Art Cafe located near Dar El Annabi, a heritage museum. I took the stairs upwards and saw groups of men smoking shisha (is my life a movie?). I climbed up the stairs to the roof with a view of the ocean. It was so unexpected, with its mixed Arab and Andalusian architecture. The music gave it the atmosphere I had come to Tunisia expecting to find. 

Perhaps the best part of the day, beyond the satisfaction from the view or the rooftop, was the inner peace I felt with being out on my own exploring at my pace. On the way to Sidi Bou Said I stopped for an ice cream, enjoying the increasingly blue-white scenery. I met Ulyana because my phone died and I didn't know the way to the coffeeshop, so I bumped into her, asked her for directions, and invited her to join me when she expressed her happiness at finally meeting somebody who spoke English. When I left the cafe, it started pouring and instead of being worried about my clothes, I couldn't wipe the grin off my face. I hopped into an art museum, browsed a book about the region, had a tabouna salad, and admired the little wooden imitation doors being sold left and right. The pottery on sale was colorful and happy. I was colorful and happy, too.

A few weeks later I was already back to "Sidi Bou," the shorthand locals use to refer to the town. 

Coffee: On Sunday I went to a coffeeshop called Little Sarrajine Coffee, which is a short walk from my house. It's a 3 story building with a view of the street below from the terrace. I read my book and journaled, enjoying the busy street from a perch. The coffee was quite tasty. 

Coffee in Tunisia functions as a social institution. There are hundreds of small coffeeshops where thousands of men sit outside at all hours of the day, either speaking together or enjoying the sidewalk view alone. There are different ways to call coffee depending on what you're looking for. My favorite is the cafe direct, or latte. 

• "Qahwa" = coffee
• "Espress" = espresso, but even more bitter than what I'm used to
• "Cafe filtre" = filter coffee

• "Cafe creme," "Qahwa bi halib" = filter coffee with lots of milk
• "Shtar" = without milk
• "Direct" = espresso with milk, ie a latte or cappuccino 
• "Capucin" = not cappuccino, but espresso with a little milk like a macchiato
• Turkish coffee, Qahwa arbi = grounds form a mud at the bottom

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Tourist Suggestion - Marche Centrale : The central market is the place to be on a Sunday morning. I went with Jeanne and Matthieu to buy vegetables for the week. There are three major sections: the first is a huge fish market, the second is where spices, olives, and cheese are sold, and the third is the giant vegetable/fruit section. One of the mainstays of Tunisian cuisine is spicy harissa Matthieu just adores, so naturally you can buy that in the second section. I met a goofy guy with an impressive lemon stand who gave me a business card I will forever keep in my wallet, considering it has a picture of him and all his lemons. It's worth taking a stroll in the flower section, which smells wonderful. 

​Pottery :  The second weekend I spent Saturday at Cera, a ceramic studio, thanks to my housemate Amani hooking me up with a friend of a friend, Daly, who owns the studio. I'm now spending my Saturdays working there in exchange for learning pottery tips and playing with clay for free. Daly gives classes on Saturday, and so far the people there have been kind and welcoming. I taught a few locals how to make coil pots. The music was warm and the ambiance felt like my Montreal pottery studio. What can I say? I'm happy when I'm playing with clay. 
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A useful traveller tip for language: By the second weekend I had already learned a few key Tunisian arabic phrases, namely thank you (aishek), please (b'lehi), hello (aslema) and bye (bislema). Note that the Tunisian dialect is quite unique, so some of the modern standard arabic I had come prepared with isn't practically used. One of the places most recommended to me for language classes is the Bourgiba Institute of Modern Languages, but I've also heard success stories about one-on-one private tutoring with local contacts.  
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Back to the Marsa: After my pottery class, I went to the Marsa to grab some lunch at a restaurant called La Dokkana House. There is an impressive view on the ocean from the terrace. I was invited by a lovely American-Russian couple my age to share lunch with them. We chatted about traveling, politics and language learning. They both work from home, so are able to travel for months at a time. While traveling with friends is fun, I find that traveling alone allows you to meet and connect with more people because you're drawn into conversations you might not otherwise be drawn into. That was the case here.

After lunch these two new friends showed me around the neighborhood. The Marsa is known for ice cream. As in, I quite literally saw 6 ice cream stores in a short 10 minute cab ride. Naturally, we grabbed ice cream. I love hazelnut, and I'm glad to announce that so do Tunisians. My hazelnut chocolate ice cream was perfect for the hot day. Eventually we wound up at a cafe called the Saf-Saf that occasionally hosts a lady camel. I saw the lady camel. It was a random, fun time. ​

We spent the day admiring the colorful buildings and fishing boats in Bizerte's old port, enjoyed visiting a busy fish market where we bought our lunch to be grilled, and ate it on the side of the water with tabouna bread and a spicy green sauce-like salad called mechouia salad. The nice thing about hanging out with locals is that they bring you to all the local hangouts. I would have never ventured into that busy fish market, bought a raw fish, and brought it to the grill. (You don't pay them for the fish, but for the grilling.) Amani was a star and somehow found us a nice table by the water despite the hundreds of people swarming around the area.

​We grabbed a coffee on the boardwalk before hopping in the car and heading to the beach, a local place called "Grotte 1." I drew in my journal soaking up the sun, watching Amani's little brother play in the waves. I don't know why, but when I ran on the sand it started squeaking! (My guess is there are air pockets in the sand? Any guesses as to why would be appreciated.) We ended the day with a sweet hazelnut tea before heading back to Tunis in the louage. ​

Coincidences of all coincidences: I know I said I wouldn't speak too much about work in this post, but the entirety of week 3 was fun and random - like traveling tends to be - precisely because of work-related shenanigans.

After a rapid change in plans concerning my prior internship, I emailed the Canadian embassy for guidance on legal organizations doing good work in and around Tunis with whom I could work with. I honestly wasn't expecting a response. Within 30 minutes, I got an email from who I now consider a friend, Lara, from the International Bureau for Children's Rights. Believe it or not, she was contacted by somebody from the embassy and happened to be sitting in a cab with my professor, Dr. Francois Crepeau, who taught me refugee and immigration law last semester. (Aside: Dr. Crepeau used to be the United Nations special rapporteur on migration, so he's kind of a big deal but also one of the most laid back profs I know). Turns out my prof from Montreal was here in Tunis to help lead a conference on the child rights of migrants. WHAAT?! Considering I just finished writing a 30-page research paper about Mediterranean migration routes and EU policy, and a few months ago wrote another 30-pager about child labour for my human rights class, Lara invited me to attend the conference. 

Sometimes when you least expect things to go smoothly, life defies your expectations and you oggle at the way things work out.

The two-day conference at the Hotel Berge du Lac was phenomenal both in terms of agenda but also in terms of getting me back on my feet. I met Lara's lovely co-workers including bubbly Marie-Soleil, a Québécoise woman whose accent made me feel right at home, and young Ivorian and Congolese friends passionate about refugee rights. I learned about unaccompanied child migrants in Tunisia and enjoyed a cocktail casually meeting the Canadian ambassador, representatives from the IOM (International Organization for Migration), UNICEF (UN agency for children's rights), and UNHCR (UN agency for refugees). Although normal people want to meet Lady Gaga, for me meeting people working at the UN was a *pinch me* day. With no time to waste, I bolstered my confidence and spoke to all these reps explaining my situation and proposing internships. Usually nailing down a UN internship is a year-long process. I don't know why or how, but by Monday, these three organizations had offered me internships. It was a serendipitous, confidence-boosting week as I started my time with the UNHCR.

Sometimes, the toughest thing to do is to make a decision for your mental health that you're unsure will end well. This is one of those examples where being courageous enough to put a quick end to a plan couldn't have had a better turn of events.

Morning Italian: May, my ride to work who I found on the CoVoiturage Facebook group, likes to sing on the 30 minute drive to work and honk angrily at cars that cut her off. She also picks me up at 7 AM from Bab Jedid, which means I'm at work at 7:30, an hour early. Lucky for me, there's a great coffee shop called Cosmitto right near the office safe enough to pull out my computer. Since I'm heading on exchange to Italy in September (where is the time going), my early ride is a blessing in disguise since it both allows me to not sit in traffic when it's blistering hot, and also forces me to get on that Italian studying game. 

Tourist Suggestion - Taxi Rides : Honestly I love taxi drivers. From practicing Spanish in Ecuador without embarrassment because I knew I wouldn't see the driver again, to a  Nairobi driver who just shrugged when I got my phone stolen from my lap due to a hand snatching it from the window on the open highway, taxi rides are perhaps the most underrated traveling companions. In Tunis, I've met over-educated taxi drivers who speak multiple languages and world geography. They've taught me where to take shared taxis to save money, shared local police numbers with me because they were "my uncle," stopped so that I could buy fruit on the side of the road, and shared useful phrases like "mush mushkool" which means "no problem." So don't spend your time on your phones in taxis. Talk to the drivers and you could learn a lot. 
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Paddleboard in Sidi Bou after work: On Fridays, we get off work at 3 PM. I don't know who thought of ending the day early on Friday, but I love the idea. After work this week I hailed a cab from the hot road until I got to the beach at Sidi Bou Said. Myriam, the pottery friend who invited me to the lunch mentioned above, comes here all the time to do paddleboarding. Well I was interested! For 30 dinars or $12.50 CAD, we had a half hour on the paddle boards with the Luckyy Boy Club rentals. Considering I had done paddleboarding before, I thought I'd have an easy time. The detail I forgot about was that I had only paddle boarded on lakes! Let me be clear that I fell quite a few times, but it was wonderful considering the water was perfectly warm to hang out in for hours. 

I think the day was so good precisely because Chloe and Jeanne feel like old friends who accept me for me, shenanigans and all, despite only knowing me a few weeks. We sang music, watched the olive groves pass by on the drive there, and even laughed at a man wearing a McGill University t-shirt he had probably bought from a local fripe. I had pangs of Kenya memories as we drove through little towns with fruit stands lining the dusty roads, wishing I could share all of my life experiences with the two sitting in the front seat talking about the differences between one French town and another. After glimpsing the ocean, turning left, and passing by vividly orange mounds of soil, we found a dusty parking lot and hopped out with our towels. It was sunny and hot - the kind of heat that makes you really glad you're hopping in the ocean soon.​

It was neat to go exploring up above our little paradise, where we found a really old building that we think was a mausoleum? The views from the top of the little hill were phenomenal. 

After our beautiful day, Chloe was a champ and drove back to Tunis under wild traffic conditions including erratic drivers and one-way streets that weren't one way streets.

We went back to the Yuka bar (I had gone there with the Canadian embassy people during the day, remember?) but this time at night. The vibe was neat and fun and different. The lights were on, the atmosphere was club-like and the people were all much more nicely dressed than us. We grabbed a table and chatted about life before heading home way too late but happy in our hearts. 

The first month in Tunisia has been a whirlwind of fun and beauty and unexpected encounters. From exploring the Medina, trying new foods, visiting blue-white towns, making new friends, going to the beaches, feeling diplomatic, drinking coffee, people watching, learning arabic, and generally living in the moment, I can say I've seen a lot and learned a ton. I can't wait to see what the second month has to offer.  

When you read a blog page about how to keep a blog page, the first tip is always "keep your posts consistent." I'll admit I haven't been consistent at all. This blog was never meant to earn readership but rather to express my thoughts in a semi-journal form. I've decided to take my blog from the backburner to the frontburner, but before I do, I want to give a quick overview of what's happened in the past 3 years. 

Maybe the most surprising thing is that I still live where I lived 3 years ago, which is surprising for me as much as it is for anyone else. I really really enjoy living in Montreal. It's a great home base, always has events going on, and is a safe space. Each new season marks a change in outdoor activities. I like that. In the past 3 years I've discovered every single cafe in Montreal within biking distance, and admittedly spent most of my savings on those coffees. (No regrets.) I've gone on bike rides, went to museums, organized outdoor barbeques, and made lots of pottery. I have a group of stable people who have made it worth staying. That, and I've stayed to study.

In 2019 I graduated from my MA in political science and decided to study law. I'm now 2 years into my law degree at McGill, and I'm psyched about having legal tools in my activist toolkit to throw a few more pebbles into the ocean of change veering in the direction of social equity. 

COVID happened, and is still happening. Doing my first year of law school online and away from my family was an enormous challenge. Since the borders were closed, I relied on my small bubble in Montreal to get me through. I can say with confidence that I've never worked so hard in school as I did during that year. The second year was better for multiple reasons, notably because the vaccines came out, the borders opened up, school returned in person, and I could take classes that genuinely interested me. I don't know about you, but I much prefer international environmental law, public international law, critical human rights, and international development law to contract and torts law, however useful the latter might be one day. 

I was lucky enough to go on some adventures. I dove into outdoor life in Quebec, complete with a 2-week road trip around the Gaspesie region (whales included), a full-day kayak trip down the Yamaska, a bike ride around Lac Brome, foliage hiking at Orford, a ski day at Sutton, a month living around Lac St. Jean eating blueberries, going to Saguenay Fjords Park, and camping on Ile d'Orleans. I went to Costa Rica to meet my partner's family, discovering my new favorite beach called "Dantita." I visited my little sister in Wyoming and was wow-ed by the Teton mountain range and Yellowstone National Park, climbing up to the incredibly blue Delta lake, seeing a bear, and going to Salt Lake City. Christmas in Cancun was a laid back family holiday filled with novels and my dad's cooking. Although perhaps less glamorous, dinners with my extended family in Laval and Quebec city were the most heartwarming weekends. Finally, the most recent adventure was a month in Ecuador, where my heart will always feel full because of the lifelong friends I've made and maintained since my first time abroad when I was 19. I'll get around to writing about each of these adventures in due time. 

Some things change, but other things stay the same. Even though my cousins had babies, my sisters moved states, and my parents retired, I know I can pick up the phone and call them all for a good chat. 

Now, I'm in Tunisia for 3 months and then I'm off to Italy for 4 months. Amazingly, both experiences are paid for with bursaries from my University because they are educational experiences. Considering I'm in school full time, I've been quite lucky to benefit from so much time exploring.
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I hiked up Burke Mountain on Oct 5, 2019 and had to share some of the photos I took. The best time of the year to hike in the Northeast Kingdom for foliage is the first week of October. It's incredible how the leaves change every year, reminding me that no matter what happens in life, it will go on. I was in particular need of a solo hike to reflect, enjoy, and listen to my favorite podcasts. The hike up took about 2.5 hours up on the Red trail, accessed through the lower parking lot of Burke Mountain. On the way down I took the access road, and halfway down I asked a friendly local if they could bring me the rest of the way in their pickup truck. On the way up I saw lots of squirrels, breathed plenty of fresh air, ate lots of pistachios, and felt grateful that I could spend five hours outside by myself and feel totally safe. We're lucky, because that simply isn't the case in the majority of the world. 

The Montreal Climate March drew crowds of 500,000 people, which is about a quarter of Montreal's immediate population of around 2 million. That's significant. The manifestations lasted from 11 AM to 4 PM, and I was there the whole time taking in the infectious energy. The signs were incredible. I started off at McGill with thousands of other students, and then we all marched to Mount Royal together.

I took lots of photos (of course!) and here are some of my favorites. 

Some signs were meant to be funny, some signs were meant to be punny, lots of signs were about plastic in oceans, others targeted particular politicians, or targeted particular extractive industries... One guy even stole a bike sign and carried that the entire march (hella good triceps I imagine), others made reference to Bill Nye, and many pointed to how Canada is not doing enough for the planet. The ones that resonated with me most were those pointing to how 100 companies emit 70% of the world's CO2. This is a systemic issue, not an individual one. 

This person holding a plant was the anthem to the entire climate protest. Some people were dressed up as TREES, with branches on their arms and stilts to make them taller. 

I must have seen 20 signs referencing the Lorax. 

People blasted music from their homes, we all chanted together, and overall it was just a really great day to stand together. Hopefully the energy continues so policy change can take place. We all know we need it. 

You know when you ride a bike after a few years, and it feels awkward for a few moments? Your body still knows how to ride the bike, but it doesn't feel quite natural?

That's reverse culture shock.

It's a reminder of how acute our conception of "normalcy" is. It's returning to "normal" but feeling out of place, a stranger in what is supposed to be comfortable. But since this not-normal-"normal" was so automatic before your time away, your body goes through the motions. That's why you don't fall off your bike. That's why ​your routine day-to-day breakfast feels wrong on your tongue, because you have tasted other breakfasts, but it's somehow familiar. It just takes a few mornings to actually feel like you're here and not there. It's like your mind is straddling two realities, unsure which is the current.

Of course, this is accentuated when the reality you came from is increasingly different from the one you're coming back to. After living in a small fishing village in France for a few months, it wasn't that difficult for my brain to comprehend that I was back in small town Vermont. Upon return, I could reflect on my daily routine there and understand it from here without a problem. After living in Ecuador for a year, my brain had a bit of a strenuous exercise. It was difficult to imagine my friends in busy Quito eating humitas when I was picking blueberries in some field without another person in sight. Beyond that, with a new "normal" in Ecuador came new neural connections... literally. I learned Spanish there, and had never spoken it here. It was surprising, frustrating, and a bit funny when I went to my grandma's house soon after arriving back from a year in Ecuador and I couldn't speak to her in French. My mind was hardwired in Spanish! Eventually the French came back, and luckily the Spanish stayed too. 

After living in Kenya for three months, I'm having a hard time back in Canada/USA understanding that what I lived there wasn't a dream. I'm drinking water from the tap in my kitchen, and just weeks ago I was speaking to women who walk seven hours daily for water. My bedroom here is significantly larger than the structure I lived in there. I'm not hearing Swahili, I'm not eating ugali, and I'm not washing my clothes on the stove. Rather than being relieved I'm back to "normal," I'm a bit overwhelmed by all the stuff in my house that I don't need. When I stepped out of the airport, I was mesmerized by the pedestrian lights. I wasn't gone for that long. How is it that I had forgotten they existed?

That's reverse culture shock, my friends. The worst culture shock I ever had was after a three week trip to Southeast Asia when I was fifteen. Even though it was such a short period of time, it made me question everything I thought I knew. I spiraled into existential shock, for months. (I'll have to write a blog post about what I wish somebody had explained to me at that time... much of the guilt I felt came from a place of misunderstanding and societal misinformation... anyway, more on that another day). Perhaps that one was so strong  because my experience in Southeast Asia was the first one that really rocked my senses. This reverse culture shock from Kenya is a tiny reverberation of confusion compared to that one, even though this is after a longer period of time away, because it's not my first rodeo.

It's strange and uncomfortable, but perhaps it's a survival mechanism to pretend like the other reality doesn't exist in order for this one to take root again. You know when you sleep away from your house for a night and wake up disoriented? Reverse culture shock is taking a few moments to orient yourself when you wake up at home and don't recognize your surroundings because your mind is still in another reality far from this one. 

But it's not all bad. 

Reverse culture shock can make you realize the things you had forgotten. You can be amazed by the beauty of the natural landscape when you return home from extended periods away. When we live in a place for so long, we don't recognize the intricacies of everyday life the way we do when we return back to it. Whereas before leaving you don't stop to breathe in the fresh air of your home, or examine the common birds, or the smells of the bakery down the road, now you do. It's like you're a tourist where you're from. For the first time, you notice the small purple flowers that have always been dotting your lawn. You're more attentive to objects you had always taken for granted. The sunlight fractions out from clouds differently, and now you're hyper-aware of it. It's spectacular to realize how much of our surroundings get filtered out once we're used to those surroundings, and even more spectacular to be reminded to breathe and observe. 

Normalcy doesn't exist. Although this may seem unsettling, I think it's more comforting than anything else. It keeps us curious. It's a reminder of how much we have left to learn, and it's a reminder not to take things for granted. Where I grew up, it was normal to have access to forest, so I internalized that it must be normal everywhere. In Nairobi's slums, forest isn't in sight. Plus, cost barriers exist. Having "space" means something entirely different. It takes time to re-adjust to new conceptions of what this means. 

It's easier to envision new possibilities when you've lived many "normals." It allows you to question societal norms that you might not otherwise question. Why doesn't our school system include more time for play like in Sweden? Why hasn't my city banned plastic bags when the country of Kenya has? Why do I always eat the same thing for breakfast? What is preventing me from going to that museum down the road I've always just passed by? When we internalize one kind of normalcy, our realm of thought is constricted. When you've lived many different "normal"s,  you tend to ask yourself why things are the way they are.

It's nice to have a cozy sweater, and feel comfortable in it, but if you only ever wore that sweater, you wouldn't understand how lucky you are to have it. And to extend the metaphor: when you travel, you can thread what you learn into that cozy sweater back home to make it even richer. Ecuador's culture is not as neurotic as the stress-filled go-go-go of Canadian University culture. Upon returning home, I realized I didn't have to buy into that stress culture because other possibilities exist. Kenya's culture is very family oriented in ways that my Montreal culture is not. I can learn from that experience and use it to make my Montreal "normal" more family-oriented.

Culture shock happens. Reverse culture shock, too. Although sometimes we push it away, it should be a cause for celebration, regardless of the initial difficulty, because it allows us to better define what we want from our realities, wherever we are when those realities materialize. 

It has been far too long since I've updated you on my whereabouts, probably because I've been busy hopping from one place to the next over the past few weeks. I split up the following adventures based on the locations where I was (even though the shenanigans experienced in each place probably deserve their own standalone blog posts). I hopped from the acacia-filled savannah in Samburu, to the white sandy beaches in Diani, to the Mosque-filled streets of Mombasa, to tiny Kianyaga town, back to Nanyuki, then to Nairobi, and tomorrow I leave for a 4 day trek up Mt. Kenya. 

I spent one week in Samburu doing field research with IMPACT (Indigenous Mobilization for Peace Advancement and Conflict Transformation), researching conservation and gender. I saw many beautiful things and met friendly people who welcomed me into their homes. I also had very difficult, draining conversations about some of the structural barriers facing women in Samburu, including forced marriages and FGM. People were very surprised when I said my family does not own any cattle, and even more surprised when I said my dad does the cooking in my family because he enjoys cooking. I was told that since I am educated, my dowry would include up to 20 cattle, which is above the normal 13 cattle dowry in the village. I joked I was worth at least one camel. Some of the more interesting conversations included 1. speaking with Samburu elders, both men and women, about the impacts of climate change on their livelihood strategies, 2. a conversation with a young Moran warrior whose dad has five wives, 3. learning the resilience of women's organizations in the region which are challenging gender norms. We had no electricity (other than solar power) which meant no refrigerators for a week. That means all of our meals were cooked fresh! Lots of cabbage, and admittedly more goat than I could handle. The week included seeing more wild zebras than I can count, sipping tea in mud manyattas, and making jewelry with decorated elders. The landscapes were incredible. ​On the last day we saw wild elephants frolicking in the acacia-tree bushes near the Ebawesi River. 

I spent the next week in Diani Beach, on the Kenyan Coast, enjoying the finest white sand I've ever felt in my life. It actually felt like silk. Highlights included speaking Spanish with Mexicans at our hostel (my heart is in Latin America), feeding bush babies, having my almonds stolen by a monkey in our outdoor baobab tree dorm, eating delicious seafood, visiting a cave restaurant, and reuniting with the wackiest crew. ​This wacky crew is comprised of the other interns from McGill who are scattered around the country doing their various projects. It was phenomenally funny to hear about their adventures. We stayed at Diani Backpackers Hostel, which I would recommend to anyone. There was a nice pool, and we were a 5 minute walk from the beach. Every time we traveled in town to explore, we tuk yellow tuk-tuks. Some of them were decorated with flashing lights and boom boxes! Our anthem was "Swing," which Anoushka was sure to sing whenever she had the chance. Although the together time was good, so was the alone time. I read a few books, wrote in my journal, and got up early on numerous occasions to watch the sunrise on the ocean. 

A few days in the city of Mombasa gave me a taste of what the Middle East looks like, considering the ongoing Arab influence in the city due to historical trade routes. The streets reminded me of an Arabian Nights film set, complete with a spice market, vendors clothed from foot to toe, intense heat, and beautiful fabrics. I had Swahili coffee, and it was perfectly sweet, as we chatted with a local about the underground gay scene among Muslim men and we laughed a ton. The Airbnb hostel that Sasha booked rocked my socks off. It was $30 with the promotion, but we had an entire house and garden area to ourselves. It was unreal. The woman who owned it was a mysterious type, always friendly, writing a play upstairs. I half expected her to have a fortune teller ball with her turban and flowy dress outfit, floating from one place to another. Complete with colorful cushions to sit outside, and a view of the ocean, it was by far the nicest Airbnb I've stayed in. We were only in the city itself for one day since the following day we both were exhausted and quite quite sick... Jury is still out, but I think it was the shish kabobs, and Sasha thinks it was the water. 

We took an 8 hour train ride back to Nairobi from Mombasa, and I was passed out the entire time. I essentially slept 30 hours straight, sick as a bug, but eventually felt better. A 4 hour bus ride brought us to a tiny town called Kianyaga, leading to a ridiculous weekend seeing what some of our McGill friends have been up to. Kianyaga was great because it revealed the extent to which the experiences of the McGill interns have been so different. Maddie and Anoushka are in Kianyaga, have been without a refrigerator for 3 months, and love the small town vibes. We thought Nanyuki was small, but Kianyaga is a village. Their “supermarket” doesn’t have chickpeas so they go buy vegetables every day. They live a stone’s throw from their office. We met Joackim, their welcoming (and wacky in the best way) supervisor who is always so cheery.

Nanyuki is such a funny place to return to after being away for 3 weeks. Sasha and I now have a pet frog who lives in our shower. Florence, our host sister / friend is still my favorite person in all of Nanyuki, with her sarcastic jokes and delicious tea. We worked all week on our field report, which is now close to 50 pages. It’s bomb, if I do say so myself, and I’m excited by how much we learned during our time at IMPACT. Sasha and I have essentially become one, considering we share everything from meals to shampoo to house keys to blankets to deodorant to motorcycle taxis to headphones to socks. The other day we found ourselves saying the same exact thing at the same exact time in the office and we’re sure to have separation anxiety when we part ways in a week. We found a new gym and it’s been fun to switch up the routine. ALSO we never refer to Nanyuki as Nanyuki, but affectionately call it “Nanyukes.” It’s so weird that next week is my last week here in Nanyukes after meeting so many people who have become familiar faces in my daily routine. Blog post to come on that.

The weekend was spent in Nairobi, and the best word to describe it? Wacky. Just wacky. Why was it wacky? So many reasons. To celebrate Sasha’s birthday, we went to eat Ethiopian food (YUM!) at Habesha with the same crew as from the beach. I washed my clothes in a WASHING MACHINE. The luxury! The next morning, Sunday, the wackiest of days, I find out two phones and a bunch of cards were stolen the night before. Yikes! We all went to eat at Artcaffe (YUM!) and then bounced to the next Airbnb where I exercised on the rooftop terrace with a lovely view of clotheslines. The highlight was going to see a soccer game - Kenya versus Everton. On the way,  my phone was snatched from a car window, out of my lap, on the HIGHWAY. The guy legitimately jumped over the hood of a car to escape. At the stadium, we accidentally ate a feast in the staff area thinking it was meant for us and our $10 VIP tickets. Oops. When Kenya won the game in penalty kicks, the crowd went BALLISTIC. Men shouted absurdly inappropriate things at me on the way out of the stadium, but Ryan and Day and I escaped to a luxury safari lodge (who can afford these prices?!), waterfalls included, to call an Uber to get out of the madness. One minute in a raging crowd, next minute in a resort to escape it. Two different worlds, separated by a gate. That's Nairobi. We all hit up the Alchemist bar, and then K1 club, and our night out was the most phenomenal, hilarious, wacky one yet.

If you’ve made it to the end, congrats for getting through all these shenanigans. Every single day of this three-month stint in Kenya, I’ve written a personal reflection about the day, thanks to my trusty 2012 MacBook. When I get back home,  I might even try to publish it as a wackiest personal journal. I’m grateful for this experience in ways I didn’t imagine. I leave for a four-day Mt. Kenya trek today (woohoooo!!!) and then one more week in Nanyuki before I travel for 2 weeks and head home.

Sasha and I walk 45 to 50 minutes to work every morning, and I've only taken my camera twice on the journey. Today was one of those days taking photos, so here is a compilation of what the average commute looks like. (Keep in mind I didn't take my camera out during the busiest intersections because I'd rather not be robbed!)

The slideshow of photos is below. Normally it's HOT HOT HOT and I'm dripping by the time we reach the office. If it rained the night before, the road is MUDDY MUDDY MUDDY so I'm dripping AND dirty by the time we reach the office. That's a particularly good combo.

Why is this my favorite photo of the day?

Firstly, the smoke catches my eye. There is random smoke all over, from mini stove cooking fires to trash burning fires in ditches. Sometimes it smells nice, like when somebody is cooking chapati (Kenyan naan bread?), while other times it smells carcinogenic, like when people dispose of plastic.

Secondly, there's a sign for M-Pesa, which is linked to the Safaricom phone plan. M-Pesa allows you to buy anything from your phone, and acts as super quick e-transfers. People use M-Pesa to purchase anything from meals at hole-in-the-wall "hotels" (aka tiny restaurants) which have their M-Pesa numbers painted on the walls, to making reservations at hostels.

Thirdly, there are colorfully painted signs, like everywhere all over. My favorite one in the photo is the sign that says, "Silver Touch Salon." If you saw this in a magazine, with just the name, you might think it would be worth getting your hair done here. I just appreciate how nice names are painted in block letters on cramped concrete tin sheds. Some of our favorite painted names include "Mt. Kenya Pork Den" (kill me that's so funny), "Faith Milk Hotel" (count me in), and "Nice Pub" (sounds nice). 

Fourthly, the buckets remind me of my lovely bucket showers. Fifthly, the three stones are like those I use for weights when I do workouts outside. Sixthly, the red bottle cap on the right side of the photo, on the grass, depicts the classic trash/grass combo, but on a small scale that is manageable. Seventhly, "Chester's Kinyozi" is the hidden sign, and tells helps everyone understand there are at least 5 Kinyozi (barber shops) around the corner. Eighthly, the scene does not convey poverty because these people have a sturdy concrete home (better than tin), electricity (notice the lightbulb), and a clean space to cook. 

Finally, I enjoy how the man is coming out of a pink door frame. I have seen patriarchal norms up-close-and-personal for the past month, and they really irk me. This photo shows the fluidity between masculinity and femininity, and gives me a piece of mind that things are slowly changing, even if it's just in my little bubble (I realize I take comfort in a door frame, but I'll take what I can get).

Today you go to Nairobi National Park. You have too many highlights to count.

You wake at 7 in your comfortable (lol but far from luxurious) Airbnb and help yourself to some communal instant coffee in the kitchen. You greet the whole crew as they wake up, one by one, before sharing some yogurt-muesli breakfast. The crew is comprised of 7 others from McGill who are dispersed all over Kenya doing internships. You all met this weekend for a rockin' time in Naivasha province. Somebody calls Morris (the gatekeeper/hero) to help arrange a taxi to bring you to Hell’s Gate National Park, and one hour later you’re riding in the back of a matatu, which is a packed van-bus. Morris somehow convinced the matatu driver to bring you 8 keeners to the park. Thanks Morris.

​When you see baboons, you stop your bike. You’ve seen them before in Cambodia, but they are fun this time too. The best part is seeing a baby clinging to its mother’s chest upside down as it walks across the dusty road in front of you. The baboons stop, and you see one picking bugs off the back of the other. The baby starts drinking its mother’s milk, and the human-like expressions on their faces is crazy to see. Their hands are like yours. You remember learning from a National Geographic magazine that your DNA is 99% the same as a chimp. These aren’t chimps, but the similarities are there nonetheless. 
 
You pay your entrance fee and soon the movie set for “The Land Before Time” unfolds in front of you. Then, as if on cue, you see three zebras in the distance. The smile already on your face breaks out into laughter as you shuffle through your backpack for your camera. They look like painted donkeys and there are three of them just wandering around about 500 meters to your right. What is this life? 

​Over the next hour, you see antelope, gazelle, and warthogs. The grass is green and looks fairly lush. You see another three zebras. At this point the sun is out and it’s getting warm, so one of them rolls on its back in a pile of dust to cool off. You take many, many pictures, but these pictures don’t capture the indescribable feeling of biking alongside wild zebras. You weren’t even expecting to see any animals today. Anoushka, one of the McGilligans, told you last night that she had been here before and not seen anything. You feel like a little kid waking up to find out it’s your birthday, and then mom lets you eat chocolate cake for breakfast. It’s unthinkable. 
 
The giraffes come into view as you pedal farther. Forget chocolate cake. You just got a chocolate fountain, and your family threw you a surprise birthday party. You don’t just see one giraffe, but three of them. One is fully grown, the second is maybe a teenager, and there is a tiny baby (well, still bigger than you) who just recently got out of the stage where walking was difficult on such wobbly long legs. You don’t believe in heaven, but you hear yourself utter that that’s where you are. You throw your bike to the ground and watch them for 15 minutes before the others drag you to continue pedaling. You could sit there for hours. 

The whole crew comes together to eat lunch at a rest area for the second main attraction, the Hell’s Gate Gorge. A monkey scrambles closer and closer to your table, and everyone reaches instinctively for their sunglasses and their phones. The monkey hops on the picnic table faster than you’d believe and runs away with two green apples in hand. You were going to eat those apples!

The gorge fills up during the wet season, and you can imagine how powerful the current must be. Dennis shows you some natural hot springs, which the others really enjoy, but you’re a snob and saw geysers in Iceland so you’re not as impressed as them. You are, however, impressed with the magnificent view which comes next. You all climb out of the gorge and walk to the “viewpoint’ which inspired the creators of the Disney movie “The Lion King.” Although you enjoy the artistry behind Disney Animations, the creators absolutely did not live up to the magnificence of the natural beauty before your eyes. Wow. You try to take a panoramic to capture the view, but very few camera settings can depict the true vastness of such scenery. 

It’s about 4 PM at this point, so you and your seven pals take a matatu to Camp Carnelley, a campground next to Lake Naivasha. It’s one of the nicest campgrounds you’ve seen, considering the tall bonsai-like trees providing a comfortable canopy of shade for the tents below. The view of the lake is gorgeous, but strangely all too familiar. With kayaks as the foreground to a blue lake with blue mountains in the distance, you could easily be in Vermont or Ontario. You let the others continue to the campground’s restaurant as you sit on a tree trunk and write a poem about how time is temporal, and so are experiences. Whoa, Laurence. That's deep. 

​The sounds of the waves lapping the shore of the lake bring you peace of mind. You hop up from the tree trunk and admire an egret before joining the others.
 
The restaurant is way too nice to be in a campground, probably because the area is next to a boat launch, attracting both international campers and local Kenyans. When you get to the table, you chuckle to yourself when you see everyone has ordered some kind of mixed drink to celebrate the day. It’s even funnier when you see the menu, and the drinks are under the subtitle heading, “Sexy Gin & Tonic.”

The ride back to the little house on the hill is dark and bumpy. Everyone is tired, yourself included. You type as many words as you can on your dad’s itty bitty keyboard attached to his iPad your mom encouraged you to bring. You’re glad you brought it. It has allowed you to document the whole weekend. Your parents are actually the best. When you get to the house, you boil some water, take a bucket shower, and enjoying every second of scrubbing the dust off your skin. You grab your phone and see three bars. Gold. You call mom and dad, and tell them you saw a baby giraffe. The call only breaks a few times. You head to bed, as tomorrow you have to wake up at 5:00 AM to hike Mount Longonot. Another adventure awaits. 

We (Sasha and I) arrived in Nanyuki, Kenya a little over a week ago. Nanyuki is a 3.5 hour ride to the north of Nairobi, in Laikipia Province. Here are some crazy new things we've experienced  in just a few short days. It's been a whirlwind, filled with lots of laughter to ease the ridiculousness. 

Before coming here, neither one of us could have said we had lived amongst chickens or goats or cows, but now we can. We are living in the guest house of a host family with three kids, ages 5, 8, and 12. So far, my favorite Kenyan friend is Florence, who is the nanny for the family and all around champion cook in the house. She's makes the best goat milk tea. Sasha and I have learned to cook a few things with her. 

Our little cabin has no bathroom door, which has made us closer than ever. (Lol. Sorry Sasha.) But after one week here our cabin feels cozy and warm. We feel grateful to have running water, and we even have a gas stove to make meals. Although we kind-of live amongst creatures including shower spiders and mice in the rafters, the company doesn't bother us. Well, except for the morning rooster. 

Mzungu is "white person" in Swahili. From kids on the street yelling "mzungu mzungu mzungu!" to groups of guys trying to intimidate us to buy something at their shop with a chorus of "mzungu come!"s, we can't really get away from the fact we're not black. As one person told me, "You have no melanin." Thanks.

ESSENTIALLY we're an easy target for all things non-local. We can't exactly fit in inconspicuously. That means we hear LOTS of cat-calling on the way to work. (I'm writing a blog post about that soon. Cat-calling is shitty. Don't do it.) HOWEVER since people now recognize us, they've stopped bothering us so much on our 50 minute morning stroll since we're so good at pretending we don't hear them. We also get charged mzungu prices. But like, 60 cents for an avocado the size of my face is still a bargain so no complaints (avocados are actually the size of my face).

Check it out^^^^^ It's Mount Kenya in the distance and we're going to climb it sometime next month YAY. Also, those are herds of goats. There are goats everywhere. I had soup today and there was probably goat in it. Who knows.  

​Also we realized quickly that the word "hotel" doesn't mean a place to sleep. We're not sure what it means. But a milk hotel sounds legit. ​​

The traffic in the streets is WILD. I have my international driver's license and I'm never going to use it here because people drive on the left side of the road, and also motorcycles weave in and out of cars like water dripping through rocks. 

I'lI have to grab a photo of a tuk-tuk right away. 

The trick for a shower spa day is to boil some hot water and mix it with the lukewarm water from the tap for a bucket of perfect temperature. Toilet seat not included.

It was a pentecostal service and people had the holy ghost in them and it was wild and loud. The collective energy was impressive. It felt like I was in a soccer stadium with people supporting their favorite sports team after a winning goal. Instead, I was in GCC Congregation in Nanyuki, Kenya, and the sports team was God, and the winning goal lasted over thirty minutes. And I was the only white person in sight.

FINAL NOTE: I went on the back of a motorcycle to get there. We sped through dirt streets winding around tin houses and a field of kale. 

10/10 would recommend. ​

I needed a new shirt for work because my white ones are not withstanding the orange dust baths they get every day. I got one for $1 and the purple stripes are my groove. Sasha got a black shirt for $1.70 because she's bougie. No photos of the shirts, or the clothing stalls for that matter, but here's a veggie market we walked through and bought a palm sized piece of ginger and 3 carrots.

I have a tendency to think white expats always mess things up for locals. A few days ago I was proven wrong when we met this incredible guy who has lived here for the past 10 years creating a grassroots homeless shelter for street kids, and finding ways to get them into school. The first kid he sponsored ten years ago made it to the top of his class from the streets. The second kid did the same thing. The third kid too! So instead of returning home from his volunteering trip, he stayed in town for another decade creating this valuable organization. The organization has helped over 135 street kids make it through primary school. We visited the transition house, where some of the former orphans live. It was one of the most moving testaments to hopeful and collective action against suffering, yet also one of the sharpest reminders of ongoing real-world struggles. 

Seeing as we are surrounded by wildlife conservancies on all sides, with lions and zebras and giraffes, it's bizarre that we saw a camel. One day it was walking down the street. Maybe it's from Somalia? Who knows. 

We also have a frozen giant crab in our freezer, stuck to the back of the freezer. We can't remove him, so we've decided to call him Marcus. 

Unfortunately, no photos of the camel or of Marcus, but I do have a photo of a nice pub and a place for millionaire investors. 

For clarity, we didn't adopt a dog, but it adopted us. His name is Survivor and we live in the cabin where some Norwegian visitor essentially mothered him for 6 months. So this dog automatically follows around any white people who stay in this cabin. Sasha loves him. I'm more ambivalent because I don't want fleas, but he's growing on me. He sleeps outside our door when we sleep.

Obviously imma learn some kiswahili while we're here. 

On our way into Nanyuki, our taxi driver let us stop at the equator which was BOMB because I lived in Ecuador and visited the equator in South America. 

Can somebody please explain to me why Kenyans like country music? Sasha and I rode a taxi back home from the supermarket and this badass dude, who we thought would play hardrock, blasted country music with the most ridiculous bass I've ever heard. It was bumpin'. 

Apart from the gospel heard in the church, Sasha and I also heard the most phenomenal impromptu concert at our gym. There was a man in a bright green t-shirt hyping up the dance moves and I think Sasha fell in love with his frog-like enthusiasm. 

FINALLY we listened to Swahili happy birthday for Mac, our now 5 year old host bro.

Woke up in our sweet airbnb, went to the grocery store, ate lunch, and headed out for the Nairobi National Museum at around 2 PM. I particularly enjoyed three of the exhibits. The first was about "life cycles" in Kenya, aka traditions in the 42 ethnic groups from birth to death, split up into infanthood, youth, adulthood, and elderhood. The second was about our ancestors and evolution, where I took a photo with my great great great great great uncle, probably a few times removed. The third was about some of the traditional knowledge holders or powerful figures in various ethnically-based stories. The entrance was the equivalent of $12 USD (they use Kenyan shillings here, which equals about 1,200 so easy math). 

We stepped outside and stumbled upon an impromptu poetry slam. That was particularly cool. After a hella stressful Uber ride (click here to read "How I essentially got detained in Nairobi on day 2"), we made it to a restaurant to eat dinner. We got back to the Airbnb and I passed out. 

We woke up this morning and Nairobi National Park was outside our window. WAIT IS THAT A GIRAFFE?! Yes. Yes it is. This is going to be a great 3 months. 

We landed in Nairobi at 7 PM last night (1 PM back home), got through customs reeeal fast (turns out you don't actually have to do the visa ahead of time if you're pressed on time) and took a cab to the hotel my parents so generously paid for us in hotel points. We bought our SIM cards for our phones with data plans at the airport (TelKom cards) for 10 GB of data + 100 minutes + unlimited Whatsapp for $15 / month. What a relief! Now I can call my grandma from Kenya whenever I want. 

This morning we woke up at 11 AM (that jet lag tho) and went to the gym before packing up our stuff and heading out to find our AirBnB. We took a 45 minute Uber and it cost $6. I had a very preliminary conversation with the cab driver, Agnes, in kiswahili! She was impressed I knew the word for avocado. Little does she know that's one of the first words Duolingo taught me. I'll never find out what the Duolingo algorithm is for introducing vocabulary but I'm a fan. 

I am currently sitting on a plane flying from Zurich to Nairobi, and have nothing but appreciation for the multi-cultural experiences I have learned from in the past 5 years of my short life. I have moved 12 times in the past 5 years (with a move constituting a period over 3 months) living in 5 different countries during those moves—Canada, Ecuador, France, USA, and (soon !!!) Kenya. Beyond these 5 countries, I have been fortunate enough to visit another 6 countries on backpacking trips between the moves, in total hopping 11 countries across 4 continents in 5 years. Here’s a list of the top 5 things I have learned.

1. People are *pretty much* the same everywhere.
Even though daily life can look extremely different from Chennai, India to a rural fishing village in Brittany, France, all people live their realities with certain common attributes. People build their lives around other people. Whether this is family, or friends, or even strangers, people plan their lives according to the people they strive to be around. From Cuzco to Montreal, all people want to be accepted, hence all people need other people to accept them. We all experience emotions, and we all can feel love and pain. From Cambodia to Iceland, people listen to music and have their favorite foods. Although that music and those foods might be different, the need for human connection through the enjoyment of these things is constant. All people laugh, all people cry, and all people need to be comforted sometimes.

2. Living with a host family (while learning the language) is the most enriching way to know a place and a culture.
Don’t get me wrong: I was shaking with nerves when I arrived in Ecuador without having ever taken a Spanish class and knowing I would be living with a Spanish-speaking host family for eight months. But turns out, my Ecuadorian host family experience was the most fulfilling and heartwarming travel experience I’ve ever had. Fast forward three years, and I have been back three times to see these people who quickly became so important in my life. By completely immersing myself in a family home, I understood Spanish in 2 months and could speak the language fairly fluently in 4. Yes, I was particularly lucky in the case of Ecuador, where my host family essentially adopted me, and made me feel like I belonged in every family birthday party, and every salsa-dancing and tequila-drinking outing. That being said, the host family / language experience in France was also what I remember most fondly about that experience, precisely because it is the human connections that make travel so invigoratingly beautiful. I imagine my Kenya experience will be that much more genuine for the same reasons.

3. People will flow into and out of your life, and you must put effort into keeping the friendships that matter most.
You can learn something from every person you meet, which is why I enjoy meeting people wherever I go. One time in Porto, I was backpacking with a friend and we met a great group of interesting people at the hostel we were staying, which led to fun shenanigans we still laugh about. The point of this story? The people we met made the experience what it was. Especially during solo journeys, meeting temporary friends can make experiences more memorable. When I hiked Rainbow Mountain in Peru—the most beautiful place I’ve ever been—I shared the adventure with strangers from New Zealand, Thailand, and Paraguay. I never saw them again, but the moments were more meaningful because they were shared. All of this to say: It’s okay that people flow into and out of your life. This being said, even the craziest globe-hoppers need some kind of stability, and it can be challenging knowing friendships can be temporary. The tricky balance is knowing which friendships to let go of, and which friendships are worth maintaining. Often, this happens naturally. Over the past few years, I have learned that apart from my family, I can count my best friends on one hand. Even though they live across multiple continents, and although it might not always be practical or easy, I have decided these friendships matter to me, and it has been worth putting in the time and effort to making sure they continue.

4. “Normal” doesn’t exist.
Human beings have an incredible ability to adapt to new situations. I am always amazed by how quickly routines can change when living in different places. The “new normal” eclipses the old one faster than I believe it can. I’ll give you an example to clarify what I mean. Before going to live in the Amazon Rainforest, I would have never imagined that it would become routine to take a canoe across the river to get to the bus. But like every routine, repetition breeds habit, and within two weeks I didn’t think anything of it. Although adaptation periods vary, I find that routines can sometimes take root in just a few days. Have you ever been in a hotel for a week-long vacation, and accidently said “we can do that when we get home” referring to the hotel room as home, and not your house back home? Humans adapt quickly. Taking baths in the Aguarico River was once part of my daily Amazonian routine, just as in Montreal it is part of my routine to get to my classes 30 seconds before they start. Reality changes so quickly from place to place that one "normal" can be incredibly abnormal for somebody else. It’s fascinating to be able to question what normalcy is, especially after seeing that different realities can all appear normal after a few months.

5. Travel refines your sense of self.
I used to think my identity was tied to my habits, and who I surrounded myself with, and, perhaps most dangerously, my achievements. Over the past 5 years, I have learned that no matter where I go, or who I am with, or what qualifications I have, the truest form of my identity does not change. In other words, the essence of who I am is constant, and travel has allowed me to understand that better. In other words, the more I travel, the more I have learn that my unique character as a human being is the only real version of me. Although I can have different social circles from one city to the next, that should not change my sense of self. I suppose I believe that only by striving to be myself in every capacity of who I am can I fully embrace my identity in the most wholesome manner possible. Today, I know who I am better than I ever have. 
 
*It may not have been possible for me to learn any of these lessons if it were not for the undying emotional support of my family, who accepts me exactly for who I am, and encourages me to achieve what I set out to achieve. Thanks mom and dad. 


WHERE I HAVE LIVED:

Sept 2014 - April 2015:  Kingston (Canada)
April 2015 - April 2016: Quito (Ecuador) 
1 month backpacking in Peru & Bolivia
June 2016 - August 2016: Burlington (USA) 
September 2016 - April 2017: Peterborough (Canada) 
1 month in Ecuador to visit host family
May 2017 - June 2017: Sherbrooke (Canada) 
June 2017 - July 2017: Grenoble (France)
August 2017 - December 2017: Trebeurden (France)
2 months teaching skiing lessons in Burke, USA
March 2018 - June 2018: Quito (USA)
June 2018 - August 2018: Saint Johnsbury (USA)
3 week backpacking Sweden, Denmark, Iceland
2 week family trip to Cheticamp, Canada
September 2018 - April 2019: Montreal (Canada)
2 week family trip to Cancun, Mexico
1 week family trip to Arizona, USA 
​May 2019 - August 2019: Nanyuki (Kenya)
​

Before moving to Montreal to start my MA in political science at McGill in September, I was anticipating a stressful year ahead. Why? Like most type-A personality high achievers who put way too much pressure on themselves, I was a neurotic stress ball for most of my undergrad. I find university does that to lots of people. School infiltrates your psyche every moment, to the point you feel guilty enjoying yourself because you're not being productive. It's a weird, messed up competition where "I'm more stressed" means I must be doing something right. This year, I decided that was bonkers, and it resulted in the most wholesome existence since I was 14. 

I learned some of the most valuable lessons this past year, and they weren't from any one experience that was particularly life-changing, but from a conglomeration of small daily practices which resulted in liberating mental shifts, summarized in 2 points:
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Although taking care of yourself comes in different forms for different people, these are some of the activities I prioritized this year which energized me. I think I am writing this list to remind myself to do these things in case I ever fall back into the monotony of work, work, and work some more. 

a. Exercise: I did some kind of intense physical activity at least 5 or 6 times a week for the entire 8 months. Exercising clears my mind. Some people get that from dancing or singing. I get it from physically exerting myself until I can wring out my rag with sweat. That may be gross, but it's true. Whereas before I exercised less often for longer periods each time, this year I learned that even a 30 minute jog can set me up for the rest of the day, meaning exercising more often for shorter periods works best for me.

b. Creativity : Creativity is a big part of who I am, and if I don't make time for creative activities, I'm not making time to fully be myself. The first semester I took an Italian class, which I consider creative because it allowed my brain to work in a fun, non-academic way. Languages allow me to be creative. The second semester I took a pottery class and spent 6 hours per week at the pottery studio. Although I enjoyed both, pottery was more meditative, and I met some awesome non-school people who reminded me of life beyond the academic bubble. Throughout the year, I also made jewelry and wrote poems when I felt the urge. 

c. Family  : One of the primary reasons I chose McGill over Oxford for my MA was to be closer to family. I am extremely lucky because my family re-energizes me every time I see them, which I realize is not the case for everyone. Just being in Montreal, a 2 hour drive away from each of my sisters and my parents (closer than in the past 4 years!) allowed me to have the option of visiting them for an afternoon or a weekend. PLUS my extended family on my Dad's side lives in Montreal, and I deeply enjoyed being able to spend time with my aunt, uncle, and cousins on a regular basis. When spending time with them, I wouldn't stress about school, but focused on re-energizing myself with their positive presence. What a positive change!

d. Eating well : Easily the most life-changing book I've read in the past 5 years for my mental health was "Always Hungry" which I read this past summer. It essentially encourages eating more healthy fats and less sugar by de-bunking every food myth we've been brain-washed into believing since the 1980s (take that sugar industry!), and providing recipes to keep you full longer, which literally retrains your fat cells. By changing my eating habits, like cutting out processed foods and taking time to cook proper well-rounded meals, I was 100% more energized throughout the day (aka I miraculously never felt that post-lunch lull like every other year of my life). Perhaps most importantly, my relationship with food shifted into a much healthier one, as I no longer thought about reducing calorie intake and I didn't feel guilty about having chocolate every now and then. Plus, in the process I learned to love cooking wholesome meals. 

e. Spending Time With Energizing People: Although this goes back to the point about spending time with family, it also includes friends who make me feel good. I enjoyed planning activities to look forward to, and also going on spontaneous outings, even if they meant not doing homework that night! This point implicitly suggests not spending time with people who drain your energy. Everyone knows what I'm talking about when I say that, right? The great thing about adulthood is that you don't need to force yourself into friendships that don't give you a peace of mind. I found that I found energizing people while doing things that brought me joy, such as at language exchange events. 

f. Doing Energizing Things Alone:  I'm a social person, and I've had rough patches where being alone for too long has made me feel antsy. This year, I learned that spending time alone can be energizing for me when I do things that are interesting and fun. In other words, spending time alone in the house for days on end is obviously going to lead to stints of sadness, which is why putting yourself in situations that make you happy will make you feel more energized. For me, this meant going for solo bike rides to new parts of the city, exploring new cafes, writing poetry in those cafes, reading books in Spanish, listening to Portuguese podcasts, going for walks in the forest, and meditating. 

These combinations of activities allowed me to enjoy the moment more than in years past. Although the schoolwork stress sometimes crept up on me from time to time, I would make a conscious effort to change the physical and mental space I was in when that happened. Over the months, that neurotic energy which absorbed a lot of my time in undergrad (you'll find that energy in McGill's libraries during exam times, which is why I never frequent the libraries during exam times) came up less and less. The mental shift freed up headspace to stop and enjoy a bird song rather than making impossible to-do lists in my head. 

Another important lesson was with regards to the winter (*dramatic music signaling seasonal affective disorder taking over Montreal like a blanket of snow*). While the lack of sunlight indisputably sucks, I tried my best to go about my daily activities even despite the darkness, including running to the top of Mont Royal 3 x per week in the snow and going to coffee shops past dark. That kept my mood much more stable than in past years. This is a reminder that being outside is good for me, even during the winter, when my first inclination is to coop up inside.
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