Euros Ate My Dollars

A little while ago, Brittany posted an announcement that we’re now able to sell Euros Ate My Dollars T-shirts through a company called CafePress.

When the T-shirts went on sale, we didn’t have anything in the way of a product sample from CafePress. Since then, my beautiful, supportive, fiscally liberal mother ordered herself the black version of one of the T-shirts, and we’ve discovered that the color fidelity on the black shirt leaves something to be desired.

My mother called CafePress to complain that the colors looked muted on her shirt, and they are sending her a replacement in gray, so we’ll soon see how that looks. Until then, if you’d like to buy a T-shirt, I would recommend choosing one of the lighter colors.

And if you’ve already received a dark shirt only to find that the color printing proved disappointing, then please note that CafePress seems to be willing to make the issue right. Give them a call at 1-877-809-1659, explain the difference between the online product photo and the actual shipped product, and hopefully they will work as hard to fix the issue as they did for my mother.

Updates to come, as soon as we can get a lighter version of the shirt in for inspection.

Shiny. Shiny and new and big. That’s America.

Driving home from the airport, I was amazed at how wide the roads are. How you actually have room to drive on them. How clean and new everything seems. How open and spacious it all is.

There are things I appreciated immediately after landing in the great big U.S. of A. I can read that entire sign! I know how to work a pay phone! I can eat uncooked food and not get typhoid! And there is so much diversity here! Any given crowd is full of so many colors of people. You don’t really appreciate how great that is until you experience being an outsider in an ethnically homogeneous country.

Other things were harder to adjust. For one, our conversational skills. After eight months of conversing only with each other or non-native English speakers, we basically know how to communicate using three phrases: “can do” vs. “can no do,” “have” vs. “no have,” and “same same” vs. “same same, but different.” That plus wild gesticulation. Ben tried to order a bagel in New York by making a circle with his forefingers and thumbs, showing the formation to the cashier and asking loudly, “Have bagel? BAGEL?” In San Francisco, I accidentally thanked a woman in Thai (“khap khun kaa”). A woman who happened to be Asian. She looked at me like she couldn’t decide if she should be offended or if I was just a crazy person.

For eight months, we’ve had to approach any given conversation like a puzzle: how can I communicate with this person? How can I determine if and how much English they speak? How should I pantomime what I need? It’s been difficult to abandon that mindset. Not only do ALL the people I talk to understand me perfectly, they share my same accent and vernacular. It is mind-bogglingly easy to get anything I need here. I almost miss the challenge!

Although it was nice to go away for eight months and pretend like real life doesn’t exist, my happy little bubble popped when I walked in my mom’s house and saw the massive pile of mail waiting for me, mostly foreboding little white window envelopes with my name printed in scary, black ink. With every envelope I opened, I became more depressed. It was all, your-car-insurance-is-due-you-should-pay-your-student-loan-get-this-credit- card-what’s-your-credit-score?- your-mutual-fund-lost-money-are-you-saving- for-retirement-don’t-forget-to-get-your-oil-changed-your-health-insurance-is-
outrageously-expensive-pay-pay-pay-pay-money-money-money-money-money…

So I turned on the TV to escape for a while and everything is all Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.

I suddenly felt stifled and claustrophobic, so decided to walk with my dad around our neighborhood. This didn’t help either.

The houses are so HUGE. I was amazed that this had never struck me before. I always thought my parents lived in your typical, no-big-deal, suburban neighborhood—which they do. But, oh my GOD, no one needs a house this size! Seriously, I’ve seen how many hammocks can fit into a small, bamboo hut. I’ve seen entire extended families living in these huts. They don’t have studies. They don’t have formal dining rooms. And, yet, somehow, they survive.

Then I see three-person families driving massive SUVs. Why? Why do they drive such big cars? And if they are going to, can’t they at least offer rides to people? I mean, you could fit at least 25 more people on those things—inside, on the roof, hanging out the window… Otherwise, get a motorbike. A family of five can fit comfortably on a motorbike. Really!

I’ve appreciated the opportunity to view my homeland objectively for the first time in 26 years. But my first impression was not a good one: everything—everything—in this country is about MONEY. During my first few days back, this was a constant source of hopelessness for me.

My depression reached a climax when I accompanied my mom on an innocent visit to the local grocery store. Everything was so big and well-lit and organized and excessive and expensive, and instead of making me grateful, it sent me into a fit of tears. Because, you know, people in Laos don’t even HAVE grocery stores; they slave every day in the heat, growing rice to feed their families. And here I am trying to decide between varieties of imported feta.

On the way home, I called my friend Allison, who I knew would give me the virtual slap in the face I needed. She did, by telling me that I better get my shit together before her wedding reception on Saturday, in a threatening but jovial bridezilla voice. And it’s true. ’Cause if an aisle full of sugar cereals will make me break down, crystal stemware and floral centerpieces will really put me over the edge.

I’ve tried to keep in mind that so many of the people we met were happy—happier than most people I’ve ever met here at home. I mean, how can you survive something as terrible as the Khmer Rouge as a child and still welcome someone into your home with a huge smile and a delicious meal?

I’ve also been listening to “Mo’ Money, Mo’ Problems” a lot.

No matter how many financial troubles you think you have, no matter if you consider yourself average or “middle-class,” keep in mind that you are UNFATHOMABLY rich to the large percentage of the world’s population.

In an effort to make me feel better about having so much STUFF, the day after I returned I went on a purging rampage. I attacked my closet and the many packed boxes littering my room and starting throwing things away. Ben came over to find several giant bags full of clothes outside my door, and me running frantically around my room tossing things into them. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Giving away my stuff because I HATE ALL OF IT,” I growled. He ran away and probably had a serious discussion about my sanity with my family.

I’m better now. A bit more readjusted. I promise.

I also wanted to purge my wardrobe because I am seriously incapable of deciding what to wear on any given day. Having spent months with only one pair of shorts and three shirts to choose from, I can’t handle so many options.

I’m also incapable of making ANY decision without Ben by my side. For eight months, 24 hours a day, seven days a week, I’ve had Ben beside me, giving his input on every decision. I don’t know what to do with myself when I turn around and he’s not there.

When I reactivated my cell phone, I promptly called Ben, not realizing that I hadn’t talked to him on the phone in nearly a year. Our first phone conversation went a little something like this:

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“This is weird.”

“Really weird.”

“You should probably just come over.”

Needless to say, returning home has taken more getting used to than I anticipated. After a little handy internet research (what did people DO before Google?), I’ve been able to take solace in the fact that we’re not the only long-term travelers experiencing reverse culture shock.

But I don’t want to make it seem like this readjustment period has been all bad. There are certain things that I will forever be grateful to my home for providing. Things like toilet paper. And drawers. Drinkable tap water. Reliable electricity. The comfortable feeling that no one is trying to pickpocket me.

Our friends decided that the best way to re-acclimate Ben and me to Virginia culture was to tailgate at the NASCAR race last Saturday. In hindsight, our acceptance of the invitation might have been a little hasty. I saw enough ass-cracks and distended beer bellies (how do they get so big? Why do they wear them with such pride?) to last me a lifetime. But that story, along with a couple other surprises our family and friends had in store for us, is for next time on EAMD.

Wow! We’ve been back home for four days now, and although we didn’t mean to go that long without posting an update, my defense is that we’ve spent fewer than 24 hours awake. Because as fun as flying from Bangkok to Tokyo to San Francisco to New York to Virginia sounds… it’s less fun. More exhausting. More likely to make you question the warped outlook on life that led you to believe that yes, taking FOUR flights to get home rather than two IS worth saving $100 or less. But first of all…

Jeers to United Airlines for expelling me from the window seat I helped myself to on a half-full ten-hour flight over the Pacific. I had just gotten myself situated with blanket and pillow when a flight attendant popped up and asked me to go back where I’d come from. I tried to explain that I was only looking for a spot where I could lean my head against the wall in hopes of falling asleep, and seriously guy, how big a deal can it be when the plane is only half full? It might be a different story if we were still parked at the gate, but I think it’s safe to assume that take-off was just about the last opportunity for anyone to suddenly show up with a ticket for this seat.

My pleas for any semblance of sanity fell on deaf ears because it turns out that I’d unknowingly wandered into the ultra-elite United Economy PLUS section of the aircraft. Seeing as this not-ready-for-business-class player has the same exact absence of legroom, same exact television screens, and same exact smell on the seats as the undignified United Economy Minus section, I can only assume that the distinguishing characteristic of United Economy PLUS is an enhanced snack box. PLUS the comforting reassurance from United Airlines that no matter how much you may hate your life, you ARE still better than somebody.

I dragged my blanket and pillow back to United Economy Minus with the rest of the riff-raff, where I was happy to stumble upon an empty string of five seats. I stretched out there between a couple of of my flea-ridden proletariat brothers, and managed to sneak in a few hours of sleep.

Cheers to Jetblue for making our trip home 12 hours shorter than expected. We landed in San Francisco around 11:15am PST on Tuesday, with a ticket to New York on the 11:30pm flight that night. We knew there was a 12:50pm flight to New York, but we didn’t book it because it would have been more expensive to fly in the middle of the day. Upon landing in San Francisco, we decided to visit the Jetblue counter on the off chance that we could talk them into letting us fly stand-by on that 12:50pm flight.

We were expecting a drawn-out begging session as we approached the counter. But when I explained our situation to the attending employee, his response was simply: “Sure. No problem.”

Brittany and I looked at each other. Really? Just like that? I mean, we both knew in our hearts that there was just no way things could be that simple. And yet, not only did he print us off boarding passes for the 12:50 flight to NYC without hesitation, he also immediately checked our luggage straight through to Virginia AND printed us off boarding passes for the first connecting flight from New York to Richmond. Maybe Vietnam lowered the bar, but I think we’re both still in disbelief over the level of customer service we received that morning. Either way, cheers from two newly-converted Jetblue customers for life. Did I mention they serve up a lethal combinaton of Doritos Snack Mix and ESPN on all flights? SCORE.

As expected, being back home is proving to be a bittersweet experience. I already miss the sense of adventure that only comes with being on the road. On the other hand, it’s an amazing relief to know that tonight you’ll get to sleep in the same bed you slept in last night. And that you don’t have to navigate imcomprehensible bus schedules and shifty taxi drivers just to get to that bed, all in a language you don’t really speak.

We were warned to watch out for the culture shock of the return to our native soil, and so far, I’m finding that it’s striking in unexpected ways. I have to keep reminding myself that yes, it’s really OK to brush my teeth using water from the tap. I find driving by a shopping center or strip mall to be a startling experience. And I’m seeing supermarkets as overflowing cornucopias of abundance. Everything is BIG in the United States, and there are SO MANY CHOICES. And I still haven’t had the courage to set foot in a Wal-Mart.

From culture shock to photos I still haven’t uploaded to the tales from the road we haven’t yet told (which Brittany alluded to in her last entry) we have some writin’ in us yet. So stay tuned, there’s more to come…