Monday, June 11, 2018

Sunday Postcard #7

Sunday Postcard #7
Bakong Temple, Siem Reap, June 2018

Eric and I spent today seeing some of the southern temples in the Angkor world heritage site. The long walkway to the Bakong temple made me think of my first solo trip, when I took myself to Chenonceau. I stayed at a hostel for the first time, ate a crepe and a kir at the only restaurant in Tours not showing the World Cup, and doubled back through all the rooms of the castle that I wanted to at my own pace. I was so nervous about being on my own but so proud of making all the plans for myself. It felt good to be reminded of that today, on a different continent, eight years older. 

I can never get enough of those pink bougainvillea, either.

Monday, June 4, 2018

Sunday Postcard #6

Sunday Postcard #6
Siem Reap, May 2018

Fried noodles with a runny egg eaten at a plastic table is one of my favorite things in the world. I have been lucky enough to try this in more than one place, and I’m always a bit in awe of the fact that I’ve had the opportunities. (To take the earnestness of this story down a level or two, Eric ended up with food poisoning likely from this meal.)

Monday, May 28, 2018

Sunday Postcard #5

Sunday Postcard 5
Lotus fields, Siem Reap, May 2018

A couple weeks ago Eric and I joined a bike tour from our hostel to watch the sunset over lotus fields outside the city. I haven’t ridden a bike in six years and was wobbly and nervous. After the hour-long ride out, where I was solidly at the back of the pack, one of the tour leads asked if I’d ever ridden a bike before. It was embarrassing, but not as bad as the ride back when I catapulted myself into a ditch (I was fine, thank goodness). I’ve spent the time since then being thankful I wasn’t hurt and thinking about failing in public. Most often, my failures are private - if a pitch or application gets rejected, it’s between the editor or admissions officer and me. I don’t often have to be bad at something in front of someone else, much less a tour group or collection of kind bystanders watching me get pulled out of a mud puddle. Maybe it’s something I should try to do more, though probably not on a bike for a while.

Monday, May 21, 2018

Sunday Postcard #4

Ann Arbor, Michigan April 2018

Every morning when I walked to work I looked at the reflection of the graduate school in the mirrored windows of the modern language building. The beauty of the older structure captured in the new(er) one was a favorite view that I usually admired alone. It felt like my own moment on a campus that is always full and in motion.

Monday, May 14, 2018

Sunday Postcard #3

Krabi, Thailand, May 2012

Eric and I arrived in Krabi on an overnight train. The ride left me disoriented and I woke up at dawn our first morning. We searched for breakfast on nearly-empty streets. A woman walked through the main road towards a temple on what I soon realized was a daily route. She left food in piles for the stray cats and dogs that wandered around the area. By the way they followed her, it was clear they expected her. It was a rare chance to see the evidence of how someone matters to other creatures, how much others rely upon someone’s acts of care.

Monday, May 7, 2018

Sunday Postcard #2

Night Sky Hotel, Da Nang, January 2018

We woke up to a power outage at our hotel. The hotel still served a full breakfast by candlelight. We listened to the rain outside while the chef, an older woman, instructed us on how to properly season and eat our noodle soup. I devoured mine along with the mini creme caramel she served. The women working the front desk insisted on high-level customer service despite the outage. They carried luggage almost as big as they were up the many flights of stairs, as the elevator wasn’t running.

Sunday, April 29, 2018

Sunday Postcard #1

Sunday Postcard is a new project where I share a photo and story each week.

View from the Belmont stop, October 2015

Every weekday for two and a half years, I caught the Purple Line Express to Evanston. There was one couple in their mid-thirties who took the same route. If they were waiting when I got to the platform, I knew I’d be on time to work. In my second summer, the woman was pregnant and had a baby. For several months the man rode alone while she was on maternity leave. I got to glimpse a small piece of their lives every morning. This photo is from the last day I commuted on that route. Though we never spoke, I think of that couple as often as I remember the sunrises over the lake.