To pilfer a quote from a universally admired source, the huge actin’ Hugh Jackman, in his most recent production: "Ladies and gents, this is the moment you’ve waited for!” But rather than a finger-snapping musical and a comely Zac Efron in ringmaster’s garb to follow, it’s me, sitting in front of my laptop; a tiny ant before a large blank page, balancing a humongous, unwieldy mental pen and attempting to scratch down a coherent tale about the events of late. The days laugh at me as they race by, and life’s tenacious wind turns the figurative pages out from underneath me before I am even able to think about what I will write on them. I should also remind you that ants are usually never taught the alphabet or any sort of grammar— we have a long way to go as a society— so my thoughts are that much more difficult to express. All of this drivel is to say that time has moved swiftly and brought such good things that it feels like any attempt to report it all is doomed to inadequacy. But I, aware of both the scant number and merciful character of my readers, will soldier on into this blog post, if for no other reason than to help myself remember some of the good and important moments and perhaps spark a chuckle or two along the way (reader: please chuckle here in case it doesn’t happen later). I spent the week of Christmas in England with Christen, my like-minded and funny and dearly close friend from home, who selflessly invited me along to meet her extended family and mooch off of their love and kindness. I’ll call it Christenmas (at her request), and it was the most unique and perfect holiday adventure that could’ve come to pass. It was my first Christmas away from my own family, and I got to spend it with another one who made me feel like I wasn’t a stranger at all. That’s a marvelous thing; the sort of openhanded benevolence that makes the world a place worth being in. It’s quite amazing to be on the receiving end of it, and it certainly seems like it’s already happened to me more than it should have in 22 years. I really hope I'll wind up somewhere on the giving side one day, too. After a somber goodbye in a London bus station (bystanders everywhere were reaching for their tissues… not a dry eye in the room), Christen was off to Germany, and I to Ireland. There— like a confident and bright-eyed beacon guides a floppy, tired barge to safety— Claire waited for me at a bus stop and walked me to our temporary home base. This took the form of a bizarre, extremely fire-safe Catholic-school-turned-hostel, upon which we wound up looking very fondly after later experiences with alarmingly low ceilings and smelly co-habitors. But to return to the story at hand, the next four days brought churches, parks, rain, pub food, fireworks, sheep, donuts, the Lucky Charms leprechaun, and everything else you might expect to find in Ireland. Dublin was hip and pretty and fun, and a day trip west to Galway and the Cliffs of Moher gave us a gorgeous (and wildly windy) venture into the country’s more typical green, serene, bucolic side. New Year’s morning put us on a flight to Prague, and if such a thing is believable, this leg of the trip was even greater. Claire and I took one official guided walking tour, and about 13 unofficial, self-guided, “this city is beautiful and navigable and every building on every block looks elegant enough to be the main attraction— how are there so many pretty things all in one space?” ones, frequented the several still-running Christmas markets around the city, and just enjoyed each other’s company. I ate more chimney cakes than I will admit to (three. The answer is three. But two were filled with ice cream and one was filled with mac and cheese, so please adjust your rating scales accordingly), along with plenty of other delicious fare that lives fondly in my memory, and quite probably still in my digestive system. As for the less edible activities, we trekked through the New and Old towns, and up to the elevated portion of the city across the river where Prague Castle and the Royal Palace sit. We ogled over some of the most creative and downright pretty street crafts I have seen in my time, set up all across the St. Charles Bridge, and next day watched the sunrise from the same locale in what was overall one of the most memorable moments for me. I love sunrises anyway, but this particular one took quite a bit of convincing myself to eventually look away from. The light hit the water just right, bouncing back off of the city in all directions so that, for a few minutes, there was no single square inch of world that wasn’t completely striking in appearance. I hope to visit Prague again, but I think I'll be hard pressed to find a better experience or better company than I had this time around. And now school is back in session. Morning alarms, pop song bells, dry erase marker dust all over my hands, no Christmas markets outside the window… alas, this must be real life! But even this side of life is a treat— and I remember it most when Zhivko sticks his head out of the third floor window to yell hello to me in the morning, or Ivelin hands me a really funny drawing of a new year’s resolution, or Reni takes care of my cat for two weeks and then leaves a gift for me when I get home (seriously, in what world does someone do you a huge favor and then give you a present?). I remember it when I walk into the teachers’ room, and the inherent confusion caused by the constant soundtrack of Bulgarian conversation takes a backseat to a firm feeling of welcome; to smiles and conversation with the teachers around me who have become friends. This could easily be a very different situation— I’m the stranger in their school, after all, but they choose to be extremely warmhearted anyway. Again, the kindness thing. And I remembered it yesterday afternoon, trudging home from school through the first day of actual stored-up, white, packed, powdery, not-even-dirty-yet snow, which transformed a familiar route and a city I thought I knew pretty well by now into a totally different, momentarily magical world. “Too cold for you, Amanda?” one of my students yelled at me rhetorically, probably observing the scarlet hue of my face and my complementarily wincing expression. “YES,” I yelled back— a bit more of a ymmhff from beneath my stylish and exquisitely warm new scarf— and it really was, but I also wasn’t all that upset about it. I’ve never walked home through snow before, and I’ve also never called home a place in Bulgaria, and for all the strangeness of these things, they’re quite amazing. Funny, serious, confusing, cold, routine, awkward, or exciting, nearly every moment here reminds me that this is where I want to be. So step aside, Hugh Jackman— THIS is the greatest show.
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