Digressions

I've been composing a come-back post in my head during my commute to work, turning over how to describe to you all of the newness that has been happening lately. How those 30 minutes are the most tranquil of my day as I trail up the Potomac and whiz past Roosevelt before giving Lincoln a good morning wave on my way to work. The city so green is most beautiful in the morning when it seems like another innocent Capital City (that is before those on Capitol Hill have sipped their coffee and begun their partisan bickering about the debt ceiling). But I digress.

"The Potomac," you say, "that doesn't sound like it's anywhere near Tartu." Indeed, in the proper tone of summer, we've had more transitions. I'm endeavoring to be the most revised entry in your address books, although I am sure many of you have already given up. One year after returning to leafy Tartu, the winds have switched directions and taken me to another green city, albeit hotter and stickier, on the other side of the Atlantic. In fact, I find myself right back where I was about a year ago, as a resident in the nation's capital of Washington. If it seems wild to you, you cannot imagine how it feels as I re-encounter friends, co-workers, neighborhoods, and old haunts after just saying a definitive good-bye. I guess "see you later" is always a safer way to leave things.

After a slow but beautiful spring in Estonia, I began to feel restless and ready for some new adventures. My first adventure was a long time in coming and I had it in full sight during my 16-week training program. The end of May, I ran my first Marathon - 26.2 miles (42.2 kilometers) in Stockholm. The feeling of training for something so big, especially as a non-athletic sort of person, is really indescribable (but I'll try). My muscles and endurance grew and grew each week, and I could feel and see myself get better at running, especially when nature thawed things out. Most of my training was done in sub-zero temperatures, and, quite to my liking, I only ran in shorts once before the marathon. Cool temperatures make running a lot more pleasant and a lot less sweaty, so Estonia was the perfect training ground, even if it meant jogging on snow and ice. Uli came along as my one-man cheerleading team, and he did a brilliant job of racing around town to meet me along the way with energetic smiles (and a camera). The scenery in Stockholm was spectacular and the weather was dry and about 60 degrees Fahrenheit. Another cool thing about running so far in a race is that they have so much water, energy foods, entertainment, and really cheerful crowds along the way -- it beats pounding out 20 miles on your own by far! I had some moments when I was truly sloughing along, but with only about a kilometer of walking, I made it! To be honest, I almost cried when I finished. Not because of pain, but more a feeling of accomplishment, of setting a really huge goal and finally reaching it. At the finish line, I got a t-shirt and a medal. Perhaps the most disappointing part of the race was that my medal didn't have a string on it so that I could wear it around my neck for the next several weeks to show off. I'm not sure that the euphoria was enough to stir me to run another marathon, but it did feel pretty awesome. OK. Even these thoughts are a digression.



The bigger adventure came in the form of a phone call the second week of May. Unsuspectingly, we were hosting a slew of friends for a film night in our basement when the phone rang. A job application process strung out over the last two years had come to fruition. The offer to be a Regional English Language Officer with the Department of State hit me with an incredible force. I had just booked a vacation to Tblisi. Uli and I were strategizing for a potential future move elsewhere in Europe or North America. We'd already made a map of our summer cycling trip through the three Baltic States the previous day. However, the position had great promise as well as a position from which we could continue living overseas, doing meaningful work, and receiving the kinds of financial and logistical support to make that lifestyle comfortable (don't get me started on buying yet another toaster -- that discussion is a true digression). And I was asked to physically (also psychologically?) present myself in a mere three weeks time. Adventure had knocked and demanded a 24-hour turn-around on my response.

We said yes and decided to embrace chaos in these months (and years) to come.

After a whirlwind month in which we were "packed out" by movers, hurried to make arrangements for our "stuff" and our apartment, and gathered friends yet again for farewells, I also finished my final courses at the University of Tartu. As an institution which I have served longer than any other, this was tough. With the realization that I may not be a classroom instructor for a long while, this was even tougher. I had three fantastic writing groups of Freshmen this semester, and, somehow, our course finished without it sinking in. You see, the new job is more about facilitating exchanges and supporting programs, matching institutions and resources, representing America abroad through English language teaching. One-off workshops are possible. Long-term relationships built over a semester, not so much. The kind of end-of-semester stress and handing in term papers did not seem adequate for the kind of farewell I wanted to give, quite selfishly. Nearly two months later, this identity shift still has not really sunk in. I hope it never will.

So, what am I doing in Washington? I am scraping along here and trying to learn the ropes. I've endured orientation and have discovered some aspects of the culture of the Foreign Service. I'm uncovering every single day more information about what it means to be a RELO (Regional English Language Officer - pronounced as a word: Reee-low) and how I might fulfill those duties. See this link for an overview as well as my potential future homes. I'll be here for the next 12 months continuing to figure things out bit by bit.

I'm here at the moment without Uli, and this is hard. The biggest highlight of our last year is that it really was our last year. We were together, on the same continent. Well, most of the time. It was wonderful. Because Uli had to stay and tie up loose ends with his work and also to entertain visitors this summer, we are spending an excruciating 10 weeks apart. I know that it shouldn't be so traumatic after our cross-Atlantic commuting, but it is. We've decided not to do this anymore. Let's hope we don't have to. However, come mid-August, we are a team once again, and that is very good for my sanity.

So what next?

Well, after 10 months of intensive Russian courses, we are headed to Astana, Kazakhstan, where we'll be based (visitors very welcome) for two years. I'll cover this immense Central Asian region: Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan, and Turkmenistan. Did you know that Kazakhstan alone is the 9th largest country in the world? Overwhelming... I am incredibly excited at the assignment and cannot wait to learn and explore. The Central Asian Steppe, with its wide skies and dry but extreme climate and vegetation, may just be Wyoming with a huge twist. Not to mention that it is classified as lower Siberia and is one of the coldest (if not the coldest) capitals in the world? More on that in the months and years to come.


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In the meantime, we'll be located here in Washington (visitors always welcome). I've had an amazing summer of reunions and new Washingtonian experiences. The Delaware beaches with friends, bluegrass at Wolftrap, the Folk Life Festival on the National Mall, to name a few. Reunions have been numerous and surprising. I've managed to reconnect with several pasts - a Romanian connection 'bumped' into me at the Folk Life Festival and a former Slovakia Peace Corps staff member happened to process my voucher... the world is small indeed.

Just to add one more random remark before closing (if you are still reading at this point). I have joined a knitting group and am trying to cultivate a craftier side. Here are my first two winter hats, as products. I guess I am already planning for cold weather...



Not much more less to confess or digress. Please don't lose track of me in the midst of all of these adventures and craziness. My family and friends are cornerstones reminding me of who I am and where I have been - I need you all to keep myself grounded. (Demanding action: update your address books yet again!)

Baffled resident

This is me with a five-year Estonian residency and work permit -- good for the whole entire European Union -- and obtained expeditiously and with surprisingly little bureaucracy. Over all, it was the most pleasant immigration experience I have ever had. . . and I dare to say that my superlative is used with some means of comparison.


As a Peace Corps Volunteer in Slovakia, I received help from a counterpart and the papers from the Peace Corps office, but that could not save us from the military office visits to a town 12 kilometers away. The building I recall was somehow full of closed doors and a lot of waiting, even if I was being led around by my colleague Klaudia. We visited and filled out forms. Brought papers. Refilled out forms. Went to find more papers. And waited for closed doors to open. Not horrific, but definitely not friendly.

In Mexico, I was put in charge of managing my work papers on my own in the huge office in the center of Guadalajara. The papers weren't so cumbersome, but the lines were long and unfriendly. There were multiple lines. Sometimes I didn't know which one to stand in and, as there was no one to whom I could direct a question, I simply chose a line I thought could work, often to find out that it was the wrong line and that I had to start at the end of another queue and hope I made it to the front before the window closed. I visited that place and those lines many times, and I chalked it up to a colossal cross-cultural experience. The paperwork took months to sort out.

In the Romanian system, I was one of the lucky ones that got to circumvent lines and long waits. Due to the "contact" of a departmental colleague, my paperwork was rushed and when we visited the immigration police, we stepped in front of the line and right into the door of the man in charge. I had my papers in the mail before most were done standing in lines and filling out forms. The only hitch was the expiry date arranged by my disgruntled colleague who was upset with my departure to another school mid-year. Instead of papers for my entire stay, my card remained valid only for 5 months.

My experience four years ago in Tartu was not exactly painful, but it wasn't convenient either. I had to provide a lot of documentation for my qualifications to work as a non-EU citizen and the entire process was quite expensive and cumbersome for a one-year document. My colleague helped me at the immigration office, and, of course, we managed to wade through the process with success.

This new experience as the spouse of a resident could not have been more different. I waltzed into the open floor plan of the newly installed immigration police together with Ulrich, my passport, and marriage license. The woman working with us was extremely pleasant, and she processed my papers lickedy-split. Three weeks from the day of our first visit, I picked up my newly minted Estonian residency card! Simply Amazing.

This collection of personal immigration narratives, together with recent media impressions from National Public Radio and the New York Times paint a mottled picture of the acceptance of foreignness in this particular Baltic State. A possible interpretation as an outsider after listening/reading the news would be to assume that this place may not be very welcoming to those who are different. Although I realize there are differences between pursuing residency and citizenship, I might be led to assume that immigration encounters would be rather unfriendly. Not that I've had any poor personal experiences in Estonia that indicate that I am unwelcome here; quite the contrary, actually. The huge ad campaign for tourist, after all, is called "Welcome to Estonia." Tere Tulemast! Yes, welcomed I feel. One can agree, although the circumstances are different and perhaps it is a stretch to make comparisons between my personal anecdote, media attention about long-term residents and language, and tourism marketing, the picture is a bit inconsistent and confusing.

The flip side of the residency issue for me is related to immigration in my own country. After all, the U.S. is a self-proclaimed land of immigrants -- as inscribed on the Statue of Liberty: "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free..." We celebrate our mixed heritages and glorify the struggles and sacrifices of those who came. "We Americans" are a motley crew wrestling with our identities, highlighting our pedigrees when they are preferred and downplaying other less-acceptable roots when inconvenient. This Interactive Map from NYT is endless entertainment, as you can look at immigration patterns from 1880 to the present, highlighting one group or another as you explore your own family's immigration and map it against the larger patterns. Indeed, we identify ourselves in this funny, mixed-up way. And yet we have Arizona, we have walls, we have those (from, gulp, my home state) fighting hard to defend what is "ours." In a profound way, I don't get it at all. As a de-facto American cultural ambassador of sorts (that's really what happens when you go abroad, like it or not), I can neither describe nor defend.

To complicate matters, I am also trying to apply for U.S. residency for my husband, God help him. The contrast could not be bigger. Today is the twelve-month anniversary of our first batch of application forms and fees. With an investment of a two-inch thick binder of forms and supporting materials and over $1,000 in fees, translations, and forms, we have not yet received any confirmation that we are indeed on the right track. The process leaves me with the same bewilderment I have when trying to figure out the IRS and my taxes. The process also leaves me embarrassed. My husband is a multilingual, educated person from a developed country; the process should not be difficult for him... and it is. We have to wonder with each entry and exit to the US if he will be pulled out for questioning. It's nerve-racking.

Our circumstances aside, should it matter where he is from, whether he speaks English, how educated he is whether or not he is currently employed? What do we fear that we so heavily screen and test? In a democracy that feigns welcome and inclusiveness, shouldn't we be able to marry whomever we want, regardless of citizenship?

Yep. I'm a legal alien, and a rather baffled one at that.