Feelings

I’ve been silent for a few months. But that’s because I had some travelling to do. Plans began in March when the bookings agent called me up in the form of weird pains in my arms and a tingling in the back of my head. I was pretty sure it wasn’t Mr. Infarct ringing, nor Ms. Stroke. But as I sat in my Prague 2 flat by myself wondering what to do, I wasn’t sure what to make of things. The Michelin Guide that is Google MD gave me some solace as I tested possible signs of what could be a heart attack or anything stroke-adjacent. Ultimately, the forecast just showed signs of high blood pressure and a call for a visit to my GP and many specialists.

Flash-forward to mid-July and the trip that took months of planning had begun. I lay there in a skimpy grey gown, fearing my derriere (or lack thereof) was exposed to the world and I had no idea where my trip would end … would I get to my destination? All my “travel agents” were the epitome of professionalism and kindness, making me laugh as they helped plan my “flight” …

This trip has changed me more than any other. In planning the journey, I found out that I had a bicuspid valve or something similar thereto in my aorta. That’s why I had to make this trip and fly immediately. I was born with a congenital defect and my aortic valves (what my doctors referred to as the Mercedes symbol) had been deformed all my life. As you can imagine, for someone who’s been travelling in the same “aircraft” for nearly 50 years, this was a shock: how had I run track in middle school, how had I danced like an insane dervish for hours on end in multiple European clubs, how had I managed 150km-a-day bike rides or climbed so many mountains? How had I not known?

I didn’t see any signs along any of my earlier flightpaths. I had just felt I was tired or slightly more winded than usual when climbing new peaks during the most recent months of my travels. One thing was certain though, it was time to go on an adventure with the country’s, if not the region’s, best pilot. And that is what I did on that mild July morning. I don’t remember much about the flight. I just recall waking up in my destination; I even arrived speaking the local language in lieu of my native English. I was glad for that because I had been studying Czech (the language of the country I woke up in) for over two decades.

I am still processing my recent travels. Indeed, I am still on my journey. My life will never be the same and I will have to use special fuel since my plane had to have its “engine” partially replaced. Maintenance also looks to be a challenge: no more fueling up with cheap petrol products; no more low-quality motor oil or used parts. My newly refurbished aircraft will require a lot of care. That said, I have everything in the world to be grateful for and happy about. I had dozens of friends who came to visit me while I was away and so many more rallied to greet me at the airport upon my return. I am elated my plane’s engine is working at close to full speed once again.

I’ve been blessed to have had so many opportunities to see the world in my previous aircraft. I’ve climbed the peaks of northern Armenia, I’ve watched the sun set from the coast of Portugal and even fell asleep to the lapping waves on the beaches of St. Croix in the US Virgin Islands. I tortured and tested myself on climbs in the Šumava mountains or on long bike treks over the Brdy highlands between Prague and Plzeň. And with my new plane, I have so much more I wish to do: from visits to Samarkand and Buchara, to walking the dunes of the Moroccan deserts to wading in the waters off the coast of Mauritius. I am eternally grateful to all the aerospace technicians and mechanics at Na Homolce who repaired me; to their support teams who assisted in the process; to all the fellow passengers (among them my closest friends) who cheered me on. I don’t know how many more miles I have on my current vessel, but you can be certain that I see each and every one of them as a blessing. To any and all readers: get your “planes” checked and serviced regularly and travel safely as you continue your journeys through life.

It’s now been a month since I returned from Armenia. During that time, I’ve tried to keep busy. Mostly though, it seems like I’ve done (or been doing) so with a laundry list of absurd tasks. Perhaps the strangest of these is trying to find a job in an economy that’s put out a “no vacancies” sign. Otherwise, I’ve filled my days with the administrative work related to wrapping up my Peace Corps service and fulfilling all my reporting duties.

However, life here in Prague one month in is just plain odd. Multiple times I’ve heard the question: “How does it feel to be back?” And the simple answers are either It doesn’t. or Weird. Perhaps it’s odd to say that I don’t feel, but honestly it seems that way. The return to a past life in the new corona world is complicated. For two weeks after getting back, all past tangible, physical relationships became virtual. Luckily, I knew and could see all my closest friends were safe and healthy, but they were just images in devices. That then brings us to the weirdness of a few encounters with friends (limited ones) that I’ve been fortunate to have had post-quarantine: ones where elbow bumps replace hugging. I think that practice for me is the oddest of all. For someone who has lived a world away from his family for most of his adult life AND who is not tactile at all, I really did miss hugging my friends back into my world. There’s just the surrealness of those looks upon meeting: both of us thinking – how do we do this? Is the elbow touch OK? Embraces are off limits, right? But we do have our masks on, so would a quick hug be safe?

After the initial awkwardness of our new corona greetings, conversation does begin to flow and with the few friends I’ve met we do catch up and I get to share (as much as my feelings let me) what my life has been like over the past whirlwind of a year. Generally, it’s a combination of wistfulness and gratitude. But mainly gratitude … with statements or thoughts similar to those below:

I’m not done. I know that somehow I will find my way back to Armenia one day. I’m not sure in what capacity, but I want to spend more time in the country. And next time I hope to be able to say good-bye on my own terms.
I miss Armenian hospitality and thankfulness. I am, and was, always touched by how communities that might not have a lot, compared to what we call the West, in material terms are so consistently gracious in sharing what they do have. You will never leave an Armenian home hungry or thirsty.
It’s weird not to have that daily embrace of the mountains in the Lori region. I became so spoiled by the vistas of the snow-capped peaks to which I woke every morning. The ridges that encircled and protected Spitak and Lernapat to the west; and which walled us off from Georgia to the north.
Life is strange without the celebrity of being “the volunteer.” Walks around my city Vanadzor were always amusing in that most of the time people knew of you before you knew them. “Oh, you’re the volunteer. Aren’t you?” was a common phrase and it always made me feel special.
My colleagues’ warnings were true. Returning from volunteer service is a weird process because of the singular experience that Peace Corps offers and creates. It’s difficult to tell people who haven’t lived the process just what service meant to me and why it was so touching and profound. Still, I’m working on doing so and, hopefully, one day I will get better at it.

Would this be my last trip?

Back to what?