My wicked world Head in the clouds, feet on the ground, mind on food and heart on the road!

Dearest Karen attended college in Chicago (good old Trinity) and Joelle in Mississippi. So a bunch of guys decided they want to go down to Mississippi and see Joelle. Seeing an opportunity, I asked them if I can join, they agreeing – the more, the merrier. The plan was to go to Chicago, pick up Karen, then drive down 13 hours to good ol’ Mizzippi. Everything went according to plan, and there we were, enjoying the warmth of the South and not understanding a word those fine people were saying. We saw the campus (and I mean a real campus), the cotton fields (I even picked a “flower”), ate the spiciest food in my entire life (my lips and tongue were numb and this after a couple of bites). I was kind of freaking out when the guys decided to stay for one more day (I had to go back to work), but then they had me – the destination was New Orleans.

Being an avid Anne Rice fan (see Vampire Chronicles) and caving to Joelle’s persuasion, we arrived in Jazzland. It was another great adventure – we walked on Bourboun Street, drank cocktails, listened to Jazz, ate at a gay restaurant (the waiter would not give Karen a knife, but I’m sure he would have cut one of the guy’s hamburger in a heart beat), we fooled around in the shops (tried on different wigs, hats, sunglasses), generally having a great time.

Sadly though, this adventure ended, and the next day found us in Wisconsin again. I was sad to leave,but on the other hand I was glad I was coming home.
Take one flight Chicago – Amsterdam, Amsterdam – Bucharest and I was safe in my parents’ arms. Of course I brought presents and experiences back with me (not to mention some body modification ) and for the first two weeks I was strongly against the americans (they are ignorant, stupid and whatever came to mind).

Mom however, being the wise woman, left me to my business for about a month (two weeks if you count the not-talking-to-me-because-of-the-tattoo), then asked me to tell her about the summer. Needless to say, as I started talking, I missed my friends, remembered all the good times we had, forgetting the bad experiences (especially the harassment of one of my colleagues at the hotel, who was also from Romania, gay to boot and kept touching me and making propositions, even when I told him I was not interested)

And after all these stories, the following week I started the papers for another summer in the US, at Family Land.

Getting home was the real culture shock. I realized how much we are missing, both material and people wise. In the States people are not rude, they help you if they can, you just have to be a little open towards them. I don’t think they’re ignorant (not anymore at least) – they simply focus on a thing at a time (not like us, running around, multitasking and then getting exhausted). They are calmer, more organized and simplify things – that’s what I love about them. It took me about 3 weeks to get over the jet-lag and more to overcome my depression of getting home and seeing how things work around here.