Oregon Bucket List

I’ve come to the realization that I most likely won’t be in Oregon for the rest of my life. With that realization came the production of my Oregon Bucket List. Rather than it being a list of things to do before I die, it’s a list of things to do before I leave the state of Oregon. And this week I crossed my first item off the list: Swim in the WOU pool.

Western Oregon University (WOU) has always had a pool, but in the past year or so they completely revamped it. WOU got an entirely new Health & Wellness Center actually. The pool, both old & new, has been calling my name since my first tour of the campus. I’ve always loved swimming, as a matter of fact at times I think I’m part mermaid. Despite my fish-like yearnings, I made it four years through college without ever stepping a toe in the WOU pool. But this Saturday, that all changed. 

My swimming garb

The weather was gloomy on Saturday, but I was itching to stretch my legs. That’s when my bucket list hit me. Luckily in Oregon nearly every pool is indoors, including the WOU pool, so I figured there was no time better than the present to get my bucket list show on the road. I was hesitant, mostly because I’m awkward. You see I’m no longer a student and there are zero alumni privileges when it comes to WOU, so I didn’t exactly know how I was going to get into the pool. Fortunately WOU is known for two things: friendly people and very few people. I walked into the Health & Wellness center to find two workers and no one else. I told the student working the desk about my desire to swim but lack of being a student and she hooked me up no problem (ok, all I had to do was buy an aquatic pass for $4...it wasn’t a big deal). Then I found my way to the locker room and met a hilarious old woman who I ended up sharing the pool with for the rest of the afternoon. When I got into the pool area, I anticipated an epic jumping reunion with my long lost friend of water, but the entry area was only 2 1/2 feet deep. Good thing I didn’t go for an all out cannonball. My reunion with the water was sweet no less and I felt like I was back where I belonged. And then five minutes of me doing laps passed and I felt like I was going to die. Swimming is tough stuff, man. I grabbed a kick board, changed up my stroke, and managed to stay in the water for the better portion of an hour before it closed for the day. I already can’t wait to go back. Oregon Bucket List is off to a grand start! 

Weeding out the Neighbors

A funny thing happened last Monday. My roommate Alison & I were home enjoying a quiet night of TV watching when we heard a small knock on the door. We considered ignoring it because usually small knocks come from small neighbors and small neighbors usually mean trouble. I got up and answered it anyway, and boy was I glad I did. It turned out to be our favorite little next door neighbor and she came bearing surprisingly good and hilarious news. Our convo went like this: 

Adorable 4th Grade Neighbor Girl: “How many of you are home?” 

Me: “It’s just Alison and me right now.” 

Girl: “How many are going to come tonight?” 

Me (lighting up with anticipated excitement of them putting on a play or something): “What’s happening tonight?!” 

Girl (slightly awkward now): “Um, no. I mean how many people are going to be in your house tonight? Because my parents made pink chicken and wanted to give you guys plates of food.” 

Me (genuinely & rightfully excited this time): “Oh! Wendy’s coming home later so there will be three of us tonight. That’s so nice! Please tell them thanks for us!” 

Girl: “Ok, and, um, they also said that if you ever wanted to borrow our, um, lawnmower, or, uh, weed pulling tool thing you can.” 

I looked around and noticed her small frame nearly engulfed by the weeds overcoming our front porch area. Then I eyeballed their side of the yard, decorated with freshly planted rose bushes in almost pristine condition--minus the weeds from our side threatening to encroach upon their thorny bottoms. 

I found this to be a hilarious and well thought out way for the neighbors to nudge us into taking care of our yard work. Not only did they butter us up with food and offer their tools to us, but they did it all through the communication of cuteness. This little girl is seriously hard to resist. So that night we feasted on scrumptious homemade chicken (I still don’t know why it was pink), rice, and potato salad, and then we took care of the yard the next day. Well played neighbors, well played. 

The Pink Chicken Deliciousness

    

The Resulted Weeding

American Invasion

Every time I travel abroad one unnerving observation continually rubs me the wrong way: United States culture is taking over. When I studied abroad in Spain, I remember entering shops and clubs hearing “Party in the USA” by Miley Cyrus and “Tonight’s Gonna Be a Good Night” by The Black Eyed Peas on repeat. I wanted to experience Spanish culture, but instead I experienced American culture narrated in Spanish. 

This time overseas was no different. Scotland and Ireland were laced with KFC restaurants and TGIFridays on every corner. The only authentic Scottish music I heard was bagpipes on the streets for the sake of appealing to the tourists. But inside bars all the locals were jamming to American tunes, and the locals knew the lyrics better than I did. 

Pub Quiz in Belfast, Ireland

Local bagpipers in Glasgow, Scotland 

(note the TGIFridays in the background)

The most bizarre encounter I had with this phenomenon was when Wendy, Derek, and I partook in a pub quiz with three Irish natives. Our team was split evenly between Americans and Irishmen and so were the quiz questions. Just about every other question on the quiz was about American pop culture, or an American song was played to be identified, or our history & current politics were questioned. The worst part is they know our stuff just as well--if not better--than we do. One of the questions was “How long is the Mississippi?” Our new Irish friends looked at us expectantly. We looked at each other dumbfounded. We had nothing. (Btw the answer is 2,320 miles or 3,734 km). 

It drives me nuts that not only do Americans generally not know much about their own country, but everyone else knows our history, culture, and politics as if it’s their own. As I lamented this to a Canadian, he responded with the argument that they sort of have to know about the US because we’re such a world power. Basically, we’re all up in everyone else’s business and in turn they get sucked into ours. 

Traveling Times Tales

My last two weeks were spent traveling around Scotland and Ireland with my roommate Wendy and college friend Derek. Blogging about the entire experience sounds daunting, so instead I’ll just share random stories that come to mind over the next few weeks. 

A Memorable Shower

The Shower Story: 

As three near college-age travelers on a budget, most of our accommodations were as cheap as possible. This meant mostly youth hostels. For the most part, youth hostels are great. They’re affordable, centrally located, you get to meet lots of other young travelers and all that jazz. But they also have their downsides. You don’t get your own space and you have to be quite trusting of your neighbors. You also have to be willing to let it all hang out. I learned this first hand in Dublin. 

  In Dublin, our hostel had a shared bathroom. It was about four rooms of varying numbers of beds to one bathroom and two shower rooms. After a long day of travel and several days of not bathing, we decided to turn in early and hit the showers. I chose what I thought to be the only shower room at the time. As I got situated, I realized the door didn’t quite lock. This wouldn’t be a problem if the shower wasn’t right in front of the doorway and concealed by four clear walls. For a moment I considered searching for another shower or trying to make Wendy stand guard, but I was tired & dirty so I went for it anyway. Silly mistake. About halfway through the worst shower of my life (you had to hold a button the entire time you wanted water to come out and the temperature only increased in heat rather than balancing out to luke warm) I heard a girl right outside the door call to her friends, “I’m going to hop in the shower now.” Since I had nearly anticipated this situation, rather than panicking, I pressed the water button, turned to the corner, and gave her the full moon. Sure enough, she opened the door with a scream and ran frantically back to her friends. I hurried along the rest of my shower--conditioner still soaking into my red strands--and listened to the girl retell the story over and over to each of her friends. At one point I heard her say in the retelling, “I don’t even know if it was a boy or a girl.” Great. The genderless nude gets walked in on. Hostels are the best. It’s safe to say I didn’t shower again during my time there.