Zurich, Switzerland
It is 6:50 am as I hurriedly walk down the platform to the first class car and board the train. I quickly find an available seat, and, as is my normal procedure, place my black gym bag overhead, hang up my black suit jacket, take out my laptop from my black laptop bag and place my Blackberry next to the laptop; but only after a quick check to ensure I had not received any new messages since I last checked 5 minutes ago. I then set it close by so that the blinking light notifying me of any new messages can be seen out of the corner of my eye. By 7:02, the train is full, mainly with white men who all look the same to me; serious faces, black suits, and coffee and gipfeli (croissant) in hand. “Naechste Halt, Basel.” The train pulls out of the station but I barely notice as I am already typing away.
Ciudad Quesada, Costa Rica
It is 7; 30 am and already sunny and humid outside. “Let’s Go!” the CrossCulturalSolutions staff shout. I am standing in line with the other volunteers waiting to fill up my water bottle with our specially filtered water one last time before we head out. Once full, I swing my backpack over my shoulder and run out the door, through the gate of our barred off home base and onto the bus. In my backpack I bring only water, pen, paper, and my Spanish book which the kids love to go through since they have no textbooks at their school. I am wearing my usual work clothes of khaki capris, T-shirt, and Teva sandals and stare out the window as we drive (well, more like bounce) to my school. As I am one of the last stops, we drive through the hills, passing the many shacks, “Soda” shops, and little houses enclosed in the same prison bars as our own, dropping off the other volunteers along the way. Pulling up to my school I jump out, the kids come running shouting "Gringa Gringa!" I am overwhelmed by kisses on the cheek and then am dragged into the next game of jump rope before class begins.
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