tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-103619552024-03-07T06:01:19.074+01:00Rik's BlogWelcome to Rik's Blog. Rik is a US citizen who was going nowhere and decided to join the Army and come to Europe to finally start experiencing life way back in 1998. He went from Germany to Italy, back to Germany, then back to Italy, then took a slight detour in South Carolina before going back to Italy, then to South Korea and now, finally, back in Germany. What a long, strange trip it's been... Rikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17726907210300737277noreply@blogger.comBlogger710125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10361955.post-8391805023635892572022-07-19T10:48:00.008+02:002022-07-19T13:13:58.185+02:00Filipino Cuisine: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3qMArZaVC2DUMfwQfHaxK8_Wz2QPRaXrRuAHLEhrRAzPxDgwe4h-SnWyj-wZ-Ly8RdiTMkF9c-MSqR7q-sSTmGa30cAA54iSa6esVtYDZ56AG68WYWHB-5pQ5uOKyIskOl-9hKo9wVfcZk6bQZt6a2WsLAJvq4aK_BtdbvO-Djhc6o9Ad_g/s400/psc108lg.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="299" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3qMArZaVC2DUMfwQfHaxK8_Wz2QPRaXrRuAHLEhrRAzPxDgwe4h-SnWyj-wZ-Ly8RdiTMkF9c-MSqR7q-sSTmGa30cAA54iSa6esVtYDZ56AG68WYWHB-5pQ5uOKyIskOl-9hKo9wVfcZk6bQZt6a2WsLAJvq4aK_BtdbvO-Djhc6o9Ad_g/s320/psc108lg.jpeg" width="239" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;">Filipino cuisine is an eclectic blend of Chinese, Spanish, American and of course native cooking. I’m suddenly starting to realize during this trip that I’m actually not that big a fan of Filipino food. There are some things I like of course but in general, I just don’t really care for most it. For one thing, it’s not the healthiest diet in the world. High blood pressure and heart disease is pretty common in this country and it’s easy to see why. I have high blood pressure myself and on one of our trips I remember Lola telling me “Riccardo, I am worried about you drinking beer with your high blood pressure” and all I could think was “Jesus, everything you serve me is deep fried and layered in salt and you’re worried about me drinking a beer?!” </p><p style="text-align: center;">I’ve always thought it was interesting to compare and contrast the Philippines with Japan: both island nations, both reliant on fish and rice as their main food source however the similarities end there. Japan, one of the healthiest countries in the world, eat their fish and seafood raw or grilled while Filipinos deep fry everything and add tons of salt and MSG to everything. Not only that, the fish they eat here are the more trashy kind like tilapia and bangus which are raised in muddy ponds, most of which are found on farms so the animal feces seeps into the water. This is the main reason I refuse to eat tilapia. Tilapia seems to have become a fad fish in the US these days probably because it has an exotic name and is so cheap but if most people knew the disgusting conditions they are raised in, nobody would be eating it. </p><p style="text-align: center;">Pork is king here in the PI and, true to their nature, they eat it in the most unhealthiest way they can think of. Popular pork dishes here are things like crispy pata which is basically a ham hock but of course it’s deep fried and usually served with a soy-vinegar sauce. Then there is lechon kawali which are deep fried slabs of pork belly. Another hugely popular pork dish here is sisig and is probably the worst sounding one of all – it’s made from the ‘throw away’ parts of the pig such as the face, the ears, snout, etc., they fry it all up together with onions, chilis and garlic and serve it on a sizzling plate and then crack an egg over it so that the egg sort of cooks into the dish. I’ve tried all the above and they are all very tasty (yes, even the sisig) but I have to avoid them here because they would send my cholesterol and blood pressure skyrocketing into orbit. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxEWAGLTDZlDT9l0AAG8IATf4Yl0Ur6bIA2bOwyaTtzgUYvh70-pTG6OdPaKIpdnPlhmmwa7fD5Z8J96bRMvdThQHTz9yjDAp6OY7Yt2IyKT7vD0-mF2-qIAC0GuzpVwl-Oyy8Aqco5sTvt21NHa9TSbiQhY-rtiUXUGzWgTRr0ssVvHvNug/s500/lechc3b3n_kawali1.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="357" data-original-width="500" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxEWAGLTDZlDT9l0AAG8IATf4Yl0Ur6bIA2bOwyaTtzgUYvh70-pTG6OdPaKIpdnPlhmmwa7fD5Z8J96bRMvdThQHTz9yjDAp6OY7Yt2IyKT7vD0-mF2-qIAC0GuzpVwl-Oyy8Aqco5sTvt21NHa9TSbiQhY-rtiUXUGzWgTRr0ssVvHvNug/s320/lechc3b3n_kawali1.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Lechon kawali; basically fried pork belly.</i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwrTEOXujRm5yqba48kA2608SQuZTdSlaqwOnTWsAj9EFa4h8ycUTTegUzC-9Bnj5ZPFDtMvXOiEMh305bXRVPj_bnHrRq25tcVMPkhmOHam4wQe4Ifh5c3YN_-yHeqL4Sa3SxyU56BeK6qK9hjRO8jMTLdum7k-byRGU-9HzK6Wnwcd6ikA/s1600/ac429225810f517135203059af459e7e.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwrTEOXujRm5yqba48kA2608SQuZTdSlaqwOnTWsAj9EFa4h8ycUTTegUzC-9Bnj5ZPFDtMvXOiEMh305bXRVPj_bnHrRq25tcVMPkhmOHam4wQe4Ifh5c3YN_-yHeqL4Sa3SxyU56BeK6qK9hjRO8jMTLdum7k-byRGU-9HzK6Wnwcd6ikA/s320/ac429225810f517135203059af459e7e.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Pork sisig; looks delicious until you realize it is ground up pig ears, belly, snout and cheeks.</i></div><p style="text-align: center;">Chicken is probably right up there with pork in most of the PI as it’s cheap and easy to raise chickens. Of course the most popular way to cook and eat chicken here is…you guessed it, fried. Fried chicken most likely became popular here due to the presence of the American military; as the story goes, African American soldiers taught the Filipinos how to fry chicken the American way and the rest is history. Filipinos also love to eat the heads and feet of the chicken. I’ve never tried the heads but I have tried chicken feet and I don’t like it at all – there’s no meat, it’s just collagen and bones. Virginia eats it occasionally and has actually gotten Max hooked on it. Weird kid. Of course everybody knows about chicken adobo which is absolutely delicious but again, extremely high in salt/sodium so I mostly avoid it here. Back home Virginia makes it often and her recipe is phenomenal but she usually makes a version much lower in sodium so I can partake. For those who have never tried it, adobo is basically a dish of meat braised in a mixture who main ingredients are soy sauce and vinegar along with other herbs and spices. Chicken is the most popular meat to use but they do it with pretty much every meat you can think of here. The best is when they put the small potatoes in it because the potatoes suck up ll of the amazing sauce while it cooks. The other night Virginia’s brother Bobby made duck adobo and it was delicious. The Filipino chicken barbeque is one of my favorites; they marinade the chicken in a combination of banana ketchup, sweet chili sauce, soy sauce, brown sugar and either calamansi or some kind of lime soda (Bobby uses Sprite), then they grill it up on wooden skewers. The sauce isn’t the healthiest I’m sure but it’s so good that I eat it anyway. Hey, at least it’s chicken, right? I’m a big chicken guy and I love me some chicken but the issue I have with a lot of the dishes here (not just chicken but pretty much every other meat dish) is that they usually cut up the animal fresh which means the meat is all on bones. It’s difficult to eat like that because you have to pick up a piece with your hand and sort of gnaw at it to get the meat off. When I eat meat dishes, I like to just shovel a big forkful into my mouth and enjoy all the flavors together without having to try and pick the meat off the bone. First world problem, I know. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQrEzx5ijApD808ufLmzi60yt6Lwezf0u3szdTVkYjBmSPueJqmMM-zhqbYFafOcZDlYp1jZiCTrHJBS67JMEfkPvZzE5sfK5UQnGlpdTOFeV8qBEFSBvyj6p4RYYFVv88puSx_7SNGI9E8HFUcfjYi3_WInLd6RGJEC7JS1czABfy4HkCxQ/s2040/DK6A1906.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2040" data-original-width="1360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQrEzx5ijApD808ufLmzi60yt6Lwezf0u3szdTVkYjBmSPueJqmMM-zhqbYFafOcZDlYp1jZiCTrHJBS67JMEfkPvZzE5sfK5UQnGlpdTOFeV8qBEFSBvyj6p4RYYFVv88puSx_7SNGI9E8HFUcfjYi3_WInLd6RGJEC7JS1czABfy4HkCxQ/s320/DK6A1906.jpeg" width="213" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><i>The ubiquitous chicken adobo</i></p><p style="text-align: center;">Then you have the old Filipino standbys – pancit and lumpia. Pancit is basically a dish of glass noodles cooked with some soy sauce with tons of vegetables and some kind of meat. It’s probably the second most popular staple here after white rice and if you ever go to a Filipino party, you will no doubt see a giant bowl of pancit. I am personally not a huge fan of pancit. I don’t hate it, I just find most pancit rather bland and lacking in flavor. Virginia makes it really good as she uses dark soy sauce which gives it a bit of complexity in the flavor (dark soy sauce is more intense and robust in flavor) but for the most part I don’t eat much pancit. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijgJXxxmBa1I_A7dywzB4wYUdaEj-TknYcJ9eMqVAcwktvUP6Tp0hhvyu2rw-FVCMnPIAyVSOM4gLiyi1PmXc-Uj9J6AWBJkrSg4OoXlOkrVFoXXkKgveSnZWYWv4F77N9q_aqSLv3KxORoBDVRzAjQyYD7xsuOdd2_q_O51KIfE7ssleWYw/s1200/lutong-pinoy-pancit-bihon-1200x900.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijgJXxxmBa1I_A7dywzB4wYUdaEj-TknYcJ9eMqVAcwktvUP6Tp0hhvyu2rw-FVCMnPIAyVSOM4gLiyi1PmXc-Uj9J6AWBJkrSg4OoXlOkrVFoXXkKgveSnZWYWv4F77N9q_aqSLv3KxORoBDVRzAjQyYD7xsuOdd2_q_O51KIfE7ssleWYw/s320/lutong-pinoy-pancit-bihon-1200x900.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Pancit: a Filipino staple</i></p><p style="text-align: center;">Lumpia are right up there as a Filipino staple and quite possibly the most recognizable Filipino food, along with adobo. As an added bonus, it’s also fun to say – “loom-pia”. Lumpia are basically the Philippines answer to the Chinese egg roll. Now, full disclosure; I personally don’t care for the way most Filipinos make their lumpia. They normally use too little filling and too much wrapping so when they deep fry them, they end up tasting like a glorified wanton. When you get a good lumpia however, they are delicious and, as usual, Virginia’s are the gold standard as far as I’m concerned. I am obviously biased as she’s my wife but people who have tried her lumpia would agree with me that they are the best they’ve tried. It’s not just by accident though, she has spent literally hours upon hours working on her lumpia recipe over the years. She works on every little detail – the marinade for the meats and vegetables, how thick to make the wrappers, etc., she leaves no stone unturned. She also makes hers a bit bigger than average so each one is a mouthful (that’s what she said). She started selling them at a few of our previous duty stations and was completely inundated with orders, so much so that she couldn’t even keep up with the demand. She makes them with pork, beef or chicken but I often find her vegetable ones the tastiest (she uses bean sprouts which I love). Lumpia are usually served with a sweet chili sauce but the absolute best dipping sauce we have found for her lumpia is the La Choy brand of sweet and sour sauce. We’ve tried other brands but not even close, it HAS to be the La Choy brand sweet and sour sauce. I remember our first year on the beach here, there was an old Filipina woman walking the beach selling homemade lumpia. I just HAD to buy some, thinking they must be great if you buy them here in the Philippines, but they were awful, almost no filling at all, just fried wrappings with shreds of carrot and the occasional speck of meat. Lesson learned. I tend to not eat a lot of fried food so I tried cooking Virginia’s lumpia in my air fryer due to my buddy Ramsey’s suggestion and they actually came out fantastic. And much healthier!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2up3t4Nh--ladwHvwf05mFHU-l9vHafepEWgl0lLmImTqI5Z4bFJhvP2ys4hSKAMIkStZsUPP8nYavUKlcZpsK1f5qPOfAQbh-EEljTgzpqdvdBJLT2Gg07GENrbIkfVkTqc5jfPt7Rx8SCjZ28f0mhVqnr3yx5Ijx226Vntoyv-PwJfyXw/s960/23167535_10155798382258560_4948619486061502824_n.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2up3t4Nh--ladwHvwf05mFHU-l9vHafepEWgl0lLmImTqI5Z4bFJhvP2ys4hSKAMIkStZsUPP8nYavUKlcZpsK1f5qPOfAQbh-EEljTgzpqdvdBJLT2Gg07GENrbIkfVkTqc5jfPt7Rx8SCjZ28f0mhVqnr3yx5Ijx226Vntoyv-PwJfyXw/s320/23167535_10155798382258560_4948619486061502824_n.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Virginia's lumpia; she has spent hours perfecting her recipe and people go crazy for them. One trick is to stand them up after frying so the oil drains and they remain crispy.</i></p><p style="text-align: center;">One of the best things about this country are the fruits and vegetables. The vegetables are mostly what we have back home but the fruits are off the chain. They have fruits here that I’d never even heard of such as rambutan (my favorite) and lanzones. Vegetable dishes are very popular here but in true Filipino fashion, they make them as unhealthy as they possibly can. For example. the other night they brought home some kind of green leafy vegetable which are some of the healthiest foods on the planet and I eat them as much as I can so I was eager to try them and told Lola as much. A little while later she came out to the bungalow with a plate of the greens but she had sauteèd the greens in a huge amount of oyster sauce which is loaded with sodium (are you sensing a trend here?). I took one bite and declined the rest. My favorite vegetable dish here is called Pinakbet and it’s a specialty of this region (Ilocano). The most popular ingredients are bitter melon (empalaya), eggplant, green beans, okra and pumpkin or squash, then they spice it up with garlic, ginger and onions. The Filipinos then ruin it by adding ‘bagoong’ which is a fermented shrimp paste. The Filipinos LOVE bagoong and put it on everything so one time I asked to try it and sweet fancy Moses did I regret it. It was like taking the top off of a salt shaker and pouring it down your throat. There was not enough water in the world to get that taste out of my mouth. Virginia makes pinakbet all the time back home but she leaves the bagoong out so it’s actually an extremely healthy dish and I eat the hell out of it. My favorite is to eat with some sardines. Another huge favorite that Virginia turned me onto is called Laing (La-ing). Laing is basically the leaves of the taro plant (though you can use most any green, she uses collards back in Germany since we can’t get taro leaves) which are very slowly simmered in coconut milk. They add garlic, chilis, lemongrass (a personal favorite), shallots, ginger and some kind of meat such as little bits of pork for flavoring. Locals use the bagoong but of course Virginia leaves it out. Laing is one of my absolute favorite Filipino dishes, it’s like a flavor explosion in your mouth (that’s what she said). </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiIwNznQeWxTOLKPGULsfAJDBRtDPNWrHT5mUtwjrgC9XvY6M1d7Jd0jG0cemIo866GWZzFb5qBJeSv5gT9f_tuBtyUq4Gu6JumLrEwo0NDKBm7xjZimi56uQmQgfzgcOcVYvielnOfwHv0cH3YX5hepGwQpZLmx-9TgWYNWzFo7sH8StvxQ/s1125/20210712-pinakbet-vicky-wasik-seriouseats-11-70c57a1f76174d8082b0b132bdfc7640.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="1125" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiIwNznQeWxTOLKPGULsfAJDBRtDPNWrHT5mUtwjrgC9XvY6M1d7Jd0jG0cemIo866GWZzFb5qBJeSv5gT9f_tuBtyUq4Gu6JumLrEwo0NDKBm7xjZimi56uQmQgfzgcOcVYvielnOfwHv0cH3YX5hepGwQpZLmx-9TgWYNWzFo7sH8StvxQ/s320/20210712-pinakbet-vicky-wasik-seriouseats-11-70c57a1f76174d8082b0b132bdfc7640.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Pinkbet, my favorite Filipino veggie dish</i></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPB9Gu-P-YEGiJcvDkOHrtVDDJYxKKiVRj78j4lcA6Qn0V1_cBiZlpBKigVGHr0lV7LxJ2DknlSTxQWsju6rFaiA2d90LdNN6ffWw-AupYiNNykEUMilP0dBmahX8c7EQgD69K94shhXSmyb6Tf2R-IYo3dLpSOXhbPYeAINdc8TAMSrb3Tw/s750/Laing-Recipe.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="750" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPB9Gu-P-YEGiJcvDkOHrtVDDJYxKKiVRj78j4lcA6Qn0V1_cBiZlpBKigVGHr0lV7LxJ2DknlSTxQWsju6rFaiA2d90LdNN6ffWw-AupYiNNykEUMilP0dBmahX8c7EQgD69K94shhXSmyb6Tf2R-IYo3dLpSOXhbPYeAINdc8TAMSrb3Tw/s320/Laing-Recipe.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Laing, one of my all time favorite dishes anywhere.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><b>The Ugly (these are the worst dishes, most I won’t even touch):</b></p><p style="text-align: center;">Filipino Sweet Spaghetti. Filipinos LOVE sweet stuff. The love all kinds of desserts, they love sodas, they put sugar in everything…including their spaghetti sauce. They will do a red sauce with ground beef or pork but then they will add sweet banana ketchup to the sauce and they put hot dogs – yes, HOT DOGS – in the sauce. Then they will put some shredded cheddar on top. It is disgusting however, it does make pretty good drunk food after too many Red Horses. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyxE52BXRoiktFKWE90KqPeu8wMPmuzI7fdBwqJ6ZL45Lm9ovI721ntEYJEVOMakjf2vz-YhtftPLalw3uMxRrYE9jBklCOyPM2fqoMnMnk0V9YKH5fkf4H5SnchoYJsRaOzx2EsdS2yVKJWa6AJhLjpXIXu_7jQRGJdXfeeKxSYk3ZO4V6Q/s640/Jollibee-Spaghetti640.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyxE52BXRoiktFKWE90KqPeu8wMPmuzI7fdBwqJ6ZL45Lm9ovI721ntEYJEVOMakjf2vz-YhtftPLalw3uMxRrYE9jBklCOyPM2fqoMnMnk0V9YKH5fkf4H5SnchoYJsRaOzx2EsdS2yVKJWa6AJhLjpXIXu_7jQRGJdXfeeKxSYk3ZO4V6Q/s320/Jollibee-Spaghetti640.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Sweet spaghetti with banana ketchup and hot dogs, a Filipino tradition I just cannot get into...unless I am really drunk.</i></p><p style="text-align: center;">Dinuguan. Simply put, this is a stew made of pigs blood and pig offal (intestines and other internal organs). I’m pretty adventurous and there’s not much I won’t try at least once – I have even tried balut twice – but I draw the line at blood. The Filipinos love it though, it is extremely popular here. </p><p style="text-align: center;">Chicken heads. These are basically marinated chicken heads with the comb and beaks removed (sometimes). My wife’s family cooks these on the grill all the time and I just don’t get it. Seriously…how the hell do you even eat a chicken head? I remember my first trip here when we were staying at the wife’s family place in the provinces. I decided to go for a walk one afternoon and I came upon some young Filipinos cooking on the grill. The guy cooking asked me if I wanted to share some barbeque with them, I looked at the grill and it was two chicken heads on a wooden skewer and a few chicken feet. Needless to say, I passed. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv-flPfIcwNx8EGz0jGjOdPV8spQR0mLjSwJiyzKWX5GzNr4G1_7e70f1s0CLFMF18gS8lsBOUyUsJjlvLVaO12ooW72geeEoDXGZ5YXhJIjLgnNBUc0AAmeC65IbdpZuqfb7sEMbPcva4bLaWpeXnN-XyJy-y96N32UtPuXXFiGwxStKFYw/s960/kurczaki-glowy.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv-flPfIcwNx8EGz0jGjOdPV8spQR0mLjSwJiyzKWX5GzNr4G1_7e70f1s0CLFMF18gS8lsBOUyUsJjlvLVaO12ooW72geeEoDXGZ5YXhJIjLgnNBUc0AAmeC65IbdpZuqfb7sEMbPcva4bLaWpeXnN-XyJy-y96N32UtPuXXFiGwxStKFYw/s320/kurczaki-glowy.webp" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Barbequed chicken heads: WTF. </i></p><p style="text-align: center;">Balut. Perhaps the most famous ‘bizarre food’ in the Philippines, balut is a fertilized duck egg that is incubated somewhere around 14-20 days and then steamed. The longer they are incubated, the more chance you have of getting an egg with features of the duckling starting to show and it’s not uncommon to eat balut that has feathers or a bit of beak starting to form. What they do here is crack open the top, sprinkle a little bit of salt and vinegar, then drink the juice that was formed by the cooking and then just eat the duck embryo whole. As I said earlier, I have actually eaten balut twice, if only to show Virginia’s family that I’m not a wuss, and it was surprisingly not as bad as you would think. Tasted mostly like a hard boiled egg, just with more crunchy bits. I have no desire to eat it again unless of course Virginia’s family throws down the gauntlet, in which case…it’s on. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">Obviously the food in the Philippines is much more diverse than just the handful of dishes I’ve listed here and, like most countries, tends to be regional. Just thought I’d give people who have never been here an idea of what some of the cuisine is like…</p><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Rikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17726907210300737277noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10361955.post-58986912079770048752022-07-15T10:42:00.000+02:002022-07-15T10:42:13.789+02:00Philippines 2022 Part 5: The Mother of All Walkabouts<p style="text-align: center;">Saturdays are really busy on the beach as people usually have the weekend off so yesterday was pretty packed as I discovered during my walkabout. My thinking was that Saturday is the busy day here at the beach and Sunday is more of a rest day since there are so many religious people in this country. Today I found out how incredibly wrong I was. I woke early and prepared to take my usual seat in the bungalow while I sipped my daily buko but I was dismayed to find that my bungalow had been taken over by a group of young Filipinos. I considered going and sitting down just to display that this is my domain but Lola informed me that she rented the bungalow out to them for the day which meant I was resigned to the house and nipa hut until they were scheduled to leave at 1500. I was not pleased with this but I figured I would not make waves and let Lola make her money. She rented it to them for 500 pisos which is about 9 bucks and I would have gladly given her the 500 pisos if it meant not losing my favorite spot for the day but whatever. Instead, I had my buko and coffee on the table next to Lola’s store, took my shower and changed and was planning on hanging out in the nipa hut so imagine my surprise as I passed by our dirty kitchen and saw a bunch of strange people in there cooking food and putting stuff away. Walking a little further, our nipa hut had also been taken over by strangers and Lola told me she had just rented the nipa hut and kitchen out for the rest of the day and night to a group of Filipinos from the US who are here on vacation. My first thought was WTF, where the hell am I supposed to hang out all day and night? If I was not pleased about losing my bungalow for the day, you can imagine how I felt about losing everything else for the day (and night). “Let it go”, I told myself. “Let’s just go to the Lazy A and get a club sandwich and relax.” And so I did. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpaLjBtMRCQu90aVncnvTKyWGQTLN17ljQk7DrD-pan8yaSep0RM2buZKczRe7c8SEe8tjPWI96P0g-noRVgZYNLgWYefHaoUr3L25kOWO56xcjeXDTih5WFKN8Nguk3cahqeBJ5Mk1DqVhzdmB_qUyU7E0Z1EZ3zCCj4zFZhBFax14yrcDw/s4032/IMG_6541.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpaLjBtMRCQu90aVncnvTKyWGQTLN17ljQk7DrD-pan8yaSep0RM2buZKczRe7c8SEe8tjPWI96P0g-noRVgZYNLgWYefHaoUr3L25kOWO56xcjeXDTih5WFKN8Nguk3cahqeBJ5Mk1DqVhzdmB_qUyU7E0Z1EZ3zCCj4zFZhBFax14yrcDw/s320/IMG_6541.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Sari sari store full of Emperador getting ready for the weekend!</i></p><p style="text-align: center;">I realized right away that Sunday is not a rest day here, it is “family day” as Lola calls it. On Sundays, rather than go to church, everybody comes to the beach to spend the day worshipping a different kind of trinity; eating, drinking and karaoke. As I walked to the Lazy A, every single shed on the beach was packed and overflowing with parties, probably as crowded as I’ve ever seen it. I knew instantly that there would be a walkabout in my near future. I got back to the beach house around noon, the group was cooking stinky bangus on the outdoor grill, I started chatting with them and it turns out they are from San Francisco and they are all Golden State Warrior fans because of course they are. For those who don’t follow sports or the NBA, the Warriors recently beat my beloved Boston Celtics for the NBA title, a fact which this group relished in reminding me of several times. Eventually I just had to get out of there which meant it was time to go walkabout. </p><p style="text-align: center;">It started out well, I hadn’t gone more than 3 or 4 sheds down when I heard the melodious sounds of Filipinos butchering some random song in English so stopped and smiled and instantly was being whisked into the shed by the group. They were an entire family and the guy who seemed to be the head was a character, shirtless with tattoos of his wife and daughter, missing half of his teeth and hair braided into cornrows but he turned out to be the nicest, coolest guy. He introduced himself as Jerry. Everyone would not stop offering me food and shots of Emperador. I told them I don’t like Emperador but would have one shot with them which I did and it was just as nasty as I remember it. They wanted me to do another but I told them I would stick with San Mig Light. The guy introduced me to everyone in his family – his wife, his grown daughter, his brother, his brother’s wife, his friends, everyone. Everyone was half drunk and having so much fun I decided to stay but there was one small problem; the guy’s sister in law was completely drunk and even though she barely spoke English, she kept telling me, “Sir…I want thank you for coming to our party…” I kept saying it was my pleasure but she just would not leave me alone, to the point where everyone there was laughing and joking about it. After about an hour and several songs on the karaoke, I decided it was time to move on so I told them I had to go, they begged me to stay so I told them I’d be back later and headed out. Turns out I only had to go a couple sheds down and I was dragged into another party, one which included 3 or 4 baklas. As you can imagine, I was an instant hit with the baklas who wanted to know everything about me – where was I from, how long was I here, was I married, how old am I, etc. They shoved the songbook in front of me and asked to sing whatever I wanted so I went with the old standby, Country Roads and they all went crazy, signing along in their broken English and clapping their hands. The party was on. Every song I did sent the group further into a frenzy as they all recorded my every move on their phones and giggled to themselves in Tagalog. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dydlYWiULnElSwWHiLiv5ur2Mn9NJ0pzoq2mX3_WM4_-uNcy28O6kjJhi5vgUnZApPzwDOpFC4Dd_k' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Big Jerry, the leader of the band.</i></p><p style="text-align: center;">On our previous trips, smartphones weren’t as prevalent as they are now here in the Philippines but now everyone has one and everyone records me when I join their parties and sometimes I wonder exactly how many videos of me doing karaoke on the beach exist out there on the interwebs. Quite a few I’m guessing! It will probably be my lasting legacy…</p><p style="text-align: center;">Anyway, in between songs, I went to the sari sari store a couple sheds down to get another cold San Mig Light and as I did so I was besieged by another group who heard me singing in the shed next door and wanted me to come drink and sing with them. “Just wait”, I told them, “I’ll get to you guys next!”</p><p style="text-align: center;">This was starting to get insane. </p><p style="text-align: center;">I finished up with the bakla shed and popped into the other one, the group didn’t seem all that fun so I told them I’d do one song and then had to go. Of course, one song turned into three as it so often does. One woman even requested “Save the Last Dance” which is one of my favorite songs to listen to AND to sing so I had fun with that one. Afterwards I grabbed another SML from the sari sari store there and a familiar face greeted me – it was Belaine, the woman who used to manage the resort part of the Ocean Breeze years ago before it got sold. See, in addition to the actual bar, Peter also had a bunch of bungalows and sheds that he rented out as well, Belaine managed it all and he took good care of her financially. She lived on the compound with her husband, Terry. Both of them were great people and I always wondered what happened to them when the bar was closed. Turns out Belaine runs a sari sari store on the beach and Terry, I assume, still does odd jobs, construction work, etc. We caught up for a bit and then I went back into the shed for another song before taking off to find my next adventure.</p><p style="text-align: center;"> By this time I had a pretty good buzz going so I just hit shed after shed as I made my way down the beach. In one shed, there was a girl singing “I’m your Lady” by Celine Dion and I mean this girl was belting it out, hitting the high notes and everything so I had to go in and see for myself…turned out it was a bakla! I took a short video of him singing and then started chatting with the guy there who spoke English and was wearing a Seattle Seahawks hat. </p><p style="text-align: center;">I left and continued walking and sure enough, the rain started. It’s rainy season here right now so it rains at least part of almost every day, if only for a half hour or so. It was so hot and humid that the rain felt GREAT and I was just loving walking around in it. All the Filipinos were running for cover into the sheds and looking at me like I was crazy which, I am really. I was telling everybody as I passed “You should be out here in the rain, this feels great!”. A few times I may or may not have even broke into a chorus of “Singin’ In The Rain” or two as I walked with my arms outspread like Andy Dufresne in The Shawshank Redemption, details are sketchy (ok, I did). </p><p style="text-align: center;">It was getting late so I left and made my way back down the beach towards the beach house but I just HAD to stop in at the shed with the three baklas for some more karaoke and beers (Emperador for them) and then finally, the last stop was the first shed I’d stopped in which was far and away the most fun shed of the night. When I walked in everybody started cheering my return. They were really in their cups now and having a blast. Jerry raised his glass and said “We party today because tomorrow we have to go back to work!” Later I asked him what he does for work and he said he shovels gravel for 300 pisos a day. That’s about $5.50. A DAY. Things like that really put things into perspective for me. Jerry was a great dude, just needed to cut loose and have a good time like the rest of us. </p><p style="text-align: center;">One person who had no problem cutting loose and having a good time was Jerry’s drunk sister in law who was now REALLY drunk and acting the fool. At the sight of me she rushed over and kept thanking me again for coming to their party and eventually the thank yous turned into I love yous and she started getting grabby with her hands. It was starting to get uncomfortable! Nobody in there seemed to mind, they were all just laughing at her antics, even the husband so I guess it was just harmless fun. You know what they say – “what happens in the nipa hut stays in the nipa hut”. Ok, I just made that up. There was a thirteen year old kid there who had the maturity of a person twice his age and he started chatting with me asking questions about where I’m from and such. This kid had the most beautiful head of long black hair, I told him “Man, I wish I had your hair!” and he replied in his broken English, “I weesh I had your eyes!”. My eyes seem to be the root of my popularity in this country as blue eyes are not very prevalent here and Filipinos tell me all the time how beautiful my eyes are, women, baklas, even men. I remember when Virginia was pregnant with Xavier she used to always say “I hope our baby has your eyes and my skin!”. Of course they all got just the opposite, poor kids. </p><p style="text-align: center;">I'd met a guy named Masi at the last hut who had a sister in the US and she apparently sends him a lot of money because he drove a nice black pickup truck. He lives in Mangaldan, not too far away and knows everybody here he says so he took me down to the end of the beach to introduce me to the Barangay Captain which is sort of like the mayor of the beach. He says they are good friends and he wanted to introduce me so I would have a hook up in case we ever need anything here. He said I just needed to call the Captain and everything would be taken care of. I was starting to feel like Don Pedro! Anyway, just my luck the guy was out running errands and I couldn't wait around all night so I walked back to the beach house. I got home late and fired up the karaoke machine for the visitors from San Francisco and we ate and sang deep into the night. This day was completely off the chain, absolutely the craziest walkabout I’ve ever done. And I loved every minute of it!</p><div><br /></div>Rikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17726907210300737277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10361955.post-32434434126113860532022-07-14T02:39:00.002+02:002022-07-15T10:12:19.480+02:00Philippines, 2022 Part 4: An Ode to the Ocean Breeze and Don Pedro<p style="text-align: center;">The Ocean Breeze was a Nibaliw Beach institution; large square shaped open air bar right on the beach about 3 minutes walk down from us. It was the main hangout for ex-pats who lived on, or frequented, our beach and it was where I usually spent most of my time while here. The best (and sometimes worst) thing about the Ocean Breeze was the owner, Peter. Peter was like something straight out of an old Hollywood movie. He was half Scottish and half Canadian and had been a professional chef for years before he retired. He liked to brag that he had once cooked for Queen Elizabeth which of course we had no way of verifying. He had been coming to this beach since the late 70’s and he knew this country better than just about any ex-pat I’ve ever met. He was also completely rude, crude, crass and any other adjective you could think of for someone who had no filter, said and did whatever they wanted and honestly didn’t give a shit what anybody thought of them. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpfR6hIUQuhR03RgOr-us6Xwj82ovuyor-ABcKwyH5SQAC8rc652sHkbl7prqtetOZYG0gZEq9YXbz-2-6DOxM6NMsmQeEiEKUc783WM7f1Lw2HCzcNJsbEiXB45zL-0lYqrxMOIdlIgpCxqoMEFnB18Me-8fqk3wpcY_ajQVKJNlZiIMmKw/s1024/278865_10150264158303560_2581838_o.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpfR6hIUQuhR03RgOr-us6Xwj82ovuyor-ABcKwyH5SQAC8rc652sHkbl7prqtetOZYG0gZEq9YXbz-2-6DOxM6NMsmQeEiEKUc783WM7f1Lw2HCzcNJsbEiXB45zL-0lYqrxMOIdlIgpCxqoMEFnB18Me-8fqk3wpcY_ajQVKJNlZiIMmKw/s320/278865_10150264158303560_2581838_o.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Me and "The Don" - Don Pedro somewhere around 2011</i></p><p style="text-align: center;">We met Peter during our first trip here in 2010 in grand fashion. For those who haven’t read the account of my first trip (shame on you), this was before we bought the beach house, we had rented a place on the beach for a weekend and the Filipino manager had told me about the bar that a lot of ex-pats hang out. So we went there to check it out, there were several older western guys hanging out drinking and right in the middle of it all was Peter, drunk as hell and holding court. I didn’t know he was the owner so I was ignoring him and trying to talk to the other, more sober guys but Peter kept interrupting to the point that it was getting annoying. That was Peter. Eventually I learned that Peter liked to sit at the bar like he was a customer and do what he could to get everyone else to order more beer, even if he had to shame them by calling them ‘kuripot’ (cheap). At one point a truck drove up and out came his wife at the time, Imelda. Imelda was really nice, she was from the area but had been living and working in Canada for several years and was really westernized, spoke perfect English. She introduced herself to us and her and Virginia hit it off immediately, conversing in Ilocano, their native dialect. She was very apologetic about Peter and kept telling us how sorry she was for his behavior. It was obvious that they were on the outs and were not fond of each other. Right at that moment, Peter got up and took the keys and said he was leaving. Imelda tried to stop him because he was completely drunk but he would not be stopped. She even showed us the dents in the truck from all the times he drove home drunk and ran into a pole or some other object. I remember thinking at the time <i>“Jesus, this place is like the wild west, there are no rules!”</i>. Peter had a house just behind the beach and compared to most places in the area, it was a frigging palace, the kind of place I have always dreamed of owning. Two floors, several bedrooms, huge living room, dining room and kitchen and an entire separate outdoor kitchen and BBQ party facility. </p><p style="text-align: center;">In the years that followed, I learned that most, if not all, of the ex-pats had sort of a love/hate relationship with Peter. He owned the Ocean Breeze which was ground zero for us ex-pats and gave us a place to hang out and visit with each other and that was no small thing. As well, he had been here so long that he knew everybody in the extended area and could get you anything you wanted, usually cheaper than normal price. He also was in good with the local police which explained how he was able to get completely fall down drunk and not worry about driving home. Because of all his connections and how well known he was, he was known locally as “Don Pedro”, a nickname that fit him perfectly. But, due to his devil-may-care attitude and actions, he managed to piss off everybody sooner or later because he truly didn’t care what anybody – be they friend or foe – thought about him. As for me, I figured him out pretty early and I adopted the attitude of the other ex-pats; be friends with him because of what he can do for you and because, let’s face it, he’s entertaining as hell, but always watch your back and don’t trust him with anything. Peter LOVED drama, he loved causing it and he loved being right in the middle of it all and so the Ocean Breeze was ground zero for a lot of it. When we met him, he was fond of saying “I’m sexty-sex years old!”. Next year it was “sexty-seven” of course. Peter was an absolute pimp, he had a never ending stable of young girls in their early 20’s who he told everybody were his girlfriends but in reality they were using him for what they could get out of him; money for stuff they needed. By our second year, he and Imelda were basically separated, and she lived in Canada so he did whatever he wanted. He liked to brag to everyone about his young girlfriends but we were told by more than one of them that he was a non-starter in the bedroom because he was drunk pretty much 24/7 and his willie didn’t work anymore. So for the girls, it was perfect, they didn’t actually have to sleep with him, just be one of his girls and he would buy them whatever they needed. You’d see it constantly at the bar, the girls would ask him for loads for their phones, manicures, food, anything and everything. The funniest thing he ever said was one night one of the girls at the bar told him she was hungry and he replied "You want a longanisa and two itlog?" (sausage and two eggs), that one had everyone at the bar laughing for a solid 10 minutes. I remember one girl he was with regularly at the Ocean Breeze, she had a child and one night after he’d passed out, she told me that she was only with Peter because he paid for her son’s medication and she asked me not to look down on her for doing what she had to do for her son (of course I didn’t). He had no shame when it came to women. One time he gave Virginia and I a ride to the Nepo Mall to do some grocery shopping and as we were walking in, we passed by a group of about 6 or 7 college aged girls. Sure enough, as we passed by them, Peter propositioned them, asked if any of them wanted to go home with him. I made a comment to him, something about him being almost 70 and hitting on college girls and he simply looked me in the eye and said “Don’t ask, don’t get”. That was Peter. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAr1syx3cH1FMuO8QOyPCkDPL_UhU9qpwGBrgYWjYwvMEgIKkcpFmPijZ0vokqfh5vx-ya2agrA_tV0J9SHj5bg7iS3j0w48keVEAMAhR1H43MTRLJDtPlRALdSBjsqrkIgam7O2koylMx-X5-j9EnqhMptgDSUVR7m6Z_ig1Bh65IL_Papw/s1024/267058_10150264158398560_3895542_o.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAr1syx3cH1FMuO8QOyPCkDPL_UhU9qpwGBrgYWjYwvMEgIKkcpFmPijZ0vokqfh5vx-ya2agrA_tV0J9SHj5bg7iS3j0w48keVEAMAhR1H43MTRLJDtPlRALdSBjsqrkIgam7O2koylMx-X5-j9EnqhMptgDSUVR7m6Z_ig1Bh65IL_Papw/s320/267058_10150264158398560_3895542_o.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Peter, me and Carlos, an ex-pat buddy from San Fran.</i></p><p style="text-align: center;">But Peter was useful too. He had connections everywhere and loved to help people out. Our first year I asked him where we could get a good deal on a videoke machine for the beach house and he took Virginia and I into Dagupan City to meet with his friend Nelson Cho who gave us a great deal on a state of the art machine. When our toilet broke, he brought me to his friend who was a plumber and arranged to have a new toilet put in at a fraction of the price that the one we just put in last week cost us. He had been coming to this beach since the late 70’s so he was a fantastic source of information about the local area and the Philippines in general; the culture, the history, the people, everything. In the two or three years I had with him, I learned a ton about this country that I would never have learned anywhere else. </p><p style="text-align: center;">One thing about Peter though, craziness and drama seemed to follow him everywhere, usually of his own making. I remember one night at the Ocean Breeze, he had one of his girls with him, a stripper from Visayas. Out of nowhere, one of his other girls showed up at the bar and things got very tense as they did not like each other one bit and were both vying for Peter’s undivided attention. Now, the stripper normally would win that one hands down because she was beautiful with a dynamite body while the other girl was a local girl with a flat chest and braces but she would not give up without a fight and decided to start stripping to get Peter’s attention. Not to be outdone at her own game, the stripper started matching her, article of clothing for article of clothing while the rest of us at the bar looked on in stunned silence. Eventually there were two girls there in just their bra and panties and a proud Don Pedro just sitting there beaming at what he had wrought. </p><p style="text-align: center;">Another, more scary moment I remember; one evening I was hanging out at the Ocean Breeze, it was just me and Peter. A huge, stocky Filipino guy pulled up in a San Miguel beer truck and sat at the bar with a couple friends. Peter told me the guy is a delivery driver for San Miguel and he had once borrowed some money from him and still had not paid it back. He was of course drunk as hell by that time and one thing about Peter was that he was extremely arrogant and not afraid of anybody so at one point he yelled across the bar at the guy “Hey! You better pay me the money you owe me, fucker!”. The guy looked embarrassed and pissed off at being called out like that in front of his friends but didn’t say anything. Eventually the guy’s friends left and Peter kept making loud remarks about the guy owing him money. At one point Peter got up to go to the bathroom which was in the cabin area behind the bar and soon after he did, the other guy got up and went too. A little bit later I could hear them talking and I was on a stool that could see the area behind the bar so I turned to look just in time to see the guy yell at Peter for embarrassing him in front of his friends. A fearless – and clueless – Peter doubled down and said “Fuck you, give me my money!”, at which point the guy slapped him…<i>HARD</i>…right across the face, knocking Peter’s glasses to the ground. Regardless of whether Peter had it coming or not, he was a frail man in his mid-60’s and that guy had no business hitting him like that, he could have done some real damage. He came back and sat down and kept drinking and then Peter came back holding his broken glasses. It was the first and only time I’d ever seen him frazzled and he was rambling incoherently about the guy breaking his glasses and then he sort of came to his senses and said he was going to call the police. He told the guy he was calling the police and started dialing his phone and then something very strange happened. The guy said something to the effect of “Go ahead, call them and I’ll tell them what happened to [name I can’t remember].” At that, Peter suddenly hung up his phone and told the guy to get out and don’t come back to his bar ever again. Later I told a few of the ex-pats what had happened and they told me that there were rumors years ago that one of Peter’s wives had been having an affair and that Peter had done something to him, or at least bragged that he did. But, they all said nobody believed it, that the real story was that the guy had just gone back to where he was from and it was just Peter being Peter. So who knows what the truth is but man, there was never a dull moment when Peter was around. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6kZGX_FL4YFwl1keOtqxqtpAjjcyEgAb148GrSB6-y5AMdyqwsD4FT2-u9ujkMmv1GRA2EGTQ89vbQIZpgngeKZm_Glho9R0YtoLDY15gcT9HE7jIvIrM0Ag9uTYshi1PLYvWvaHq-eBZHs0mMdNL8ii5DiB1TlezJkKGSbsyJRHc1IPSfw/s1024/266892_10150264158348560_1957433_o.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6kZGX_FL4YFwl1keOtqxqtpAjjcyEgAb148GrSB6-y5AMdyqwsD4FT2-u9ujkMmv1GRA2EGTQ89vbQIZpgngeKZm_Glho9R0YtoLDY15gcT9HE7jIvIrM0Ag9uTYshi1PLYvWvaHq-eBZHs0mMdNL8ii5DiB1TlezJkKGSbsyJRHc1IPSfw/s320/266892_10150264158348560_1957433_o.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Never a dull moment at The Ocean Breeze. God I miss it...</i></p><p style="text-align: center;">Anyway, Peter died suddenly in 2013, right before my last trip to the beach. The Ocean Breeze was still there but Imelda had returned from Canada as she inherited everything Peter had so she was suddenly very well off financially. She ran the bar for a little bit but eventually sold it and the new owners tore it down and now you can’t even tell where it used to be. I had a nice chat with her one my last trip, she was always very nice and very friendly and I like her very much. I can’t even imagine what she must have been put through being married to Peter so she deserved everything she got. These days the beach is a lot more boring without the Ocean Breeze and I miss it tremendously. I’m still in touch with a few of the ex-pat friends I made there via Facebook but not very often. Hopefully none of them have a problem with me writing this. If I had the money, someday I would love to open a bar similar to the Ocean Breeze here, if only to give us ex-pats someplace to hang out but I doubt it will ever happen. The Ocean Breeze will just have to live on in our memories I guess. But oh what memories they are...</p><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Rikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17726907210300737277noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10361955.post-13927569517623481522022-07-13T02:22:00.002+02:002022-07-14T02:45:55.534+02:00Philippines 2022, Part 3: The Legend Continues<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh011myQEsXVNoho_5vp4-eRXazDEFvKqY3wiA_VPWyxr5D5EmOZFGEX6PxH0hm98q6ysgxWEGb_Ri4xUA70DsTv04Y4jXm71-zG-fgSfED3l0C0OS1SHEZXtHbtw8-RQpfdvadozCBAKe8iQbrOG6Kc5q_OHbnwy99vN5-MaVSI4b8PkGkXw/s4032/IMG_6590.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh011myQEsXVNoho_5vp4-eRXazDEFvKqY3wiA_VPWyxr5D5EmOZFGEX6PxH0hm98q6ysgxWEGb_Ri4xUA70DsTv04Y4jXm71-zG-fgSfED3l0C0OS1SHEZXtHbtw8-RQpfdvadozCBAKe8iQbrOG6Kc5q_OHbnwy99vN5-MaVSI4b8PkGkXw/s320/IMG_6590.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Our nipa hut with the requisite videoke machine</i></p><p style="text-align: center;">During the years we used to come here, I became somewhat of a celebrity on our beach for reasons both good and, shall we say, not so good. My pasty white skin makes me stick out like a sore thumb here and I draw stares everywhere I go. In fact, yesterday as we were leaving the Nepo Mall, Xavier said to me “Daddy, it’s really funny to walk behind you and see the looks on people’s faces when you walk by. They literally stop and stare at you, it’s hilarious.” I’ve dealt with it as long as we’ve been coming here and it doesn’t bother me, I’m actually a bit entertained by it. Being a white American with gray hair and blue eyes makes me sort of a novelty around here and people love it when I say hi or stop to talk to them for some reason. I’m a guy who likes to have a good time, particularly when I’m on vacation and it’s not uncommon for me to just plop down with a group of locals with a beer and start chatting. They always love it and enjoy asking me questions about where I’m from and when I say the US, they love to tell me about their friends or relatives who live in the US. It may sound kind of strange to some but it’s a whole better than sitting in the nipa hut doing nothing. </p><p style="text-align: center;">The kids are not really enjoying themselves so far, they like the beach house but there’s not much for them to do here so they get bored easily. Virginia and Lola had to go into town this morning and the kids all begged to go which left me here with Virginia’s brother Bobby and some of the nieces and nephews who stay here most of the time. None of them speak much English so there’s not much conversation to be had and so I decided to go down to the Lazy A and see if they still had the open air café with Wi-fi. I wanted to walk and see the beach but Bobby insisted on taking me in the tricycle so I relented, thinking I could just do it on the way back. I am happy to say that the Lazy A is still going strong, the café with Wi-fi is still there and the two women who worked there years before are still there. One of them, Gie-Gie, saw me and got a big smile on her face as she remembered me instantly. She asked how many years I’ve been away and I said nine and asked her if she still makes the amazing club sandwich (she does). We caught up for a minute, I sat down to use the Wi-fi and I ordered a San Miguel Light without even thinking about what time it was. When I turned on my computer I saw it was only 1040 in the morning but I figured what the hell, I’m on vacation. I ended up staying for a couple San Migs and then it was time to walk back and see what has become of my beloved beach since I’ve been away. The biggest difference is that the Ocean Breeze is long gone. In all my trips here, the Ocean Breeze and the Lazy A were the two things I could always count on. The Ocean Breeze was a large square shaped open air bar right on the beach about 3 minutes walk down from us. It was the main hangout for ex-pats who lived on, or frequented, our beach and it was where I usually spent most of my time while here. The owner died about 10 years ago and his wife sold it and it’s now completely gone. Someone bought the entire lot, tore down the bar and it’s now just another one of the endless cookie-cutter ‘resorts’ renting out nipa huts with karaoke machines. Sad, really, the Ocean Breeze was always my favorite place here on the beach (I’m going to write an entire chapter dedicated to the Ocean Breeze here in the near future so look out for it). </p><p style="text-align: center;">As I continued my walk along the beachfront, I received the usual “Hello sair!” greetings from the locals who were surprised to see this white dude walking around as well as the usual small handful of girls and women waving and catcalling me. Sadly, there were no baklas around today because they are usually the most fun. Bakla is the Filipino word for gay but it mostly is used for the gays here who are very feminine acting and extremely flamboyant to the point where there is no question that they are baklas. I always attract a lot of them here and I enjoy joking around with them as I have no prejudice against gay people. I remember one trip, probably 2011 or 2012, there was a bakla day at the beach here, they arrived in vast numbers, brought in by buses and almost completely took over the entire beach. As I made my daily walk down to the Lazy A and back, my god, I felt like a piece of meat. I was constantly catcalled and yelled at – “HI SEKSI! OOOO SO SEKSI!” and later in the day when I’d had a few too many beers in me, I started blowing them kisses, licking my index finger suggestively and then touching my ass whenever they catcalled me and they would go absolutely bonkers, it was just so funny. Hey, “It’s more fun in the Philippines!”…</p><p style="text-align: center;">I ended up back at the Lazy A in the evening to get my long awaited club sandwich which did not disappoint and it turned out there was a sort of band playing. I say sort of because it was basically just a guy and girl with a keyboard and a laptop that they could look up karaoke songs on but they were fun and entertaining and nothing like the Lazy A had ever had before. I have to say, they have really done a great job of expanding and seem to be the biggest thing going on the beach these days. They noticed the white guy sitting at the table right away and instantly started grilling me for information – what was my name, where was I from, how long am I here, etc. After a few songs they asked me to come up and sing and of course I was only too happy to oblige. </p><p style="text-align: center;">Now let’s take a minute to talk about karaoke here in the Philippines. </p><p style="text-align: center;">I am not exaggerating even a little tiny bit to say that it is practically a religion here, anybody who has been here will back me up on that. Filipinos by nature are born entertainers, they love to sing more than anything. In fact, if you have traveled around various cities in Asia and went to a bar where there was a live band, the odds are pretty good that the band were all Filipinos. I remember being in the Hard Rock Cafe in Bangkok many years ago and the band was all Filipinos. When we lived in Korea, the club on base had a live band that would play every weekend. You guessed it…Filipinos. On all the beaches, the popular thing is for Filipinos to rent a nipa hut (commonly called a shed) that has a karaoke machine – except here they call it ‘videoke’. They will swim, eat food and sing karaoke literally all day. We of course have a karaoke machine in our nipa hut that Lola sometimes rents out and I am not ashamed to say that when we are here on vacation, I wear that sonofabitch out. It’s not normally something I would do back home but here in the Philippines, the locals see me as some kind of karaoke god simply because English is my native language so they are under the mistaken impression that I must be able to sing any song in English, regardless of the vocal range. Personally I don’t really care because it’s my nipa hut and my karaoke machine so I’ll sit and sing all day if I want. Honestly, I have a terrible singing voice so what I try to do is find songs that are mostly in my voice range, limited as it is, and I stick to those and then if I’m by myself, I’ll have fun and experiment with other songs that I like. Here’s a small sampling of the songs that I've discovered I can actually do without sounding horrible:</p><p style="text-align: center;">Achy Breaky Heart </p><p style="text-align: center;">Save the Last Dance</p><p style="text-align: center;">You May Be Right</p><p style="text-align: center;">Piano Man</p><p style="text-align: center;">Hotel California</p><p style="text-align: center;">American Pie </p><p style="text-align: center;">Every Breath You Take</p><p style="text-align: center;">Country Roads (Take me Home)</p><p style="text-align: center;">Don’t You Want Me</p><p style="text-align: center;">Mack The Knife</p><p style="text-align: center;">Mandy</p><p style="text-align: center;">Copacabana </p><p style="text-align: center;">There are more to be sure but those are sort of my go-to’s. The classics like Piano Man, Save The Last Dance and especially Country Roads drive the locals crazy. </p><p style="text-align: center;">So fast forward to Saturday, the beach was pretty packed; weekends are busy here as the day trippers descend upon the beach in droves to rent the sheds, swim and sing karaoke. I love days like this and I especially love walking up and down the beach on these days because the sheds are overflowing and normally the mere sight of me drives the Filipinos crazy and they beg me to come in and have some food and drinks and sing some songs with them. I am happy to do it of course because, well, I like to make people happy. I’m a giver, what can I say? On this day, I was kind of bored not much going on at the Copacabana shed. I was doing some karaoke but there was nobody else who wanted to do it and so I was by myself which was just not happening for me. And so I decided to rediscover one of my favorite old pastimes from my previous years here; I call it ‘going walkabout’. When the beach is overflowing with day trippers on the weekend, I’ve found that if I just start walking, invariably I am besieged by requests from the aforementioned day trippers to join them. More often than not, they have been drinking and just want to have a good time and having a white American guy in the party just adds to that I guess. I went walkabout and sure enough I hit a handful of parties up and down the beach, singing songs and having a good time. I hit one party up as I neared the Copacabana Shed and there was a Filipino guy singing who just had the most incredible voice I’ve ever heard here. I popped in when he was done his song we started chatting and we hit it off immediately. He had a tattoo of the “Philippine Eagles” which I had seen a few places before but didn’t know what it was so I asked him and it turns out it is sort of brotherhood of Filipinos who were in the Army or the military in general. He asked me if I ever served, I said yeah, ran down my Army service for him (reserves, active duty and civilian), he raised glass and said “My friend, you are in the brotherhood!” and I answered him with a loud “HOOAH!”. It was a fantastic moment, one I will never forget. He asked me to sing so I did “You May Be Right” and I told him to come by our place later for some drinks and more singing. I bade him farewell and headed home and found Virginia outside hanging clothes. I told her of my adventures and she said “Yeah, I was out hanging clothes and all of a sudden I thought I heard you singing and was thinking ‘is that Rik?’! Yup, it was.” We had a good laugh about it. I took Xavier and Max to have dinner at the Lazy A because they now have buffalo wings, Xavier’s favorite but unfortunately, they are not buffalo wings. They are wings drowned in some kind of red sticky sauce that is not in the least bit spicy or buffalo in any way and covered in sesame seeds. The band was there again so we listened to the music and of course I got up to sing another song (ok, two) and then retired for the night. Tomorrow would be Sunday and I figured it would be quiet and a good chance to rest and relax. </p><p style="text-align: center;">I could NOT have been more wrong...</p><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">To go to Part 4, <a href="http://rikthib.blogspot.com/2022/07/philippines-2022-ode-to-ocean-breeze.html">Click Here</a></div>Rikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17726907210300737277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10361955.post-38896047567978027832022-07-12T01:14:00.004+02:002022-07-13T02:27:29.212+02:00Philippines 2022, Part 2: Catching up<p style="text-align: center;">Today started out pretty good, I woke up early which means my body has pretty much adjusted already. It’s always been that way when we used to come here every year; my body adjusts almost immediately on the way here but when I go back to Europe, it takes forever to adjust back. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">After waking, I sat in our little bungalow that fronts the beach sipping a fresh ‘buko’ (coconut) enjoying the morning air and the seaview thinking how good it feels to be back here despite all of the minor – and major – inconveniences. The day, however, started in a way I never expected – toilet shopping. We have indoor plumbing and electricity in the beach house which is of course a necessity. When I was here in 2012, the toilet broke and I had a new one put in but when we got here last night I found out that the toilet I had put in was also broken and unrepairable. This caused a lot of drama and let me explain why; Xavier started bagging at the commissary last year and when Virginia saw how much money he was making, she decided she wanted to do it too as it was perfect for her now that Luca and Max are both in school so she had tons of free time on her hands. The main reason was that her father has terminal lung cancer and this would allow her to send money home to help with the medical bills. Sure enough, she started making a lot of money as well and she sends exorbitant amounts of money (at least by Philippines standards) home every month not only for medical bills but also to help out with the upkeep of the house, bills, etc. So, when we arrived and I see a broken toilet and several other things that easily could have been fixed with a small fraction of the money she has sent home in the last year…well, it doesn’t make me happy because now I have to spend my money and vacation time fixing them. But, in the interest of maintaining harmony, I will digress on commenting further. Virginia’s brother Bobby took me to one of the local houseware stores to buy a toilet, then to a local plumber/handyman to hire him to install it which, all told, cost almost $200.00. Not the way I wanted to start my vacation but whatever.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOBa5MhE3scZ9kK4_EASRQselZALI0GxiDvlfGZm6L_fLCtHxlePZBsF8HbFeOg6Ls9c9ZS8KtZ_TYXAa_dnCTllk5ZjQuKMJ9VC_c6l-EP9dOnB5c3UBWselyocMxh3hG1UTXt4SMOXbrgoOclqsR2Ym_iz55Ad7ACTK0PBaiuIvp9atPFg/s4032/IMG_6420.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOBa5MhE3scZ9kK4_EASRQselZALI0GxiDvlfGZm6L_fLCtHxlePZBsF8HbFeOg6Ls9c9ZS8KtZ_TYXAa_dnCTllk5ZjQuKMJ9VC_c6l-EP9dOnB5c3UBWselyocMxh3hG1UTXt4SMOXbrgoOclqsR2Ym_iz55Ad7ACTK0PBaiuIvp9atPFg/s320/IMG_6420.jpeg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiNkkHoDnDJWLCZUfNwH_152wOXJ0Ih0PNHX--RMp14ftmuFxRGjj0KUcF5r9oSj-gCculINE-mIPldNW83rLucE9h6qZIHqCOZEM5NHVcWXgx2aOE68C4-xsbRF7MomiHCVQpYqzhZHauhWWes2NlhaHtA8VtwDpubAf507DHXW9wnSV-oQ/s4032/IMG_6422.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiNkkHoDnDJWLCZUfNwH_152wOXJ0Ih0PNHX--RMp14ftmuFxRGjj0KUcF5r9oSj-gCculINE-mIPldNW83rLucE9h6qZIHqCOZEM5NHVcWXgx2aOE68C4-xsbRF7MomiHCVQpYqzhZHauhWWes2NlhaHtA8VtwDpubAf507DHXW9wnSV-oQ/s320/IMG_6422.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><i>First morning of my vacation spent...toilet shopping?</i></p><p style="text-align: center;">Normally the first day here is spent making a run into Dagupan City to hit the Nepo Mall and that’s what we did in the afternoon. The Nepo Mall is great, there’s a modern grocery store (the main reason we go there) as well as phone stores so we can get SIM cards for our phones and plenty of places to eat. There are the usual stand-bys, Jollibee, Chow King and Inisal, and there are several little food kiosks with everything from pizza, and shwarma to my favorite – sio mai. Sio mai are basically the Philippines’ answer to Chinese dim sum, little steamed dumplings filled with pork and/or shrimp. There is a little stand at the mall called The Siomai House that serves nothing but sio mai, you get 4 of them for 45 piso (90 cents) and they put garlic chili on them and serve it with a calamansi that you squeeze over the top and a little toothpick to eat them with. The sio mai by themselves are good but the garlic chili and calamansi just raise them to another level and it’s probably my favorite thing to eat here. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk7xYqM4o6GIiRLVDncxrn5c4sJ0Q2o4RfhakMVpDu1IFAPxEPUntjgQ_uu_l43GAMnrxdJSogL2N3FwjBCYJ_3l6wo6PiYQx-N8FbAT3jOAL0iUP7Rp8hlC3mHXipgebZStTeyuS10x_HSU4bdVo2GqDO49xp_F5yQa7Ad_Ixk-YTwi1ZgQ/s4032/IMG_6429.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk7xYqM4o6GIiRLVDncxrn5c4sJ0Q2o4RfhakMVpDu1IFAPxEPUntjgQ_uu_l43GAMnrxdJSogL2N3FwjBCYJ_3l6wo6PiYQx-N8FbAT3jOAL0iUP7Rp8hlC3mHXipgebZStTeyuS10x_HSU4bdVo2GqDO49xp_F5yQa7Ad_Ixk-YTwi1ZgQ/s320/IMG_6429.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Sio mai from the Siomai House, with chili garlic and calamansi. My favorite!</i></p><p style="text-align: center;">I normally enjoy a trip to the Nepo Mall immensely, if only for the Siomai House, however the Philippines seems to be behind the rest of the free world and masks are still mandatory in stores shops and anywhere else indoors here. I detest wearing the masks in general but having to wear them in this heat and humidity is absolute hell. Within 5 minutes, they are usually soaked with sweat and I can barely breathe so the whole time I just couldn’t wait to get outside so I could take the frigging mask off. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">Virginia took the kids to eat at Chow King which is sort a Filipino Chinese food chain that is quickly becoming their favorite place to eat. Xavier and Luca each got the sweet and sour pork plate and they absolutely devoured them. Xavier could not stop talking about the pork and when he finished, he actually went and ordered another plate. Of course there was the ubiquitous halo halo since Chow King serves one of the best here and the kids are addicted to halo halo. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjRfLOpOtYZOjt54u9nHJkmsJlqpsyzhOW3xCO0hhzhe_YL0fa8fWBMUDz49OarKIHPoLoNZmss46K2Oc_gqn3D9WGhXw8qxcZk5eJFmVWEiZi-wg2rIyflxWpyjUxPeFsC3r7Itb19f6KwReRVRIlkbkBHb7j11uIUjM8VVVA_kn9Nqr17A/s4032/IMG_6436.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjRfLOpOtYZOjt54u9nHJkmsJlqpsyzhOW3xCO0hhzhe_YL0fa8fWBMUDz49OarKIHPoLoNZmss46K2Oc_gqn3D9WGhXw8qxcZk5eJFmVWEiZi-wg2rIyflxWpyjUxPeFsC3r7Itb19f6KwReRVRIlkbkBHb7j11uIUjM8VVVA_kn9Nqr17A/s320/IMG_6436.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Max staring at his halo halo with great anticipation.</i></p><p style="text-align: center;">Next came the grocery shopping. Robinson’s Supermarket is actually a pretty modern sizeable supermarket that carries pretty much everything we need/want, not what you’d expect in a place like this. You’d be surprised to find that they carry a decent selection of wine from various countries and the prices are in line with what I pay back home. It’s way too hot to drink much red wine here and I’m not a big white wine guy but I did buy a 3L box of a generic California cabernet so I can sip it in the evenings when it cools down while I write. I’m actually having a couple glasses as I write this and it’s definitely palatable. Robinson’s also has several other western products that I didn’t expect to find such as Italian extra virgin olive oil, Nutella and some specialty European cheeses. You obviously pay more for these as they’re imported but it’s great that they’re even available here, especially the olive oil. They deep fry EVERYTHING here and they use the unhealthiest oil you can imagine so having access to good Italian extra virgin olive oil is a huge win for me. I bought two beautiful blue marlin filets for 200p which is about $4.00 - those would have cost three or four times that much back home. I cooked them tonight, seasoned with salt and pepper, marinated in olive oil and grilled them in a pan, served them with some beautiful pechay which is green leafy vegetable that’s sort of a cross between spinach and swiss chard. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9OovRSnURcKr91goEhKogU-Ciq4Wta2R_rPtLCND1XXUFgRibwRAkvrqtraOAxviJ6FHT4DbhGI-ElOwX4Iz3OJYTRbuTVXSAh6yx92tuLakBYcYqbNQr7P_oo9v0RygTH8XogK0pLB-Q3PRX54kXdW6Mo8aRMJvnMzr2n-lk73ZpWv4g0g/s4032/IMG_6441.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9OovRSnURcKr91goEhKogU-Ciq4Wta2R_rPtLCND1XXUFgRibwRAkvrqtraOAxviJ6FHT4DbhGI-ElOwX4Iz3OJYTRbuTVXSAh6yx92tuLakBYcYqbNQr7P_oo9v0RygTH8XogK0pLB-Q3PRX54kXdW6Mo8aRMJvnMzr2n-lk73ZpWv4g0g/s320/IMG_6441.jpeg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkTYKSuA_z8YGeCiU3ORjwpqCxUjt6Mt5QmJwQrYq4ObLSDGavzXvtNKP08qKp6OE727jbwVE3Fo9C0eGvesRSKrYLL64vhETuydR0pSkmk5Zzcro34W69gN_o9LS1hPY0rO7soIPKpeAY0Z-HWtKHVaai0crBXnAaPslPnjbMlFV7T6nRRA/s4032/IMG_6448.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkTYKSuA_z8YGeCiU3ORjwpqCxUjt6Mt5QmJwQrYq4ObLSDGavzXvtNKP08qKp6OE727jbwVE3Fo9C0eGvesRSKrYLL64vhETuydR0pSkmk5Zzcro34W69gN_o9LS1hPY0rO7soIPKpeAY0Z-HWtKHVaai0crBXnAaPslPnjbMlFV7T6nRRA/s320/IMG_6448.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Two beautiful blue marlin filets for $4.00. Served with freshly picked pechay. </i></p><p style="text-align: center;">I’m trying to avoid the deep fried stuff and eat as healthy as possible while I’m here which isn’t difficult as fish and seafood are my favorite foods and they are so plentiful here. You don’t even need to go anywhere to get it either, it comes right to our door every morning in the form of the beach vendors. Vendors walk up and down the beach all day selling anything you can think of. All manner of fish and seafood pulled fresh from the ocean that morning, beach toys, clothes, towels, belts, machetes and knives, fresh fruit, freshly picked coconuts (buko), locally grown peanuts, lumpia, ice cream, you name it. We usually buy fresh yellowfin tuna, squid and giant prawns from the fish vendors first thing in the morning and cook it for lunch and dinner. Most mornings I flag down the buko vendor and have him cut me open a coconut and throw a straw in it for me. Price? 60 pisos which is about a buck. Lola often gets angry when she sees me do it and complains that it’s too expensive but come on, I sometimes pay 3 or 4 bucks for a small carton of coconut water back home so getting the actual coconut for a buck is wicked cheap to me. Plus, after I drink the water, Lola will sometimes cut it open and give the meat to the kids so it’s a win-win all around! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAsW_jCZct_Zaoxez35PPRLoMTDhaWkocxvXTVw6hpfid0CQv7HgSPkC_55XIVOXtv8xXmJhnXbT78RSo2BEw2Pkx63STKIDaI3KyH0EkTJu3XH-ZYZ7fUddzO0XV3hNr7FTUWMCSJH99MbWqQjZt2q6EV1qee0g5zxhgmMq10Z1iZRysvMw/s4032/IMG_6488.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAsW_jCZct_Zaoxez35PPRLoMTDhaWkocxvXTVw6hpfid0CQv7HgSPkC_55XIVOXtv8xXmJhnXbT78RSo2BEw2Pkx63STKIDaI3KyH0EkTJu3XH-ZYZ7fUddzO0XV3hNr7FTUWMCSJH99MbWqQjZt2q6EV1qee0g5zxhgmMq10Z1iZRysvMw/s320/IMG_6488.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><i>My daily morning treat, doesn't get any fresher than this unless I pick it myself...</i></p><p style="text-align: center;">The last thing we had to do today was attempt to get a pre-paid Wi-fi router for the beach house and this turned into quite a chore. In the past, I have always just used The Lazy A for my Wi-fi. For the newcomers, the Lazy A is a beach resort about a 5-10 minute walk down the beach from our place. They have a little open air restaurant with a handful of tables and they have Wi-fi so I would always start my day by going there in the morning after I woke up to have my black coffee and go online to check email, sports scores, Facebook, etc. Often I would go back in the afternoon when I was bored and have a couple beers and go online. As long as I was eating or drinking, they had no problem with me coming there to use the Wi-fi so it worked out well because they made a club sandwich that was worth the trip. But, this being 2022, you can actually buy a pre-paid router with data on it for your house which of course is much more convenient. We paid 799p (about $15) for a router with 10GB. I told them I wanted to buy the 100GB package that was 1,000p which I figured should last a while as long as the kids don’t play their online games all day every day, but they must have not understood me as the router only has 10GB and that will not last long. They activated it right there and said we just needed to plug it in and connect with the password so we got it home and plugged it in but we quickly discovered that the signal at the beach…sucks. You can’t connect at all in the house or the nipa hut so you have to sit outside to get a signal and even then it’s very slow. I guess I should have expected as much in this place. Thankfully the Lazy A is still there. The Lazy A never lets me down… </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvZP2oa514cMwo73JKxQSLV2_MJ6ki9abxTN0Eac3XetqPCkBYOhA5-edXbSM8_i9mI2q2KA-0PE5WOGbII5ZC9nzqggv4d6r0HSyRaZiu5NJ_hBGGKVYC7eU-opoGSaDO0jpa5NAh2pPAMXZQT60evR_YPQvM2Bi9eEZaUTHKmngrwDgo2w/s4032/IMG_6558.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvZP2oa514cMwo73JKxQSLV2_MJ6ki9abxTN0Eac3XetqPCkBYOhA5-edXbSM8_i9mI2q2KA-0PE5WOGbII5ZC9nzqggv4d6r0HSyRaZiu5NJ_hBGGKVYC7eU-opoGSaDO0jpa5NAh2pPAMXZQT60evR_YPQvM2Bi9eEZaUTHKmngrwDgo2w/s320/IMG_6558.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Pre-paid wireless router. Reception is hit or miss but it's good to have Wi-fi at the beach house.</i> </p><p style="text-align: center;">I haven’t had a chance to walk up and down the beach to see what’s changed yet but hopefully tomorrow as I have nothing planned. From what I’ve seen so far though, there have been A LOT of changes from the beach I remember. Pretty uneventful day today overall, hell I haven’t even fired up the karaoke machine yet. </p><p style="text-align: center;">Let’s see what tomorrow will bring…</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">To go to Part 3, <a href="http://rikthib.blogspot.com/2022/07/philippines-2022-part-3-legend-continues.html">Click Here</a></p>Rikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17726907210300737277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10361955.post-84726471000782775172022-07-11T04:28:00.005+02:002022-07-13T01:43:54.528+02:00Philippines 2022: It begins.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Day 1 was…not a very enjoyable day. For anyone who has flown recently, I don’t need to tell you how hellish an experience it is right now. It used to be that if your flight was delayed or you got a hard time at the check-in counter or any other little inconvenience, you complained long and hard but things have gotten so bad these days that now it’s just the norm. It happens way more often than it doesn’t happen and so we all need to adjust our mindset I guess. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Regardless, I’m about to complain so deal with it. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">In these days of COVID, it is more difficult to fly than ever because you must do extensive research on entry requirements to whichever country you are flying to. This is made even more difficult by the fact that you are basically trying to decipher ‘legalese’ which isn’t always easy. And so, I dutifully studied the rules and regulations of the Philippines’ entry requirements so we would not be caught off guard and to ensure we have everything in order. When it comes to such matters, I tend to be very thorough because, well, you have to be these days. Virginia, Xavier and I are fully vaccinated with booster so I figured that shouldn’t be an issue. Luca and Max are fully vaccinated but have not gotten a booster as they have not started giving them to kids yet at our base. The regulations on the official Philippines website are written rather ambiguously so at first I thought Luca needed a negative PCR test but upon reading the fine print, I realized I was mistaken. The Philippines considers you fully vaccinated if you have had either two shots of a two shot series or one of a one shot series, you do not need a booster. Age 12-17 just need to be fully vaccinated, younger than 12 do not. So bottom line is that all of us are considered fully vaccinated and do not need a negative PCR test or anything else to fly to the Philippines (remember this, it will come into play later). Of course, this being the Philippines, it could not be that easy; they set up a website called “One Health” where you have to go and register every person in the family, personal info, vaccine info and dates, passport numbers, etc. and then you have to upload a copy of your vaccination certificate. They then verify all your info and email you a copy of a bar code or QR code that you show upon arrival. I got everybody in the family registered and vaccine cards uploaded and got the confirmation emails back pretty quick so I figured we were good to go. I should have known better. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The word around these parts lately is that the Frankfurt Airport is a mess, people are missing flights, losing their luggage, some people say their luggage was never even scanned. It was recommended to get to the airport at least 4 hours before our flight and we did so, thankfully. We were so early that the check in desks were not even open yet and there were only a few people waiting so we took our place behind them. While we were waiting, I discovered that the scales at the check in counters were working so I was able to weigh each of our bags and find that all of them were below the maximum 23 kg which was a HUGE relief. Things were looking up when, about an hour later, the check in personnel arrived and the first thing the bastards did was rearrange the barriers for some inexplicable reason which meant that suddenly everyone behind is in line was now in front of us…and we had been THIRD in line. There was an Indian family who were way behind us but who instantly became first in line with the new configuration, and we figured they would just let those of us who got screwed go ahead of them since we were there before them but noooooo…these inconsiderate jerks just smiled and waltzed up to the counter like they’d just won the lottery while we stared at them in disgust. Tempers were starting to run high but the worst was still yet to come, at least for us. We eventually forced our way in front of a forgiving German gentleman who said “Ja, you were here before me, it’s ok” (Germans > Indians). We then proceeded to let the Arabs who were there when we arrived go before us while people behind us grumbled about losing their newfound - and ill gotten, I might add - favorable queue position. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We finally got up to the counter and I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking things were starting to come together. But it was not to be. The German lady checked passports with no problem, then asked to see our vaccination cards so I gave them to her and she studied them for a few minutes, then put Luca and Max’s cards down in front of me and said “So these two have a negative PCR test, right?”. My jaw dropped. I researched every little thing on that website, including the fine print and I KNEW she was wrong and I told her so, very nicely. What happened next was mind-numbingly painful. She called the supervisor over and the two of them started poring over some kind of binder that presumably contained entry regulations for various countries but it seemed to be confusing them even more. Eventually she came back to her seat at the desk and I tried in vain to explain that we already have approval to enter the Philippines via the Health One emails but she was completely ignoring me. I then pulled up the website on my phone and highlighted the part that said specifically that minors who are fully vaccinated do NOT need a negative PCR test but again…completely ignored. About 20 minutes later after much consternation, stress, wailing and gnashing of teeth, her and the supervisor somehow determined that I was right and that no PCR test was needed so we would be allowed to board. I was confident that I was right and I damned sure didn’t want to end up as a viral internet star for all the wrong reasons so I kept my cool throughout, did not raise my voice and just let them figure it out. She apologized and said “Just wanted to be sure!” which pretty much sums up air travel these days. Anyway, the rest went ok except the security line which was complete insanity. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUnlFW1Y68NYa7iGr_kXs1eH2w93jY-iuEE28rHHk4Rt3zCuRVCqIpF20zmgPOq0RuHZoLDP0x9qWcEREqTREG8mg5YpWMRbu5uB0w2Mkg1iDbHecRiwhDiinJN60gUGn6or3je0rL7zb7Fy1F5neDsgRcw8tOBzPrRG_WP7P2HrEJ1EpvGQ/s4032/IMG_6400.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2546" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUnlFW1Y68NYa7iGr_kXs1eH2w93jY-iuEE28rHHk4Rt3zCuRVCqIpF20zmgPOq0RuHZoLDP0x9qWcEREqTREG8mg5YpWMRbu5uB0w2Mkg1iDbHecRiwhDiinJN60gUGn6or3je0rL7zb7Fy1F5neDsgRcw8tOBzPrRG_WP7P2HrEJ1EpvGQ/s320/IMG_6400.jpeg" width="202" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDNOt4GKb077FtS0riadEWH2UzVRb7O97wsJym_Ehzm-dOTYOkqhAo5PvAWA6Dc4v1SCWEFQg-O8IlmQMqOQrdRVPfjACBEBPQghL4bXIkVa2TzzIWtghWTr0NZkzNQVI4KqKHLB5rffd3bPPE95o80oJxraWqtoN75ZUK62tZEUp68pS9Pg/s1920/IMG_6401.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDNOt4GKb077FtS0riadEWH2UzVRb7O97wsJym_Ehzm-dOTYOkqhAo5PvAWA6Dc4v1SCWEFQg-O8IlmQMqOQrdRVPfjACBEBPQghL4bXIkVa2TzzIWtghWTr0NZkzNQVI4KqKHLB5rffd3bPPE95o80oJxraWqtoN75ZUK62tZEUp68pS9Pg/s320/IMG_6401.jpeg" width="180" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i>After a nightmare check-in, we are finally on the plane. Next stop: Bahrain.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We had a very short layover in Bahrain and I was worried that either we or our bags would not make the connecting flight if our flight was delayed even a little. Sure enough, take off was delayed an entire hour for some reason, even though the plane was fully boarded on time. After 30 minutes, an Indian guy a few rows back from us stood up and started yelling at the top of his lungs, demanding to know why the plane was not taking off because he was going to miss his connecting flight. The flight attendants eventually got him to sit down and relax but it would not be his last transgression; as soon as the plane touched down in Bahrain, he and one or two other guys he was traveling with unbuckled their seatbelts, stood up and opened the overhead compartments to get their bags. Seeing what was happening, they made an announcement to stay in your seat with your seatbelt fastened until the plane has stopped moving but it fell on deaf ears so eventually one of the male flight attendants came charging angrily down the aisle yelling at them to get back in their seats. The Indian guy was not in the mood to hear it and started arguing back and it got pretty heated for a minute. At one point the Indian guy put his finger in the flight attendant’s face and yelled “IF I MISS MY FLIGHT, I AM GOING TO BLAME YOU!” and threw in a few more choice words. Just when we thought the guy would get arrested, he sat down and accepted that there was nothing he could do. We de-planed in Bahrain with a very short window but we made it on time. Regarding our luggage, someone had told me about Apple “Air Tags” the day before we flew and we were able to find some downtown. They are the coolest things; little metal discs about the size a thick quarter, you synch them to your phone, put them in your bag and you can now track your bag anywhere in the world. As I mentioned, people were saying that the airlines weren’t even scanning their bags and someone even posted a picture of thousands of unclaimed bags at the Frankfurt Airport so we bought the Air Tags to be safe. I’m happy to report that our bags made it to the Philippines with us. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Not surprisingly, there were more surprises in store for us; After you exit the plane, you walk down a long hallway en route to immigration and baggage claim which normally take forever at the Manila Airport but now there's the extra step before you get to immigration where you have to show your "One Health" pass that I mentioned earlier so they could scan it. I had them all saved on my phone so no problem, right? Well...problem. She scanned mine first and then asked for my boarding pass because she said she needed to stamp it. As it happens, during the flight, Luca asked me if he needed to keep his little boarding pass ticket and I told him he didn't need it because he was already on the plane so he and Xavier had left theirs on the plane. The lady told us she had to have them to stamp and that we would not be permitted to enter without them which seemed completely ridiculous to me. How many people actually save their boarding passes after they've already flown?! We could not have been the only people to make that mistake so I said there must be something else she can do or stamp or whatever but she was insistent and was not being any help at all. Virginia asked if they could get back on the plane to get them and she said we were welcome to try so her, Xavier and Luca rushed all the way back to the plane while Max and I sat and waited, wondering what would happen next. Thankfully they returned with the boarding passes and we got through without further issues. You would think that the One Health website would say SOMETHING about keeping your boarding passes as they needed to be stamped or that perhaps they would make an announcement during the flight to that extent? One thing is for damned sure, I'm never throwing away any of my boarding passes from now on. "It's more fun in the Philippines!"...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We’d hired a van to pick us up at the airport and drive us directly to the beach house but even that did not go smoothly. First the driver went to the wrong terminal which left us standing in the extreme heat and humidity waiting for almost an hour. Then there was an accident and construction on the North Luzon Expressway which turned the usual 4 hour drive into 6+ hours. Now, for those who don’t know, I had suffered from a horrible upper respiratory virus recently which made me cough so much and so violently that I developed an intercostal muscle strain which is where the muscles between your ribs get strained. It’s very painful and it gets aggravated by sitting down for long periods of time so let me tell you, a 6 hour plane ride followed by a 9 and a half hour plane ride followed by a 6 hour car ride…I was in PAIN. But at least we got to stop at Jollibee on the way and I was able to try their new chicken sandwich – which, if it had pickles, would have put the Popeye’s chicken sandwich to shame. We landed in Manila at 1130 in the morning but we ended up not getting to the beach house until almost 8pm. I had asked Virginia to make sure that Lola (Virginia’s mother, for the uninitiated, Lola means ‘grandmother’) had cold beer in the fridge for me when we got there so imagine my consternation upon arrival to discover that there was no cold beer in the fridge. It was a perfect ending to an imperfect day. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Let the vacation begin!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">To go to part 2, <a href="http://rikthib.blogspot.com/2022/07/philippines-2022-part-2-catching-up.html">Click Here</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">(If you'd like to read the entire blog from my first trip back in 2010, <a href="http://rikthib.blogspot.com/2010/08/my-first-trip-to-philippines-day-1.html">Click Here</a> for Day 1)</div></div>Rikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17726907210300737277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10361955.post-30079163482523053382020-08-16T12:27:00.010+02:002020-08-16T15:22:21.387+02:00Another Amazing, Albeit Sad, Story...<p>I joined the Army Reserves out of high school to help pay for college. I got lucky and ended up in a section that was full of some of the greatest people ever and even now, 30 years later, I still keep in touch with many of them regularly. One of them was a guy named Jay Cobb; he was a sergeant from Plymouth, NH, a laid back Deadhead with a quick, sardonic wit. As per usual these days, we reconnected on Facebook several years back and still chat every so often. </p><p>A month or so ago, Jay messaged and said he had an Army friend who had recently arrived here on Camp Humphreys and as everyone who arrives here does, she was in quarantine for two weeks. He said she was suffering from the horrible Army food they were feeding her and asked if I might be willing to bring her some of the food I had been cooking. Of course I said no problem because, well, that's just the kind of guy I am. </p><p>I quickly discovered that Jay's friend - Ayla Papp is her name, which I think might be the coolest name EVER - is a complete foodie. She was so appreciative of the food that both Virginia and I made for her in quarantine that we started talking constantly about food, recipes, etc. and she shared some pics of her own dishes that just looked incredible and it became obvious that she is my spirit animal...it turns out she is from Louisiana and she vowed that when she got out of quarantine, she would come make her special homemade gumbo for us. This pleased me greatly as I absolutely love cajun food - jambalaya, red beans and rice, etouffé, crawfish bread...and ESPECIALLY gumbo. Well, today was that day. Ayla Papp (I call her Ayla-Papp because it's just such a cool first and last name combination) came over and made for us her special homemade gumbo with chicken and andouille sausage. And it...was...glorious. </p><p>Oh, but there is more to this story. Much, much more. First, let's see the pics of the gumbo, then I'll deliver the second, more incredible part of the story:</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW6XL7Da26gFcpUidqWtfu_Zi8Jan4JihV9BqfQ2JMgGjvd6Li6HnRS55T7SudUxwteXJS-ZDt3knyJ5dFZQ4oHx7kB-KgWZfGUpTbmGA8Wfqu4kf4BuUzmTzFd8NvqiPK3ROw/s1440/117769080_10163778078885543_636053107193728422_o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW6XL7Da26gFcpUidqWtfu_Zi8Jan4JihV9BqfQ2JMgGjvd6Li6HnRS55T7SudUxwteXJS-ZDt3knyJ5dFZQ4oHx7kB-KgWZfGUpTbmGA8Wfqu4kf4BuUzmTzFd8NvqiPK3ROw/s640/117769080_10163778078885543_636053107193728422_o.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Ayla Papp just HAD to wear my Italian apron...</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1OzarODoCipEv9pIduWQv6nsebjKINe63co9BeniP3HD6iLVU2PIcypoTDFErJRGbbDeg5RUizpqCXYG4j7XDVl0HQakFrqDtxjsoVBjlWUW55uWHb7_72sq1rRXX8KKmmoU2/s2048/IMG_1136.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1OzarODoCipEv9pIduWQv6nsebjKINe63co9BeniP3HD6iLVU2PIcypoTDFErJRGbbDeg5RUizpqCXYG4j7XDVl0HQakFrqDtxjsoVBjlWUW55uWHb7_72sq1rRXX8KKmmoU2/s640/IMG_1136.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>She did a dry roux since the sausage already had a high fat content</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL9ly2LpUZu3KOFsVzgkjsNoa5-th-lvq0aJw2Zu_MmXzo_vca0AB-aosOVjVKp4jtdzMou9nYgyu3hsWiSvJ3qCeMQ9IlNBWSKnyB5JX47JhN-TwTnbVOmxasDNHyf0Pjge7S/s2048/IMG_1137.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL9ly2LpUZu3KOFsVzgkjsNoa5-th-lvq0aJw2Zu_MmXzo_vca0AB-aosOVjVKp4jtdzMou9nYgyu3hsWiSvJ3qCeMQ9IlNBWSKnyB5JX47JhN-TwTnbVOmxasDNHyf0Pjge7S/s640/IMG_1137.jpeg" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>She said the dry roux should achieve the color of chocolate and this looks like it did!</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJns8HjYFzuhapcpQPeCeN2gIwXAPuc0Ymgpgv0vO_x_AOUwcVY2P8tZCjvbIb1x3iwUXnfmMZUlGYj0Y8SsYoRoZOEblqK_EuGRYZd47Ag5OWmTs8K5f_LEiHXjIdF71P2Ewq/s2048/IMG_1138.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJns8HjYFzuhapcpQPeCeN2gIwXAPuc0Ymgpgv0vO_x_AOUwcVY2P8tZCjvbIb1x3iwUXnfmMZUlGYj0Y8SsYoRoZOEblqK_EuGRYZd47Ag5OWmTs8K5f_LEiHXjIdF71P2Ewq/s640/IMG_1138.jpeg" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>She added the roux to the meat mixture, added water and stirred it all together</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0-uIXorNNl2ndiKJRgQ9tRdeepwaKQ2nl3JUBFOxjhvhRCA4WkUtI0dFwNjqyQlz5TSN4M68iBZkXvd2mTdyHgb4K3ulXdErlQcpNqNvf2TR8Fa7UFd4a7XoKgvS87f81_AOz/s2048/IMG_1140.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0-uIXorNNl2ndiKJRgQ9tRdeepwaKQ2nl3JUBFOxjhvhRCA4WkUtI0dFwNjqyQlz5TSN4M68iBZkXvd2mTdyHgb4K3ulXdErlQcpNqNvf2TR8Fa7UFd4a7XoKgvS87f81_AOz/s640/IMG_1140.jpeg" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Then let it "simmah down" for a long time...</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRbmeFoOBWBYBAwLi-CdXTkdzhljipLYwffQQegFg_Vfhoc-UqIP8LnQdsV7vTkStfNeQMNAdMWZxqsKVPkaEgJA-cEZzQOpJe6X9TIo7Y1-IjupTkHT_GyaiXWMpQhEheG9RA/s2048/IMG_1141.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRbmeFoOBWBYBAwLi-CdXTkdzhljipLYwffQQegFg_Vfhoc-UqIP8LnQdsV7vTkStfNeQMNAdMWZxqsKVPkaEgJA-cEZzQOpJe6X9TIo7Y1-IjupTkHT_GyaiXWMpQhEheG9RA/s640/IMG_1141.jpeg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>The finished product, served over rice. So. Freaking. Delicious. AUTHENTIC Cajun flavors, it was just so good. </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So now we come to the incredible part of the story...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Those of you who have known me for a while know that one of my best friends in the world was killed in the Fort Hood shooting back in April of 2014. His name was SFC Danny Ferguson and he was extremely close to us and especially to Xavier in particular. I won't go into the whole story here but for anyone who doesn't know the history, here is the blog post I wrote telling the whole story; if you don't know it, you should read it before reading this story any further: </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://rikthib.blogspot.com/2018/04/remembering-sfc-danny-fergusi-ferguson.html" target="_blank">Remembering SFC Daniel "Fergusi" Ferguson</a><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">After we finished eating, we were having a nice conversation about everything under the sun and at one point, Ayla Papp mentioned that her husband is back in the US because he's a police officer, I asked whereabouts and she said Killeen, which is where Fort Hood (Texas) is. I cannot hear the name Fort Hood without immediately thinking of the senseless shooting that took my friend's life and so I asked her how long she had been stationed there. She told me, I quickly did the math in my head and then looked at Virginia and said "OMG, I think she was there when it happened...". I asked her about the shooting and to my shock, she was not just there, <i>she was in Fergusi's unit. </i>I shared with her the story of our friendship with Fergusi and we all just sort of sat there, in awe of the crazy circumstances that had brought us together. As I spoke about Fergusi I got choked up as I always do when I talk about him and I could feel the goddamned tears welling up in my eyes as they always do so I kept it short but I just can't believe that this new person that we had met almost by chance had a direct connection to our Fergusi. I swear, I'm actually welling up again just thinking about it...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It really is a small world. And an even smaller Army... <i> </i></div><p></p>Rikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17726907210300737277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10361955.post-89423430145495965602020-08-02T03:32:00.002+02:002020-08-02T04:38:04.881+02:00Reliving a Decision That Changed My Life, Part 5: The Fallout<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
(To start at Part 1, <a href="http://rikthib.blogspot.com/2020/07/reliving-decision-that-changed-my-life.html">CLICK HERE</a>)<br />
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The weeks and months that followed were very difficult ones. By this time, Col Carpenter had moved on to a new job with V Corps in Heidelberg, Germany so I was glad I did not have to face him. MAJ Ostlund had since moved back down to the 173rd Airborne Brigade on base and one fateful night after work I decided to stop in at the on base club for a beer before heading home and it just so happened that several officers from the 173rd were having a gathering. As I sat down at the bar, MAJ Ostlund saw me and came right over to say hi and ask about the OTS packet. I explained what had happened, said I guess it just wasn't in the cards for me and that I would be getting out of the Army at the end of the year and transferring to a civilian job somewhere. He said he understood, that he empathized with my situation and he was actually pretty cool about it but the disappointment in his eyes was unmistakable and it was guilt racking, almost as if I'd let my own father down. I left that night feeling pretty shitty but I decided not to wallow in it. Instead it was time to focus on life after the Army. I thought it would be a good idea to get out of Europe and start over somewhere and Korea was my number one choice for a couple reasons. First, my wife Virginia was from the Philippines and she had lived in Hong Kong (where we met) for 10 years; I had taken a couple trips there and I was completely enamored with Hong Kong and I was really taken with Asian culture, food, etc. so living and working in Asia was very attractive to me. Korea was the only place that I knew of in Asia where the Army had a major presence so I figured it was my best shot. I didn't know anyone there so I literally just started calling any phone numbers I could find for bases there and asking if anyone knew of any JOPES jobs on the Peninsula. I finally managed to get in touch with a civilian who was pretty much the entire JOPES presence there at the time and she had no intention of leaving anytime soon so I figured I was destined to stay in Europe. Staying in Italy was certainly not a bad second choice after all...<br />
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My first year in Italy as a civilian was a glorious one; as luck would have it, I ended up landing a job as a contractor doing the same job I had been doing as a sergeant but for several times the pay (and no shining boots!) and let me tell you, I wasted no time transitioning to post-Army life. There is a little known rule that upon separating from the military, a man must let his hair get longer and he must grow some facial hair. I happily complied. I had more time, more freedom and more money than I'd ever had so I was able to really explore a passion that I'd acquired in my time there as a soldier and I became a wannabe oenophile (ie, a wine guy).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLCHIdsr365ToFBLwYbHA02GhUXzurj97Vc2g8j3FuhF6kZzZiavtB542IKWyXbdOa-oxDCVARVT3mjqpbM8ylsi0xfb-abdQbX49DZCpGLUvXKm4FuyUQ0L9nuxznKEUSEDyV/s1600/white3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLCHIdsr365ToFBLwYbHA02GhUXzurj97Vc2g8j3FuhF6kZzZiavtB542IKWyXbdOa-oxDCVARVT3mjqpbM8ylsi0xfb-abdQbX49DZCpGLUvXKm4FuyUQ0L9nuxznKEUSEDyV/s320/white3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>My first year as a civilian in Italy: new facial hair and a whole lot of vino</i></div>
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A little over a year later, the contract I was working under was about to be cut so I had to start looking for a new job. After a brief flirtation with another contract job in Hawaii, I ended up landing a job at the Movement Operation Center (MOC) with US Army Europe in Heidelberg, Germany, the same place and people I'd been working with for the previous six years. I was hired as a DoD Civilian, GS11 which was a decent starting point. When I was active duty I'd worked with a couple of GS12s and to me, that seemed like the ultimate goal for me as a civilian so I was content that my decision to leave the military and become a civilian was indeed paying off. On top of that, we were living in one of the most absolutely stunningly beautiful cities in the entire world in Heidelberg and since DoD civilians received a large housing stipend, we had a huge place right on the main drag. Working at the MOC was the perfect starting point for me as I worked with some of the best and brightest people in my field and I learned a ton from them. To this day, I have never worked with a better group of people as a DoD civilian and many of them I am still close friends with to this day.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwKG_Cfs6IasoJkdsNC1JpWJw-2pcsCqxvt8u48yShg4HeFIKoy6lbmjMz_eajYJdgabzTceFb8MGGn9j_TnDZ9D4vQKZpzW-HUmd2ScJlYefluJJiu2Lz2OFvwJ2iSoKKNmFu/s1600/MOC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwKG_Cfs6IasoJkdsNC1JpWJw-2pcsCqxvt8u48yShg4HeFIKoy6lbmjMz_eajYJdgabzTceFb8MGGn9j_TnDZ9D4vQKZpzW-HUmd2ScJlYefluJJiu2Lz2OFvwJ2iSoKKNmFu/s320/MOC.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>The USAREUR MOC: Best group of people I have ever worked with as a DoD civilian</i></div>
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Alas, as much as I loved Heidelberg, I missed Italy immensely and in 2008, after two great years at the MOC, I was able to transfer back to my beloved Vicenza as the lead JOPES person for the newly stood up US Army Africa. This was a big step in my career as suddenly I was a one man show in charge of an Army Service Component Command and I thrived in the position. Eventually I was promoted to GS12, something I had dreamt about when I was toiling away as a lowly buck sergeant. I had a great job, I was in Italy which had become home to me over the years, I was financially secure and we even bought a small beach house near Virginia's family in the Philippines where we vacationed every summer. Life was grand...which meant something had to give. And sure enough, on May 1st, 2013, tragedy struck. That was the day I was called into the division chief's office and notified that I was a victim of the despicable, disgusting, illegal government plot to claw back housing allowances from a a select group of DoD civilians who they claimed received the benefit in error and that I suddenly owed the government a couple hundred thousand dollars. I won't go into the matter in this story for brevity's sake but suffice to say that those who knew me and knew what happened will remember what a harrowing nightmare the following year became for me and my entire family. Perhaps the worst part of the whole affair was that it forced me to leave Italy against my will. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdyEkZhr1qwtaO5fn27rQ_yfqHOGMzPC4olanD1oAu0SUv1PG6oHWQljvFzf0IF6FBoel7cxEOW-VJUX3ZUGBeGE1boWK_F4dSsJXliKhSiOrXKDrqDMP1gVZJgJZfM-T_72HX/s1600/1964891_10152298369173560_1658657117_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdyEkZhr1qwtaO5fn27rQ_yfqHOGMzPC4olanD1oAu0SUv1PG6oHWQljvFzf0IF6FBoel7cxEOW-VJUX3ZUGBeGE1boWK_F4dSsJXliKhSiOrXKDrqDMP1gVZJgJZfM-T_72HX/s320/1964891_10152298369173560_1658657117_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Being awarded the Civilian Service Achievement Medal at my farewell luncheon as I prepared to leave Italy in 2014</i></div>
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The government forced me to leave Europe and go back to the US and they saw fit to transfer me to a position with US Army Central (ARCENT). For most of its existence, ARCENT had been located at Ft McPherson in Atlanta, Georgia however a few years prior they had closed McPherson and moved ARCENT HQ to Shaw Air Force Base in Sumter, SC, a rural area about an hour east of Columbia. I went to Europe in 1998 as a soldier and left 16 long years later as a civilian so to say that going to rural South Carolina was a culture shock would be a tremendous understatement. Especially after leaving Italy under the circumstances that I did, my time at ARCENT was complete misery. DoD civilians must remain back in the US for a minimum of two years before going back to an overseas position and so as soon as my two year mark was up at ARCENT, I started applying for overseas positions. Nothing was coming through for me in the JOPES field and then one day I saw a position back in Vicenza that was kind of, sort of like JOPES (I thought), so I applied and I got it. After almost three years in the US, we headed back home to Vicenza and life started getting good again. </div>
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One major lesson I have learned about life as a DoD civilian is that everything is all about timing. You never know when job opportunities will appear and usually it happens at the worst possible time. And so it was that after one year back in Italy, the civilian job that I'd coveted since getting out of the Army way back in 2004 finally became open and available to me. My first thought was that I could not possibly entertain the thought of leaving my beloved Italy after being back only 1 year. Virginia agreed - she was tired of moving she said. However I could not stop thinking that this opportunity would never come up again in my career so I would regret turning it down for the rest of my life. I somehow managed to convince her and after a year in Italy, my career moved to Korea. </div>
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Moving to Korea turned out to be a great move for my career, at least at first. For a year and a half it was absolutely the best job I'd ever had in my DoD civilian career. It has been the most difficult by far but I've excelled at it and at times have felt as if this place has been the pinnacle of my career. I had been recognized for my efforts with cash awards as well as the highly regarded Joint Civilian Service Achievement Award. I loved the job in Korea so much that I had intended to request an extension and stay here as long as I possibly could...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ1Kb15LdEFELkrvcTeEzd09RTkxU1aj9fe_tamMZT_bWh1_T1v9TRN82STOuAd5frElvKKulqy4_x13B06NDZjuARkdE2jF0WOoPba-J1kk6yAjR9JXSA1PVTS4qWx6EXiKOV/s1600/IMG_7904.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ1Kb15LdEFELkrvcTeEzd09RTkxU1aj9fe_tamMZT_bWh1_T1v9TRN82STOuAd5frElvKKulqy4_x13B06NDZjuARkdE2jF0WOoPba-J1kk6yAjR9JXSA1PVTS4qWx6EXiKOV/s320/IMG_7904.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>My first year on the job in Korea saw me receive the </i><span style="text-align: left;"><i>Joint Civilian Service Achievement Award for the first time in my career. It was a very proud moment.</i></span></div>
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Sadly, things went downhill here around the time that the COVID crisis began and have devolved to the point where I will soon be moving on earlier than expected. As fate would have it, I am headed back to where it all began back in 2006, the USAREUR MOC, only this time it will be in Wiesbaden, Germany rather than Heidelberg as they have moved. We are all very excited about going back to the Vaterland and seeing what the new chapter of my civilian career will bring...</div>
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I think a lot about that fateful decision I made back in 2004. Up until the LQA nightmare in 2013, I never once regretted the decision to pursue a civilian career rather than wait a year and go to Air Force OTS. However, the years since then have often found me wondering what if. What if I had had the foresight to see the big picture all those years ago? I would have retired a couple years ago from active duty as a Major with a nice fat retirement pension and my family and I would be very well off the rest of my days and into retirement. If I decided to stay in longer, I'd probably even have made LTC by now. It's hard not to have regrets, especially when all these years later I'm still a GS12 and still having to put up with bs on a daily basis because I have no other options. </div>
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On the other hand, look at the career I've had: Germany, Italy, Korea...in the end, this is the life I've always wanted. I wouldn't trade it for anything. </div>
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<i>Fin.</i></div>
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Rikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17726907210300737277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10361955.post-63255218807588565692020-08-02T01:19:00.000+02:002020-08-02T04:28:57.534+02:00Reliving a Decision That Changed My Life, Part 4<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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(To start at Part 1, <a href="http://rikthib.blogspot.com/2020/07/reliving-decision-that-changed-my-life.html">CLICK HERE</a>)<br />
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With the powerful endorsement from BG Lessel in my possession, combined with the letter of recommendation from MG Wagner, I thought sure that I was on my way. I didn't see anything that could possibly get in my way or derail my plans...in the end the one thing that did me in was one simple piece of paper, the one thing that should have been the easiest to acquire.<br />
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As I reviewed my packet, I noticed that I was missing one thing: the conditional release form from the Army. Since I was technically still under contract with the Army, my packet had to include a form from the Army personnel office that basically said "If the soldier is accepted to Air Force Officer Training School, the US Army will release him from his contract with us." It was just a formality, really., and it should have been the easiest thing in the world to do however in typical Army fashion, they made the simple into the near impossible. It took me a couple months to even find a point of contact to request the form from, I had to start with my local personnel office and then work it all the way up until I finally received the name of the person who processed the form that I needed. According to my notes, it had been a few months since I sent the official request yet I had not received anything. I guess I just got so wrapped up in trying to get my letters of recommendation, school transcripts and everything else that I hadn't noticed that I was still missing that one simple form. Time was running out and the deadline for submission of my packet was only about two months away so I started scrambling. I managed to get the phone number and email of the Army Sergeant Major who was supposed to send me the form and I called him and emailed at least once a day for the next several weeks with no reply. I tried calling other numbers that I could find but ran into constant dead ends. At one point I actually got a hold of one person who said he sort of knew the SGM and that he'd "give him the message" but I still never heard back. I could not figure out what was going on...was this guy on extended leave? Had he moved to a different job? Was he dead?! Why was I getting no response? I tried everything I could think to do short of getting on a plane and flying to the Pentagon to personally track this guy down but kept coming up empty.<br />
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I was less than two weeks away and panicking...HARD. And then it happened. Some time in mid January the recruiter from Aviano called me and said "I've got some bad news for you...the Air Force just filled all the OTS slots for the year so you'll have to wait til next year to submit your packet."<br />
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Nine days. The deadline to submit my packet was a mere nine days away. I was completely crushed, devastated, defeated. For once, I finally had a goal, a mission, I knew what I wanted and I went after it with everything I had and I came up short. Nine days changed the entire course of my life.<br />
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So what was my next move? I'd formulated a plan when I started the OTS packet process the year prior. My ETS (End of Time in Service, the day your enlistment ends) date was December 2004. The OTS packet deadline was in January 2004. As I saw it, I had two options when I began the process: either go to OTS and finish my career as an Air Force Officer or, failing that, get out of the Army and parlay my JOPES experience into a high paying civilian job. After missing out on what I saw as my only shot at OTS, I decided I would indeed just spend the remaining 10-11 months of my enlistment looking for a civilian job. I contacted the recruiter and informed him that I didn't want to wait an entire year to submit my packet and he tried really hard to get me to change my mind:<br />
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"Let me explain something to you...all of the packets we submit are in plain brown envelopes with a cover sheet attached. That cover sheet is a checklist of all the documents and forms that required, to ensure that nothing is missing. One of the boxes on that sheet says 'General Officer Recommendation' and if that box is checked, your packet goes right to the top of the pile...you have TWO General Officer recommendations! So trust me, you will be one of the very first people accepted once they see that! Just wait a year and submit, you are guaranteed!". He was right but I was so disappointed that I could not see the forest through all of the trees. All I could see was that I was about to turn 33 years old. If I waited a year, I would be turning 34 which meant that if I got accepted, by the time I graduated OTS and pinned on 2LT (the lowest officer rank), I would be 35 years old. Of course looking back on it now 35 still seems young but considering that most officers are pinning on 2LT around 22 years old, I just could not fathom being a 35 year old 'Butterbar".<br />
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I'd made my choice and was sticking with it. I was done with the military. <br />
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(To go to Part 5, <a href="http://rikthib.blogspot.com/2020/08/reliving-decision-that-changed-my-life_2.html">CLICK HERE</a>)<br />
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Rikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17726907210300737277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10361955.post-27631630255035962962020-07-26T11:08:00.000+02:002020-08-01T23:23:14.088+02:00Nessun...Pesto? <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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So out of the blue, I started cooking about a year and a half ago. I can't explain why, it just happened. As part of my culinary journey, I have endeavored to make several dishes that I became addicted to in my 15 years in Bella Italia. Chief among them is pesto. I cannot describe my love of pesto in words, it is just indescribable. Virginia has an amazing garden and one of the things that is growing in abundance is fresh basil. Fresh basil is actually my absolute favorite smell in the world so it's no surprise that I have decided to try my hand at making fresh pesto. I'd planned on trying it ever since we lived in Italy but I just was never adventurous enough to try it since I've never cooked anything that I couldn't microwave before. However, once I started cooking, something awoke in me and I just enjoyed it so much that when I had all these beautiful, fresh ingredients from Virginia's garden, I just felt <i>inspired</i>...So I learned how to make fresh pesto and it was surprisingly easy. I've made it a few times with mixed results but each time has generally been good.<br />
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But today...Today I made a huge batch and it was just so unbelievably good that it reminded me of a symphony as all the note were struck perfectly and in such complete harmony that it left me speechless. Well, almost speechless; I wrote a Facebook post about it that I thought would have made a great blog post and since I'm trying to revive the blog and start getting away from Facebook, I thought I'd repost it here for posterity because, quite honestly, I think it's one of the cooler things I've written. And so here it is, in its entirety:<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: , , , ".sfnstext-regular" , sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I mentioned Pavarotti's "Nessun Dorma" in my post about my perfect pesto and as I revisited the video and the song, it occurred to me that my entire pesto making process today is perfectly represented in Pavarotti's performance, almost as if by fate. It started out slowly, just some simple kosher salt and garlic. Next, the real meat of the aria begins, the fresh basil...it just starts to hit the high note but then comes back down before you get too excited when you add in the pine nuts...they provide a measure of softness to the madness and bring you back down to Earth but it becomes obvious that this is building towards something really special. Next comes the Parmeggiano Reggiano which softens it even further and almost lulls you into sleep but then suddenly you finish it off with the extra virgin olive oil and then you stir and stir and stir and finally....if you did everything right, your pesto reaches a crescendo of epic proportions, just as Pavarotti hits the perfect high note in the third "Vincero"...you close your eyes and you can feel yourself on the Ligurian coast enjoying all the best things Italy has to offer. And then, just like that, it's over...finished too soon. But the sensation will stay with you the rest of your life. Bravo, maestro...</span><br />
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Rikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17726907210300737277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10361955.post-50909652201063360992020-07-26T01:37:00.000+02:002020-08-02T04:42:43.122+02:00Reliving a Decision The Changed My Life, Part 3<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
(To go to Part 1, <a href="http://rikthib.blogspot.com/2020/07/reliving-decision-that-changed-my-life.html">CLICK HERE</a>)<i><br /></i>
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<i>"The Air Force is accepting prior service for OTS now..."</i><br />
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Wait. Run that by me again? We were in the middle of a huge joint exercise with people from all four services and there was a Captain from the Air Force that I was working with. After a few days she told me "You know, you should really go officer". I gave her my usual answer, that if the Army guaranteed me a slot in signal or transportation, I'd do it in a heartbeat. She asked if I'd considered applying for OTS (Officer Training School, the Air Force version) with the Air Force, I laughed and said that would be a dream but they don't take prior service. It was at that moment she uttered those fateful words; <i>The Air Force is accepting prior service for OTS now...</i><br />
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Well this changes everything. Not only could my dream of joining the Air Force from years ago become a reality, but I could do it as an officer?! This just seemed to good to be true so I managed to run down the number for the recruiter's office at nearby Aviano Air Base, gave them a call and confirmed that, yes, as an Army NCO, I was eligible to apply for Air Force OTS. With this new information, I started working out a plan for my future. I had a little less than 2 years left on my current enlistment. The cutoff date to submit my application packet for OTS was the following January, roughly 8-9 months away. I figured that'd be plenty of time. I was wrong. So, so wrong...<br />
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<i>Was this my destiny?</i></div>
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According to the recruiter (an Air Force Master Sergeant), in order to submit an OTS packet, I would first have to pass the "AFOQT" - Air Force Officer Qualifications Test (the military does love their acronyms...). It turns out that the requirements for the Air Force's officer school were a bit more stringent than the Army's. No shocker there. As it happened, they were scheduled to hold the next testing date that very week so I signed up for it and then notified my boss, 1LT Kuss the next day that I was planning on applying to OTS and that I would need a day off to take the test. Kuss said no problem, he's all for it but that he'd need to clear it with MAJ Ostlund first and then he disappeared to go talk to him. What happened next still gives me goosebumps whenever I think about it. MAJ Ostlund came charging into the office with Kuss in tow, just like the time he came to verbally undress me for the incident with USAREUR months earlier and I quickly jumped up to attention. Except this time, he didn't come in to yell at me, he came to congratulate me. He was effusive in his praise and told me "SGT Thibodeau, I am so goddamned happy right now, I think it's fantastic that you have decided to become an officer, I cannot tell you how proud I am of you right now..." I had never seen him so happy. He told me that he had worked in the past with people submitting packets for various scholarships and such and offered his help with anything that I needed. Truthfully, I was worried how all of these hard-charging infantry officers I worked with would react to me switching to the Air Force but I needn't have worried. MAJ Ostlund's reaction solidified in me once and for all that I was making the right decision. Col Carpenter had a similar reaction when he found out. His exact words were "Dammit Thibodeau, I hate to see the Army lose you but at least you're finally going to be an officer."<br />
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Not everyone took the news so well. The NCOIC of my division at the time did not like me...at all. He was an old school Airborne Infantry Master Sergeant and for reasons I understood all too well but will keep to myself, he just had it out for me. He constantly singled me out for criticism or just to screw with me and on several occasions made things personal, well beyond the typical NCOIC-soldier dynamic. So bad was his treatment of me that it had convinced me that I would never stay in the Army as an enlisted person because there was no way someone like that was going to have that much control over my life. As the NCOIC, I had no choice but to inform him that I was taking a day off in order to go to Aviano to take the AFOQT and if I passed, that I would be submitting an OTS packet with the Air Force. He reacted pretty much as I suspected he would and gave me a hard time. He had me locked up at parade rest at his desk and proceeded to scold me for "not giving me any advance notice" of my plan (whatever that meant) and just as his voice started getting raised, MAJ Ostlund suddenly appeared. He did not say a word, he just looked at the NCOIC and that, apparently, was enough. After looking at Ostlund, he looked back at me and said "Fine, take the day off. But next time you make these little life decisions of yours, make sure to let me know ahead of time so we're not scrambling at the last minute trying to cover for you. Now get out of here." <i>Phew. </i><br />
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I remembering taking the AFOQT in a room with about 20 Air Force people, all of whom looked like they were about 21 years old. The recruiter told me the test was no joke and he recommended holding off until the next test so I had time to study since only a handful who take it even score high enough to submit packets. I probably should have listened but I was too anxious, it was now or never. He wasn't kidding about it being difficult; I remember it being sort of a cross between the SATs that you take in high school and the ASVAB test that you take when you join the military. The difference here was that I had <i>zero</i> time to actually study for it whereas most people spend weeks, even months preparing and studying for it. I did as best as I could and then I waited. And waited. And waited. A few weeks later I received the call from the recruiter: "Well, you scored high enough to make the cut, congratulations. I'll be assisting you with putting your packet together."<br />
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<i>The Air Force Officer Qualification Test is no joke but I'm proud to say that I passed it with zero time to study!</i></div>
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First there was relief. Then, elation. Then the realization that I'd only gotten past the first obstacle and that there was much more to do. Te recruiter sent me all the forms I'd need to complete and the list of documents I'd need to submit and quite honestly, it was a bit overwhelming but I dutifully got started. The first thing I would need were letters of recommendation. I could submit up to three of them and obviously, the higher ranks, the better. My plan was to gather as many letters of recommendation as I could, sort of covering all my bases, and then select the best three to submit with my packet. I was fortunate to have Col Carpenter as an ally in this endeavor; not only did he write me a strong letter of recommendation of his own but since he was the G3, he actually convinced the SETAF Commander - a Two-Star General - to write one for me as well. A letter of recommendation from a General Officer, as I found out later, was better than gold when you are submitting a packet for any military school, especially officer school. Satisfied that my letters of recommendation were good enough, I set about to complete all the other requirements. Most of them were pretty easy but the last part of the AF56 (OTS application packet) seemed to be an insurmountable obstacle, one I wasn't sure how to tackle. It stated that I must have a sit down interview with a "Senior Air Force Officer" and have him or her complete the section with an official recommendation. It might not seem that difficult but I was an E5 (sergeant) working on an overseas Army base; the only Air Force officer we had was the head of the staff weather office down the hall from me and he was but a mere Captain so he wouldn't qualify as a "Senior Air Force Officer". I became discouraged. I racked my brain trying to remember if I knew anyone in the Air Force that I could ask to conduct the interview and fill out the form but I kept coming up with nothing. Things were looking bleak for me but, once again, it was Col Carpenter to the rescue.<br />
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We were about to begin another huge joint exercise that day and so I ventured over to the coffee bar on base that everyone - Americans and Italians alike - gathered at several times a day for their caffeine fix, affectionately called the Carb Bar. Col Carpenter happened to be there as usual and upon seeing me asked me how my OTS packet was coming along. I said "It's coming along pretty well sir, I've got most of it done but I'm stuck on the last part where it says I have to have a sit down interview with a senior Air Force officer. Problem is, I don't know any Air Force officers at all so I have no clue what to do..." Carpenter replied "Why didn't you ask me Thibodeau, Erv Lessel is here as the deputy commander for the exercise, I'll hook you up with him." It turns out that Erv Lessel was <i>Brigadier General</i> Erwin Lessel, the 86th Wing Commander at Ramstein Air Base in Germany - as Air Force officers go, it doesn't get much more senior than that! He and Carpenter were good friends and he just happened to be on base for the big exercise. Fortune had once again smiled down upon me.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsfmn6YVHuorS0XtwOKmLPdCSi6Y6dSS5ZXWA5OX1OdHlPdfhiG0M_5tUHN80Cfiojli3ECD20DpyF1AeAsPjlhy9CGFiZJAibNP1Jo4aO-U2jYS4nZpIDZIJYWdKTDhnQWFTj/s1600/070606-F-JZ502-959.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1323" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsfmn6YVHuorS0XtwOKmLPdCSi6Y6dSS5ZXWA5OX1OdHlPdfhiG0M_5tUHN80Cfiojli3ECD20DpyF1AeAsPjlhy9CGFiZJAibNP1Jo4aO-U2jYS4nZpIDZIJYWdKTDhnQWFTj/s320/070606-F-JZ502-959.jpeg" width="264" /></a></div>
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<i>BG Erwin "Erv" Lessel</i></div>
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Sure enough, one day later an Air Force captain came into our building, asked if there was a SGT Thibodeau in there and then said BG Lessel would like to see you. One does not converse with a General Officer very often (if ever) so you can imagine how nervous I was. I went into his office and sat down and BG Lessel turned out to be one of the nicest people ever. He dropped the formalities and talked to me on my level for a good 10-15 minutes, asked me questions about my background, what I'd hoped to achieve, stuff like that. Finally he said "Well listen SGT Thibodeau, Pat Carpenter absolutely speaks the world of you and as far as I'm concerned, that's good enough for me...Capt. Devoe will bring you the completed form later, good luck!". Later that day Capt Devoe did indeed bring the form and my jaw dropped as I read the recommendation that BG Lessel had <i>personally handwritten</i> which included phrases such as "Best candidate I have ever interviewed for OTS", "Must admit immediately" and "Air Force will lose an officer of the highest potential if SGT Thibodeau is not admitted to OTS!". I could not believe what I was reading. It was unfathomable. Only a day earlier it looked as if the senior AF officer interview thing would be my undoing and now it looked like it would be the one thing that would guarantee my acceptance to OTS!<br />
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Unfortunately, as it has so many times in my career, the incompetence of the US Army would completely screw me...<br />
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(To go to Part 4, <a href="http://rikthib.blogspot.com/2020/08/reliving-decision-that-changed-my-life.html">CLICK HERE</a>)<br />
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Rikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17726907210300737277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10361955.post-51328512013642041042020-07-18T01:36:00.000+02:002020-07-26T01:38:30.085+02:00Reliving a Decision That Changed My Life, Part 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
(To read Part 1, <a href="http://rikthib.blogspot.com/2020/07/reliving-decision-that-changed-my-life.html">Click Here</a>)<br />
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Fast forward back to the spring of 2003. I had about a year and a half left on my enlistment and for the first time since I went active duty in 1998, I honestly had no idea what to do. I'd originally enlisted in the Army Reserves out of high school in 1989 to help pay for college. After graduating college in 1993, I bounced around from job to job not knowing what the hell I was doing until around 1995 when one of my best friends, Randy Pouliot came back to visit home. Randy and I were inseparable our senior year of high school. We spent our senior year touring various colleges around New England, some of which we had no interest in but college visits were an excused absence from school so we milked it for all it was worth and drove all over New Hampshire in his mom's blue Ford Escort. I ended up at Franklin Pierce College (since renamed Franklin Pierce University) and Randy settled on University of Massachusetts-Lowell. After one semester, he ran out of money so he went back home and got a shitty job at a local pizza joint. But Randy was smart and resourceful and there was no way he was going to let his circumstances keep him down so he did the best thing he could have done - he joined the Air Force and he got the hell out of Dodge, er, Nashua. He ended up being stationed at Nellis AFB in Las Vegas and in 1995, when I was between jobs, I had a chance to drive cross country with him from Boston to Las Vegas and then spend a couple weeks with him in Sin City and it was a life changing experience for me.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRfoeOf9QkiljQLId9AV4AkwDKksoielv7hkgEt-m14dw7h3X2ejN9bhos6SAj3gh9o0bKLPlnZXxFD0Xa0tFITNR4yePz_hp1LKBCK7mY25Pw4wtfhEVEc5l1w1U1Y2Q86zzP/s1600/leonard%2521.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="482" data-original-width="549" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRfoeOf9QkiljQLId9AV4AkwDKksoielv7hkgEt-m14dw7h3X2ejN9bhos6SAj3gh9o0bKLPlnZXxFD0Xa0tFITNR4yePz_hp1LKBCK7mY25Pw4wtfhEVEc5l1w1U1Y2Q86zzP/s320/leonard%2521.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Randy and I at Binion's Horseshoe in Las Vegas, 1995</i></div>
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For the first time, I got to see other parts of the USA and realized that there was life outside New England that I'd never seen and then I got to experience life as an active duty Air Force person (I was still in the Army Reserves at the time so I had full base privileges where he was). I was so enamored with it all that when I got back home, I called an Air Force Recruiter to try and enlist in the Air Force. The Recruiter told me that I was THEE perfect candidate - young, single, no dependents, college degree - but unfortunately I was in the Army Reserves and they were not allowed to accept prior service (people from other services). I was crushed and gave up on that dream pretty quick because, well...I had no choice.<br />
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Things got pretty bad after that until, in early 1998, I'd had enough and ended up enlisting active duty in the Army, since the Air Force was not an option (although I did try one more time and was told, again, that the Air Force was not accepting prior service). It's funny for me to look back on it now but at the time, I was terrified. I'd gone to college and gotten a job with my own office, all the things I thought I was supposed to do as part of the 'American Dream'. I had all my friends that I'd grown up with, we spent our time watching Red Sox, Patriots, Bruins and Celtics games together and I could not fathom ever leaving my little bubble that I'd grown up in and that I just figured would be my future. But I was miserable and feeling like I was going nowhere - although I did not want to join the Army, they offered me a guaranteed tour in Europe and money for my Masters Degree, and so in spring of 1998, I went active duty Army and went to Germany to start my new life. At the time I figured I'd just do my three year commitment, see as much of Europe as I could, then go back to the US and use my GI Bill money to get my Masters Degree in something I was interested in doing for a career. However, as it so often does, fate had other plans for me...<br />
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I took to Europe right away. I did two years in Germany and then transferred to Italy where I felt like I wanted to stay forever. Life in Italy was like paradise. In Germany I had to live in the barracks with all the other enlisted soldiers and I hated it. But in Italy, I had been promoted to Sergeant and was able to live off base in a beautiful two bedroom apartment with marble floors and a balcony with a captivating view of the Dolomites (Italian Alps). I was happier than I've ever been, I just could not envision life getting any better.<br />
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<i>Sitting on the balcony of my little apartment in Italy sipping vino and enjoying the view. It was truly La Dolce Vita...</i></div>
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During that time I expanded my traveling adventures, took a few trips to various places in Asia, met a girl in Hong Kong and got married. Not long after we got married, we were expecting our first child. Something was happening - I was becoming...<i>domesticated</i>. First the first time since I left for Europe in 1998, I suddenly had to think about the future and come up with a plan. The way I saw it, I had but two options: Either finish my current enlistment, get out and get a job or make the Army my career and stay in until retirement. If I was going to make the Army my career, it certainly was NOT going to be as an enlisted soldier. Nothing against enlisted soldiers, it's just that as a 30 year old buck sergeant, I was well behind the curve and probably wouldn't go much further. Nay, I would have to go to OCS and become an officer if the Army was to be a career for me. Believe it or not, I would have loved to do that and finish my career as an officer but the war in Afghanistan was a couple years old and the war in Iraq was just getting started and I foresaw many miserable deployments ahead of me if I went that route so it was a difficult decision. On the other hand, I had a job at the time working on a system called <i>JOPES </i>and I had made a lot of contacts in the JOPES world who kept telling me I should get out of the Army and get a Department of Defense civilian job because, with two wars going on, JOPES experts were in very high demand. I personally knew people who did the same job as me who were getting out of the military and walking into GS11 and 12 jobs. As a lowly buck sergeant, it was a very attractive option. I was leaning in that direction until one fateful day in the spring of 2003 that would change...well, pretty much <i>everything</i>.<br />
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(To go to Part 3, <a href="http://rikthib.blogspot.com/2020/07/reliving-decision-changed-my-life-part-3.html">CLICK HERE</a>)</div>
Rikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17726907210300737277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10361955.post-18471488389902353582020-07-11T04:22:00.000+02:002020-07-18T11:11:08.983+02:00Reliving a Decision That Changed My Life, Part I<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It was the spring of 2003 and I was at a crossroad. I was a 31 year old buck sergeant in the US Army, assigned to the Southern European Task Force (aka SETAF) in Vicenza, Italy and my future was very much uncertain. I felt I was destined for something better but I couldn't figure out what. I worked in the G3 Operations section which meant I worked with a lot of officers and other high ranking people and because of the job I did, I sort of developed a reputation as a "smart guy" which, if you know me, is pretty far from the truth. Regardless, during my years as an enlisted soldier, it was a pretty common thing for officers I worked for or with to try and convince me to go to Officer Candidate School (OCS), saying I would make a good officer. For my part, I was unconvinced. I actually enjoyed military life and since I had a college degree, it often seemed as if I were pre-ordained to become an officer at some point but I could just never pull the trigger for various reasons. For one thing, going to OCS meant there was a very good chance that I would end up in a combat arms branch such as infantry and I had zero interest in that. Believe me when I tell you that I have the upmost respect and admiration for the infantry and the other combat arms branches...the 'ground pounders' are the backbone and very fabric of the US Military. It's just that I was getting older and I enjoyed working with systems more than I enjoyed being in the field doing 'grunt' stuff. I had been a signal (communications) guy my entire military career, I had no interest in learning how to be a combat arms officer at 30 years old. At SETAF, I worked with tons of infantry officers and I was in awe of some of them, I knew there was no way I could ever measure up to what they were. Indeed, many of the infantry officers I worked with in my SETAF days have gone on to become some of the greatest Army leaders of our generation, some even achieving the rank of one, two or three star generals. They were imposing men with larger-than-life personalities who worked late hours and seldom saw their families and that just was not me. I was the guy who liked to come in, do his job, then go home and enjoy life away from the Army.<br />
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The guy who was in charge of the G3 was an old school, crusty, barrel-chested Colonel named Carpenter. Carpenter was tough as nails, had a voice and manner that just commanded respect but had a personality that forced you to love the guy. His nickname was Mongo and he was fond of carrying a wooden mace around the building with him. My first day at SETAF he passed by me, looked at my uniform and said "Thibodeau...come see me in my office later". I was a bit unnerved, wondering what I could have done wrong but I needn't have worried. It turns out that Col Carpenter was from the great state of Vermont and instantly recognized me as a fellow northern New Englander by my French-Canadian last name. We compared stories of our New England backgrounds and then he dismissed me but it was obvious that he had taken an instant liking to me - as I learned later on, Carpenter had a tremendous fondness for his enlisted soldiers whom he always said were "his guys". I may not have been an infantry guy but Col Carpenter recognized the skills and talent that I did have and that what I offered to the command and its mission was as integral as anyone else on his staff. In the three years that I worked for him, he would often try to persuade me to submit an OCS packet but I always rebuffed him. I remember one conversation we had where he growled at me, "Goddamnit Thibodeau, when are you going to go to OCS? You're spinning your wheels down here as an enlisted guy...". I answered, "Sir, I've considered it but they can't guarantee me a slot in what I want to do, like signal or transportation, there's just too great of a chance that they'll stick me in combat arms and I just don't think I'd make a good combat arms officer..." to which he replied "I think you're selling yourself short Thibodeau, I think you'd make a great combat arms officer". We had similar interactions like this several times during my time there and while I wasn't budging, I honestly appreciated that a leader whom I respected so much believed in me as much as he did.<br />
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<i>"SGT Thibodeau", SETAF, ca. 2002</i></div>
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Sometime in 2001, my division got a new CHOPs (Chief of Operations) named Major Ostlund. Ostlund was a great officer and tremendous leader and I liked him right away. He was completely no-nonsense and one of the hardest chargers I've ever worked for. I'll never forget his brief to all of us shortly after he arrived: "I don't like shitheads". That was it. Short, sweet and to the point, we all knew right away that the new boss didn't fool around. Ostlund was also a true warrior in every sense of the word. In the months that followed 9/11, we all were waiting to see if we would be getting deployed to Afghanistan and Ostlund would ask me "Sgt Thibodeau, if we got the call today, would you be able to have our [deployment plans] ready to get us out of here immediately? Cause my ass has splinters from riding the pine, I need to get in the fight!"<br />
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<i>Colonel (R) William "Bill" Ostlund; as a Major, he was the greatest leader I ever worked for.</i></div>
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I remember one incident in particular that captured Maj Ostlund perfectly; in my job, I often had to deal directly with our higher headquarters, US Army Europe (USAREUR). One day there was a disagreement between Maj Ostlund and the LTC that I was dealing with at USAREUR (for those who don't know military ranks, a LTC is one rank higher than a Major). I was caught in the middle and was in a no-win situation and I made it worse by trying to pacify everybody by taking blame for whatever happened and I apologized to the LTC at USAREUR. This infuriated Ostlund who came barging into my office like a raging bull and he proceeded to go up one side of me and down the other. I of course apologized and explained that I had no idea how to handle that particular situation; he took a deep breath and told me to come to him directly from now on and let him deal with it, rather than trying to fix everything myself. I remember his exact words were "Sgt Thibodeau, there is not a Goddamned LTC in the Army that I am afraid of." And there wasn't. That was Maj Ostlund - extremely tough but also fair and someone who looked out for people who worked for him and wanted to help them succeed...unless you were a shithead. For my part, I was very good at my job (and I obviously wasn't a shithead) so Ostlund seemed to like me well enough. We would obviously never be friends on a personal level but as long as I stayed off his bad side, that was good enough for me. All these years later, I still count him as the greatest leader I've ever worked for and as it turned out, he had more appreciation for me and my potential than I realized but we'll get to that later...<br />
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(To go to Part II, <a href="http://rikthib.blogspot.com/2020/07/reliving-decision-that-changed-my-life_18.html">Click Here</a>)<br />
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Rikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17726907210300737277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10361955.post-51576019331460817872018-07-22T11:23:00.000+02:002018-07-22T11:23:11.161+02:00Here is an Amazing Story.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I don't even know where to begin with this one...</div>
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Those of you who have known us for more than a few years will no doubt recall the LQA audit nightmare we endured back in 2013. During our ordeal, I got to know many other DoD civilians around the world through our closed Facebook group. I would say that the two largest geographical regions were Germany and Korea, which is not surprising as those two countries feature the largest - and largest number of - bases. Whereas many of us had daily contact while we were 'fighting the good fight', most of us have lost touch with each other since the nightmare ended. There are a small handful of people I have remained in contact with however, a couple of them from here in Korea. </div>
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When I was debating whether or not to take the job here, I quickly reached out to two of the Korea guys to get their thoughts, advice, etc. One of them is a Korean-American gentleman who is retired Army and has worked here in Korea for many years both on active duty and as a DoD civilian. He is very protective of his privacy so let's call him "JP". JP gave me a lot of good advice and encouragement while I was debating making the move and once I made the decision to take the job, we made plans to get together once we got settled. I figured it would be great to have a friend here who knew his way around, right? And of course I thought it would be cool to finally meet one of the other LQA victims that I knew only through the FB group since, believe it or not, I've never met a single one. I messaged JP shortly after we arrived, let him know we were in country and we traded cell phone numbers. He said to let him know once we were settled and maybe we could get together. That was about three weeks ago or so and I'm embarrassed to say, I'd completely forgotten all about him with all of the moving, in processing and such. </div>
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As you know, we moved into a beautiful place last week. We are close to the base but there really isn't a lot of stuff near us, we're kind of secluded. There are a couple restaurants nearby (the duck one is the only one we've tried) but the saving grace for us is that right next door there is a tiny little "shopping plaza" that has only two things; a coffee house called "Timeless Coffee" and a little convenient store chain called "GS25" (sort of like a small 7-11). The GS25 has been a Godsend for us, it has drinks, snacks, some takeaway food, ice cream, you name it. Before I bought my little car I would go in and ask them to call me a taxi to take me to the base. They speak no English at all but are so completely nice and friendly. The first day, the boys and I went into the Timeless Coffee place so I could grab and espresso and I loved it right away, very cute little coffee house serving all kinds of coffees and teas as well as pastries, cakes and...beer. A few days ago I stopped in for a beer before going to the GS25 and to my surprise, the Korean woman working there spoke very good English. We chatted a bit and she was so nice, I thought "Well, this could become my new hangout as it's the only walkable place I can go to get a beer".</div>
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Today I took the family to a movie (Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom...little disappointing, I'd give it a 6.1 at best) and Virginia and I had planned to go check out one of the big markets downtown afterwards which is on our local bus line. The kids were fighting and acting up which put me in a bad mood and it was 1,000 degrees so I just was not in the mood to explore the market so I told Virginia that she could just go by herself if she wanted to, I'd drop her off at the bus stop. The bus stop is very close, just up the street from us and it happens to be just after the little plaza with the coffee house and the GS25 mart. I dropped her off at the bus stop, then pulled into the GS25 mart to grab a bottle of soju but it was so hot that I thought I'd enjoy a cold beer first so I popped into Timeless Coffee next door for a Red Horse. The same woman was working so we chatted a bit. I asked her if she was the owner and she said yes. She asked if we had bought a place nearby and I said no, we are renting a place there and pointed to our house. I took my beer and sat at one of the tables, sipped it while I surfed the net on my phone and I thought to myself "Dammit, I meant to ask her how she learned to speak English so well..." Figured I'd ask on my way out when I paid for my beer. After a few minutes, a maroon vehicle pulled into the parking lot and around the side. I didn't really pay it much notice. A Korean guy got out and came into the coffee house. I drank my beer, didn't pay him much mind. After about 5 minutes, he was walking out, turned to me and said "Do you know me?". I looked at him confused and said "Um...I don't think so". He sat down and said "You're new here, right?" I was starting to get a little freaked out that some random Korean guy seemed to know a <i>little</i> too much about me but he told me his name and said he was one of the LQA guys and it finally hit me - <i>he was JP</i>! </div>
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We are friends on FB but he doesn't post pics of himself so I really had no clue what he looked like. But, I post pics all the time so he recognized me in a second. I asked what he was doing there and it turns out that <i>his wife owns the Timeless Coffee house</i>! Seriously, what are the odds?! This is NOT a small community. Pyeontaek's population is roughly half a million people and Camp Humphreys itself is home to almost 50,000 people. And it just so happens that his wife owns the little coffee house right next door. Amazing. </div>
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Anyway, I invited him back to our place where we spent a good couple hours or so talking about everything from the LQA nightmare to living in Korea. I wanted to get a picture of us to post with this story but as I mentioned, he is wicked private so, sorry, no picture. </div>
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Just thought that was an incredible story. </div>
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Rikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17726907210300737277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10361955.post-33986058522817561092018-07-16T13:45:00.000+02:002018-07-16T13:45:41.730+02:00More Thoughts and Impressions of Korea...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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So tomorrow will be exactly three weeks since we arrived in the Land of the Morning Calm. With everything that has happened since we got here, it seems like a lot more than 3 weeks. We are starting to settle in now - we've moved into our house and have started to get to know the area a bit - so I figured I'd share some more random thoughts and such on our new life and surroundings...</div>
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* South Korea is expensive. I probably shouldn't be surprised, considering the fact that the country is completely cut off from the rest of mainland Asia by the evil empire to our north which means that pretty much everything here is imported via sea or air. The quality of life here is very high and that does come at a cost and I'd been warned prior to arriving that everything here is expensive. However, there are some things that just seem disproportionately expensive. For example, we ate at a Chinese restaurant on my birthday and the kids wanted their Coca Cola so I let them order a can each. Halfway through the meal I was looking at the drink menu to see what kind of beer they had and I was shocked to notice the price of a can of Coke - $9.50! And it wasn't even a regular 12 oz can! I wish I'd looked before I let all three kids order one, that's for DAMNED sure. On the other hand, some things that I thought would be pricey are actually cheaper than expected. Taxis are cheaper than I expected. Train tickets are cheap - all 5 of us took the train to Seoul last weekend for roughly 20 bucks. And soju, which I have already developed a love/hate relationship with, is surprisingly cheap (about a buck and a half for a bottle at the convenient stores). The worst part so far is probably the produce at the commissary, which is usually cheap. The selection here is horribly anemic and grossly overpriced, even prohibitively so. Fortunately we have already discovered the cheaper "3/8 market" (so called because it is held on days ending in either a 3 or an 8) downtown that usually yields better and cheaper produce. Unfortunately, restaurants also fall into the pricy category. A good dinner at a Korean BBQ place for all 5 of us could easily approach the $100 mark and could just as easily go way over if you're not careful. Speaking of Korean restaurants...</div>
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<i>Produce at the commissary: over $7 for a small carton of strawberries and over $6 for a small carton of blueberries. No thanks. </i></div>
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* I'm sure I will be proven wrong on this as we spend more time here but for now, Korean cuisine doesn't seem very diverse. It's most famous for the Korean BBQ where they bring all kinds of vegetables and you cook the meat at your table - affectionately called "Beef and Leaf" by Americans - but outside of that I haven't been able to find any other identifiably authentic "Korean" food. I don't even know what else there is, to be honest. There is something called "bibimbap" that we have been dying to try, it's basically a huge bowl of rice with sautèed vegetables, chili paste and either a fried egg or sliced meat on top...but we haven't found a place that serves the real thing yet (full disclosure, we haven't really looked that hard). And it seems like everything ...and I mean EVERYTHING - here is spicy. This is causing problems for Luca and Max as they can't order anything anywhere we go. Chicken nugget kids meal? Chicken is too spicy. Hot dog? Too spicy. I'm getting used to it but it'd be nice to have some normal food that is not spicy. Of course we are at a huge American base so there is also no shortage of American type places selling burgers, wings, Mexican food, etc. but I'm in South Korea, I don't want that crap. Luckily there are plenty of ethnic Asian places such as Indian, Thai, Filipino and such. I'm a huge fan of Asian food so that suits me just fine. </div>
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<i>Spicy noodles with dumplings for lunch today; so spicy it burned my insides for a good hour after I ate it.</i></div>
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* South Korea is hot. Like, <i>wicked</i> hot. And the humidity is absolutely unbelievable. People told me it was bad but I had no idea it would be this bad. The heat and humidity here, I would put it on par with the Philippines believe it or not. It really is that bad. I am sweating constantly, it's very uncomfortable. Italy is hot and humid but nothing like this place. I try putting on sunscreen but I sweat it off within minutes of being outside and being in the sun makes me feel like a frigging vampire it burns so much. From what I've gathered, June through August is like this. Hopefully it will get better after because my God, this weather is absolutely oppressive. </div>
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* Remember when I wrote about how easy everything was here compared to Italy? Well...things got a little more difficult the last week or so. The biggest problem here is the absolute massive size of the base. I honestly can't understate how huge this place is (for my friends in Vicenza, you could probably put at least 10-15 Caserma Ederles inside the base here and that is a <i>very</i> conservative estimate). It's basically a city. Taking a taxi from one end of the base to the other can take at least 15 minutes or more. Taking the free shuttle bus from the PX to the front gate can take more than half and hour. Almost all of the in-processing stuff is done in the "One Stop" building as I mentioned earlier and it's so convenient but anything else you have to do quickly becomes a nightmare. An <i>expensive</i> nightmare. They have three different free shuttle bus lines (red, green and blue) that do different routes but sometimes marrying up the different changes and transfers is often akin to doing a 1,000 piece jigsaw puzzle. If you need to go to the big places - PX, walk in gate, etc., no problem. But anything even slightly off the beaten path, well...you're screwed. Now, the saving grace SHOULD be the taxis. And for us, they were the first week or two. They have a very 'convenient' AAFES Taxi app for your phone where no matter where you are on base you can order a taxi simply by putting in your location and where you are going and they will send a taxi out to get you. The first week or so it worked great but suddenly the last week or so, probably 75% of the time I order a taxi, I get a response back saying "Sorry, no taxis available at the time, please try again later". And let me tell you, when you are standing outside with NO cover or shade in this heat and burning, searing sunlight with no hope of a taxi or bus coming anytime soon...it will make you question your entire existence. Which leads me to my next topic...</div>
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* I bought a car today. Given what I just wrote in the above paragraph, I honestly wish I'd done so last week. I shipped my car before we left Italy but I checked the status earlier today and after almost an entire month, it says my car is STILL AT THE PORT IN GERMANY. Which means it could be another couple months until it gets here. When we got to Italy last year I made the mistake of doing a long term rental car while I waited for my car to arrive and it ended up costing me almost $2,000. The smart thing to do would have been to buy a cheap 'hooptie' (used car) to drive until my car arrived, then just sell it. Well now I'm a year older and a year smarter and so that's what I did. You simply cannot survive here without a set of wheels unless you are a single soldier living on base and even then it's damned near impossible. I met a soldier this past weekend who told me that the policy here is that single soldiers below the rank of E7 are not allowed to own a car. That shocked me. I can't fathom living here without a car. He described in great length how much he hates it here simply because he can't have a car and it takes him forever to get anywhere using the slow and confusing bus system. He said this is the worst duty station he's ever had and he'll never come back (perhaps he'll change his mind once he makes E7 and can have a car?). Anyway, we've spent way too much time being stranded on base in the blazing sun for me to even consider not buying a car. Plus we live off base now which means I have to go next door to the 24 hour convenient store and ask them to call me a taxi to the base, then take another taxi once I get to the base. And then depending on what I have to do, when and where I have to do it, I could end up taking 2 or 3 more taxi rides while I'm on base. There is virtually nothing on base that is walkable distance. It's absolutely insane. </div>
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* There is wonderful news on the vino front (or bad news if you're my loving but nagging wife); the shoppettes here carry an outstanding selection of the same Italian, French and Australian wines I used to buy in Vicenza. There will no doubt be many things I will have to learn to live without here but thankfully, world class vino will not one of them (Sorry honey!). </div>
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<i>The finest Italian vino right here in South Korea. Who could ask for more?</i></div>
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<i>* </i>I absolutely LOVE our house. Location aside, it's possibly the nicest house we've ever lived in. It's completely new - we are the very first people to ever live in it - and so clean and modern, it's like a luxury house. I think my favorite part might be the showers. They're completely open with tons of room and feature two different shower heads to choose from. As much as I loved our apartment in Vicenza, the shower was basically the size of a phone booth and had barely enough room to get in and out of. One of the coolest things is the couch that came with the place. It has a bluetooth hookup with speakers on each side - I connect my computer to it when I watch Netflix and put the sound through the couch which is amazing. Sometimes I connect my computer or phone to it and play YouTube videos as the sound is so loud and clear, it's like having a complete surround sound system. </div>
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<i>Our couch with built in bluetooth speakers. Futuristic!</i></div>
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<i>* </i>Language has probably been the toughest challenge for me so far. I've traveled all over the world and for the most part I've been able to get by with some basic phrases or simply by learning how to ask "Do you speak English?" in the local language. Not so here. I've been completely astonished by how <i>few</i> people here speak no English at all, not even one or two words. In my experience, countries that host American bases usually have at least a a slightly higher than average amount of locals who can speak a bit of the language. And Korea has been one of the the biggest homes of overseas American bases since the 1950's so I really thought I'd have no problem here but I was completely wrong. When I lived in Germany it seemed everybody spoke English. In Italy, less so but still a large enough amount that I had no problem getting by using English and my rudimentary French (which is very similar to Italian) until I started learning the local language. Most other countries I've visited - France, Portugal, Holland, Hong Kong, Thailand, you name it...never had a problem. But I'm really struggling here in South Korea. I will learn some <i>Hangul </i>(Korean) in time but for now it's making things very difficult. One of the hardest things is that they don't use the western alphabet in most things, such as trains, buses, etc. So for example, I'm looking for a bus stop with the name "Gaek sa ri", I can't find it because they only use the Korean name: <span style="background-color: white; color: #212121; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">가에 사 리. </span>It makes things really difficult...</span></div>
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Anyway, there's the most up to date...umm...update. I'm sure I will have much more to add as the days and weeks roll by. But three weeks in, we are still loving it here, having a blast exploring, learning and experiencing all that this wonderful land has to offer. Until next time - <span style="color: #212121; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">땅에 발을 들여 놓고 별을 향해 계속 ...</span></div>
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Rikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17726907210300737277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10361955.post-47008326330622979272018-07-09T11:20:00.000+02:002018-07-09T13:58:19.291+02:00South Korea is the Anti-Italy, Part 2; Housing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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For those don't remember our epic house hunting saga from last year in Italy, let me just say that it was legen...</div>
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<i>wait for it</i>...</div>
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dary.</div>
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I will not recount the entire sordid episode here but suffice to say that in typical Italian fashion, things did <i>not</i> go smoothly. When DoD Civilians relocate overseas we receive what is called TQSA. Basically it pays for a hotel and meals for a fixed amount of time until we find a place to live. In Germany and Italy I was allowed 90 days of TQSA which really should be plenty of time to find a place to live. In Germany it was but in Italy last year, it was not and I ended up having to request an exception to policy and in order to receive an extension because it took so long. In the end we found an amazing place right in the historic center of downtown Vicenza but it was anything but easy. We had originally found, and agreed to rent, a huge villa not far from the base but the landlord jerked us around and after weeks of claiming he was cleaning and fixing everything, it was discovered that he had in fact not done anything and so we told him to "vai a cagare" and kept looking. </div>
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So let me back up and explain how things work, for the uninitiated. DoD Civilians overseas receive something called LQA (Living Quarters Allowance). It basically pays for our rent and utilities. The amount you receive is based on where you are stationed, your civilian rank and how many dependents you have. For me, I'm in the upper third of the government civilian rank and I have 4 dependents which means my LQA rate is, well, pretty high. With this in mind, it SHOULD be easy to find a place to live anywhere, even Italy. However, as you have no doubt learned by now, Italy is not like most places. Let's start with the housing office - they have several properties in the greater Vicenza area on the "for rent" list but almost all of them are well outside the historic downtown. And many of them are, to be honest, subpar. On top of that, the housing office in Vicenza is like many other places in Italy - corrupt. I know for a fact that they have a "secret list" of really nice places that are not shown to the general public because they are being reserved for the highest ranking people. Virginia doesn't drive, she takes the bus everywhere so she wanted to live in the downtown area where she could walk everywhere but of course the housing office had nothing big enough there so we were forced to hire an <i>immobiliare, </i>which is basically an Italian realtor. Immobiliares are great at finding you what you're looking for in a house or apartment but they are expensive. <i>Very</i> expensive. The reason they are expensive is because in Italy (and Germany) the landlord does not pay the realtor fee, the tenant does. It is generally one month's rent + 22% VAT (value added tax), so it's not always financially feasible for some people. We dealt with a few immobiliares who were horrible but were extremely lucky to end up with an absolutely wonderful immobiliare named Francesca who took GREAT care of us. I obviously was not thrilled at having to pay such an exorbitant amount of money but in the end at least she found us just what we were looking for and she worked her ass off to find it. <i>{If anyone would like her contact info, feel free to message me!}</i></div>
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<i>In Italy we lived in a big, beautiful apartment on this very historic street in downtown Vicenza; we paid handsomely for it but it was worth it. </i></div>
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Once you find a place in Italy (or Germany), you contact the civilian personnel office and arrange to have your LQA started. The rent is a fixed amount but the utilities...now <i>here's </i>where it gets difficult. You have to put the utilities (gas, electric, water, etc.) in your name which means you have to go to the various utility companies and arrange to have everything put in your name and turned on which always includes high activation costs and such. Then, for LQA purposes, you have to "estimate" how much you think your utility bills will be each month. Whatever you estimate is what the government will pay you for the first year (in addition to your rent). After 12-15 months, you then have to do an LQA reconciliation where you must submit your utility bills for your first year. They then total up the bills and compare it to what you estimated; if it's more then they refund you the difference, if it's less then you pay the government the difference. As you can imagine, this process is a tremendous PAIN IN THE ASS. Fortunately you only have to do a reconciliation one time, after your first year. They then adjust your LQA payment amount to reflect whatever your utilities cost your first year. Sound confusing? Trust me, you can't even imagine. But, that's Italy.</div>
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Once again, South Korea is the anti-Italy. My buddy Jack told me how great the housing process here is when I got this job and it sounded great but as the saying goes, "I'm from Missouri; you gotta <i>show me</i>". </div>
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And show me, they certainly have! </div>
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Believe it or not, one of the things that almost prevented me from taking this job was that we were still in debt from all of the fees we had to pay in Italy a year ago to move into our place - first months rent, security deposit and immobiliare fee altogether came to almost $10k. When Jack and I first discussed the job, I told him I probably couldn't afford it because of this and he informed me that here in Korea, the landlord pays the realtor fee. Well that certainly changed things. He also told me that most places include all utilities in the rent which means no activation fees, no "estimating" monthly bills and most importantly...<i>no reconciliations!</i> Even better, he said that most places come with cable and internet already installed, so the only thing I would pay out of pocket was our cell phone plans. I really had a hard time believing all this, I thought there must be some kind of catch. Anyway, Jack hooked me up with his realtor and I contacted her before we arrived and introduced myself, let her know what we were hoping to find when we arrived. I pretty much realized during my in-processing brief on the first day that things would not be as difficult as they were in Italy (or Germany) when the personnel guy told us that we are only authorized 60 days of TQSA here instead 90 as in Italy and that he would be shocked if it took any of us more than 30 days to find a house. He also told us that they have an "80-20" situation here; for every 20 people that arrive here they have 80 houses available and that he found exactly what he was looking for - a 3700 sq/ft place on the river - in 2 days. </div>
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Holy crap.</div>
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Anyway, I went up to the housing office afterwards to go through the housing brief crap and was told "No man, you don't have to do anything...whenever your realtor finds you a place, just let us know and we'll have you come sign the lease." Once again, I was floored. Anyway, on our third day here we finally hooked up with Ashley, our realtor to start looking at places. She asked what rank I was, I told her I was a GS12 with 4 dependents so I was pretty sure I got a high amount but I wasn't sure exactly how much and she replied "It's ok, I already know!". And they do. The realtors know exactly how much everyone gets depending on the rank and dependents. It turns out I'm sort of in the VIP category, which means realtors LOVE me because they can put me in an expensive place and get higher commission. So we finished our errands and met her and her boss outside the front gate at 4pm last Friday, they literally whisked us off and showed us place after place after place. They were all nice but the second place she showed us made quite an impression. Virginia and the boys wanted it badly. Me, I was in no hurry. Why should I be? Knowing that I was finally at the top of the housing food chain, why should I settle for something I saw on the first day? Shouldn't I be patient and wait for an absolute palace? Well, maybe. Or maybe, that was just my past experiences in Germany and Italy affecting my judgement, who knows. All I know is that we looked at probably 10 places that first afternoon and the second place was much, much better than all the rest. As well, all three boys were literally begging me to take it - they were terrified that we would lose it if we waited. I told Ashley we loved the second one and might end up taking it in the end but that I'd like to look at some more places on Monday and keep my options open. She said sure and that she was also happy to meet us on Saturday if we wanted. The second place kept nagging at me but I just could not get past the idea that I'd be crazy to settle for the second place we looked at. Back in the hotel room Friday night I was trying to discuss it with Virginia but she kept giving me her usual "Whatever you want to do is fine..." routine. I told her to take me completely out of the picture and tell me what she would do if it was 100% her decision; she came clean and admitted that she would take it in a second. It was big, beautiful, new, modern, close to the base and the markets, shopping, etc. and most of all, had an area for the garden that she so desires. And so I called Ashley and told her that we'd like to look at the place the next morning and then make a decision. </div>
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Of course we ended up taking it. We had the inspection this morning which of course went well as the place is brand new and we are the very first family to ever live in it. When you think about it, it was the second place we looked at which means we found our perfect house in literally 20 minutes. <i>Twenty minutes!</i> And everything Jack told me was spot on - all the utilities are included, I have two parking spaces, free WiFi and cable, AND a free water purifier/dispenser (cold and hot)...no small thing, that! In Italy we paid $75 for a culligan water cooler, then had to pay $8.75 for each 5 liter bottle of water, which we would go through in about 2 days which meant every few days I was going to the shoppette and spending 20-25 bucks on 2-3 huge bottles of water, which I had to lug upstairs one bottle at a time...no more of <i>that</i> shit! I asked Ashley about the filters and she said "No worry, they will come every two months to change for you!". </div>
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<i>*wiping away tears*</i></div>
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<i>I never dreamed places like this existed...</i></div>
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Rikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17726907210300737277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10361955.post-73758252262125129552018-07-04T02:40:00.001+02:002018-07-04T02:40:34.319+02:00South Korea: The Anti-Italy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I love Italy. I mean I <i>love</i> Italy. Everybody knows this. It is quite possibly the most beautiful country in the world. But...it is not always easy to get things done there, even for americans who work or are stationed on one of the bases there as the extreme bureaucracy extends there as well. As much as I enjoyed my time there, the problems I had getting stuff done are well documented. Arriving in Italy and leaving Italy can test even the most patient person as nothing ever seems to run smoothly. Trying to in-process or out-process can be frustrating as everything is spread out and then you try to do something that should be simple but then you find out you can't do it until you go to this other place and take care of that first, and then you go back to take care of the first thing you were trying to do only to find out that you were also supposed to do this other thing as well which nobody told you the first time so now you go back to take care of that and OOPS...now it's lunch and everything is closed for the next three hours so you have to wait and then start the process all over and there's a good chance that at some point in your struggle, you will encounter an Italian telling you "Domani...domani..." (We'll do it tomorrow) which is sort of the unoffical national motto. In fact, there's a popular joke among Americans that the real reason people stationed there don't want to ever leave is because it's <i>just too difficult. </i>Anyone who followed the constant hi-jinx that affected everything I tried to do the past couple months knows a little of what I'm talking about. It is a common occurrence for Americans to apply for jobs in Italy and head there all excited with visions of eating gelato and riding in gondolas in their heads and then after a couple months of trying to get their internet hooked up, dealing with non-existent customer service, people who never stand in line for anything...they start hating Italy and regret ever going there. I was one of the lucky ones who fell in love with the country and the culture despite the constant bureaucracy and difficulty getting things done. After all, I found out during my short stint back in the US that things don't seem to be much better there these days. </div>
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South Korea though, man... </div>
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What a difference! Whoever designed this base deserves an award. You realize right away that things are different here. It all starts with the in-processing; they put just about every single office that you have to in-process in ONE building and called it, appropriately enough, the One-Stop Building. ID cards, vehicle registration, security, passports, housing, etc....all in one building. I've never had such an easy time in-processing in my life. It might be different for soldiers who come here but for me as a civilian, what a difference from Italy and hell, even Germany and the US. There are Koreans working in just about every office and they can't seem to do enough for you, it's the complete opposite of the Italians working on the bases there. The biggest difference? Without a doubt, the housing. I'll be penning (well, typing) a separate blog post about the differences in housing between here and Italy so I won't go into details here. Suffice to say, it is night and day.</div>
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It is no small thing to say that in my first week here, I have not been frustrated once. Not one time, by anything...those who know me are probably shocked by that! </div>
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I've traveled around Asia a decent amount and I've found the culture here to be different than in the west. In countries like Japan and South Korea, they are workaholics and it's normal to go above and beyond in just about everything they do. It's no accident that South Korea currently has the 7th largest economy in the world despite its small size. They are industrious here, they figure out how to get things done and usually in a very efficient way. I realize it's only been about a week but so far I am finding it exceedingly refreshing...</div>
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Rikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17726907210300737277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10361955.post-82483380957458229892018-06-28T14:15:00.002+02:002018-06-28T14:15:11.083+02:00Our First..."Real" Korean Meal?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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We have been craving for the real deal Korean meal where they cook your food on the grill on your table in front of you since even before we got here and tonight, ostensibly, was the night. There is a place close to our hotel that has a good looking menu and a few people recommended it to us so we decided to give it a shot. We actually liked it a lot although I am fully aware that I am basically a tourist so I cannot rightly judge the "local" food, so I'll just go by what I know and what I like. </div>
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It started out innocently enough, with a middle aged Korean women with a plastered on face who spoke decent enough English seating us and then an older Korean guy who spoke really good English helping us with our order. We ordered the boneless beef and some mild chicken (I wanted the spicy but Max wanted chicken so mild it had to be). In short order a tray arrived with all the requisite vegetables and accompanying sauces and such, most of which I have already grown to adore in our modest two day stay here.<br />
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Eventually the meat arrived and the middle aged Korean woman, who seemed really bitter for some reason, threw it on the grill and then announced, as she dismissively slammed the tongs and scissors down in front of me, "In Korea, the MEN do the grill..."<br />
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Well it was go time. I will not attempt to hide the fact that in our family, Virginia is the chef and usually the master of the grill. Her culinary skills are unmatched so why mess with perfection? But the gauntlet had been thrown down and my masculinity was being questioned; I could not let this bitter, Korean woman with the plastic face have the last laugh. I could not and I <i>would</i> not. And so I grabbed those tongs and started grilling the hell out of that meat...of course I whispered to Virginia to tell me when to turn everything but that's neither here nor there - I WAS IN CHARGE OF THE GRILL. Things were going great and I was feeling like king of the castle...until plastic face came over and said "You have to cut the meat so it doesnt overcook" and then proceeded to take the scissors out of my hand and cut up the chicken in front of me. I felt so emasculated. I have so much to learn about this country...<br />
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<i>The ubiquitous vegetables...</i><br />
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<i>The beef goes on the grill</i></div>
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<i>Two of my favorites; spicy bean sprouts (top) and cabbage in some kind of white sauce that plastic face would not give away the ingredients to...</i></div>
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<i>Veggie paradise</i></div>
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<i>Working the grill; the pressure was apparently too much for me.</i></div>
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<i>Virginia taught me how it's supposed to be done; one piece of meat in the big lettuce leaf, then a slice of fresh garlic, a little bit of kimchi, a little cabbage with the white sauce, wrap it up and then shove it down your gob. One of the tastiest things I have EVER had. </i></div>
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<i>The woman is a culinary savant. </i></div>
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<i>The fresh garlic, these are sometimes called "elephant garlic". </i><br />
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<i>I asked the waiter who spoke English to give me the low down on Soju; he said this one is sort of the 'original' soju, and is stronger than the ones being made today. I, of course, had to try it. Stupidly, as it turned out. But I would have the last laugh. (Notice the frog on the label, Dad...)</i></div>
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<i>Virginia was just adventurous enough to try one shot and then was done, leaving me to finish the bottle. It was a struggle and it took me a good 30-40 minutes but goddamnit I did it. Challenge accepted; CHALLENGE DEFEATED. </i> </div>
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<i>The offending bottle of original soju. MUCH stronger than the sweet, flavored ones that most Americans know here. </i></div>
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<i>Promised the kids an ice cream on the way home so we stopped at the 24 hour mini mart and lo and behold...look what I found! My friends in Italy will be happy to know that it tastes just as shitty here as it does in Italy. Still, old habits die hard...</i></div>
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<i>Virginia managed to find a green tea ice cream bar. Because that's what she does. </i></div>
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<b>Good night from South Korea!</b></div>
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Rikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17726907210300737277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10361955.post-14933442629107552492018-06-27T16:07:00.000+02:002018-06-27T16:42:49.462+02:00South Korea; First Impressions...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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So here we are in the "Land of the Morning Calm"; South Korea. Everyone keeps asking me what my first impressions are, how do I like it? It's only been one day but so far I can answer that easily: I love it. </div>
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Let me rephrase that...</div>
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I LLLLLLLLLLLLLLOVE IT!</div>
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It did not start out great however. We arrived into Incheon Airport and to my pleasant surprise it was probably the quickest and easiest immigration/baggage claim/customs experience I've ever had. Though I may change my thinking in time, so far the Koreans seem to be very efficient (<i>especially</i> compared to the Italians!). Anyway, we found the USO and waited a half an hour for the shuttle bus to Camp Humphreys. When it arrived we went outside to board and it. was. POURING. We're talking monsoon level wind and rain. Normally not a problem but when you're trying to herd three kids and five large bags, it just plain sucks. I was eagerly anticipating the drive to Humphreys so I could survey my new surroundings but the wind and rain were so pervasive that visibility was basically non existent. Virginia and the kids slept the whole way, as is their custom. We finally pulled into Humphreys and drove what seemed like forever until we got to the drop off spot and they announced that people PCSing should disembark there. I did so and after some confusion, the Korean soldier called the taxi for us. Now, with all our bags, we needed either a big van or else two taxis to carry everything. He said they had no van available but that they would send two taxis. We went back downstairs to wait under the awning and within 5 minutes, two taxis came into the parking lot, one right after the other. I started loading the bags into the first one and realized right away that we could have a problem; the trunk could only hold one big bag. Apparently in Korea the cars (or maybe just taxis) carry some kind of fire suppression thing in their trunk which takes like half the space. I actually thought it was a nitrus oxide cannister to be honest. Anyway, I figured we would just put most of the bags in the back seat of one taxi and we would ride in the other. But as I started loading the bags in the other taxi, a young soldier came out and said that the second taxi was his, that he had called it. I told him no, we ordered two taxis and they came in together. He insisted it was his and showed Virginia something on his phone saying "See, look at the number, this is my taxi". We were getting soaked and I was getting annoyed so I just said fine and asked our driver to order another taxi, which showed up in less than 5 minutes. I found out later that you can order a taxi online here on base and when they send it they give you the taxi number that is coming so you know which one is yours. So it was indeed his taxi. </div>
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<i>{Now, let's take a time out here so I can play crusty old curmudgeon and complain about the 'younger' generation; If I was that soldier and saw a guy and his wife with three kids and all those bags struggling to do everything in the pouring rain getting soaked...I'm sorry but I would have said "no problem sir, just take this taxi and I'll order another one, I don't mind waiting an extra 5 minutes." I guess some of the younger generation never learned proper manners. After all, "selfless service" is one of the 7 Army Values. But I digress...}</i></div>
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Anyway, we finally arrived at the hotel and I checked in which was a bit difficult as the owner and his wife barely spoke a word of English. Eventually we got through it and then the dark cloud that followed me for the last month or so in Italy made a triumphant reappearance; my government travel card got declined. Now, the GTC lady in Vicenza upped my limit to 10k so I thought I would have enough but nope. I had to pay the first month up front so I thought maybe it was too much so he tried a smaller amount. Still declined. He tried an even smaller amount. Declined again. Finally he tried to charge one night only. You guessed it - declined. So that tells me that there was something else wrong with my card. Finally I told him to use my personal credit card - AGAIN - and just charge 5 nights and then once I got my government card un-assed this week he can cancel the original transaction and use the GTC. Of course my personal card worked just fine, which was surprising because with the amount of stuff I've had to put on it the past week it's got to be pretty much maxed out by now [Insert angry face emoji here]. So we go up to the room and the first thing the lady says is that we have to take off our shoes at the door. Now I'm a huge Seinfeld fanatic and I love the epsisode where George's dad had an affair with a Korean woman years ago but it didn't work because he refused to take off his shoes ("I had a potential foot odor problem") and her father would not have it. I thought it was funny before but after one day here I have realized that taking off your shoes is really a major deal here. I mean REALLY a major deal. Thank God I don't have a potential foot odor problem...</div>
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People in Korea are small. And it shows in many things here. Our hotel is a perfect example. We were able to get a "suite" with a kitchenette which I'm told is pretty rare here but it literally is the size of a double room in most countries I've been to. The bathroom is small and, well, how do I describe the shower? Let's see...picture your bathroom at home...now imagine a shower head in the corner; that's pretty much our shower. No shower curtain or stall. Just take a shower and the water goes all over everything in the bathroom. Crazy. </div>
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<i>This will take some getting used to...</i></div>
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It was late and I was jet lagged and grumpy and so I was, shall we say, not enamored with our room. I had flashbacks of our return to Italy last year and the loooong 4 months stuck in a hotel room. We asked if there was a place to eat and the lady said everything was closed even though it was not yet 10pm, but there was a 24 hour minimart around the corner. Things were not going well thus far. Our hotel is in a scummy looking alley so my initial impression of Pyeontaek was not a positive one; I started wondering if I'd somehow managed to move us to the Korean version of Scumter. We went and to our surprise there was also a 24 hour Korean eatery next door to the minimart so we went there instead. Of course we had to take our shoes off again and the lady spoke no English so we muddled through and eventually ordered something to effect of "meat on a bone". This being Korea, she prepared a bunch of fresh vegetables and then put a bunch of small bowls filled with various things on our table. Then she came with a huge dish of pork on the bone standing tall in a soup of various vegetables. She then put it on the stove burner on our table and lit it, then took a bunch of the mushrooms and vegetables from various bowls and put them in the pot to cook around the huge bone in the middle. The meat on the bone was ok but I'll be honest, the real star of the meal was the veggies. In all my years, I've never had kimchi before because spicy cabbage never appealed to me but there it was sitting in front of me so I figured when in rome, err, Pyeongtaek...so I tried it and WOW, it was so delicious! I am a kimchi fan for sure now. </div>
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<i>Luca and Xavier were a bit unsure...</i></div>
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<i>But then the meat came and they were all in.</i></div>
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<i>Kimchi; never thought I would like it so much but it's everything they told me it would be.</i></div>
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I went to bed feeling a little disappointed last night, hoping things would get better. There's a popular saying that "Tomorrow is another day" and that was certainly true in my case. </div>
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I awoke this morning still suffering from jet lag and the time difference but I had to be at the CPAC to start in-processing at 0900 so I dutifully took a shower and got ready to go. The hotel is a mere 7 minute walk to the walk-in gate but the base is so completely massive that you pretty much have to take an on-base taxi everywhere. As I sat through the in-processing brief and then spent quite a bit of time afterwards talking with the CPAC (personnel) reps, I quickly realized that things are different here. Everybody and everything is very laid back, things run smoothly and easily (so far anyway). It's almost like the anti-Italy. The guy I'm dealing with spent time in Germany and Italy and he says I will be amazed at how much easier things are to get done here. So far he has been spot on. </div>
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As I departed the hotel this morning and turned on to the main street, the smell hit me. Anyone who has traveled in Asia knows that smell. It's the smell of working class people cooking food for the common man on all the back streets and alleys and it permeates the very air you breathe as you walk around and it's nothing short of intoxicating. The Pyeongtaek I found this morning as I walked to the base was vastly different than the one I saw - or thought I saw - last night. It was night and day (literally). For a moment, I felt like I was back in Hong Kong or Manila and I felt, for lack of a better word, <i>reborn</i>. This is exactly why I took this job and moved us here after only a year in our beloved Italy. I know it's only been one day but for now I am 100% certain that I made the right choice. I'm so completely anxious and excited to see what the next 3-4 years hold for us, I wish I could experience it all right now. After work we walked around town and it is just as I hoped it would be. We had dinner with a friend of mine who I used to work with in Scumter (here on a one year unaccompanied tour) at an Indian restaurant that was a thousand times better than our favorite place back in Vicenza and cheaper too. Afterwards he bought me my first ever bottle of soju which I've longed to try after years and years of hearing countless stories about it from friends who have been stationed here. </div>
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We are going to love it here. </div>
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Rikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17726907210300737277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10361955.post-2199052958754692442018-06-24T22:48:00.002+02:002018-06-25T06:24:29.065+02:00Italy 2000-2018, In Pictures...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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With us leaving Italy again, possibly for the last time, I thought I would write all kinds of flowery prose about our time here, try to capture the essence of our 15 years here in words and such...but in the end, I figured pictures would tell the story much better than my addled brain ever could. And so I present my/our life in Italy 2000-2018...</div>
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<i>Summer of 2000. Shortly after arriving in Italy I was whisked off to PLDC in order to get promoted to Sergeant. Here's me at my graduation.</i></div>
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<i>Upon graduating from PLDC I was immediately promoted to Sergeant.</i></div>
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<i>Me and Mike Rayfield, the first good friend I made here in Italy. I was so lucky to meet Mike as he introduced me to so many places in the area and things to do. He was a Godsend.</i></div>
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<i>My first ever trip to Venice, September 2000. Little did I know at the time what a huge impact Venice would have on my life in the years to come.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5VOND8MM1KbVSDcfB0TzhQ-eQIv485hCAsWJUF3zRdwFdWzLIK-kKxivx10XwfqBB06eSc8Jz6x-H9BGVknocjNrvzullaMtcmmJpXuq2f8PxI8wKel_mfZIPoKhklY4YrQXd/s1600/friendsmarkjane.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5VOND8MM1KbVSDcfB0TzhQ-eQIv485hCAsWJUF3zRdwFdWzLIK-kKxivx10XwfqBB06eSc8Jz6x-H9BGVknocjNrvzullaMtcmmJpXuq2f8PxI8wKel_mfZIPoKhklY4YrQXd/s320/friendsmarkjane.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Some of the other early friends I made here, Mark and Jane Santaw. This was taken in 2000, before they got married. Mark and Jane and their boys are still some of our closest friends, they live in DC theses days. </i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsBYQMxiAf-t-wChFEwOeUa534gzzCflCmTTSS1543hhOk0CqDksws71hCiek1MYftHqAP-iWgM6UQN8t2jpZsNFUZc19U3-rodSPchbT6BFoskGLuLYsve2nMDt_Wqz2wWv6O/s1600/jopesshop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsBYQMxiAf-t-wChFEwOeUa534gzzCflCmTTSS1543hhOk0CqDksws71hCiek1MYftHqAP-iWgM6UQN8t2jpZsNFUZc19U3-rodSPchbT6BFoskGLuLYsve2nMDt_Wqz2wWv6O/s320/jopesshop.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Me in the office, somewhere around 2001. This is where I first learned how to do JOPES, the career field that I've worked in since then and that I am going back to in Korea.</i></div>
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<i>Cinque Terra, September 2001. Mark and Jane and my friend John Pitt took me my first time and I was instantly smitten. Cinque Terra was different back then, before all the Rick Steves zombies discovered it. The trails were open and free. Paradise. </i></div>
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<i>Me and my good friend John Pitt. He introduced me to many facets of Italian life and culture and I'm forever grateful to him for that. </i></div>
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<i>Cliff Jumping in Arsiero, about an hour north of Vicenza. At some points, the Astico river is barely 5 feet wide but it's so deep that it's popular with scuba divers. A popular pastime is to jump off the high cliffs on either side. </i></div>
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<i>The so called "Bridge of Death" in Arsiero. We considered it a test of manhood to jump off the bridge and more than one person climbed over the rail, looked down and climbed back over out of fear. I myself made the jump several times, it was exhilarating.</i></div>
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<i>My first foray to the beautiful and historic city of Florence, 2001. </i></div>
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<i>Re-enlisting in the summer of 2002. Doing so kept me in Italy so it was a no-brainer.</i></div>
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<i>Colosseum in Rome, January 2003</i></div>
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<i>Virginia and my first trip to Venice together, spring 2003. The first of many...</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjInJ6eViUd7J6gX1SXI49sql4DeibLBsQEsFVsw62I732NbAT-pDhuMLiIlZaBizBdzWi_ycxHVfE8ugwbOtZUJxJjmx0HVmNpMmDOvNJhvkmSpDO3MoNidMGBh5TTuVl4i2-g/s1600/brenta2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="511" data-original-width="758" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjInJ6eViUd7J6gX1SXI49sql4DeibLBsQEsFVsw62I732NbAT-pDhuMLiIlZaBizBdzWi_ycxHVfE8ugwbOtZUJxJjmx0HVmNpMmDOvNJhvkmSpDO3MoNidMGBh5TTuVl4i2-g/s320/brenta2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Swimming in the frigid waters of the Brenta River in Bassano del Grappa, 2003.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUm086RSwNzmVo2UvR2JS4CPIIvZBZ5z79FAh-WYTSM21Tfi5OTQ_XwSfB0qTs7H4YCYgFEyvektYrN5GH2Okgk6oq3G7P4FNjGaDAkE3SWIOZoU7GS_6boDWzbA-v-vULlkmd/s1600/vernazza1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="505" data-original-width="758" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUm086RSwNzmVo2UvR2JS4CPIIvZBZ5z79FAh-WYTSM21Tfi5OTQ_XwSfB0qTs7H4YCYgFEyvektYrN5GH2Okgk6oq3G7P4FNjGaDAkE3SWIOZoU7GS_6boDWzbA-v-vULlkmd/s320/vernazza1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Hiking to Vernazza, Cinque Terra, 2003</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhIRscT4m5-I3cv5vPjWOE48q0Kps75gtvF7vQeilkrNKfs_u71aFEIqGHDnJUzx3YF3rwcZnApSmQkNaxOYUZD-cqjaYRogenUff-iBp-tmXYSNRLsRZFHHrkG65ZwWi66BKh/s1600/vernazza3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="706" data-original-width="492" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhIRscT4m5-I3cv5vPjWOE48q0Kps75gtvF7vQeilkrNKfs_u71aFEIqGHDnJUzx3YF3rwcZnApSmQkNaxOYUZD-cqjaYRogenUff-iBp-tmXYSNRLsRZFHHrkG65ZwWi66BKh/s320/vernazza3.jpg" width="223" /></a></div>
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<i>Vernazza, Cinque Terra, 2003</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1cVbOj-BvNyivJSIjLBaZJi-KpNjD4rdMIetkg-LQB7BuoWvPK_HkhGu67-l5QbW8b1JFavktZSrOuKl_pl9hkDpMQtSKkgjnSCC4d57CPzmJErGKTUr5CUftt-BWPPQyiCBy/s1600/devilsforest2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1cVbOj-BvNyivJSIjLBaZJi-KpNjD4rdMIetkg-LQB7BuoWvPK_HkhGu67-l5QbW8b1JFavktZSrOuKl_pl9hkDpMQtSKkgjnSCC4d57CPzmJErGKTUr5CUftt-BWPPQyiCBy/s320/devilsforest2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Me and Steve-O at the Devil's Forest Pub, Venice 2003</i></div>
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<i>Virginia, 5 months pregnant, getting ready for our friend's wedding</i></div>
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<i>Preparing for the arrival of the X Man, 2003</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM1L1Yw-5piO7Bm_4kEFW82bt9VqseYnr_RFo0diaKlN53hkFeaRSe3hLZM7NDXTq9RemXZDIxxe2afw_8e89ipUXaeoHC5SerKi9c2xsZMqxNmlghs5M6vzPNoBUnV9c8M8TS/s1600/xavierbirthannoucement.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM1L1Yw-5piO7Bm_4kEFW82bt9VqseYnr_RFo0diaKlN53hkFeaRSe3hLZM7NDXTq9RemXZDIxxe2afw_8e89ipUXaeoHC5SerKi9c2xsZMqxNmlghs5M6vzPNoBUnV9c8M8TS/s320/xavierbirthannoucement.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>The X Man has arrived, December 2003</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYDjByRYkPL5wzR5voZ24QuIGr69L70cH87OCiQiJ4-Al1W85LDBoGZS463Rh2-cEL_Nda0fgLxe17xBlGWFTvcwUZhrpF4xCo5m-xUtmAbsEK8mDqMsPJr0SSIqgMhxxDFs3b/s1600/soave10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYDjByRYkPL5wzR5voZ24QuIGr69L70cH87OCiQiJ4-Al1W85LDBoGZS463Rh2-cEL_Nda0fgLxe17xBlGWFTvcwUZhrpF4xCo5m-xUtmAbsEK8mDqMsPJr0SSIqgMhxxDFs3b/s320/soave10.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>The beautiful walled city and castle of Soave, birthplace of the X Man.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgphBInlTsd1Hd0UkdkcpUxW_qL7WssUEFXyjvYwahEeMpsld4HqBRJfYnsrJa_qh9cOrW0n-gMkhowSvgyghyLnHQaiJGdxywCzj6a1nzLROs7u2l-eDYHZj4t_5d3FZzGZhkN/s1600/xmanagnesemonica.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgphBInlTsd1Hd0UkdkcpUxW_qL7WssUEFXyjvYwahEeMpsld4HqBRJfYnsrJa_qh9cOrW0n-gMkhowSvgyghyLnHQaiJGdxywCzj6a1nzLROs7u2l-eDYHZj4t_5d3FZzGZhkN/s320/xmanagnesemonica.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Adele, me, Agnese and Monica with a baby Xavier</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2FnyoqJvddSzo7hwnfpLrQ93jMcNACPaRM0OaG2MF7EDr0tSj6PwAmi8bsYxeZvDdtkiPY-nMuoIfOUCnzzu9KCTjX-kmvNNsIPGKYRekmf9xpwhxqxcjo_CkKu-mSzzUN7kT/s1600/rikxman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2FnyoqJvddSzo7hwnfpLrQ93jMcNACPaRM0OaG2MF7EDr0tSj6PwAmi8bsYxeZvDdtkiPY-nMuoIfOUCnzzu9KCTjX-kmvNNsIPGKYRekmf9xpwhxqxcjo_CkKu-mSzzUN7kT/s320/rikxman.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Holding my first born at our old apartment in Caldogno. So many great memories in that place. </i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-pDcGgDQfmqklmxYSyYDpTNhrvB2J2C4f2m11C6vLdt5bAywHCPox3SC08s33XACoZqVGOvl9VRuf8sLSBiHgj3C9c8YrDUZZ9yiYlBI_teZqHvNUAgN1BlOmvrMdwtZgQsWF/s1600/xmangiampiagnese.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-pDcGgDQfmqklmxYSyYDpTNhrvB2J2C4f2m11C6vLdt5bAywHCPox3SC08s33XACoZqVGOvl9VRuf8sLSBiHgj3C9c8YrDUZZ9yiYlBI_teZqHvNUAgN1BlOmvrMdwtZgQsWF/s320/xmangiampiagnese.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Giampi and Angese with Xavier. They practically adopted him as their own the day he was born. It's a bond that will never be broken. </i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUocHGxD2yrhnLMwkyXjSaSQ_FqyKSpyj9vmmnXhFkTfSR1Q6Ebsf2GMFsAv-JbWX_0ymM2Rjn4WGJPknjzyLkMxXy434Mj5S7ux6bZ-mqfC2jwiDLU69RQcTyvmRUFOXwee1j/s1600/xmanarsiero.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUocHGxD2yrhnLMwkyXjSaSQ_FqyKSpyj9vmmnXhFkTfSR1Q6Ebsf2GMFsAv-JbWX_0ymM2Rjn4WGJPknjzyLkMxXy434Mj5S7ux6bZ-mqfC2jwiDLU69RQcTyvmRUFOXwee1j/s320/xmanarsiero.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Virginia, me and Xavier at Arsiero, summer of 2004</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3SfM5XPJJ47hN2IcUQcECAxY_2I85GfbhjmM1unRjvQt6V3I_LFkX36lzab8Ljz3s4WxB_XdzbU69UZ1PDoBxXiQfNnxZqofPph3pB9yS5PgAQ2LVAuauX38gfUgL4_rmm06a/s1600/grammyxavier.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3SfM5XPJJ47hN2IcUQcECAxY_2I85GfbhjmM1unRjvQt6V3I_LFkX36lzab8Ljz3s4WxB_XdzbU69UZ1PDoBxXiQfNnxZqofPph3pB9yS5PgAQ2LVAuauX38gfUgL4_rmm06a/s320/grammyxavier.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Grammy meets Xavier for the first time, spring of 2004</i></div>
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<i>Visit from Grammy and Tracy in the spring of 2004 with her kids Brianna and Logan</i></div>
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<i>Virginia and Brianna in Venice, spring 2004</i></div>
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<i>Memorial Day ceremony at the American cemetery in Florence, 2004. </i></div>
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<i>With our good friend Monica and her baby Maristella, 2004. Monica and her husband own the restaurant "Il Castello" in Vernazza.</i></div>
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<i>Xavier trying to steal my beer, Innsbruck, Austria, 2004</i></div>
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<i>Italy-Sweden, European Championships in Porto, Portugal, 2004</i></div>
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<i>Daddy and Xavier on our 'laptops', early 2005</i></div>
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<i>Pub crawl in Venice, May 2005</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitIq7-jvhk2scZz_du5jleI9mibU4RVvd9J5KkTVoCmlWuuqsVSqoMA5uSyQIVnHqjquwnT-KCA_eIpjpaS3nda4btDbF8KkzigjvbeHHO8DV1tIw_Yuvb5snjwWJNmnmMYV32/s1600/ctfamily.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitIq7-jvhk2scZz_du5jleI9mibU4RVvd9J5KkTVoCmlWuuqsVSqoMA5uSyQIVnHqjquwnT-KCA_eIpjpaS3nda4btDbF8KkzigjvbeHHO8DV1tIw_Yuvb5snjwWJNmnmMYV32/s320/ctfamily.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<i>Hiking Cinque Terra, summer 2005</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOBi2mUS4eczyOFUa-ucA33IEY6_xiWoIhhcbXRGDc8Miv5fOzal3VKRAVnFMGoKcad3lyGRxRYQhe7eojVvtwnIPPoSNsIQnNHxe3JjPKlLW-wGjr2tBwuhy3QzmH2-vutd_F/s1600/rikflyfishing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOBi2mUS4eczyOFUa-ucA33IEY6_xiWoIhhcbXRGDc8Miv5fOzal3VKRAVnFMGoKcad3lyGRxRYQhe7eojVvtwnIPPoSNsIQnNHxe3JjPKlLW-wGjr2tBwuhy3QzmH2-vutd_F/s200/rikflyfishing.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPHdZkRb9DnhUqFVubM5IviV6wmO8m5avLjauH4H4LLtpDoWuX1USGG_qs8JQa_g4re2-D4t-10jSVba5rikcnCDKdkpXvEQgxkT0rx4Up7FfeYZgZEwo5BDo-m2lEpMtADcCd/s1600/flyfishingbrenta.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPHdZkRb9DnhUqFVubM5IviV6wmO8m5avLjauH4H4LLtpDoWuX1USGG_qs8JQa_g4re2-D4t-10jSVba5rikcnCDKdkpXvEQgxkT0rx4Up7FfeYZgZEwo5BDo-m2lEpMtADcCd/s200/flyfishingbrenta.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<i>Fly Fishing the Brenta River, summer 2005</i></div>
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<i>Me and my Italian fishing buddy, Fausto. </i></div>
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<i>Virginia's first Thanksgiving meal, with Giampi and Agnese, 2005</i></div>
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<i>Weekend in Milan, on top of the Duomo, 2005</i></div>
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<i>Caldogno, 2005</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMaRaT-7R2TeB1oEiURfiT4nksSfF1qxhQ2yRZhCUJ28UWnpRTnghWpSJpkJDSkxW85iM6y6AXU0WnL_kfImnixWwi0ziKczj77FAtVI_7S98LV2AIjBYRy76vJ2VhK2kaZBw0/s1600/riktrout.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="604" data-original-width="453" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMaRaT-7R2TeB1oEiURfiT4nksSfF1qxhQ2yRZhCUJ28UWnpRTnghWpSJpkJDSkxW85iM6y6AXU0WnL_kfImnixWwi0ziKczj77FAtVI_7S98LV2AIjBYRy76vJ2VhK2kaZBw0/s320/riktrout.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<i>Monster trout taken on my fly rod in Bassano del Grappa, 2005</i></div>
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<i>Me and Danny Arrowood, St Patricks Day in Venice, 2005</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA7ey6dWQJrbzVw5wRxaaDXMzTWbBqbn9I9T_DyA9ggB-_tzzQhxinepjbE9RiC3YnG5yqSWQP1XHvQ6ovUA_TjSXVE6Yld8AuvNrwRp7Be1u9L8r8yYGuETK3OMkTPTs5EUUA/s1600/rikagneseshrimp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA7ey6dWQJrbzVw5wRxaaDXMzTWbBqbn9I9T_DyA9ggB-_tzzQhxinepjbE9RiC3YnG5yqSWQP1XHvQ6ovUA_TjSXVE6Yld8AuvNrwRp7Be1u9L8r8yYGuETK3OMkTPTs5EUUA/s320/rikagneseshrimp.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Dinner upstairs with Giampi and Agnese, Agnese's pasta with shrimp</i></div>
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<i>With my Masshole buddy Kevin "Elvis" Boucher. Everyone who has ever been to Vicenza knows Kevin, he is a legend here and he's from Sutton, Mass., just outside of Worcester</i></div>
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<i>Returning to Italy after 2 years in Heidelberg, Germany, it was time for Xavier to start school at the Italian scuola materna (Kindergarten). Giampi insisted on bringing him on his first day, he was so incredibly proud.</i></div>
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<i>Xavier's first teacher, Beatrice</i></div>
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<i>Xavier's first best friend, Daniele. They are still best friends to this day and I have a feeling they always will be.</i></div>
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<i>Me and Xavier at the Devils Forest Pub in Venice</i></div>
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<i>On our terrace in Caldogno, 2009</i></div>
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<i>Me and dad in Venice, 2009</i></div>
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<i>Cinque Terra, 2010</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwgRsHpZcZ2N7LjQxVbNMF8-H4WC17n1nS8-_PK4LHAqU0RAtYKMEJMABzKveT6DV_au1VBbF69how7nxp_2X3TFC_h1K0fDtOBfdS3_ZlfECzg0eo4G3_Wc2GM-NeOzMH9XdD/s1600/riklucasleep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwgRsHpZcZ2N7LjQxVbNMF8-H4WC17n1nS8-_PK4LHAqU0RAtYKMEJMABzKveT6DV_au1VBbF69how7nxp_2X3TFC_h1K0fDtOBfdS3_ZlfECzg0eo4G3_Wc2GM-NeOzMH9XdD/s320/riklucasleep.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Daddy and Luca, asleep on the couch</i></div>
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<i>Xavier trudging to school</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA3n1cLnAlP8_ammJrYHyqJcSO2T5H4pFe3swfzozRGVHRWcKyRhKdD60g_pzo1ffRMBIDVIJZSNgFbYWSJoGesob56STfLYSg3Vjk7CRSw__8p8sveMo3jxeGYm5geAon9_Zv/s1600/riklucafoosball.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA3n1cLnAlP8_ammJrYHyqJcSO2T5H4pFe3swfzozRGVHRWcKyRhKdD60g_pzo1ffRMBIDVIJZSNgFbYWSJoGesob56STfLYSg3Vjk7CRSw__8p8sveMo3jxeGYm5geAon9_Zv/s320/riklucafoosball.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Playing foosball with Luca after work at the Enal Bar in Caldogno</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihM6b3nfDQjthAtMhd13zs2EkZWrbwqzZkRqGBr4BhYCnXHXRJQCE2MTNqvnPia8wdIuS-nAqPnHwWgxfpqUh-BsJTDoeIYb2upR58hJIe6aMVrbnXWXTEfdsQ8VI8cwPLsXBq/s1600/boysbruschetta.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihM6b3nfDQjthAtMhd13zs2EkZWrbwqzZkRqGBr4BhYCnXHXRJQCE2MTNqvnPia8wdIuS-nAqPnHwWgxfpqUh-BsJTDoeIYb2upR58hJIe6aMVrbnXWXTEfdsQ8VI8cwPLsXBq/s320/boysbruschetta.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Making bruschetta</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnIs-wcWvSwcFxL-asQiyvdtqE2-cvcxM2UmUUqrvnLUwoKO9MN-8V01Iy3iMicQECl3PRUlmpsjYd_t6myEAkoRBEHX0KkKwBIUc9UNOmoRje5U-geDUxxAvAEAmFMg6bYqGF/s1600/dayoutinvicenza.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="960" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnIs-wcWvSwcFxL-asQiyvdtqE2-cvcxM2UmUUqrvnLUwoKO9MN-8V01Iy3iMicQECl3PRUlmpsjYd_t6myEAkoRBEHX0KkKwBIUc9UNOmoRje5U-geDUxxAvAEAmFMg6bYqGF/s320/dayoutinvicenza.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Day out in Vicenza, 2012</i></div>
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<i>Welcoming Maximus Amadeus Thibodeau, December 2012</i></div>
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<i>Luca and Xavier welcoming their new brother</i></div>
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<i>Luca's first trout, San Pietro in Gu, 2013</i></div>
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<i>Fulfilling a lifelong dream; taking Luca and Xavier to see our favorite team, AC Milan at the San Siro in Milan, April 2014. We would depart Italy only days later. </i></div>
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<i>Returning to Italy and visiting Giampi and Agnese, 2017</i></div>
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<i>Reuniting with Mauro upon our return in 2017</i></div>
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<i>Max at his first ever soccer match. He would dominate his league, averaging 10 goals per game. He is a natural.</i></div>
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<i>Max with HIS first ever trout, San Pietro in Gu, 2017</i></div>
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<i>Me and the kids having a snack at Tazza d'Oro in downtown Vicenza, spring 2018</i></div>
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<i>Vacation on Lago di Garda (Lake Garda), Memorial Day 2018</i></div>
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<i>Family hike up Mt. Berico, Vicenza. </i></div>
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<i><b>Thus ends our adventures in Italy. Looking forward to making new memories in South Korea!</b></i></div>
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Rikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17726907210300737277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10361955.post-45151354898688792022018-05-15T17:46:00.000+02:002018-05-15T17:46:21.333+02:00South Korea; 14 Years in the Making, Part V (The Final Part)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Returning to Italy was, as you would imagine, wonderful. It truly felt like we were coming home after a near three year absence. We had plans of finding a place back in Caldogno since it was the town we’d always lived in and so many people around town were practically family to us. I never fathomed living anywhere else however fate always has a way of intervening. We looked at several places in our old town but couldn’t find anything that matched what we wanted or needed. Eventually Virginia announced that she wanted to live downtown, in “Centro”, the historic center of Vicenza. Her reasoning was simple; she does not drive and so she spends a lot of time taking the bus to places she needs to go, usually either downtown or to the base. She absolutely loves Centro because they have a lot of outdoor markets and such, similar to what she grew up with in the Philippines and Hong Kong. I was inclined to agree with her as I prefer living somewhere where I have everything I need all within walking distance. If we could not find a place in Caldogno, then Centro it was. We had a brief flirtation with a huge villa in a town called Torri that we had agreed to rent but it fell through when the landlord jerked us around and I told him to go pound sand which worked out perfectly for us. </div>
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In the end we did end up finding a place right in one of the most historical piazzas in Vicenza, Piazza San Lorenzo. Our windows look right out at the beautiful San Lorenzo church, the oldest Franciscan church in the world (built 1280-1300). Living in Centro turned out to be everything we hoped it would be. I’ve grown fond of exploring the side streets and back alleys of the city which contain some amazing architecture and sights. Virginia spends a lot of her time visiting the shops and stores around the main piazza and buys all our fresh fish, fruits and vegetables at the huge outdoor market that takes over Centro every Thursday. The kids are content to sample every gelateria they can find. They absolutely love it here; Xavier’s best friend from Caldogno, Daniele, moved about 10 minutes away about a year ago so he comes over most weekends. Luca and Max love riding their bikes and playing hide and seek in the piazza while I sit outside Café Terzi enjoying a glass of vino. Life is truly bliss here.</div>
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So why leave? That’s what everybody keeps asking me. I don’t really have an answer, at least not one that most people would understand. Taking the job in Korea has nothing to do with wanting to leave Italy. I’ve turned down other opportunities because I could not envision leaving Italy, even though it meant that I’d be forced to go back to Sumter when my 5 years is up. In fact, when the Korea job came up, Virginia and I talked and decided that we wouldn’t do it because the timing was horrible. We’d only been back here a little over a year, how could we think of leaving? It made zero sense. But the more I ruminated over it, the more appealing it became. It was like something just awoke in me. All those years where I’d coveted the chance to go work in the Pacific theater came back to me and I realized that this would probably be my last real chance. Italy is our home and we love it here but it’s time move on and explore new places. It’s time to rekindle our love affair with Hong Kong and the Philippines and find new places to enjoy and discover. </div>
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<i>South Korea: the next piece of the puzzle in our adventures</i></div>
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Beyond all that crap, there are practical reasons. This job opportunity is a huge deal for me. When I went through all the BS with the LQA audit I lost all the enjoyment and motivation I once had doing my JOPES job. Sumter did little to help bring it back. But the thought of jumping back in and working at such a challenging level in a place I've always wanted to live has me excited again, it’s exactly what I need. It’s also a major stepping stone to bigger and better things – the guy who just left the job is now working in Hawaii and if I can follow in his footsteps, that would be amazing. </div>
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So…am I crazy? Perhaps. It hurts tremendously to leave Italy but after all the crazy twists and turns my life has taken since I left for Europe in 1998, who knows, maybe we’ll end up back here someday. Whatever happens, at least I can say my life is never boring…</div>
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Rikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17726907210300737277noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10361955.post-1886342763716576012018-05-14T19:20:00.002+02:002018-05-14T19:20:38.348+02:00South Korea; 14 Years in the Making, Part IV<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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By the time I arrived in Sumter, SC, assigned to USARCENT at Shaw Air Force Base, I had been living in Europe for 16 years (4 in Germany, 12 in Italy) so it was like a double culture shock for me; adapting to life in the US in general and adjusting to life in the south specifically. I quickly realized that the US was a completely different country than the one I’d left 16 years earlier. Everything seen different to me. Hell, we didn’t even have cell phones the last time I lived in the US. It was a very difficult adjustment for me to say the least and the fact that it was in a rural southern town with barely any culture, decent restaurants or shopping certainly added to the difficulty.</div>
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There are some really beautiful places in South Carolina but Sumter ain’t one of them. I went there with a completely open mind, armed with the knowledge that we would not be in Europe and that there would be plenty of things that I was used to that would not exist in our new surroundings. I had a few friends who had lived in or visited Sumter and most of them described it as a small city full of southern charm. Unfortunately, I never did manage to find that southern charm. </div>
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What I did find were lots of trailer parks, a couple Waffle Houses, every fast food restaurant known to man, rampant crime, shopping that was limited to places like Walmart and K-Mart, and a level of incompetence that I had never experienced before, not even in Italy. Take, for example, the school buses; they would routinely arrive 20-30 minutes late and at least a dozen times a year, they would not even show up at all. It was breathtaking.</div>
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<i>Living in Sumter sometimes felt like stepping back into the 1950's. Many of the mentalities seemingly haven't evolved since then...</i></div>
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As I said, I arrived with an open mind, determined to make the best of whatever life was like in our new home. But I started realizing that we might have a hard time when several of the locals I met around town casually referred to it as “Scumter” and “Slumter”. That was my first clue. Of course any place has its detractors – hell, I met plenty of people in Italy who hated it there and couldn’t wait to leave. Different strokes for different strokes and all that, right? But I started noticing that all the “awesome” things about Sumter that people were telling me turned out to be a different story as I got to know the place better. For example, people who love Sumter are quick to tell you that the city is home to no less than seven institutions of higher learning. What they don’t tell you is that most of them are found in strip malls…</div>
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Anyway, it’s not my intention to bash Sumter. We were treated badly there by a lot of locals and most of our three years there consisted of one bad thing after another happening to us but we did meet some good people too. There are plenty of people who love the town and all it has to offer (whatever that may be) and more power to them. I’m happy that they are happy there, it just was not for us. We spent most of our weekends driving to Columbia or Florence to do grocery shopping (they had</div>
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places like Whole Foods, Kroger and Harris Teeter whereas Sumter had places like IGA, Food Lion and Piggly Wiggly…cripes, I can’t even type that with a straight face), eat at decent restaurants, and wile away the hours in Barnes and Noble. Eventually we developed a new hobby that kept us sane – trips to Atlanta. One of my best friends is a guy named Monty who I met working at US Army Europe HQ in Heidelberg, Germany. Monty had spent most of his career in Europe as well and we hit it off with him and his Dutch wife Marlene immediately. In a twist of fate, Monty was working in the very department I was assigned to at Shaw AFB and we instantly rekindled our friendship. Monty and Marlene had a home in Atlanta; ARCENT used to be located at a base in Atlanta but it got closed and they relocated ARCENT to Shaw AFB. They were planning on spending a few years in Sumter until Monty retired, then moving back to Atlanta but as Monty described it, “After our first trip to Sumter, Marlene said there was no way in hell she was living in this place”, so she stayed in Atlanta, Monty bought a trailer in Sumter to live in during the week, then drove home on weekends until he retired. We visited them one weekend and they took us to all of the huge food markets. Atlanta is home to a robust Chinatown and there are giant Asian markets everywhere. Virginia and I were completely blown away. Monty and Marlene are huge foodies like we are so every trip to Atlanta to visit them turned into giant food tours. Our favorite restaurant was a Korean BBQ place where they cook the food right at your table and surprisingly even the kids loved it. Usually we would go to the markets and stock up on all manner of Asian groceries and then Monty and Virginia – both amazing cooks – would spend the afternoon and evening creating exotic Asian dinner feasts while I put a dent in Monty’s extensive and impressive wine collection. Those weekends were such a welcome respite from daily life in Sumter and helped keep me motivated to try and get back overseas somewhere. <i>Anywhere</i>.</div>
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<i>Atlanta is an absolute Mecca for Asian food and culture. A harbinger of things to come?</i></div>
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When DoD civilians return to the US from overseas, we are required to remain in the US for at least two years before you are eligible to return overseas with LQA. With this in mind, I started flinging my resume at every overseas job I could find once I started approaching my two year mark. Unfortunately nothing was sticking. My buddy who got the job in Korea that I'd wanted so bad told me that he was planning on leaving in a year or so and that he would recommend me as his replacement. This excited me greatly as you would imagine but it never came to pass as he got extended and ended up staying longer. I applied for jobs in Germany, Japan, Korea, Belgium, Italy, hell, even Hong Kong. But nothing came through. I even considered quitting my DAC job and taking a job in Afghanistan as a contractor for huge money and then leaving government service altogether. Then one day I saw a posting for a job in Italy that was somewhat related to my career field. I wasn't sure if I had a shot but applied anyway, made it through the selection process and after almost three years in Scumter, I was hired for another position in Italy. We were of course thrilled at the prospect of returning to the land that we loved so much. It was an opportunity I never expected to have again. I'm not sure what I was more excited about; the idea of going back to Italy or the fact that I was finally getting THEE hell out of Scumter. Regardless, I hadn't been so happy since before the whole LQA audit nightmare started, we were going home. But as it turns out, home is not always where the heart is...</div>
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<i>Stay tuned for Part V (the final part)...</i></div>
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Rikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17726907210300737277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10361955.post-86025643500925333342018-05-08T17:26:00.000+02:002018-05-08T17:26:29.896+02:00South Korea: 14 Years in the Making, Part III. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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On May 1st , 1998 my life began in earnest when I first stepped foot in Germany and discovered an</div>
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entirely new world than the only one I’d ever known. On May 1st , 2013 – exactly 15 years later, to the day – it ended. On that day I was notified that one of the big bosses needed to see me in his office with my supervisor. It’s never good when the big boss asks to see you in his office and it’s usually worse when he asks to see you with your supervisor. This meeting would certainly not be an exception and would alter the course of our lives considerably in many ways, all for the worse.</div>
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Most DoD civilians who work overseas receive a housing supplement which is called Living Quarters Allowance (LQA). It basically pays for your rent and utilities, employees don’t pocket any extra money from it. When you receive a job offer from an overseas position, they have an LQA cell whose job is to review your documents and ensure that you are qualified to receive LQA. When I got out of the Army in December 2004 (here in Vicenza), I was lucky enough to find a job here as a contractor for Northrup Grumman. After a little over a year, the contract was getting cut and I needed to find a job. NG found me another job within the company but the only one I was qualified for was in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. Now that might sound like a dream opportunity but when you factor in that the salary was only $50,000/yr with NO housing and NO base privileges…well, I wasn’t sure how we would survive in Hawaii on that but it was the only thing I had and with a wife and one year old at the time, I didn’t have much choice. Truthfully, I was even a bit excited at the prospect of finally getting to work in the Pacific theater anyway. However, about a month before we were supposed to leave for Hawaii, I got notified that I’d been selected for a DoD Civilian position up in Germany. Once they reviewed my paperwork and determined that I was eligible for LQA, I quickly informed Northrup Grumman that I was resigning and we made the move to Germany. Were all things equal, I would have taken the Hawaii job but the LQA made the decision to go to Germany an easy one, if only for financial reasons. And so in April 2006 I officially became a DA Civilian. As I mentioned earlier, we stayed two years and then relocated back to Vicenza where I also received LQA.</div>
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Fast forward to May 1st , 2013 and the aforementioned meeting with the big boss and my supervisor. He closed the door, sat down at his desk and clasped his hands in front of his mouth as if trying to figure out how to say what he had to say: the government, it seemed, had suddenly decided that the LQA regulations had been ‘misinterpreted’ by every overseas LQA cell around the world for the last 40+ years. They had recently conducted an audit of overseas personnel, applying the new interpretation, and identified almost 700 overseas employees who they claimed were erroneously found eligible for LQA. Because of this, those employees would have their LQA taken away and they would also have to repay every cent of LQA that they had received. Needless to say, I was one of the 700 and in my case, that meant that suddenly the government was telling me that I owed them about $200,000. I felt as if I’d been punched in the nuts. I left his office in a daze, not sure what to do. I was numb. I had rearranged my entire life working for the government based on being told I was eligible for LQA – how could they come back almost 8 years later and basically say “Oops, we made a mistake, we’re cutting you off and oh by the way, you owe us $200k”?! I went home and broke the news to my wife who was thoroughly perplexed at how the government could do something like this. The rest of that night remains pretty cloudy, all I can say for sure is that there was a lot of wine involved. I cannot tell you what a scary time that was for me. A wife and three kids and facing certain financial ruin, it felt like my life was over. I even briefly considered renouncing my US citizenship and moving to the beach house in the Philippines, such was the depths of my despair. I saw no way out. The DoD told us that if we submitted a waiver request, they would support it. What they didn’t tell us was that in submitting the waiver request, we would first have to sign a form admitting that this was a valid debt and that we were responsible for repaying it. Not only that, but the DoD has no authority to waive such ‘debts’; that authority rests with an office called the Defense Office of Hearings and Appeals (DOHA). If we submitted a waiver request and DOHA denied it, then they had a document with our signature on it admitting that we were legally responsible for repaying it, which meant we had no legal recourse.</div>
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I could write an entire book about the LQA audit nightmare and all the sordid details involved with it. One thing we knew for sure was that what the government did was at best disgusting and at worst,</div>
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criminal and illegal. But rather than go gentle into that dark night, a sizeable percentage of us decided to rage and try and fight the despicable action. We quickly organized and soon other affected employees from all over the world joined us. We had everybody on our side; 4 star generals were appealing to the Office of the Secretary of Defense on our behalf, the Commander in Chief of the VFW wrote to the OSD (and cc’d the White House) telling them in no uncertain terms that what they were doing to us was despicable. Soon the fight reached Washington DC as several Senators and Congressmen and women got involved on our behalf. We worked our asses off trying to force the government to do the right thing and it took its toll on me pretty bad. I look back on that year and wonder sometimes how I survived. Under the auspices of trying to make it look like they were doing everything to help, the government allowed us to keep LQA for 12 months in order to give us time to make arrangements to go back to the US. While this did help, the vast majority of us were still stuck overseas as the 12 month mark creeped closer and closer. There was a hiring freeze in the US and nobody was getting hired back there. Virginia and I talked about our options in case we were still here when they cut off our LQA and the best one we could come up with was for her and the kids to go stay at my mother’s house in the US while I sold pretty much everything we had and tried to find a cheap one bedroom apartment until such time that I got hired in the US somewhere (whenever that would be). I tried to explain the situation to my older kids so they wouldn’t get blindsided when the time came and they cried at the prospect of having to leave without daddy. It broke whatever semblance of a heart I had by that time.</div>
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Something else happened during that year that is integral to this story. One day, while searching the government jobs website looking for something to get me back to the US, I noticed that the job in Korea – the very one that I had wanted for so long – was open. It was the first time I had ever seen it posted but the timing could not have been any worse. Because of the LQA audit nightmare and the impending loss of my LQA, I could not afford to take the job even if I was able to get hired for it. Realistically it made no sense to even apply but in the back of my mind I thought why the hell not? Maybe we’ll get a miracle and the LQA crap will get overturned and I could take it if it got offered. So I did and forgot all about it. A few months later I got an email from a Major in Korea informing me that they had narrowed the list down to two people for that job and asking if I was still interested in the position. I was completely and utterly crushed. I emailed him back and let him know that I was sorry but I would be forced to withdraw from consideration because of the LQA audit. He said he understood – he had a few friends there who were also caught up in the audit and he told me he thought it was unconscionable what the government was doing to us. In a strange twist of fate, the Korea job ended up going to a very good friend of mine, who I had no idea I was even competing against. I was happy for him; if I could have it, at least it went to a good guy like him.</div>
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The DoD has a system called Priority Placement Program (PPP) that is supposed to help civilians find jobs in the US when their overseas tours are up. The way it works is that your resume and position description go into the system and when a job in the US opens up that matches it, they put you in that position. But the system is broke, as many people will tell you. Some people wait years to get picked up on PPP. I was already on PPP when the audit hit and originally I was hoping that I’d be one of the people who waited a few years to get picked up so I could stay in Italy longer but now, with my LQA getting cut off, I was desperate to get out of theater before the May 1st , 2014 deadline or we would be bankrupt within 6 months or so. We appealed to our elected officials to pressure the DoD to help us get back to the US and eventually they did just that in October, 2013 by releasing new guidance that all the LQA audit employees on PPP were to be given a priority 2 status, which meant that any job that closely matched our resumes were supposed to automatically go to us. It still wasn’t helping and by the end of January, I faced the real prospect of being stuck overseas when they cut off my LQA. Then one day several people sent me a link to a job posting in my career field. I read it and it matched my resume 100%. I angrily emailed my PPP rep at the personnel office and asked why I wasn’t matched to the job. Her answer was simply “Well, did you apply for it?”. I responded that I’m not supposed to HAVE to apply, I’m supposed to be MATCHED to the job automatically. It never even should have gotten posted to begin with. Her response - “Well I don’t know what to tell you” - sent me over the edge. I looked at the memo sent out by the OSD, got the email of the head guy in DC and emailed him directly. I told him I was one of the LQA audit employees who the government was screwing and demanded to know why I wasn’t matched to the job. He said he would look into it. He got back to me right away and said I was right, the system failed. He then informed me that they had frozen the position pending a quick investigation after which time I would be placed into it. True to his word, I was notified in late February that the job was mine. We had barely two months to get there before my LQA would be cut off and we made it with a mere 10 days to spare. We would be heading to South Carolina but by that time it didn’t matter if it was North Dakota or Timbuktu, all I cared about was that we were escaping just in time and would soon be leaving the nightmare of the past year behind.</div>
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Unfortunately, a whole new nightmare awaited us.<br />
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NOTE: <i>If you'd like to read some news articles written about the LQA audit nightmare, here are a couple:</i><br />
<a href="https://www.stripes.com/news/dod-civilians-use-strength-in-numbers-to-fight-lqa-loss-1.222134">DOD civilians use 'strength in numbers' to fight LQA loss</a><br />
<a href="https://www.stripes.com/us-lawmakers-getting-involved-in-civilians-housing-benefit-fight-1.228374">US lawmakers getting involved in civilians' housing benefit fight</a><br />
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Rikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17726907210300737277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10361955.post-7588835707259857772018-05-05T12:20:00.000+02:002018-05-05T12:20:02.714+02:00South Korea; 14 Years in the Making, Part II<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: small;">From 2006 - 2008 I worked in Heidelberg, Germany and one of my civilian </span>supervisors was a Japanese-American guy who had spent much of his career in the Pacific theater. He had come to Germany from a small base in Japan called Camp Zama. We used to spend a lot of time chatting about Asia in general and Camp Zama in particular. The way he described Camp Zama sort of rekindled my interest in eventually making the jump to the Pacific theater at some point. He said he'd probably be going back to Zama after his time in Germany was done and so I told him to keep me in mind should any positions come open that I might be a match for. He did indeed go back to Zama and I kept in touch him but it never produced any tangible opportunities for me. Trying to find a position <span style="font-size: small;">in Asia seemed utterly futile and I was very happy living in Europe anyway so </span>it wasn't a major deal at the time. Then something out of the ordinary happened; while having coffee with my buddy Phil one morning, a couple of guys in maroon berets walked in and one of them just happened to be a friend of his. We went over so he could say hi and it turned out that the other guy he was with was the new commanding general of the unit I'd worked for down in Vicenza, Italy. He was very personable so we made small talk while Phil caught up with his friend. I mentioned that I worked in Vicenza before coming to Heidelberg, he asked if I liked it and I said I do but that I would love to go <span style="font-size: small;">back to Italy if I ever had the chance. His eyes widened and he said "Oh </span>really? Because you know we have an opening coming up later this year..." I told him in no uncertain terms that I would take it in a heartbeat. And so it was that after two wonderfully memorable years in Heidelberg, we relocated </div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">back to Vicenza where I'd left my heart only a couple years earlier. We were </span>so incredibly happy to be back in Italy that I planned on staying as long as I possibly could. There is a senseless, idiotic rule for government civilians working overseas called the "5 Year Rule" and it basically states that civilians are supposed to be overseas for a maximum of 5 years, then they are supposed to go back to the US for at least 2 years before they can go back overseas. Your unit can give you an extension but over the past 10 years or so, extensions are becoming rarer by the day. I arrived in Europe in 1998 but I didn't become a DoD civilian until 2006 so I figured that I'd get at least 3 years in Vicenza before I hit my 5 year mark in 2011. I ended up getting lucky and getting a two year extension before the government told me that I'd been overseas too long and denied my next extension request in 2013 and finally forced us back to the US in 2014.</div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">My second go round in Vicenza lasted 6 years (2008-2014) and so many life </span>changing things happened in those 6 years that it's hard to believe and even harder to make sense of sometimes. The first was my maiden trip to the Philippines in 2010. Virginia and I had been married almost 8 years by the time I made my initial foray into the mysterious land of the Philippines which seems strange looking back but it always seemed like something came up or was going on that prevented me from going - an exercise, a deployment, the kids' school...always something. When I finally made it there, I instantly felt remorse at never making more of an effort before. Those 3 weeks were probably the most enjoyable vacation I've ever had. I discovered things that I'd long ago lost in Europe, not the least of which was a sense of newness, adventure and "exotic-ness", if there is such a word. This was a place and a culture that was all brand new to me and I relished in experiencing all of it (well, most of it anyway - I wasn't crazy about the lack of indoor plumbing...).<br />
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<i>My first trip to the Philippines..."I could get used to this".</i><br />
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Even beyond the excitement and adventure of discovering and exploring a new place, I had - and will always have - a certain connection to the Philippines since my wife is from there, her whole family lives there and my kids, though American in almost every way, are half Filipino. I completely fell in love with the Philippines on that first trip, so much so that we even ended up buying a small beach house on Lingayen Gulf close to Virginia's family. It being the Philippines, the place wasn't anything fancy but was extremely cheap and I had plans of visiting regularly after that first trip so when we had a chance to get it, I jumped at it. We ended up going back every summer for the next few years and those trips were just so enjoyable and life changing for me. I've never felt more relaxed and at peace than during those vacations at our beach house. Virginia's family are amazing people and I love being around them, eating and drinking, doing karaoke, playing on the beach and such. At night I would sit outside and wonder at the breathtaking sunsets. I was living in Italy, one of THEE most beautiful countries in the world but whenever we went on vacation to our beach house, all I could think of was that I never wanted to leave.<br />
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<i>Sunset from the front of the beach house; very few things I've seen in my life match the beauty.</i><br />
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During my second trip to the Philippines, I discovered something that has become somewhat of an obsession with me ever since; Corregidor. Corregidor, for those who weren't aware, is a small, tadpole shaped island at the opening of Manila Bay. It was also the scene of perhaps the most important and pivotal battles of the Pacific theater in WW2. There are few better examples of the courage, bravery and intestinal fortitude of the American soldier than what occurred on Corregidor in the course of WW2. The main heroes of Corregidor were the 2-503 Airborne - one of the very units that is currently stationed at the base I work at in Vicenza, Italy - and so I felt an instant connection to the place. I did a day tour on my second Philippines trip and was so enamored of the place that I left wanting much more. When I got back to Italy I devoured everything I could find about Corregidor online and at the local library. On every subsequent trip to the PI, I have always done the Corregidor tour so as to explore more of the island. Though it was nothing more than a pipe dream, I have even found myself daydreaming of being involved with the island in some official capacity someday, such as preservation, publicity, etc. as Corregidor was possibly the entire key to the US victory over Japan in the Pacific theater; it bothers me to no end that the average American knows all about Normandy and D-Day but has never heard of Corregidor. But I digress...<br />
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<i>(NOTE: If you would like to read the daily journal I kept on my first ever trip to the Philippines, you can start with Day 1 </i><a href="http://rikthib.blogspot.it/2010/08/my-first-trip-to-philippines-day-1.html">HERE</a><i>) </i><br />
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In the years between 2010 and 2014, my mind would often wander back to the thought of someday finding a job at a base somewhere in the Pacific - Korea and Japan being pretty much the only options - so I could be closer to the beach house and to Corregidor. But we <i>loved</i> living in Italy so it remained nothing more than a thought I occasionally entertained in the back of my mind. We were living 'la Dolce Vita' in Italy, a place that felt more like home than anywhere else I've ever lived. I could not possibly think of leaving.<br />
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Unfortunately, some nameless, faceless lowlife scumbag beancounters in the US government had other ideas.<br />
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Stay tuned for Part III...<br />
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Rikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17726907210300737277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10361955.post-4361825847809718722018-04-30T20:03:00.002+02:002018-04-30T20:17:39.595+02:00South Korea; 14 Years in the Making, Part I<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIzRv1fPel8zjX0cb-gmtA4obfplWz-kjHh2B3Ejdl4BxAw1ndxPR2s1UepXenpwkn0J25W4FCwPqg6pOdfi1gqDuGHSH-xBChxvLwZCiIRa3n-_mcSHQuV0USqeksU9bausxS/s1600/South+Korea.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="303" data-original-width="481" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIzRv1fPel8zjX0cb-gmtA4obfplWz-kjHh2B3Ejdl4BxAw1ndxPR2s1UepXenpwkn0J25W4FCwPqg6pOdfi1gqDuGHSH-xBChxvLwZCiIRa3n-_mcSHQuV0USqeksU9bausxS/s320/South+Korea.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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It's crazy. </div>
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<b>IT'S CRAZY.</b></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU THINKING?!" </span></div>
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That seems to be the general consensus of opinion over the last few weeks or so since I announced that we are moving to Korea. I know it seems crazy and makes no sense, even to people who know me. So I thought I'd try to explain a bit. This decision is a very personal one. Even some of my closest friends are shocked and can't fathom what I have done. It is completely understandable as my love affair with Asia and my desire for this particular job are well - or semi-well - kept secrets. To try and understand, let's go back to the year 1989...</div>
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I joined the Army Reserves in 1989 to help pay for college and ended up serving 7 years with one year in the inactive reserve. In 1998, after being completely out of the Army for a year I was tired of my job and I decided to enlist active duty because they offered me a position in Germany which is what I wanted - to see Europe. In the years that followed, I saw Europe in spades; every weekend I jumped a train somewhere, usually to a random location that I literally chose at the train station. I was young, dumb and full of...wanderlust. After two years in Germany I got a transfer to Italy, the land of my dreams. I never thought it possible, that I could live in such a beautiful and fairytale land as this; but it <i>was</i> real and from the very first day here, I embraced this land and all it had to offer. But I still had the damned wanderlust and it was quickly outgrowing the small continent of Europe. I'd seen most of Western Europe and wanted more - much, much more. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7E5ubakTgOc0-1uDKcTuyN8V4c7dG6cN3mND8e6-NPviGcVzQjiv06UFk9W5vujOIXxPT6XAol0zwKdlPhBg4hf9VEyRKWIY6PwhLaeQisIpJNDai7OBECS30z2iU-0MpiBOf/s1600/rikhkchsticks.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7E5ubakTgOc0-1uDKcTuyN8V4c7dG6cN3mND8e6-NPviGcVzQjiv06UFk9W5vujOIXxPT6XAol0zwKdlPhBg4hf9VEyRKWIY6PwhLaeQisIpJNDai7OBECS30z2iU-0MpiBOf/s320/rikhkchsticks.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>First trip to Hong Kong, learning how to use chopsticks</i></div>
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One day in 2000, I was at work and had nothing going on so I started fooling around on the internet. I hadn't taken leave in a while so I started checking prices of plane tickets to places around Europe that I hadn't seen; Barcelona, Lisbon, Dublin, Stockholm, etc. And then for some reason, I put in places back home to see how much it would cost to fly home; Boston, Manchester, Portland, etc. And then, again, for some unknown reason I started plugging in the most exotic places I could think of to see how much it would cost to fly there and they were expensive but one place in particular was cheap and caught my attention - Hong Kong. Now all I knew of Hong Kong was from a rubber gorilla toy that I had as a kid because it said "Made in Hong Kong" on it. So to me it was as exotic as it gets. I did an online search for hotels and found some really cheap one. My wanderlust was in overdrive. I HAD to do this. I booked a trip and went to Hong Kong and just absolutely fell in love with it. It was <i>immediately</i> my favorite city I had ever seen. I was desperate to go back but it had opened the gate to Asia for me and I thought I wanted to see other places in Asia first so I did a trip to Thailand first. Again, absolutely loved it. My wanderlust was out of control. Here was an entire continent that I had yet to discover. The possibilities were endless. And then, as it often does, fate intervened; I met Virginia. </div>
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She was originally from the Philippines but had been living and working in Hong Kong for about 10 years. I fell in love with her immediately. It was so hard to leave her but we spent a lot of time chatting online and talking on the phone and eventually I scheduled another trip where I brought her a ring and proposed to her. Most people thought I was crazy but I knew. I just knew. 16 years of marriage and three kids later...I'm <i>pretty</i> sure I made the right choice. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSmiz5puRTBCyv3Z2UI9DbzR5WYiOlXPpW2b27pytx1hMRYz4rMYBqzAJEisPmAK3jX6ZjVeVzQnar1KlXVgt7Iv0wJDBMSkflKC82plMV5Fmb2oepvq9EqoEvo9kEoSHbe7ZU/s1600/maks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSmiz5puRTBCyv3Z2UI9DbzR5WYiOlXPpW2b27pytx1hMRYz4rMYBqzAJEisPmAK3jX6ZjVeVzQnar1KlXVgt7Iv0wJDBMSkflKC82plMV5Fmb2oepvq9EqoEvo9kEoSHbe7ZU/s320/maks.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Mak's Noodle Shop; Where I first proposed to Virginia.</i></div>
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I often think that part of the reason I fell in love with her was because of Hong Kong itself; she'd been there 10 years and was a master of the city and I fell in love with the city as I fell in love with her. We explored parts of the city and the region that few people have seen. We hiked the mountains of Lantau Island by day and partied in the nightlife of the Wanchai by night. It was a love affair founded on the romance of Hong Kong itself. Don't believe anyone who says that Hong Kong is just a big, boring city. It is so much more. It changed my life. It remains, to this day, my <i>favorite city in the world</i>. And that is no small claim. By the time I left her the second time, I'd been to Hong Kong three times and Thailand once. Limited as it was, my experiences showed me that I loved Asia and wanted...no...NEEDED to explore it more. Here is the Hong Kong page of my old website:<br />
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<a href="http://www.rikthib.com/hongkong.htm">Rik's Hong Kong Page</a></div>
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A lot has happened to me since those days. We had Xavier pretty quickly; he wasn't planned but he arrived in 2003 in the beautiful medieval walled town of Soave. He grew up in Italy, went to school here, became fluent in the language and is more Italian than anything else. I got out of the Army back in 2004. When I was getting out, the first call I made was to the unit in Korea to see if they had any civilian jobs available in my field. I wanted to work in Korea for the obvious reasons; closer to the Philippines, closer to the wife's family, closer to Hong Kong and closer to all the other places I wanted to explore in Asia. It was hard to reach the right people but I was told that there were no jobs there at the time. I was crushed but with a one year old at home, I was too concerned with finding a job - any job - to care about not finding a job in Korea. As most of you know, I ended up getting a job as a contractor here in Vicenza followed by a jump into the Department of Defense Civilian world up in Germany shortly thereafter. All the while, Asia grew further and further away. Luca was born in Heidelberg in May 2008. In November 2008 we moved back here to Italy as a DoD civilian and stayed until 2014 when the government sent us to Redneckville (aka 'Scumter'), South Carolina. About a year before we left, Maximus Amadeus Thibodeau was born right here in Vicenza. All my kids were born overseas. We are a true international family...<br />
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Stay tuned for Part II...<br />
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Rikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17726907210300737277noreply@blogger.com0