Just in case you were wondering, Phoenix has a grand total of zero natural waterways. We do, however, have a couple of canals. The Central Arizona Project Canal and the Salt River Project Canal. These take water from the Colorado River and the Salt River and bring it to the city because, well, there’s a city in the middle lf the desert with no water. Go figure.
The CAP canal isn’t too far from our house; in fact, it runs through the middle of one of our favorite hiking ranges, Deem Hills.
Deem Hills is in the Northwestern corner of Phonix. If you start at the east entrance of the trails, you can take the Circumference Trail a short distance to the path that goes along the edge of the canal. Unlike the hilly trail over the mountains, this is a nice flat trail, good for long walks and jogging.
The trail goes through the range, and then runs behind a neighborhood. It offers access to parks and playgrounds, and has nice views of the canal.
When a canal’s all you’ve got, it’s actually a pretty desirable view. We did find a rattlesnake back there once, so keep an eye out just in case!
Kito loved the trails. She’s still discovering new and interesting things, like quail and rabbits. She didn’t even mind when we ran the last mile! This is the first of many family hikes in Deem Hills.
So… I ate my words this week. Or rather, drank my words. As many of my friends moved back to the States over the past several months, they looked forward to one thing above all else: Starbucks. Oh, they were obsessed! They talked about the pumpkin chai latte all fall (I totally didn’t miss fall because we don’t get it in Arizona anyway). They talked about pepperminty drinks all winter (another thing we don’t get). They talked about iced coffee all summer. A couple of them went to St. Barth’s for the purpose of Starbucks, because they had heard there was one there (there isn’t). Oh, and when it was time for them to move home, they talked about Starbucks all the time, posted Instagram photos, and drank it every day!
I rolled my eyes.
I don’t really like coffee, and I’ve probably had about five coffees in my entire life. So I didn’t really get the whole thing.
So, then I moved back to the States. Guess what was the first thing I bought on U.S. soil? Yup, Starbucks. Hypocrite that I am. And it was GOOD. But I did some pretty stupid things in the process, which I am blaming on the ridiculously long trip we were in the middle of. It addled my brain, guys.
The only reason I even went to Starbucks was for this sweet thing: the UNICORN FRAPPE.
This is a photo of my friend Jordon’s Unicorn. (Hey Jordon.) I am posting this because I did not get my Unicorn, friends. So I have to use someone else’s photo. I am also posting it because, apparently, Jordon’s alter-ego is Lord Voldemort. But back to the Unicorn.
I’ve been in the Caribbean for a long time, so going up to Starbucks in the Miami airport was pretty exciting, not going to lie. Equally wonderful was the smile and greeting that I got from the barista, because I have gotten used to the customer service culture on Saint Martin. That’s a nice way of saying that there is an island-wide epidemic of poor customer service in Saint Martin. However, on Saint Martin, you don’t usually pay a whopping six bucks for, like, two ounces of coffee. The Unicorn Frappuccino was $6.50 for a tall (by the way, non-U.S. friends, a “tall” is the smallest microscopic cup of coffee you’ve ever seen). Six dollars and fifty cents! No way.
In Saint Martin, there are usually two columns for prices at restaurants and store. The left column is the price in guilders, which is roughly twice as much as dollars, and the right column is the price in U.S. dollars. At Starbucks, there are also two columns. The left column has the price, while the right column has the calories.
I looked at the menu to find something cheaper than the are-you-freaking-kidding-me-six-and-a-half-dollars cup of pink unicorn magic, and I decided on the caramel frappe. Why? because while the left column said “5.00,” the right column said “300.” Oh, $3.00 in U.S. money, right? I ordered it.
I was a little surprised when my total was $5.50-ish. I paid it, while trying to figure out the math. Oh tax. That’s right. We don’t have sales tax in St. Marten. Still, that seemed a little expensive. Who raised those sales taxes while I was gone? Politics really have gone down the toilet in this country. It wasn’t until I walked away– sleep-deprived, dragging a hyper dog, and probably looking like a crazy person– that I remembered that there’s only one currency in the United States, and that Starbucks is just really expensive. I was ordering something worth 300 calories, not $3.00. Oops.
I have another funny Starbucks moment (I actually went twice in the first week I came back– sorry to everyone I judged, either mentally or verbally, for doing this very thing). I’ll make you wait for that one, though, because my Sint Maarten friends need to know about a wonderful thing called Dutch Bros. Guys, you’re Dutch, and you have no idea what Dutch Bros is! I know, because I asked some of you. Well, as you can see, the cups have windmills and tulips on it, which, according to Stuff Dutch People Like, totally makes it Dutch. It’s also home to the one and only coffee I will ever drink, the Carmelizer. So get some Dutch Bros, Dutch people! You need this in your country.
Back to the Starbucks. I actually went back to a Starbucks in order to get that Unicorn Frappe. And much to my sadness, the barista told me that they are literally sold out all over the Valley! I somewhat suspect they’re actually just sick of making them, based on this video, but either way, I had to settle for a cotton candy frappe. Which, by the way, is really good. It isn’t as colorful as the Unicorn Frappe, though, so it didn’t look as good as my Instagram Feed. Here is a shameless plug: follow me on Instagram!
While the color didn’t make it Insta-worthy, the name on it did. I was laughing so hard I couldn’t even get a clear photo.
This is just about as good as my friend Lord Voldemort’s cup, and it wasn’t even intentional. I’ve had all sorts of interesting spellings of “Breana” on my Starbucks cups, but this is a first.
That’s all for today, guys. I have to go work work work work work now. Let me know your funniest Starbucks moment in the comments!
The bad news: it took 24 hours and about half my remaining sanity.
If you’ve ever moved internationally, you know it’s not exactly a piece of cake. Actually, it’s pretty tough, emotionally and logistically. It’s like I was being ripped in half, because I was so sad to leave St. Maarten, but at the same time so excited to see my family and my hometown. And while I was trying to deal with those emotions, I had to be getting rid of all my stuff and cramming the few things I was keeping into our suitcases.
Fact: You can only drag so many pieces of luggage through the airport.
Also fact: Suitcases hold less than you expect them to.
As we were going through all our stuff, I was wondering where the heck all that crap came from. We only lived in St. Maarten for a couple of years, and I was intentionally trying not to amass copious amounts of things. So even after selling, donating, giving away and throwing out the large majority of what was in our apartment, we still had three suitcases, two gigantic backpacks, and a couple of small backpacks. Plus the dog. And by the way, getting the dog back was incredibly stressful. But I don’t want to even think about that right now. She’s here, and that’s all that matters.
The first thing that happened when we got to the airport, as we were struggling to get our luggage to the counter, was a cranky security guard stopping us and demanding to see our paperwork for the dog. Not only was it bad timing, but she actually has no authority over whether or not a dog goes on the plane. We have to show it to the lady at the baggage counter and the people a customs. I took this total waste of time as a bad sign about the way the trip would go, and boy, was that accurate.
Kenny driving us to the airport
Kito was thoroughly freaking out by the time we made it through customs, but the hour wait to get on the plane calmed her down. We planned to get on the place last of all, so that Kito wouldn’t get in anyone’s way, but they actually let us get on the plane first. That was really nice, and it gave us a chance to get settled. Kito was so worn out that she lay down at my feet and fell asleep.
As soon as the engine started, she shot straight up in the air and landed on our laps! Ben comforted her while I watched my beautiful St. Martin disappear beneath the clouds. I had thought I would cry at this moment, but I was already too exhausted for any tears. The last thing I saw was Pond Island growing smaller and smaller beneath us. It was strange to think that my Little League team was practicing right then and I was not there to help.
Kito literally shook with terror for the entire three hour flight to Miami. Poor dog! The good news was that she was so quiet that I don’t think anyone noticed her.
We had booked a flight with a 1.75 hour layover so that it would be easier on the dog. Here’s a piece of advice: never book a short layover when going through customs in Miami. We had intended to use the really cool new customs app (Guys, it’s really cool. You have to use it next time you fly internationally!) but it doesn’t work if you have an “x” on your customs form. Kito is technically an imported animal, so we still had to wait in the long line.
After the long line, we were taken to another special customs area for people who are importing stuff. We were the only ones waiting in the room, and we waited for fifteen minutes while the staff slowly stacked papers, watched basketball on TV, had a conversation about illegally imported mangoes, and complained about having to multitask when they finally decided to get around to seeing us.
Even through we were slowly watching our chances of catching our connection slip away, I was more concerned about Kito’s rabies shot. I had called my vet to set up Kito’s health certificate appointment, and she told me not to worry about making a separate, earlier appointment for the rabies shot. So I got it a week early, along with the health certificate. St. Maarten is a rabies-free country, so it technically doesn’t matter, according to the CDC. A lot of my dog-savvy friends, however, told me that I might not get Kito through customs if her shot was less than a month old. So I was really worried about that. As it turned out, though, the customs people looked the shot record over, smiled, and handed it back without a comment. Of course, seeing that they didn’t appear to take their job very seriously, I wouldn’t count on that being the norm.
We left customs and realized that we had just missed our flight. We were directed to customer service, where we waited in another long line to get a new flight. When we finally got to the front, the representative told us that the next flight was at 7 AM– twelve hours after we had landed in Miami. Since the delay was not the airline’s fault, we didn’t get a room or even a meal voucher. I could tell that the manager felt bad, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. Another woman who was on our flight was MAD. She was incredibly mad, and she really wanted us to be as mad as she was. Honestly, though, we weren’t that upset. Maybe it’s because we were too exhausted to feel anything other than tired, but I think it was because we were just thankful to be through customs and in Florida. There’s nothing like getting your newly-stamped passport back and hearing, “Welcome to the United States.”
The airport wouldn’t let us through security a “day early,” and when we got our new tickets it was 11:00 PM. So we had to wait an hour just inside the door and get overpriced Pizza Hut, which was all that was open. Boy, did that Pizza Hut taste good just then. At midnight, we went through security. It was actually nice to be doing the TSA thing so early, when there were only five people in line ahead of us. We just had to slide on through, and we were done in ten minutes. Phew. We still had six and a half hours before boarding, so we found a quiet terminal and tried to sleep.
We actually did manage to sleep a little bit. It’s amazing how easy it is to fall asleep in odd places when you’re so exhausted! Even the dog just dropped off to sleep, all curled up on an airport chair.
Of course, we couldn’t sleep the whole time. I was worried about Kito peeing on the carpet, so we took to her to the special doggy bathroom a few times to make sure to avoid a mess. Thank goodness for the doggie bathroom!
Also, Ben made a new friend named Leo. Leo works at the airport, and he didn’t have any assigned duties for a couple hours during the especially slow parts of the night, so he talked to Ben for a while and found out our predicament. He helped us get seats together on the plane, and then drove us an all our stuff to our terminal on his cart.
When it was finally time to get on the plane, I was surprised at how quickly the night had gone. The plane ride didn’t seem so short. I slept for a while, and tried to do a crossword puzzle with my fuzzy sleep-deprived brain. Mostly, I held Kito, who was really not enjoying the whole experience. The upside to the early morning plane ride was that my parents didn’t have to pick us up at midnight, which I was happy about.
Finally, we touched down in dusty Phoenix! I have never been so happy to see the familiar outline of Camelback Mountain. We were so excited to see my family, and Kito was excited about the new kennel they bought her. Seriously– I have never seen a dog who loved a kennel so much. How wonderful to be a dog and have a grassy yard for the first time ever, and a cozy kennel to sleep in at night!
After the whole experience, I can safely say I will never fly with a dog again. At least not for that long of a flight! It was the worst flight experience I’ve ever had, but we got through it with pretty good attitudes and made it home just fine. Now that we’ve recovered a bit, I’m looking forward to seeing family and friends and re-integrating into the United States. This is just the first chapter of a whole new life.
Airplanes, expats, and the missionary life! Kaitlyn Stewart, the author of today’s guest post, grew up in Senegal, a nation in West Africa. I met her during our college years in Arizona. This summer, she is embarking on a long-term missionary journey of her own to Mali.
I sat in the back of the airplane, my ears silenced by the foam squish of the airplane headset. My heart sped up with the deep whir of the propeller, thumping slightly as the wheels bounced over the lumpy concrete. As the wind rushed heavy over the wings and lifted the aircraft high into the Arizona air, my heart lifted, thrown into an excited tempo by the soaring plane. Faster than it seemed possible, the Kodiak left the earth and sped up and away over the dry landscape. Glancing out the window, my view shifted and I imagined the green leaves of lush jungles and the beautiful mountains this plane would soon see. And my heart took flight again, enchanted with the future the Kodiak would see among the rainforests of Papua New Guinea.
These airplanes have been an answer to prayer. With more room both for passengers and luggage, they can travel faster and cover longer distances than other small aircraft. They also use less expensive fuel, making them more cost efficient as well. If needed, these planes can carry a stretcher, turning them into makeshift ambulances. Overall, these planes have been an incredible asset, making it easier to transport supplies and people to the farthest unreached places and people of the world.
Airplanes have always played a significant role in my life. I grew up around them, stepping on an airplane for the first time at four years old, and was always near, in, or around one. To me, the airplane became a way to connect with missionaries that I knew in the villages of Senegal, a way to bring supplies, pets, medicine, and technology to those working to spread the gospel of Christ. I loved the chance to experience the joy of flying and being a part of the missionary work.
It doesn’t always take an airplane ride for someone to be able to share the good news of Jesus Christ with those around them. It can take a simple step outside their front door, a short walk to a neighbor, a car ride to a country that needs help. But for those places that are inaccessible, the airplane provides that opportunity that may not have been otherwise possible. With these new planes, mission work can be redefined, and the gospel of Christ brought to those who may have never before had the chance to hear about the saving grace of Jesus Christ.
Consider the roles these airplanes will have in the years to come. Transporting people, bringing supplies to remote locations, ferrying those who are sick or injured to medical facilities, and most importantly, carrying the good news of Jesus Christ to the lost places of the world.
Consider your own role. Just as the airplane is a thread in the tapestry of God’s overarching sovereign plan for saving this world, so are you. He has equipped you to be a vessel that carries important news to the far reaches of earth- that Christ can forgive sins and pull individuals from the chains of brokenness and death into light and redeeming love. Through the power of Christ, you have the ability to bring healing to a broken world. You have the ability to soar on the wings of eagles and impact this world for Jesus Christ.
As the wheels touched down again on the concrete of the small Arizona airstrip, my mind envisioned a crowd of excited villagers and smiling missionaries crowding around the door to get a glimpse of the plane that would change the course of history in the jungles of PNG. And suddenly, it didn’t matter where I was now, I wanted to someday be a part of a team that worked to bring that good news to those people. We are called to take the good news of Christ to the far reaches of the earth, and with one small airplane ride, my desire to proclaim the name of Jesus to the lost nations flew as high as the planes soaring overhead. The magnificent plane stands ready to do its part in helping save this world- will you join us?
Let’s just say that learning to exist cross-culturally is not easy. Neither is it bad! It’s a challenge and an adventure. For me, living the Caribbean has taught me to be less uptight and stressed out. One of my longtime friends who’s known me since middle school came to visit last month, and she kept commenting, “You’re so chill!” I guess I am a lot more chill. I like that change.
Riselle, who writes one of my favorite blogs TheTravelingIslandGirl.Com, wrote a great post today: “11 Things I Learned While Living in the Caribbean.” Riselle is from Sint Maarten and spent some time living in the Netherlands. She wrote about her cross-cultural experiences and the differences between SXM and the Netherlands. At risk of being a disgusting copy-cat, I decided to write a post in the style of her article, but from a different perspective!
Want to know about my experience adapting to cultural changes from Phoenix to St. Maarten? Read on!
Phoenix, Arizona, U.S.A.Almost anything goes on the roads. This is probably the weirdest thing to me. In fact, I lived here five months before I dared drive a car! In Phoenix, we used six-to eight-lane freeways to get around. We drove 75 mph and were comfortable with that. On the streets, we had stoplights in every corner and were mad if we had to drive below 30 mph. You couldn’t park on the sidewalk. You can’t stop in a travel lane. You can’t play sardines (well, you can try, but you might get a fine). You can’t walk where there is not a crosswalk and walk signal. If you jaywalk, you risk getting run over. Technically, you can’t even drive barefoot or in flip-flops. And you certainly may not drive if you have been drinking alcohol!
On Sint Maarten, anything goes. I was incredibly freaked out when I saw people driving around while drinking beer. You don’t have to wear a seat belt, you can cram as many people as possible in your car, and you can block traffic going both ways if you feel like having a conversation with the driver of a passing car. Some of this is nice– I’m happy to be able to walk across the road wherever I want without causing in accident– but sometimes it can get annoying! I do love round-a-bouts and catching a bus from anywhere, though.
Time is not that important. Somehow, my American brain just simply cannot wrap around this idea. To me, you either are on time or you aren’t. I’ve been shut out of classrooms for being 30 seconds late, and people get fired for arriving late too many times in the U.S. Being polite means being there five minutes early. My bad habit of being five minutes late to non-mandatory events was a BAD habit. In the Caribbean, stuff starts whenever you’re ready. It’s like Africa: If something starts at ten, show up at noon to help set up. I made the mistake of arriving at a parade fifteen minutes before it started. An hour and half later, the first troupe made their appearance as the local crowds and smart expats began to arrive. Now I’m a pro! I start packing to go when the event supposedly begins.
Greetings are much more formal. I thought people were so rude when I first moved here. Nobody greeted me when I walked into a place of business. People gave me irritated looks when I said “hello.” The friendly island? Hmmm.
Then I learned that I was actually the one being rude. When you walk into a room on Sint Maarten, you are one who greets the people already inside. And you don’t say, “What’s up.” You say “Good afternoon,” depending on the time of day. Now that I know what to do, I always get friendly smiles.
You can talk to strangers. Phoenix is weird. We all pretend that others do not exist. People in their yards are surrounded by an invisible barrier. You don’t talk to your neighbors unless they are on the sidewalk and return eye contact. You don’t say hi to random people, and if you do, they’ll either look at you like you’re a creeper or smile with delighted surprise! On Sint Maarten, you can talk to anybody. Neighbors actually know each other. People sit for hours chatting at the lottery shops, fruit stands, and bars. I love this. I wish it was like this everywhere.
Nude beaches. In the States, you do not go out in public without clothes on. Ever.
Rain. Yup. That’s right. It doesn’t really rain in Phoenix. You can’t drive safely in Phoenix when it’s raining, because everyone freaks out that water is falling from the sky and starts driving like a bunch of half-blind lawn gnomes. It’s a rare and wonderful event! The first rain we had here, I looked outside to see who was throwing gravel.
With the rain also comes humidity. We used to have to run a humidifier in our house in the winter; now we run the AC to dry the air out! With the humidity comes the mold, and I still haven’t come to terms with that.
Dining is casual. People spend forever sitting and talking over meals. You can buy inexpensive and delicious street food almost anywhere. At restaurants, it’s up to you when you want to pay and leave. We once spent an hour waiting for a check before we found out that you have to go ask for it yourself.
Casinos are everywhere. Casinos are illegal in Arizona, except on the Native American Reservations. On Sint Maarten, casinos are everywhere! We live next door to one and we go there all the time… to use the ATM. It’s the one machine we’re sure to get money out of, ha ha.
Dogs are welcome. I get to take my puppy into the grocery store. I love that. Nobody picks up dog poop. I do not love that. People are fine with dogs here! They roam around off leash, they hang out at the beaches, they go everywhere with their owners.
Empty houses and cars and boats are all over the place. This is generally because of hurricanes and other weather issues. It’s often not worth the cost to remodel or fix, so people just abandon or replace. In Phoenix, hardly anything is left unused. Somebody will take it over, the city will sell it, or it will be destroyed. I like the empty places. There’s something pretty about old cars overgrown with pink flowers.
Anywhere you go, there are things you’ll love and hate about the culture. But it’s always an adventure!
And who does Mama teach to mend and tend and fix,
Preparing me to marry whoever Papa picks?
The daughter, the daughter! Tradition!
The daughter, the daughter! Tradition!
In my family, “Tradition!” means seeing a high-quality stage performance every year with my mom and sister. When I was little, we’d see the short version of The Nutcracker Ballet at Christmas time. Over the years, our tradition changed from the long version of the Nutcracker to any Christmas play, to matinee performances of fine theater, to dinners at the Arizona Broadway Theater. This year, we doubled the traditional value of our girls’ night out and saw ABT’s performance of Fiddler on the Roof, a family favorite for three generations.
We love ABT!
Food at ABT is delicious
If you’ve never seen it, Fiddler on the Roof is the story of Jewish family in pre-revolution Russia. Reb Tevya, his wife, and his five daughters walk a fine line between the tension of a changing society under the czars and the centuries-old traditional order of Jewish life. Tevya’s oldest daughter breaks tradition by choosing her own husband. He allows it. His second daughter breaks tradition by not only choosing her own husband, but choosing a man who with progressive ideology. He blesses it. The third daughter crosses the line by eloping with a Russian Orthodox Christian soldier. Tevya is forced to decide whether his relationship with his daughters or tradition is most important.
The story gives an interesting perspective on family, religion, and culture. The soundtrack is excellent! We still have my grandpa’s old record of the score.
What’s that? You say you’ve never seen it? What! Why are you still reading this? By all means, open a new browser window and reserve the movie at your nearest public library!
You’re back? You reserved it? Wonderful! You won’t be disappointed. We certainly weren’t disappointed by the live performance. The characters seemed to have stepped right out of history or the screen of the movie version.
The performance of Fiddler at ABT is going to be very hard to beat. However, I have a feeling that the next stage production that we see may be even better. Next on our playbill is Phantom of the Opera on Broadway in New York City. Stay tuned for a blog post on Phantom, coming soon to a 3rd Culture Wife blog near you.
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