"Every tear on every face tastes the same"

(Continuing with my theme of titling blog posts with lyrics from songs that I’ve been listening to a lot. This is a lyric from “You’re Not Alone” by Mavis Staples, which a great friend of mine shared with me when I was feeling homesick at the end of training. It’s a good reminder that when you’re having a hard time, there are others out there who are maybe experiencing the same thing, and can offer support. It’s a song- and an idea- that I relied upon a lot during my first week at site.)

I’ve now been at site for just under 2 weeks, and although there’s so much I want to talk about in regards to life here, I first wanted to finish a blog post I’d started about the end of pre-service training.

On May 4^th, 2012, myself and the other 28 trainees were sworn in by John Reddy, the director of Peace Corps Madagascar, and officially became volunteers! As I sat there under the tent, dressed up for the first time in 2 months, it was hard to believe that 9 weeks of training had passed by, and suddenly everything was becoming real: I am no longer in training to become a Peace Corps volunteer, I really am a volunteer now, and I was soon to be set forth on my own to figure out life at my site, a multi-day journey away from the area I’d called home for two months. The last couple days of training were a blur of packing, partying, and preparation for our moves to site. On Saturday May 5^th, the sleep-deprived lot of us said tearful goodbyes and packed off into cars, with each car headed to different regions of the country (and some going to the airport, for those volunteers living in the far reaches of Madagascar). My car headed first to Fianarantsoa for the night, then went east and continued down the southern coast to Farafangana, where myself and the other 2 volunteers in my region were welcomed heartily by 6 volunteers currently living in the area. The drive to Fara from Fianar was beautiful, with the landscape unfurling itself and transforming before my eyes: from the mountainous highlands to the palm- and banana-tree dotted landscape of the south. With the change in vegetation and increase in temperature, it almost felt like I was entering a different country. But whereas the highlands area of Madagascar sometimes doesn’t actually feel like Mada (or Africa at all), there’s no mistaking that you’re on a tropical island when you’re in the Sud Est.  As we neared closer to Farafangana, I began to feel a sense of fear and anxiety about the fact that I was leaving so many friends whom I’d become so very close to during the last month of training—how could I bear to eat dinner without their company, let alone live a 2-day taxi brousse ride away? But our boisterous welcome by the group of current Sud Est volunteers helped allay some of my fears, and although I miss my friends terribly every day, it’s a source of great comfort knowing that I have a Sud Est family here.  So thank you, Maria, Abe, James, Paul, Erika, and Yu Sun, for making us feel at home.

As I neared the end of my time at the Peace Corps training center (which we’d moved back to after 4 weeks at homestay and a 1 week technical trip), I tried to remember what it felt like arriving at the PCTC my first night in country and the foreignness I felt. It was difficult to transport myself back to that feeling, since those once unfamiliar corners were so very home-like at the end. My comfort level at being in-country went up substantially, and so did my language skills. When speaking with the other trainees, we couldn’t seem to talk in English without peppering it with Malagasy. Now, it’s hard to imagine a vocabulary that doesn’t include mahay, misy/tsy misy, tsy mety, betsaka, or misaotra betsaka (“’saot’ bets’”).

I had read advice tidbits from a lot of current and former volunteers before coming here, and one thing that echoed across all countries of service is that Peace Corps is a rollercoaster, where you’ll experience the highest highs and lowest lows. Thinking about this, I’d say my my lowest point during training was the moment during our tech trip, eating breakfast in Antsirabe, when our outdoor table was surrounded by sickly beggar children asking for food. When a piece of cheese fell from my sandwich onto the ground, and a boy lunged for it and put it in his mouth, I crumbled inside out of powerlessness and heartbreak. And possibly my highest moment was a day during the end of pre-service training when I went running through Mantasoa with two friends, exploring the beautiful river as it wound its way through the woods and towards the dam that created Lake Mantasoa. I remember running along the river, through the rice fields and basking in sunlight, and being awestruck that I was running, in Madagascar, on the most beautiful day I could remember. Of course, the rollercoaster can sometimes happen within one day, which is something I wasn’t expecting. The day before our final language exam I was at a low point, stressed out over studying and anxious about my abilities. But then a package arrived from two of my best friends back home, full of candy and magazines, and my heart leapt with gratitude from the magnitude of their gesture. Overcome with emotion, tears of happiness and relief sprang forth from my eyes.

I haven’t been experiencing too much homesickness, although a toothbrush bearing my dentist’s name and a 212 phone number has become a talisman of my former life in NYC that I can’t bear to throw away. There have been a few small Proustian moments when I am whiplashed into thinking of home, such as when the maintenance crew mowed the lawn at the PCTC, and with that distinctive scent in the air, all I could think of was summer in Vermont. Sometimes an olfactory memory will pop up unexpectedly in my head—eggs for breakfast at Shelburne Farms, the scent of the creamy grass fed yolk meeting the air, the slightly sour scent of O-Bread toast. And when refrigeration is barely existent, I long for a glass of clinking ice cubes, or just one scoop of ice cream. How bizarre to think that when I lived with my parents pre-Peace Corps, ice cream was a daily foodstuff for me, not the true luxury it is. The things I long for now are all things I took for granted back home, and perhaps that magnifies the pang of their absence.

Physically, I look slightly different after nearly 3 months in country:  I lost 20 lbs during homestay and tech trip (and then gained 10 of them back after a month of being spoiled at the PCTC, then lost 5 of them again after moving to site). I have substantially more freckles now, all over my hands and arms and face, even though I am religious about sunblock. My hair is bleached from the sun and the bottom half of it has taken on a reddish color all its own. And, I have a Z-shaped tan line on both feet from my Chacos (the unofficial footwear of Peace Corps volunteers). I’ve postered the walls of my house with pictures from back home, and how funny it is now to look at pictures of myself in New York, dressed up and wearing high heels and makeup as an everyday occurence. Sometimes I long to return to it, but for now, that era of my life is on hold.

More to come soon (I hope) on life at site… internet access is incredibly slow when I do finally get on it, so once again, I apologize for being out of touch on email.

Stomping Out Malaria: World Malaria Day in Mantasoa

April 25^th is World Malaria Day, and because Peace Corps volunteers of all sectors are heavily involved in malaria prevention efforts across Africa and Asia, our training group participated in a special event today in Mantasoa.

Last Saturday we gathered there to paint a mural on the wall of the fokontany building (kind of like a town office), which illustrated the dangers of not sleeping under a bed net. Although malaria is not as prevalent here in the chillier highlands than it is in the coastal area, there were 2 cases reported in the area last week. Many people have a false idea that they can’t get tazo moka (the Malagasy word for malaria, which translates to “mosquito fever”), so a lot of education is needed. Today’s event presented the mural to the residents and lehibes (town authorities such as a the mayor, chief of the fokontany, head of the gendarmes, etc), as well as the press. The director of the malaria initiative at USAID gave a speech about the goals for eradicating malaria in sub-Saharan Africa and in Madagascar specifically, and there was also a demonstration on how to make natural mosquito repellant using the neem plant, which grows wild all over Madagascar.

The completed mural!

Peace Corps’s malaria prevention efforts work in tandem with PMI (President’s Malaria Initiative), which is a program started by President Obama. All volunteers are supposed to incoporate malaria prevention activities into their work, and for me, it will be especially important because my site, Vangaindrano, is in an area with high malaria rates. I’m really excited to incorporate tazo moka education and neem oil training into my projects at site.  

Peace Corps Passover

            When I joined the Peace Corps, I knew I’d have to make some sacrifices and adjustments to the lifestyle that I’d been accustomed to— chief among these was how I practice Judaism and observe holidays. From conversations with my Peace Corps placement officer I knew I would have to tread carefully since I’d be living in a country where most people probably don’t know what Judaism is. And, let’s be honest, I wasn’t really expecting to be able to find matzoh anywhere in a country like Madagascar. One thing I did know for certain, however, is that I didn’t want to lose the Jewishness from my identity, because among other things, I credit its influence with helping me be the person I want to be—someone who serves as a Peace Corps volunteer, quite honestly. In fact, my short answer to the oft-asked question of “why did you want to join the Peace Corps?” could probably be two words: tikkun olam, which is the Hebrew phrase for the Jewish ideal that translates to “repairing the world”.

            So when I realized at the end of March that Passover was coming right around the corner, I knew that I wanted to do at least something to observe it.  Obviously it wasn’t going to be feasible to observe the dietary laws when I still have to eat whatever they serve us at the training center, so that part was out of the question. But as fortune would have it, I discovered during our tech trip that one of my fellow volunteers, Emma, is also Jewish and was hoping to do something for Passover as well. So, on the second night, we held a very modified seder at the training center. One of our non-Jewish friends also joined in, and we had a fun time making the best of it given our limited resources. I made a Peace Corps-version seder plate using, among other things, cooked potatoes in place of matzoh, and sakay (hot pepper relish that’s popular in Madagascar) in place of horseradish.  My crowning achievement, however, was my Macgyver-ed “wine” for the 4 cups, which I made using vodka and water mixed with Cran-Grape drink mix packets. Hey, you have to work with what you’ve got.

Cups of "wine"

            After the seder, a few more friends joined us at the table and Emma and I ended up talking about Judaism and Jewish holidays with them—trying and failing to remember any Passover songs, and making plans for celebrating Rosh Hashanah together, somewhere in Madagascar.  The night ended up being perfect, and just what I needed to help me keep some bit of connection to my Jewish identity and my life back home. I haven’t had that many moments of homesickness since being here, but when I got to thinking about not being able to celebrate Passover (or any other holidays) in New York with my close friends, it all hit me at once. Realizing that I could keep up some sort of observance during my time here was a balm that smoothed some of the rough edges of that little bit of homesickness.

            At the end of the seder, after we said “next year in Jerusalem” (but let’s be honest, it’s more likely to be “next year in Antananarivo”), we went around the table and talked about what Passover meant to us being here. For me, I have a very distinct connection between Peace Corps and Passover, because it was while I was at my friend Jesse’s parents’ house for a seder last year that I got the phone call from Peace Corps saying that I was finally medically cleared for service.  So it was a great moment to be here in Madagascar, exactly one year later, celebrating the holiday with new friends yet remembering everyone back home, and reflecting on my good fortune to exactly where I am right now.

To Market, To Market (aka Iron Chef Madagascar)

Because I’m a Peace Corps volunteer within the CED (Community Economic Development) sector, my technical training during PST has been focused on applying business principles to developing countries, and specifically to Madagascar in some instances. We’ve done numerous projects to help us practice the kind of work we’ll be doing at site, such as meeting with and consulting on existing small businesses in the town of Mantasoa (where we lived during homestay). One of the more memorable projects, however, was when we had to create an IGA (income generating activity) for the market at Manjakandriana, the big market town an hour’s drive from Mantasoa. The intention of this was to help put us in the shoes of a typical Malagasy person who we’d be helping.

The 14 CED volunteers were split up into 4 different groups, and we had to brainstorm something to sell at the market, then determine how the business would operate and what our expenses would be, then buy all the materlals and figure out how to price our product. My group members and I decided that we wanted to sell a food item, and make it something that would be somewhat familiar to Malagasy people but with an American twist. Out of our initial 3 ideas of Rice Krispie treats (because rice is the most widely eaten food here), corn on the cob, and french fries, we settled on fries, also known as “ovy frites” in Malagasy. Emma, Monica, and I spent the day before the market washing, peeling, and cutting 4 kilos of potatoes and getting everything ready to take to the market. Peace Corps told us we had to be in charge of getting ourselves to the market (to further simulate a real-life experience), so we all “reserved” spots in a taxi-brousse (similar to a bush taxi and how probably 90% of people here get around) for 5 AM, in order to get to the market by 6:30 when we could start setting up.

On market day I got up at 4AM, and my host family did too—they insisted that I needed to at least have some coffee and bread, so they got up to start the fire and brew the coffee, and then my neny (host mother) and sisters walked with me to the taxi-brousse station in the pitch-dark early morning. (This was one of the moments during which their kindness astounded and humbled me.) All 14 of us waited around for an hour with no sign of the taxi-brousse, which at this point we had been prepared for due to the cultural indifference to timeliness here. At 6:00 AM, a truck with a covered bed pulled up, and two guys from our group inquired if it was the taxi-brousse to Manjakandriana. The driver told us to get in—and we stopped to debate it for a minute. It didn’t look like a taxi-brousse, which are more like maxi-vans. But we had been waiting for so long, and we were already running late. So we proceeded to pile in, which ended up becoming a clown car experience as we tried to fit 14 people plus materials for 4 market stalls (tables, groceries, etc.) into the back of what was essentially a large pickup truck. Midway through trying to cram everyone in, one of the volunteers who was squished in the back started to have a panic attack because her claustrophobia was setting in.  A small amount of chaos ensued as we tried to get her out of here plus get more people in—and then all of a sudden the truck pulled away, leaving 6 people behind. Those of us in the back of the truck stared at one another in shock for about 10 seconds, then burst out in nervous laughter as we realized that we were on our way to the market in a truck of questionable safety standards, and there was nothing we could do about it. There were 8 of us crammed in the back of the truck, plus another passenger as well as the driver’s assistant. I was wedged in next to the hitch and was just praying that it wouldn’t open during the trip. To make matters more interesting, there had been an epic rainstorm the night before, and the roads to the market was even worse than normal (which is still really bad.) What should have been an hour-long journey took 2 hours, and at one point the truck got stuck in the mud and we had to all get out so the driver could get it unstuck.

But, we made it to the market at long last around 8AM, and the rest of the group made it about a half hour later (the real taxi-brousse showed up shortly after our truck left.) We set up our ovy frites station, which involved using a fatana-charbon (portable charcoal stove), and started cooking. I began calling it Iron Chef Madagascar because it was hands-down the most stressful cooking situation I’ve ever been in: I had to haul a heavy stove from my host family’s house, on a truck that should have been a taxi-brousse, then set it up in the middle of a crowded market, light the charcoal and keep the fire going, and cook french fries as crowds of Malagasy people stood around me, staring and telling me I was doing it wrong. Yes, it was a difficult morning. The french fries were really slow to cook, and I realized after the fact that I should have used a different pan and more oil. Needless to say, our group was not the most profitable of the 4. We sold all the french fries we cooked, but we didn’t break even on our expenses (mostly because we bought ketchup to serve with them, which is really expensive here, and because we spent more money on cooking oil than we should have.) But the true lessons there were about how to deal with failure, which unfortunately happens often as a Peace Corps volunteers, and how to approach daily challenges, like what to do when the taxi-brousse doesn’t show up? I also reminded myself to think of the small victories: I managed to figure out how to cook french fries in the middle of a crowded market in Madagascar. I’d like to extend that challenge to Bobby Flay, or any of the other Iron Chefs. 

Team "ovy frites"! Thanks Leslie for the pic. (It was

"I'll write you a letter tomorrow. Tonight, I can't hold a pen."

[Note: I've decided to title my blog posts with lyrics from whatever song I've been listening to a lot lately. 'Can't Hardly Wait' by the Replacements has been on heavy rotation lately, and the first lyric is ringing true for me. Exhaustion comes more quickly here in Madagascar, with the extra exertion required of living in a foreign culture, and at night my grand plans of letter writing often gives way to a 9PM bedtime. So, please know that I am thinking of each and every one of you, even if you haven't seen a letter from me yet.]

With my new friends Sarah, Christina and Amy in Sandrandahy

Internet access at last (albeit just for a few hours), and how can I begin to sum up the past five weeks in Madagascar? My life has changed so utterly and completely over the last month that it’s impossible to even begin to describe it.  I’ll offer a few favorite moments to color in the lines: goofing off and dancing to Europe’s “The Final Countdown” with my host sisters while doing dishes. Getting pineapple (mananasy) juice on my Malagasy notebook because I brought it to the dinner table to practice sentences. (The pineapple here is the best in the world.) Taking a truck of questionable safety standards to the market in Manjakandriana with my fellow trainees, and then having to get out while the driver worked to get it unstuck from the rainstorm-ruined muddy road. However, probably the most Peace Corps poster-girl moment was when I sat with my host sister eating cassava sweetened with the Vermont maple syrup that I’d brought my host family as a gift.

To get to Madagascar, you fly to the edge of the earth, and then you fly even further. It is unfathomable to think about how far away from home I am now. After a day of staging in Washington, DC, the 30 of us trainees boarded a plane in Dulles to start the long journey to Mada. After 10 hours we landed in Dakar, Senegal for refueling, and then promptly lifted back up into the sky to continue our trip, arcing over the coast at sunrise as the small Senegalese fishing boats set out from the beach in search of the morning catch. After an overnight stay in Johannesburg, we boarded another plane to Madagascar, and all felt our hearts jump as we began our descent over the lush mountain ranges in Madagascar’s highlands.

The most immediate feeling I had upon arrival was that of relentless uniqueness. From the black worms that I accidentally crunched under my sandal twice in one day, to the green burrs that clung to my jeans when I walked around the training center campus, everything is new and different here. I remember listening to birds calling early in the morning as I law awake with jetlag insomnia on my first night at the Peace Corps—what bird was crying out? My constant companion during my month-long homestay was an electric blue butterfly that flew along with me everyday as I walked down the hill from my house, its wings beating in a shade of blue I’d never seen before in nature.

It’s hard to shake the feeling that I am simply not designed to be in Madagascar; my fair Scottish-Eastern European skin and blue eyes require constant applications of sunblock and donning of sunglasses and hats, and my ample height causes me to constantly whack my head on low ceilings in the houses that are designed for the very petite Malagasy. The country seems to know I don’t belong here, too, and has been exacting revenge for my transgression in the form of constant insect bites (mosquitos and fleas), searing sunburns after just an hour of exposure (even when wearing sunblock), and intermittent gastrointestinal distress (which is to be expected anywhere, of course). It’s a bit ironic that the two items helping me most to survive here are a British water filter and extra-strength French sunblock—funny how colonialism breeds ingenuity.

But despite that, I’m walking up relentlessly happy every morning, and I’m beyond thrilled to be where I am and doing what I’m doing. Someone asked me last night if it felt weird to not be sitting behind a computer all day, and I have to say that I am loving it. The month-long internet diet that was forced upon us actually felt very liberating and freeing, although I am nevertheless thrilled to be back online for a short bit. The strangest part of pre-service training has had to be the change in scale of my life. What I mean is that I now find everything in life to be magnified—things that would not be a big deal at home are suddenly gigantic here. For example, my biggest stress lately was a small Malagasy language test. Would a somewhat insignificant language test cause me to wake up with anxiety every morning back in the US? Probably not. Additionally, there are some other stresses and anxieties that come with being thrust into a fishbowl, where you’re suddenly paired with 28 other people you’ve never met before, and everywhere you go, people stare/laugh/point/yell “vazaha!” (white person) at you. But I think I’ve been handling it as well as can be expected.

Our month-long homestay ended last week and we’re currently on a 6-day tech trip visiting current volunteers to get a sense of what it’s like “in the trenches”. It’s been a whirlwind but generally a lot of fun, because we’d all been itching to get out of Mantasoa and see a little bit more of Madagascar. My homestay family were just simply awesome, and I feel that I really lucked out. Not only did they live on top of a hill with the most beautiful view in town, they were probably the kindest, most loving people I’ve ever met. I can’t even begin to describe the fear I felt on my first dinner with them, when I’d only been studying Malagasy for 2 days and suddenly had to communicate with them. But the days got easier as my Malagasy got better, and I was able to sit around the table and have short conversations with them after just weeks of study. As one of my friends remarked, we learned more Malagasy in one week than he did in an entire year of French class at home. On my last night with them, the family presented me with a birthday gift: a beautiful lamba hoany (traditional Malagasy printed fabric) as well as some inexpensive jewelry. Tears welled up in my eyes from the sheer magnitude of their generosity. This is not a wealthy family by any stretch of the word, and the gesture was both humbling and overwhelming. I once read a piece of advice from a former PCV which said “let people be generous, no matter how poor they are”, and it was what ran through my mind as I tearily thanked them for welcoming me into their family for a month.

With my host family on my last day in Mantasoa.

Language note: my favorite Malagasy words are “skoubi-dou”, which means flip-flops, and was undoubtedly started by someone who had a pair with Scooby-Doo on them; ”mitsangatasangana”, which means to take a walk for pleasure-- this I mainly like because I can finally say it; and “umby” (oom-beee), which means “cow”, because it just sounds cute. However, I now need to start learning my specific dialect, Antesaka, which requires me to turn all my S’s into “sh” sounds. (Example: “salama” becomes “shalama”.) This causes all kinds of hilarity among my fellow trainees.

My dialect is one spoken in the Sud Est region (“Oh yeah, Sud Est yeah!”) in Madagascar’s southeast coast. Yes folks, this means I’m going to the beach! I’ll be serving in a town called Vangaindrano and will be working with an organization called COLDIS to help spice producers improve their exports—so my projects will involve cloves, cinnamon, ginger, and other spices. YES! I’m really thrilled that I will get to use my culinary background, and I’m already brimming with ideas. I have one more month of pre-service training, and then I head down there (a 2-day journey from Tana) around May 5^th. I’ll be joining an (in)famous group of tight-knit volunteers down in the Sud-Est (with the aforementioned slogan), so I am looking forward to beach bonfires, eating lobster for Christmas dinner, and gorging myself on the thousand different kinds of local fruit that’s available there.

I’ve been cobbling together memories and vignettes from the past month, which is giving this blog post a smorgasbord-esque feel. I apologize for not being more concise. It’s just nearly impossible to sum up a month that has seen my life swing in such a different direction. I hope that future blog posts will help do it more justice.

And away we go

Greetings from Johannesburg! I probably won’t be able to blog again for a little while, so I am taking advantage of having internet access in the hotel to write a quick update.           

It’s amazing to realize that I have made it this far. When I got to the airport in Vermont and strapped on my giant hiking backpack, on my way to our two-day staging event in DC, that’s when it really hit me: I am finally a Peace Corps volunteer. I’ve been talking about it and planning for it for so long (3 years? 4 years?) that it always seemed like such an abstract idea—until now. And then when I arrived at the hotel in DC, it suddenly hit me that the feeling of foreignness I was experiencing, just by being in a different city and strange hotel, was going to be one that will pervade my life for the next 2+ years. I know that once I get my site placement and am well settled there, it will start to feel like home, but there will always be a sense of foreignness, and that is scary to think about.

The staging event itself was fairly low-key, and it was great to finally meet the people with whom I’d been talking on Facebook for the past few months. It’s funny to think that although none of us know each other very well yet, we are undoubtedly going to become incredibly close, mostly by virtue of  proximity and necessity.

On Tuesday we all boarded a bus to Dulles to catch our 17-hour flight to Johannesburg, and despite everyone’s stress about packing and bags being over the weight limit, we checked in without any difficulty. The flight itself was not as bad as I thought it would be—I’ve had worse long-haul flights-- though it was funny to be getting on a plane at sunset one day, and then go through another cycle of sunrise/sunset, all while still in the air.  I’m doing pretty well considering the time difference—I’m about to take a couple Tylenol PM in order to drug myself into the right time zone and get some sleep!

Because of flight schedules, we are all spending the night in an airport hotel in Johannesburg (the Southern Sun—it’s actually quite nice) and then we board a flight to Madagascar at 10 AM tomorrow.  The local Peace Corps staff will be picking us up from the airport in Antananarivo (the capital of Madagascar) and driving us to the Peace Corps training center in Mantasoa, about 20 miles away. Then we stay there for 1-2 nights, and then we go to our host families!

I sent an email to my Peace Corps recruiter yesterday, just thanking her for helping me get to this place and sending her my blog details, and she sent this a really amazing piece of advice that I thought was too great not to share. She said:

My go-to advice for departing volunteers is always this: imagine every small (and I mean, TINY) accomplishment as a tiny pearl, or jewel of your choice. Imagine that each time you achieve one of these pearls, that you string it on a necklace. And on those days when you feel like you have gotten nowhere and wonder what the heck you’re doing there, take a look in the mirror at the necklace and realize that Peace Corps service is not one, big project that is either successful or unsuccessful. It is an accumulation of minor, small, incremental adaptations, words learned, habits formed, etc. And the proverbial necklace you wear is your evidence of that.

Top Ten NYC Memories

As I've been preparing to enter a new phase in my life, I've spent a lot of time looking back on this phase as it comes to a close. During my month at home in Vermont, I've been working on a long-delayed project to scrapbook all the fun mementos from my New York life: concert tickets, restaurant business cards, etc. (And when I say "scrapbooking" I don't mean the crazy-crafting-lady type... I am basically just pasting things in a book and writing notes about them.) Doing this has reminded me how many wonderful opportunities I have had and how blessed I have been, both career-wise as well as in my personal life. So, I thought I would write a blog post to honor these incredible experiences, as well as give credit to some of the wonderful people who have made my life what it is.

My Top NYC Memories:

10. I started out my adulthood with only very basic cooking skills, and I cringe when I think of some of the things I used to cook when I was 22 and first living with Claire and Jess in our apartment in Hoboken. But along the way, I started to love cooking-- I became inspired by it and really enjoyed experimenting and trying new things, and I grew to love hosting people for dinner in my Brooklyn apartment that fortunately had a dining room. I have recipes in my binder that I remember tearing out of the NYT Dining section or Gourmet, and being so daunted by them, but thinking "someday I'll make this". Those recipes that seemed so difficult are now things that I can confidently make, such as 24 hour brisket, challah, princess cake, lattice pie crusts, and many more. It's something I'm eminently proud of, because aside from some inspiration and basic instruction from my mom (and inherited baking skills from Grandma Lillian), I'm entirely self-taught.

Latticed and braided pie crust.

 9. When I was in high school and college I was interested in connecting with my Jewish heritage, but didn't really know where to start. I attended a Shabbat dinner at a friend's house in high school, and explored Passover during college, but it wasn't until I was 24 and someone told me about Birthright Israel that I really got involved. Until that point I thought it was only for college students, and I'm so glad that someone told me otherwise. I went on a trip when I was 25, gained an amazing friend and future roommate (Bridget), and was really inspired by everything I'd learned. I wasn't "brainwashed", as some people accused-- mostly I was energized by getting this crash course in Judaism and Israel, especially when I learned about the ideals of tikkun olam and chesed. Ultimately, learning about these ideals helped me become the person I wanted to be: I had wanted to do more volunteer work and get involved in my community, and soon enough, I did. (I also credit these ideals with pushing me to finally pursue the Peace Corps.) In 2009 I went back to Israel on the Israel Diplomatic Fellowship, a short-lived program of the Israeli Consulate and Birthright Israel NEXT. I wasn't originally planning to apply for this, but I am so thankful that I did, because I made such incredible friendships that last to this day, and the knowledge I gained during the classes and subsequent trip helped give me a much greater worldview.

With my IDF trip gals, at Jesse's "funky hat" birthday party.

8. As mentioned above, in my mid-twenties I found myself really wanting to do more volunteer work, which I was heavily involved with in high school. Gaining inspiration from the Jewish ideals of chesed and tikkun olam, I started volunteering with City Harvest and later joined their junior board, "Generation Harvest". I also joined the junior board for Gilda's Club (now Cancer Support Community), started volunteering with the Greenpoint Soup Kitchen (I baked desserts nearly every week for their Wednesday night dinners), and became a volunteer leader with Met Council, where I ran a lunch program for low-income seniors and helped with job training workshops. New York is a city that is rich with opportunity for helping others, and my volunteer experiences were so rewarding. It was one of the hardest things to say goodbye to.

With 3 desserts that I helped create for the soup kitchen.

 7. When I lived in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, I was fortunate enough to have a great group of friends who lived in a house with a backyard just a couple blocks away. The boys and girls at 166 Newel- Devin, Wells, Ben, Peter, Amerah- threw some incredible parties that formed the backbone of my social life from 2006-2010. They were usually themed, always had one of them DJing in the front room, and made great use of the backyard. When they moved out, it was like the end of an era.

With Wells and Jess at a 166 holiday party.

6. Although New York is a place for meeting new people, I also loved that I could stay in touch with old friends, too: fortunately my grade-school buddies Laura and Zena both moved to New York a few years after I did, and my college gals Jess and Claire both moved there with me in 2004. I have so many great memories of movie and cocktail date nights with Claire and Jess, dinner parties with Zena and Laura, running in Central Park with Zena, seeing shows with Claire, and just generally loving having my old friends around in the big, sometimes scary city.

Zena helping to celebrate my birthday last year.

5. My first job out of college was working for a record label, Astralwerks, and that afforded me some truly epic musical experiences: attending CMJ every year (standout memory: closing down Southpaw with Tobi and Gilad as we danced to Diplo's DJ set), seeing Kraftwerk and OMD, taking bands to radio sessions (Royksopp to XM, Phoenix to WFUV, Candi Staton to the Wendy Williams show, where she sang me a new song she'd written, Dust On My Pillow), going to SXSW and having a keyboard stand fall on my foot, then being bandaged up by a member of Hot Chip and going dancing all night anyway.... there are too many great moments to list.

Backstage bandaging.

4. My next career after the music world was working for Food Network, where more amazing experiences came my way: appearing live on the Pix 11 Morning News to promote FoodNetworkStore.com (thanks Alexis for being my PR trainer!), being in an episode of Food Network Star,  getting to partake in the New York City Wine & Food Festival, and just generally having the best coworkers you could ask for: Deb and Angela keeping me sane with grammar and spelling, trading goofy pics with Alex, my cubicle quad girls Danielle/Dria/Clay, and working on Good Food Gardens with Carrie and Sarah. I also worked for some really great people (Bob and Lia), and I can't believe I was lucky enough to call this place home for 4 years. 

I said "uh huh" way too much, but in general I think I did ok on live TV!

3. As my culinary acumen expanded, I began to partake in as many of New York's gastronomic offerings as I could afford. I was fortunate to have had some truly epic dining experiences: buying myself a birthday lunch at Jean-Georges, going to brunch at the Waldorf-Astoria with Phil, joining Chelsea for Sasha's gajillion-course birthday dinner at Maialino, having dinner at Momofuku Ko with my former coworker Tom (I walked over to his desk and asked: "what are you doing Tuesday night?" Tom: "oh, I have some show to go to, kind of have plans...". Me: "I finally got a reservation at Momofuku Ko. Wanna go w--" Tom, cutting me off: "YES. I AM THERE."), and right up until the end, my transcendent experiences at Minetta Tavern. Sure, I'd have about 50% less credit card debt if I ate in every night, but some of those tastes and memories are just priceless.

Meeting Marcus Samuelsson at a different one of Sasha's birthday dinners.

2. I will never forget the feeling of being 22, newly transplanted in New York and on my own for the first time, and finally getting my very first adult paycheck. I felt like the world was my oyster (even though looking back, I can't believe how small that paycheck was), and it was a feeling of finally being on my way in life. Then, several years later, I will never forget the memory of moving into my very own Manhattan apartment, something I had worked so hard to achieve. It was tiny, but I loved it, because it was my own. During the year I lived there I worked harder than I ever had in my life, and on days like the one where I got into work at 5AM to launch a website, and didn't get home until 6PM, there was nothing like being able to close my own door to the world for a little while.

My cute little living area. I miss this apartment.

1. My #1 New York memory, and perhaps my #1 memory in life, is unquestionably my experience training for and running the NYC marathon. I started preparing for it nearly two years prior, when I spent 2008 running nine NYRR races to get myself a guaranteed spot for 2009's marathon. I then devoted my summer to training, which became a second job, but the training runs were almost as rewarding as the race itself. I have so many wonderful memories, like doing a 10 mile run with Tori from Harlem to Battery Park, and seeing the tourists turn in shock as we high fived and said "yeah, 10 miles!" I loved doing 14 mile long runs with Laura, going from Greenpoint to Manhattan over the Queensboro bridge, then running down the west side and back into Brooklyn over the Williamsburg Bridge. And I loved my Wednesday night tempo runs, where I would run home 6 miles from work, and I found myself actually looking forward to a commute for once. And although I was sidelined in August due to an SI joint problem, I was able to run (ok, run/walk) the marathon thanks to intensive physical therapy. It was so incredible to see my friends and family (Jess, Wells, Brad, Brooke/Roz/Haley, Bridget, Sasha) cheering me along on the sidelines, but probably my favorite memory of the entire marathon was coming off the Verrazano Bridge and going into Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. I was wearing my homemade "Emily From Brooklyn" shirt and and my Brooklyn Dodgers hat, and the cheering I got nearly brought me to tears: everyone from old salty Brooklyn guys to hipsters to little Hispanic kids to Orthodox Jewish ladies saw me and said "yeahh Brooklyn!" I got more high-fives than I'd ever had in my life. And it that moment that made me love New York more than ever.

I think I started crying right after this.