dp's Blog

It’s recipe time here on my blog.  For those of you far-flung FS families, this is a a pretty easy deep-dish pizza recipe that produces fantastic results every time.  For those of you who live in the States, or worse, in Chicago, shut up.  I hate you.  Go order some Malnati’s already.

Special equipment: 14-inch cast-iron skillet or pizza pan.  9-inch round cake pans will work too.  Food processor.

For the dough:

2 1/4 cups bread flour (all-purpose works in a pinch)
2 1/2 tsp. white sugar
2 tsp. kosher salt
1 tsp. instant yeast
7.5 fl. oz. lukewarm water
4 tbsp. good olive oil, divided

Combine the dry ingredients in the working bowl of a food processor.  Run the processor for 30 seconds to combine dry ingredients.  Add the water and 1 tbsp. oil, run processor constantly until the dough forms into a ball that rolls on top of the blades.  Keep running for about 30 seconds more.  Turn dough out onto a lightly floured surface, and knead once or twice, then form into a ball.  Put 3 tbsp olive oil into a large metal bowl.  Place dough into bowl, turning once to coat.  Cover with saran wrap, and let rise until doubled in size (about an hour at room temp.).

After dough has risen, punch it down on a floured surface (if using 2 9-inch pans, divide the dough in half now), form it into a ball once again, sprinkle with flour, and cover with saran wrap.  Let rise for another hour or so.

Meanwhile, make the filling:

1 28-0z. can of whole tomatoes, drained
1 package of sweet or hot Italian sausage
2 medium white or yellow onions, sliced thinly
2 tsp. dried oregano
2 tsp. dried basil
1 tsp. dried parsley
1 tbsp. olive oil

Remove sausage from casings, and saute in olive oil over medium heat, pressing with the back of a spoon to break up.  When almost all the pink is out of the sausage, lower heat to medium-low, and add the onions on top.  Cover, and let cook for 5 minutes or so without disturbing.  Add dried herbs, increase heat to medium, and stir to combine.  Cook for 2-3 minutes, then add tomatoes.  Cover, and let cook for 5 minutes.  Remove cover and using the back of a spoon or a potato masher, crush tomatoes, being careful of the splatter (it’s hot!).  Bring to a low boil and let simmer for 15-20 minutes, stirring occasionally, until slightly reduced.  Remove from heat, drain, cover, and set aside.

Cheeses:

1 lb. shredded whole-milk mozzarella
1/2 cup grated or shredded Parmesan cheese

To assemble the pie:

Punch dough down one more time, and roll out into a 16-17 inch round (or 2 11-12 inch rounds if using the smaller pans).  Liberally grease the bottom and sides of your pan with either Crisco (preferred) or olive oil.  Place the dough over the pan and gently press down into the greased pan, being careful not to tear it (it should extend just a little over the lip of the pan).

Peel back the crust from the sides a little, and sprinkle a little bit of mozzarella between the dough and the side of the pan.  Make sure you go all the way around the pan, trust me, it makes a big difference.  Press the dough back up against the sides of the pan.  Take a fork and make numerous small holes on the bottom of the pizza dough (docking the dough), place crust into the 450 degree oven for 12-15 minutes (crust should be lightly colored).  Remove from oven, lower oven to 350 degrees.  Spread remaining mozzarella evenly over the bottom of the pie (or half in each pan if using 2 smaller pans), spread tomato-sausage mixture evenly over the mozzarella (or divide evenly between the 2 pies), then sprinkle the Parmesan over the pie (or divide evenly between the 2 pies).  Put back in oven for 15-20 minutes, or until crust is golden and cheese is browned and bubbling in places.

Let pizza rest for at least 10 minutes before serving.  It’s hard, I know, but it’s also necessary.

Enjoy!

We had another visit from my parents two weekends ago, the second and last in our two-year tour here.  It’s nice to have people down to see us so we can show them this wonderful island.  It’s also an excuse for us to get out of town and stay in places we normally wouldn’t.

The other weekend we stayed at Cayo Levantado, a private island in the Bay of Samana.  I don’t think I would normally stay at such a lavish resort, but when someone else is footing the bill my tune can change.  It was definitely the nicest hotel I’ve been to in a long time.  The food was good, booze was good, and the service was mediocre.  But mediocre service seems to be the norm here.

Example: Having to request ice from “Guest Services” 2-3 times before it was delivered on two separate occasions.  Example: Not having phone service in the room for the majority of the stay, therefore being unable to get room service, call for a shuttle during a rain storm, or be able to make a reservation for dinner in one of the restaurants.

Overall, I enjoyed our stay.  Maybe I’m too critical, maybe not.  It seems to me when you’re catering to higher-end tourists from Europe, Canada, and the U.S. it’s not enough just to have nice beaches and facilities.  There’s elements of customer service and attention to detail that are completely lacking here in the D.R. that keep it from being a premier Caribbean destination.

Other examples of the customer service stuff:

1)  Yesterday, while in the upscale butcher’s shop, I asked for 2 double-cut pork chops for a special V-day dinner I was planning.  I was told that they didn’t have anything but what was out front in the case (all single-cut, natch).  I asked if they got their meat shipment in on Monday (which they do every week), they said “yes.”  I asked if they had any bone-in rib roasts of pork, they said “yes.”  I asked if they could simply cut 4 ribs off one of the roasts and give it to me, and that I’d do the butchering at home, they said they “didn’t have any rib roasts.”  What?  I asked to speak to the butcher, he came out and told me the same line.  I asked how many rib roasts they had, he said “twenty or twenty five.”  I asked if he was just too lazy to be bothered with cutting one special for me, he said, “yes.”  OK, but please don’t lie/make shit up for 10 minutes before the truth comes out.

2)  My son’s school gives receipts for monthly tuition paid.  They recently switched their receipt format, and now require a “cedula number” to go on the receipt.  The cedula is the Dominican national identification card for D.R. citizens and residents.  Since we are neither, we don’t have a cedula.  I was told that if I don’t have a cedula, my son may not be able to attend this school anymore (this is after 18 months of happily taking our money, mind you).  I explained the whole “diplomat thing” (as I like to call it here), and that I’d happily give them my passport number or our tax exemption number (it’s called RNC here, kind of like the EIN or TID in the U.S.).  I was told that that was unacceptable, etc.  I asked the secretary to call their accountant to see if the RNC number would work, she assured me it would NOT be okay, and that I should probably start looking for another school.  I asked again, and also suggested that she call the Foreign Ministry and/or the U.S. Embassy to discuss how these things work if she was unclear (a few other FS families have sent their kids to this school, and it will doubtless become popular once the NEC is finished, since it is a stellar Montessori and it’s close to the NEC), as I’m sure they wouldn’t like to lose all the potential business over a kerfuffle as small as this.  After the fourth request, she called the accountant, and he confirmed that the RNC would work.  She never apologized for her ignorance.

3)  We have an exemption to the D.R.’s 16% VAT, and carry around copies of a letter explaining this.  You use this letter at any retail outlet, service provider, or restaurant to take the tax out of the bill.  However, you use it to varying degrees of success.  Some places outright refuse to take it (“No podemos, por que…”  Mind you, it is illegal to not honor the letter.), others require a long, drawn-out argument to honor it, and still others honor it, but then require you to return in a specified amount of time to pick up your check, but when you do, they claim that they owe you nothing, or have no record of the transaction (also illegal), and still others will “honor” it by taking off the tax, but adding a surcharge somewhere in the bill, eerily similar to the amount of the tax.  I have decided that this is all out of a disdain for extra steps, or anything that may be considered outside of the “norm.”  I may be right, or I may be making a sweeping generalization… the jury’s still out.  All I know is that just about anything that requires an extra step here is met with disdain and a “why me?” attitude, as if your small request has absolutely ruined their otherwise perfect day.

These are small inconveniences that really don’t necessitate an entire blog post, naturally… but compound these small things on an almost daily basis, and you will begin to see why things aren’t easy here.  We try to make our daily lives as close to how they would be in the U.S., and we can do so to a degree; however the little differences and idiosyncrasies sometimes get to me.  I tend to plan my days and weeks around what I perceive to be the path of least resistance, which I find to be a fabulous lesson to learn as soon as humanly possible in the Foreign Service.  My laid-back, “I don’t want no trouble” attitude has helped me skirt a lot of these issues, as I simply just won’t shop where there is a potential for hassle, or I just say, “Eff it” and pay the tax on the specific goods that I need from that particular store and go to another store for the rest of my shopping.

This is why I can’t wait to get back to the U.S., at least for a little while.  It’ll be nice to get all my shopping done in one place, be able to find ingredients when I need them, not when they happen to be in stock, and to be able to have faith in a system of customer service standards that works most of the time.

Until then, the Dude abides.

In just a few short days, we’ll be a the “6 months left” mark. 3/4 of the way through our first tour. We’ve already made a ton of preparations for our time back in D.C. for training, booked a house for home leave, started saving the money that we’ll need for home leave (moi, SAVING?), and have begun looking forward to Surabaya. It’s like I have post senioritis (which my MacBook is screaming at me to correct to “enteritis”, LOL, fitting).

We’ve been actually getting out of the city more than usual, and I have pictures to prove it!

Mire:

We all took a trip to Isla Saona on a catamaran a few Sundays back, and it was absolutely beautiful.  about an hour to sail out, 4 hours on the beach, and a high-speed boat back with a stop at a sand bar about 400 yards offshore where we could swim with giant red starfish.  The time at the beach was unfortunately marred by some idiot tourists, but that’s a long and involved story.  Let’s just say that I was deeply troubled by this event and leave it at that.

Over MLK weekend, we took another trip to Cabarete.  We found a nice villa right on the beach which we shared with another family.  The dogs and kids had a lot of space, we had some yummy food and wine, and it was an overall pleasant weekend.

This past weekend, I was invited to play softball with Robinson Cano again in the second annual Jackie Robinson Cup.  We had a much better time this year, as no one took it seriously.  Last year, apparently some of the players thought we had a chance against Cano and his band of ridiculously-talented semi-pro and professional baseball players, and there was a whole lot of animosity in the dugout.  This year, we knew we’d get our asses handed to us, said “f*ck it”, and there was much rejoicing.  It was a lot of fun to play more or less a pick-up game against one of the top-three best active baseball players in the MLB and a sure first-ballot Hall-of-Famer.

As we’ve come into our last quarter here, I find myself really getting itchy to both see whatever I can see on this island and to get the hell off of it.  I’m trying to get together some gear and a partner to do a weekend-long rally drive up the Haitian border with some other FJ Cruiser owners, I’d like to get out to Pedernales and Baharona, cross into Haiti through Dajabon, and also try to get up to Monte Cristi.  Then there’s the Pico Duarte trip (highest point in the Caribbean), and Jarabacoa, and I’m really starting to wish my time (and funds) weren’t so limited here.  But then I try to get stuff accomplished here in Santo Domingo, and quickly remember why I want to leave so badly.

So, if you’re thinking about the Dominican Republic as a viable option for a posting, it’s lovely.  I love this country, I hate this city.  My fondest memories will be of our adventures to the beach and the countryside, and I will do my best to block out my experiences here in Santo Domingo.

I guess that’s kind of the life of a FS family… you just need to take it all in stride.

Woah, earthquake! 1 year, 363 days after the Port-au-Prince earthquake, we woke up to shaking. Nothing huge, but enough to make me wonder if I was actually awake. It was a 5.3 quake, or “un temblor” in the vernacular. 55 km west of the city. Lasted about 7-10 seconds. Not particularly scary, we had a worse one right before departing for post, and my wife said the intensity was about the same as she felt in CT during the VA quake last summer. Ho-hum.

The thing that was not ho-hum was the response on the intarwebs. My personal favorite of the bunch: “Hay solo dos cosas que les pueden despertarse a los Dominicanos en la madrugada: el olor de cebollas para el mangú y un temblor.” Translation, “There’s only two things that can wake a Dominican in the early morning: the smell of onions for mangú and an earthquake.” Lulz. Apparently many people also took to the streets at the beginning of the shaking, grabbing whatever they could. That, I would have liked to see.

So, yeah. Going to check the emergency kits and get the documents together. They were all checked in June before Hurricane Season, but better safe than sorry. It also reminded me that we need a new first aid kit, as the supplies were slowly depleted over the past 17 months both by my tendency to injure myself and by a small child who thought band-aids and the likes were fun toys.

It’s funny how the threat of disaster in the developing world has me scrambling to shore up our emergency preparedness plans and kits, but the same thing in the States would just have me shrugging my shoulders. You get used to the safety net in the U.S., I guess, and can let your guard down. I don’t think I’ll ever be without a survival kit for the rest of my life, regardless of our location.

Well, that’s my adventure for the day (hopefully).

First, pictures!

Son had a much better time with Santa this year… even asking “Does Santa speak both Spanish AND English?” I think Christmas morning will be fun this year.

This year's visit with Santa was markedly better than last year's.

Having broken my cardinal rule of "NO ARTIFICIAL CHRISTMAS TREES", I guess there's no turning back now.

With respect to the tree, I hate artificial trees. Hate them. Like, almost didn’t forgive my parents for making the switch about 10 years back. See, I grew up with the annual Christmas tree hunt being a family adventure, usually ending in a huge fight between my parents when it came time to put it up. But is was pure comedy gold to me and my sister.

One year’s trip I remember vividly: We spent the better part of 3 hours searching for the “perfect” tree, hiking through a half-foot of snow over the course of a couple of miles. We eventually settled on a tree that was far too big for the house, but Sis and I couldn’t be convinced otherwise. We cut it down, and my Dad started the long, arduous process of dragging the sucker out through the snow. My Mom was in a foul mood by this point, as we’d been out in the bitter cold for a couple of hours. We finally got back to the car: a 1985 Volvo 240DL station wagon that my Mom had just purchased a few weeks before and was pathologically obsessed about keeping spotless. You know the one:

Click to embiggen.

Hers was silver, and we affectionately nicknamed it “The Refrigerator”, much to Mom’s chagrin.

The prospect of putting a Christmas tree on top of it, and the resultant sap deposits were clearly pushing Mom to the brink of a nervous breakdown. As she barked orders at my Dad and the tree lot attendant on how to properly place the tree on top without it touching her precious station wagon (via levitation or some other supernatural act, natch), one of the farm’s dogs was curiously sniffing my Mom’s car. My sister and I watched this dog with growing anticipation and excitement as we realized what it was doing. My Mom was oblivious at first, caring more about the Christmas tree and her car, but she soon took notice of the dog too.

What happened next was like one of those slow-motion dream segments… As the dog circled once or twice near the car, my Mom had the same epiphany my sister and I had shared a few moments earlier: “Oh sh*t! THE DOG IS GOING TO PEE ON THE CAR!!!” My Mom struggled to gain her footing on the icy ground in order to shoo the dog away at the same instant the dog began to lift its rear leg near the front tire. What followed was a comical, cartoon-like second or two much like after someone slips on a banana peel; my Mom’s feet were running in place on the ice and her arms were flailing wildly as she tried to advance on the dog with a murderous look in her eyes.

My sister and I began laughing as the dog, much better suited for stability on icy ground (it was a Husky mix, I remember), looked at my Mom and relieved itself on the front passenger tire, then quickly scampered away. My Mom’s mouth was frozen in a pained “NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!” as my sister and I doubled over in laughter, unable to contain ourselves. The dog pee dripped slowly down the tire, hubcap, and mud flap, forming pee icicles on her precious new car. My Dad, delightfully ignorant of the DEFCON-5 situation at hand, still struggled with the tree.

Finally, my Mom (realizing she had lost) slunk into the car and closed the door. All of a sudden, Christmas tree sap no longer mattered. Her new car had been defiled by a Christmas tree farm canine. You could see the resignation in her eyes, and the anger over her inability to prevent what had happened in her expression. We avoided her for the rest of the day, an especially difficult feat considering the 45-minute drive back home confined in the same car.

My sister and I were so delighted by the occurrence that we made my Mom’s Christmas present that year: a framed painting of the exact moment the dog urinated on her car. I don’t think my Mom spoke to us until the New Year.

She still hasn’t lived this down. My sister has told all her kids the story and they ask Nana about it every year, making her relive the horrors of that day each and every Christmas. I, too, will tell my son about that wonderful, glorious day and remind him to ask Nana about it every year, too.

What’s your favorite Christmas story?

Ahh, yes, it’s that time of year again.  The Holidays.  Quite possibly the worst time to be abroad with the Foreign Service.  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t miss the snow and cold that much, but I do miss the family and friends that we left behind to come here.

Last year wasn’t so bad for us, as my parents came down right before the holidays, and I was still holding onto the hope that my sister would be down in February.  We were also still only 4 months into the tour, and after the Winter from Hell (c) in D.C. in 2010, I wasn’t really longing for a white Christmas.

Well, this year has been completely different.  I miss everyone.  I miss my extended family, I miss my friends, I miss the crazy Christmas Day dashing from house to house to see everyone.  Being at my wit’s end with Santo Domingo doesn’t help all that much, nor does the fact that we’re going to be spending our home leave in Down-east Maine, where we’ll have little-to-no chance that anyone from my family will come visit us.  Unfortunately, it’s one of the few options available to us, as our requirements are: our own place; ocean; water views; 2+ BR; dog-friendly; relatively isolated; and under $3,500 for the month.  Almost nothing suited our needs in MA, RI, or CT, the three easiest states for my family to visit.  So Maine it is.  I’m looking forward to the peace & quiet, but my family is a little miffed at me.  I asked that they give me some other suggestions that would work with our requirements, but none were forthcoming.

Another contributing factor to my holiday malaise is the fact that during this tour, I will have missed the weddings of my four closest cousins: last December, this September, 2 weeks ago, and the one that will happen in June.  That’s tough, since my wife and I didn’t have a real wedding to celebrate with everyone (the problem with eloping for the Foreign Service), and I do love me some family weddings.

So, I find myself pining away for the ability to spend a holiday season with my family.  Luckily that happens next year, as we’ll be in D.C. for training.  After that, “home for the holidays” will involve 30+ hours by plane from Indonesia.  I’m hoping to spend the holidays in Hawaii at least once while on that side of the globe.  Hopefully some of my family can meet us there.

The moral of the story?  Serving overseas as or with an FSO is hard.  Being separated from your family is hard.  The holidays are hard.  Missing big milestones in the lives of your loved ones is hard.  On the flip side, however, the benefits we reap in this lifestyle are immense.  I have learned so much about myself, about my wife, and about the “rest of the world” in this first tour.  Watching my son come out of his shell, start speaking Spanish, and playing with his friends of every imaginable color, creed, and culture is heartwarming.  Seeing how many people in the third world live compared to what I considered a “rough life” in the States is eye-opening.

So thanks and no thanks, Foreign Service.  But Happy Holidays, nonetheless.

So, I’m officially a man of leisure again.  See ya, meaningless job in the Mission!  My last day was Oct. 28, and I haven’t looked back.  It feels… good.

My business is humming along pretty well.  Have had three pretty successful weeks of meals (spaghetti & meatballs, chicken noodle soup, and enchiladas), and this week’s beef stew should go over well.  Still having a few growing pains in the whole process, but they should all work themselves out after I run through the majority of my recipes.  I’m taking notes on each recipe and trying to better schedule the prep and cooking to make me not go crazy.  Luckily my housekeeper knows her way around a kitchen, and can help out a great deal with prep work and cleaning.

I took last week off from the business, as I had plenty to do with Thanksgiving and all.  I made a Cajun smoked turkey, sausage and sage dressing, and a pecan pie.  All three were delicious, and much fun was had at our friends’ house.  Son ate nothing but tortilla chips (to be expected), and I was actually pretty good about my consumption (i.e. no seconds).  But, like every other year, I always forget that turkey + wine = sleepy time.  We got home at about 8:30 p.m., put Son to bed, and I promptly put myself to bed.

Really not a whole heck of a lot more going on here.  The nice weather has finally arrived, and I will be enjoying the heck out of the next few months.  We’re prepping a little for the move back to D.C. and then onwards to Surabaya, figuring out logistics of schools, language, cars, dogs, etc.  We also got a place in Maine for our Home Leave… way out there, but after living in this city for 2 years, I think the change of pace and peace and quiet will be welcome additions to my life.  My family isn’t so pleased about it (it’s 6 hours past Boston), but for the price and the ability to bring the dogs, I’ll take it.  If you’re interested in visiting us, email me for details.

That’s about all for now…. I’ve got a lot of prep work to do today.

Meh, what are you going to do? I’m busy. So there.

No, really. Stop laughing over there… I really am! See, a little over 2 weeks ago, I decided to do something crazy and quit my job. Insanity, I know… how could anyone part with such a cushy 30-hour-a-week, $25K-a-year gig? It was tough, and I DO feel bad (again, stop laughing over there!) about it, but it’s the best thing to do for me & the family.

There’s a bright side to all this, however… Really, there is. I’m quitting to, wait for it…. Start. My. Own. Business. Indeed! My wife has been encouraging me for some time to do something with my love of the culinary arts, and well, damn it, I’m going to do something with my love of the culinary arts! So, here’s to the official launch of “The Expat Chef!”

“Well, just what the heck is ‘The Expat Chef’?” you ask.

I’m glad you asked… It’s a catering company! For diplomats! Run by an expat! My main focus will be making the food we miss So. Much. here in the D.R. with mostly local ingredients. Fried chicken! Bagels! Lasagne! Spaghetti & meatballs! Indian food! Thai food! Chili! I’m setting up a once-weekly delivery to the Consular Section and the Chancery with a subscription service; i.e. sign up for the week, pay, take food home with you on Thursday to either pop in the oven, reheat, or cook on the grill (with simple step-by-step instructions). Ta-da! Good food that you can’t get here.

So, this is why I’ve been busy. I’ve got a week until launch, and I’m gearing up while gearing down in my Embassy position. Good vibes always welcome from afar… I hope I’ll some modicum of success in this venture, as I plan on having it move from post to post with me. Imagine, gumbo and bagels in Surabaya. Fried chicken and lasagne in Maputo. Fajitas and deep-dish pizza in Dushanbe. Genius, I tell ya!

So that’s it… I’m sticking it to the man. And I also learned something here today: posts will never, ever, ever be able to recruit and retain solid talent for EFM positions if they continue to offer the pittances they call salaries. I felt like a grad student here at post: captive audience = cheap-ass labor. Even if I were to have worked full-time, my salary would have been just a shade above $30K. I haven’t made that little in about 10 years. Yes the position gets me out of the house and involved in the Mission, but come on folks, $17/hr.at the age of 35? With an B.A. and significant work towards a M.A. at top-tier universities? And more than 10 years of experience? I know other spouses here who were web producers, lawyers, engineers, etc. who are taking $50K+ pay-cuts just so they can work. That’s crazy!

If State would like to re-think the compensation packages for EFMs, I’d be willing to reconsider my stance and give a Mission job another shot. Not a moment before, however. Since they’re already paying our housing, travel, health insurance, etc., and the only real costs of us working are our salary, pension, life & disability insurances, and security clearance process (if applicable), don’t you think they could make the compensation packages a little more attractive? Wouldn’t it be great if there was actual competition for the offered positions, and Post was able to hire the best and brightest instead of the simply available to work?

I won’t be applying for any Embassy jobs any time soon. Sorry HR… there’s a lot of talent going to waste in me. Wish we could have started off on a better foot.

Regardless, here’s to new beginnings! Wish me luck.

Mahalo.

Ahh, 19 days in the States. It all seemed so surreal, touching down at JFK, boarding the bus to Immigration, crossing through the tiny lines for the Diplomats, being welcomed “home” by the friendly INS/CBP/ICE/whatever they are these days agent. Was I “home?” I guess I was, w/r/t being back in the motherland and all, but I really wasn’t. It was nice to speak my native tongue for 19 days, not having to search for words to describe simple concepts, not having to constantly look over my shoulder all the time, not having to fight through the incessant traffic jams, etc. But I wasn’t home. So much had changed since I was last there. Not so much that the physical had changed (with the exception of people being a little older and some new additions to the circle in the form of kids), but my perceptions had changed of the world around me. I was grateful for things that just 365 short days ago I had taken for granted.

Living abroad is a lot more difficult than I had imagined. You miss so much. Facebook and the blogs can only substitute so much for actual experience and interaction. But at the same time, it was as if I had never left in many regards with my friends and immediate family. I did not get a chance to see my extended family, which sucked, but if they can’t make time to see me in the 19 days we had there with 3 months’ advance notice of my arrival, I’m not going to lose sleep over it. Instead, I’ll probably just cross them off the list of priorities for next time.

I ate a lot. I shopped a lot. I relished in the fact that I had almost nothing to do for 3 weeks. I took my time enjoying the things that I had deemed important. It all came to an end too soon, and before I realized that I was back into my comfort zone, I was forcibly removed from it by a JetBlue flight back to reality. A reality we have created for ourselves.

Do I miss the States? Sure. Do I miss my friends and family? Absolutely. Would I trade my life now for the ability to return to normalcy in the States? Not a chance. I will miss many milestones living abroad, and I will be saddened by the fact that I am missing them. I will not, however, feel bad about it. My wife is presented with the opportunity to do what she has dreamed about since she was a child, and I am happy to follow where she leads me. I am happy to make a life (and a good one at that) out of what is presented to us. I am happy to forever be labeled a “trailing spouse” and be secondary to her in all things, since behind every good FSO is a good trailing spouse.

The one prevailing lesson taken away from my time on R&R is that R&R is really expensive. To those of you noobs out there not realizing this I say simply, “start saving now.”

Surabaya, Indonesia!!!

We are excited. Number two on our list. Sad to not have gotten Tunis, but living an hour from Bali will be an alright consolation prize.