21. The wrong side of the road (roof)

There are several colorful brochures sitting on the table in front of me. My friend Emily is sitting next to me and we are both looking at them. “Emily, look, England. What do you think?” I point at the flyers that describe the new au-pair babysitting programs in foreign countries.

I can’t stop thinking about Matt. I keep imagining his face and trying to etch it into my memory. I don’t want to forget him. I realize that in a span of one day, I went through all the relationship phases with him: meeting someone, falling in love, having a relationship, and getting heartbroken. Ok, I can’t sit around now and wait! I have to do something. So I start studying English more intensively. It is still not sticking. It’s as if my brain is refusing to absorb this new knowledge. The grammar is difficult and I keep forgetting all the new words I attempt to learn. How do people learn languages? Is it even possible to think in a different language? I simply can’t imagine. 

Traveling out of Eastern European countries is still very difficult. There are many restrictions and to receive any kind of visa is nearly impossible. However, there is a new au-pair agency that I hear about and they offer assistance with obtaining a special kind of visa, J1, which is created specifically for babysitting programs. The goal is for young Slovak people to experience different cultures and learn a new language. This is something that immediately intrigues me and I can’t stop thinking about it. I bring Emily with me to the agency and we pick up a stack of brochures. England, Germany, Belgium, Switzerland, Italy, United States. I sift through them all  and put the United States brochure in front of her. 

“Can’t go there. The requirements are too difficult.” I tell Emily. “Look! You have to have a driver’s license and you have to be fluent in English. Also it costs too much! It will never happen. I can’t afford this.” I toss the US brochure in the trash and Emily nods in agreement. 

Even if I was fluent in English, I don’t have a driver’s license and I wasn’t planning on getting one any time soon. In Slovakia, the public transportation is sufficient and you get wherever you need to go whenever you need to get there. Getting a license takes several months and lots of money, which I don’t have.

“How about Belgium, Emily? Let’s go to Belgium together. Looks reasonable!” I am excited as Emily is still looking at me with skepticism. “Are you sure, Jarka? You have to finish school first. Also, what if you get kidnapped? Haven’t you heard all the horror stories with these programs?” She is shaking her head over my foolishness. 

“Ugh, yes, I have to finish school first. So stupid.” I mumble to myself.

“But when we graduate, we will go together to Belgium, ok?” Emily reassures me but I know she doesn’t mean it.

I pick the England brochure again. Oh! This is it! I jump up. “Emily, look! They have a month-long program during Christmas break! Yes! This is what I am going to do!” 

I am in year 6 of the Music Conservatory now. Only a few more months to go until my graduation. I have been preparing for my final piano concert with my new piano professor who is currently my favorite person in the world. He is in his 50s, he is from the Czech Republic, and he is so funny! Amazing person. If anyone can make me love piano, it would be him! He took me under his wing after the death of his colleague and my previous mentor. But truthfully, if I am being honest with myself, no one can actually make me love piano. 

“So, uhm, I will not be here the week before our Christmas break and also the week after.” I inform him about my exciting schedule coming up.

“Why is that, Yarechka?” He uses an endearing nickname that he has established for me.

“I will be in England!” I can’t keep my excitement hidden.

“Ok, but remember about your concert coming up. You want to graduate, don’t you? That’s a long break from practicing!” He is concerned as he should be. I, however, cannot let this opportunity pass me by.

The wrong side of the road/roof

I arrive in London. I am glad my journey is over because I got a case of very unpleasant motion sickness on the short ferry ride from France. At least the bus to London was very comfy and fancy, giving me a chance to recover. There is a man holding a sign with my name on it and I follow him to his car. He is trying to talk to me but I can’t respond. I can’t speak English! The man rolls his eyes and motions for me to get in the car. 

“Oh my gosh, this is where I get kidnapped.” I am thinking to myself. “He can take me anywhere he wants to and no one would ever know.” My mind is spiraling out of control with anxiety but I have to trust him.

He is driving fast and I am disoriented. Not only is he on the wrong side of the road but with all the stops and turns, I get sick all over again.

“Whew,” finally he drops me off in front of a small duplex house. The place is super tiny. We are out of the city and we must be close to the airport because there are planes flying over our heads every few minutes. The driver leaves and I am on my own.

I hesitantly ring the bell. The door opens and there is…….a girl my age standing at the door. She smiles and says “Hello, are you Jarka?” She speaks Czech.

I am confused. Wait, aren’t we in England?

She senses my hesitation. “My name is Barbara, I am from the Czech Republic. I am also an au-pair. I am a friend of a girl who you are replacing for the holidays. She went home to see her family. She asked me to show you around and tell you what the family needs and what your job is going to be” she explains. 

I walk into the house. In the living room, I see a 5 member Indian family sitting on the couch.  Mother, father, probably a grandfather, a little girl that is around 5 years old, and a toddler boy. They are all glaring at me in a way that makes me feel uneasy. It’s the little girl who runs towards me first and screams “Hiiiiii!” This breaks the ice and we all say our names in introduction.

Barbara shows me around, explains the kids' routines to me. She tells me how to take care of them every day. The mother and father are busy, they work at the airport and they are usually away while working very long shifts. Eventually, Barbara leaves for the day but reassures me that she will come back the next day to check on me.

I am left alone with the strangers in their teeny tiny house. They are still suspiciously eyeing me but soon they serve dinner and invite me to eat with them. Maybe they are nice after all. The food smells ok but looks a little different than what I am used to eating in Slovakia. I taste it anyway and almost instantly, my mouth is on fire. This food is incredibly spicy! I take a few gulps of water and then try some rice that is also on my plate. This should be a safe choice I think…… uhm, wait….maybe not so much. My mouth, throat, and my entire face are burning up! The mother and father are watching, expectantly awaiting my reaction. I manage to say “Good,” and smile as I am forcing myself to swallow all the ‘delicious’ Indian food. I drink about 3 glasses of water but I don’t find much relief. Everything on the plate is cooked with a certain spice that I cannot identify. I think it tastes like feet. Is it cumin? Coriander? Turmeric? Stinky feet spice? I don’t know. I still try my best to be polite. Then a dessert follows. I am hopeful because what can go wrong with a sweet dessert? Except it’s not sweet! It also tastes like feet! I am dying. I am going to starve to death in the next few weeks.

It’s late. The kids, parents, and grandpa all go to bed. I am assigned a teeny room that has a twin bed and that’s pretty much all it has in it. I am grateful for the privacy because I am exhausted, ready to rest. I fall asleep to the sound of peaceful rain outside. After a couple of hours of tossing and turning in my dreamless sleep, I wake up in the middle of the night, drenched. The rain is now heavy, beating on the window right next to my bed. Oh no, my stomach is in severe pain, I am hurting and feel like my insides are burning up. I feel dizzy and nauseous. Please, don’t throw up, please don’t throw up, oh no, please don’t throw up….. Nope, my body doesn’t listen. It’s coming whether I like it or not. I know I can’t make it out of bed and to the bathroom because it is far away at the end of the hallway, right by the parents’ room. In panic, I sit down, tangled in my sheets and I push the window open. I hurl all the spicy content of my stomach out. Out the window it goes. There is an awning right under it. It has shingles and looks like a roof. Maybe it’s a roof, I don’t know what it is, except now it’s embellished with my half-digested Indian dinner. I am so sweaty that I don’t mind the fat cold rain drops slashing my face. But a wave of dizziness comes back over me and I collapse back in bed, still sick and in tears. If I wasn’t feeling so poorly, I would probably laugh hysterically at myself and this ridiculous situation. I would try to figure out how to clean the roof. But because I am in England and of course it’s raining, I am just going to let nature take care of it for me and hopefully no one will ever find out. As I am laying in a strange bed, with unfriendly strangers next door, all alone, because that’s what I wanted, to go to another country in search of happiness…..I make another promise to myself. To never eat Indian food again.