How a China RPCV Spent Her COS

That’s “how a China-returned Peace Corps volunteer spent her close of service money.”

Two years ago I left the United States to serve as a Peace Corps Volunteer in China. You might remember my Billfold piece about the cost of preparing for the trip:

The Cost of Moving Your Stuff Across the Country

My flight to China was paid for by the U.S. Government, and, as these things tend to go, I was part of the last cohort of volunteers to take the long way there. From Los Angeles we flew to Tokyo, then to Bangkok, where we slept over at a hotel near the airport, then a few short hours later, onto Chengdu. Nowadays kids take a direct flight to Chengdu. Either way, none of us spend any money out of pocket. The government arranges everything for us.

When you COS (that’s Close of Service, which in government jargon can be used as both verb and noun), things go a little differently. Peace Corps gives you two options. They can once again buy your ticket for you (a flight to your home of record on the day after you COS, specifically), or they can give you a set amount of money. In the case of my group, that was $1,500.

I took the money, and here’s how I spent it.

Unlike some of my other PCVs I was not about to go on a round-the-world adventure after I COS’d. While I lived in China I had a lot of downtime during the two-month break for Spring Festival/winter break and the two-month summer vacation, so I took that time and opportunity to travel. I bummed around China, went to a silent meditation retreat in Myanmar, took the GRE in Melbourne, explored Monkey Island in Vietnam, and chilled with orangutans in Malaysia (I really like primates).

So, despite the depressing news coming out of America daily, I wanted to go home. The first thing I bought with my money was a ticket from Chengdu to JFK on Qatar Airways.

Then my credit card got stolen—which meant I couldn’t board my flight, because Qatar Airways insisted I would have to present the credit card I used to purchase said ticket at the airport when I went to check in. (This did not actually come to pass with any of my friends who took the same flight, grr, sigh.) I cancelled my Qatar flight and bought one on Asiana for about $100 more.

Cost: $786.06 and a small percentage of my soul.

Before I left China I decided to take a test to prove that I have reasonable Mandarin to any future employers. This test was in Guangzhou, which is a hop, skip, and 跳 from Hong Kong, where I’d never been before. I know I said I was all traveled out, but come on? Why not take a day trip? It was the Dragon Boat Festival, and you haven’t lived until you’ve watched the races on Victoria Harbour. Okay, it’s actually fairly boring to watch, but I did have amazing Mexican food in Kowloon, and that was worth breaking Peace Corps protocol.

Cost: $338.27.

On my way home from China, I had a layover at the Seoul Airport. I had heard about bagels, but at 7:00 AM, when the restaurants opened, I couldn’t find any. What I did find was Taco Bell. I tried to resist, I searched high and low for a reasonable Western breakfast, but at last I returned to Taco Bell where I got some kind of quesadilla, spicy French fry, and Coke combo. It was amazing and hurt my China-altered belly.

Cost: $6.27 and your judgment.

Undeterred by my Taco Bell experience, once I arrived at JFK, I knew exactly where I wanted to have lunch. Cheesecake Factory. Is anything more American? I couldn’t finish my entrée and for the first time in my life voluntarily and HAPPILY split a cheesecake order. People who split dessert ’cause they only want “a taste” are my mortal enemies, but China has ruined me. Anyway, everything I ate was amazing.

Cost: $33.00.

My mom’s 60th birthday was July 2. I got home on July 8. I lied like a mofo and told her I would be back on July 12. Instead, my sisters and I planned a surprise family birthday party for her.

My contribution to the affair, which went off without a hitch: $226.50.

Every volunteer has a counterpart, usually a colleague at school that helps them navigate the madness of Chinese academic bureaucracy. Some are good, some are bad, but only one is Andrew (Zhang Zhuo), my counterpart, who is, according to everyone who meets him, simply the best. One month into our friendship I invited him to a Peace Corps shindig, where he met a fellow volunteer, Yann. They promptly fell in love, got engaged, and are a few short weeks from wedded bliss. I will be attending their nuptials as Andrew’s family, since his actual family in China can’t come. Their wedding gift — tickets to see Miranda Sings (I don’t get it, but they’re both obsessed with her).

Cost: $107.00.

Total: $1,497.10.

Probably the best $1,500 I’ve ever spent.

If you want to know what happens next, well, I have bad news. Returned Peace Corps Volunteers also get readjustment allowances to help them not die while job hunting upon their return home, so theoretically I could write about that. Yet, despite having no job, I am throwing all that money at student loans (and only paying off 1/4 of them, grr, sigh) and living at home in that state of despair and dread so many of us 30-somethings have embraced.

All I have to hold onto now is this: the knowledge that I helped some poor kids in a small city in China improve their English, confidence, and understanding of international relations, a smattering of Chinese, a handful of hopefully lifelong friendships, and three short YouTube films made through the shameless distribution of extra credit. So that’s something. Not something I can put in my checking account, but something.

Kati Stevens is a China 20 RPCV currently working on a play. It’s called “The Reality Specialist,” which is the best name for a play ever. Twitter and Instagram: @katerbee. If you want to watch her short films, and of course you do, search Peace Corps Katherine Stevens in YouTube, and the Internet gods will do the rest.

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