Indiaaaaahhhhhh!!!!

Well the European adventure comes to a close here in Athens and the Asian vision quest begins....
Five months of travel...done!
What have I accomplished?
How have I changed?
Have I accomplished anything?
Changed at all?
Who knows? It's most definitely too soon to tell. In my pre-trip fantasy, at this point I had envisioned myself as super-fit from all my walking and eating fresh local fruits and veggies;
relaxed and calmed by the solitude of my travels; invigorated by all the wonders I have witnessed and above all-ready. Instead I feel soft around the middle from my steady diet of cheese and carbs; sluggish, tired and broke down from endless hours of walking and mentally exhausted from the sheer amount of sensory information I have taken in these past months.
I could use a yoga class!
And so I am reminded (and was reminded by those close to me) that whether or not it looks like I had envisioned, everything is coming together just as I planned; as it is supposed to be.
And so ready or not...I am jumping head first into my adventure within my adventure.
Ready...
Set....
Indiaaaahhhhhhh!!!!!!

Graffitti Barcelona

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Family Ties...

After 3 months of travel, touching down in Italy felt a little like coming home. It always does. Even though each time I go I am reminded that I am more American than I care to admit. Italy is a refuge, a solace, a fantasy. I've been escaping to this place since I was little. It's always been a place where I could relax and reflect. And even though I still had almost 4 more months of travel ahead of me, Italy was not a place to linger but rather a pit stop; a place to recharge my batteries and take inventory of where I was at the halfway point.
Instead it turned into an all-you-can-eat buffet of food and guilt. That is also Italy for you. My family; Aunts, Uncles, cousins, friends, all bent over backwards trying to get me to eat, drink & stay a little longer. If food is love then I was showered with constant kisses all throughout my Italian journey. I felt heavy both physically & emotionally by the weight of the food and the love that it symbolized.
When you live far from your country of birth, there are always going to be people you love who are far away. And though a part of me wanted to stay, ultimately I knew I had to finish what I began.
It felt selfish.
I felt guilty.
Traveling alone is lonely and here was a country filled with people who wanted me to stay.
But vacations end.
And you can't live in a fantasy.
There is a comfort in being with my family that is dark. It's like the part in the Wizard of Oz where Dorothy falls asleep in the poppy field.
I get cozy and sleepy and warm and forget that there is a mission; a goal.
The work of living is tiring and sometimes it's nice to sleep and let someone else take care of it all. The old patterns may not serve you but they are familiar and require little effort unlike the constant attention needed to figure out your next stop, your next step and how to get there.

Got a touch of poetic inspiration as the bus left the station and I waved a final goodbye to my "Zio".

Train station in Carrara...close to where I used to live from 0-5 years old.

"Time flies
No sooner have you set down your roots
Then the time comes to fly again
Though greener pastures await you
The thought of sunsets remains
The dark and the cold and the hole that's left as you're walking away
I want to hold the entire universe in my hand
I want to hold the whole entire world in my hand
I want to have my entire universe safe in my hand
Squeeze it tight
Keep it warm
Have it all
Then I could never stray too far from you
From all that is love and all that is dear
Oh these thoughts
Oh the fear
Oh the fear
Oh the fear
To leave
To leave the ones you love"

The Vagina Monologues- Morocco Edition



The busy streets of the Fes Medina
 (Mr. Australia with the backpack)



Morocco is great! The people are friendly, helpful and always willing to show off a little something they know about your language/culture. There was the girl on the train who nudged me awake before she got off at her stop so that I wouldn't miss mine. The taxi driver who realized I was nervous arriving in Fez at midnight and so got out and walked me to the front door of my hostel. And the lady at the bus station who excitedly told me her great grandmother was Italian and spent 20 minutes telling me how much I looked like that side of the family. I have truly found kindness and generosity in the people here. But everyplace has its assholes and Morocco is no exception. At times the nature of Moroccan life itself can be infuriating. This is a hustling, bustling, scrappy, gritty place and the hustle is always on. You can NEVER simply ask for directions; can't be seen looking at a map. Even your gait needs to be steady, for a hint of hesitation is an invitation for an offer to "help".

"My friend! You want to go to old city? Come. Come!"

Some will straight up tell you they expect to be paid. The sneakier ones will say it's free, then ask for a "gift" at the end. On the whole, the concept doesn't bother me. I get it. I read the guide book. I know what I'm getting myself into. I have no problem with smiling politely, firmly saying no and then walking away. I'm also not worried about being perceived as rude for ignoring the more persistent ones who, even after a firm no, follow you down the street or start walking in front and guide you regardless. Most of the time, I found people really nice and helpful even after my "no's". However, things change when traveling with others. You and your co-horts need to be on the same page.

Here in Fez, I was fortunate enough to find a friend; well he found me, a bright, funny, extremely intelligent Australian who was also traveling alone. We got along swimmingly. He; however, was too nice and his idea of a firm "no" was wobbly at best. Most times he would rather slip someone money than deal with the hassle. And let's get this straight, we're talking about 1 or 2 dollars to navigate a labyrinthine city center (the largest in Morocco) that even with the best map would still confound. Overall the pairing was perfect; good cop/bad cop. Sometimes he would acquiesce as I would roll my eyes and other times I would step in when we really didn't need the hassle. This morning, however; something went wrong. Maybe it was because we had acquired a 3rd person; a friendly and quite chatty Chilean guy. Maybe my patience was wearing thin from the day before. I don't know. All I know is that we knew roughly where we were going...the Jewish Quarter to visit a cemetery and synagogue...and we knew we were heading the right way. All of a sudden a guy approaches Mr. Australia (since I'm a woman I'm never approached when in the company of a man). The guy offers to take us somewhere. I can hear Mr. Australia mumble under his breath, "oh not you again" and then continue,

"Oh thank you. We're just walking around. Thanks!"

I don't hear him actually use the word "no" but I do watch him nod his head up and down while he speaks.

It's clear that while he's speaking English, the finer points of the language may be lost on this Moroccan guy. I'm pretty sure that all the nodding and thank you's will NOT lead him to leave us alone and now our little group is stopped in the middle of the square. So I turn around and with my hand on my chest (a gesture of respect in Morocco but one I had the habit of doing even before learning this) and say, "Thank you but no", twice firmly but not angrily or aggressively.

FUCK YOU!
That's his response. And he doesn't stop there.

"Who are you to do this (he mimics my gesture) and talk to me like this. Fuck you and I fuck your mother!"

My companions are shocked. Strangely enough, I'm not bothered. His words cause no reaction in me and I don't fear for my safety. I'm pretty sure a young Moroccan boy is not gonna use violence on a woman tourist in an open square in the middle of the day. Also I find I have a pretty good instinct about who is just blowing off steam and who has a real potential for violence. And so, I am calm-even pleased. My intervention has had the desired outcome. The guy turned, walked away &; left us alone.
I turned around to my new friends.
"Wow...ok...I wasn't even rude to the guy, was I?"
Mr. Chile responds, "Well, yes..you ARE a woman".
I stop short. I feel like I've just been told to remember my place. I feel like I've just been gut-punched. Then Mr. Australia says something about me coming off as masculine or aggressive or something. I don't really know because I can't really hear him. He's standing right next to me but I am crumbling into myself. My entire sense of self plummeting to my feet as a hot molten rage boils and rises; ready to blow. My insides are crying and screaming. I open my eyes and realize the universe is not as I thought. No one here thinks I'm equal. Even these seemingly seasoned travelers believe there is something not right about a strong direct stubborn, outspoken female. I can't believe they would have found anything wrong with the same action had it come from a "dude".
Heavy with sadness, I took a moment for myself to breathe and let the tide of emotions swing wildly until it passed. But I was changed. After that I became acutely aware of my tone, my choice of words. I didn't offer my opinion; kept my thoughts to myself. I realized that it is these subtle beliefs that can be more damaging than blatant ignorant brutality...which can easily be ignored.

Barcelona

Some places you just know.  Barcelona and me...love at 1st sight.  I travelled to many amazing cities; London, Paris, Amsterdam but Barcelona felt like home.  It felt like a place that I could put down roots.
So please forgive me for the sheer amount of photos in this album and keep in mind that I started with over 900!  So take a gander and I hope you fall in love with Barcelona as well...

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Morocco- Day 1 Part 2-Masamba..ooh say it again..

Masamba...hanging in Tangers.

It only took a few moments standing alone in the middle of a square before I made the acquaintance of a tall, handsome, dark chocolate, deep-dimpled, Sengalese boy named Masamba. I was standing at the entrance to the Medina trying to inconspicuously figure out my map. At first I didn't notice him; didn't even realize he was trying to talk to me. He sat on a ledge about 5 feet away...speaking French. I thought he was on the phone. The 2nd attempt he leaned in towards me. I dramatically ignored him; staring intently at the map in my hands. He tried 2 more times. It was distracting. I needed to give my map my complete attention. I needed to address this. I look up and uttered that familiar French phrase, "Je ne parles Francais". He asked what I spoke.
English?
He shook his head sadly..
Español? He asked hopefully.
I hesitated but finally nodded.
Come stai, he asked...in Italian.
Wait...what?!?
Suddenly things got interesting...
Turns out, Masamba had spent two years in Italy and spoke enough Italian to carry on a proper conversation. We chatted for a bit. He told me how he had followed a friend to Italy (illegally of course) & eeked out a living selling umbrellas, socks etc. on the street. He really liked Italy but with the economic crisis he wasn't making it.  Morocco wasn't any better but at least it was easier to be under the radar. I got a really good vibe from him so when he asked if I wanted some company, I said yes AFTER making sure he understood I wasn't looking for a guide nor would he be paid with money or anything else for that matter. All I had to offer was an afternoon and conversational Italian lessons.
His face dropped. He obviously felt offended and told me I would learn he was not like that.
And he wasn't.
He was clearly interested in me but behaved like a perfect gentleman. We got along like fast friends. I was grateful to have a local to wander around with on my first day in Morocco and I found him to be fun to talk to and easy going as well.
Then at one point late in the afternoon, while we were visiting the American Legion Building (side note: did you know Morocco was the 1st country to officially recognize the United States as a country back around 1789..yup!) Masamba got a very serious look on his face and made me sit down on a chair in the courtyard. He swung his chair around to face mine. He asked if he could go with me to Fez and onward through the rest of my time in Morocco. He had been building up to this all day; joking about coming with me to my next stop but this time he was thoughtful and careful with his words. He made me sit still and look him in the eye as he spoke so I could know he was serious. Then he began.
"If I tell you that I love you, I know you won't believe me."
He went on to tell me how he had gone to a fortune teller 2 weeks ago who told him that he would soon be meeting a woman, older than him, a white woman, who he was destined to marry. He had been waiting in front of the Western Union office across the street from the square when he saw me. He almost never approached women, definitely not white women; definitely not as an illegal black man in Morocco but something about me drew him in.
Uh-huh.
Now this story comes as a surprise to absolutely...noone who knows me at all. I swear my ample ASSets act as a honing beacon to any man within radius that has so much as a hint of African ancestry! After 35 years and the past 4 living in the Caribbean; I've heard more than my fair share of over the top but hollow declarations of true love.
But...
But Masamba was so earnest. He kept looking down and rubbing his sweating hands down the legs of his jeans. He told me he felt embarrassed to tell me all this but he knew I was leaving on a train that afternoon and it was now or never. He wouldn't get another chance to get these feelings off his chest.
Suddenly, my go to move of rolling my eyes and making a snarky comment didn't feel appropriate. My heart leapt from my chest and broke for him. I felt like I could cry from the power of his quiet emotion. The only problem? I didn't share his feelings. He was so nice. Part of me just wanted to make him happy and say, "The hell with it! Let's go! If I can't fall for a sweet, polite, funny, good looking guy professing his undying love for me...well...who then?!?
In the end, we exchanged email addresses. And as I left for the train he told me I didn't know what it felt like to want something so badly that isn't wanted in return.
Oh Masamba...if only that were true..

Morocco: Day 1-Part 1

Sitting on a hot train in Tanger on my way to Fez. I have (nearly) survived my first day in Morocco. I'm not gonna lie; I was nervous. I've just spent a month in Spain comfortable enough with the language & culture that I could explore without any fear. It also didn't hurt that with the appropriate sized hoop earrings...I could easily pass for a local. Morocco, although a place I was extremely excited to include in my itinerary, posed many obstacles. In my mind's eye, Morocco came jam-packed, loaded with tons of preconceived notions. The guide book I bought to arm myself with knowledge vs stereotypes did nothing but heighten my anxiety. I should tell everyone I was married. I shouldn't walk alone after dark. To prepare myself for the slack-jawed stares of the Moroccan men, I should avoid eye contact and arm myself with a good pair of dark sunglasses. The streets were filled with nothing but people trying to hustle you at every turn.
So I prepared myself. Armed with a steely gaze and surliness perfected from nearly a decade of living in NYC, I stepped off the bus in Tanger. No sooner had my foot hit the pavement when an old leathery man in a plaid shirt and dusty jeans approached me.
Taxi?
I firmly shook my head no, careful to not make eye contact. I grabbed my bag and hurried purposefully down the street keenly aware that he was following me and asking me questions. I ignored him which was easy to do considering he was speaking in French. He caught on and switched to Spanish.
That's when I realized that I was walking down the street in a foreign country without any clue as to where I was or where I was going; and all without a dime in my pocket. Whether I liked it or not; I needed help.
I turned to him and said that I did not need a taxi or a guide or help; I jut needed to be pointed in the direction of an ATM. He told me I was going the wrong way and immediately began to lead me down the street.
Oh great! I panicked and my mind began racing. Now this guy has latched onto me and is going to pressure me to drive around with him as my guide all day! At the very least, he's gonna follow me around until I give him money which he knows I have because...well...he's walking me to the ATM.
Fail! I can't believe I let this happen. Then a funny thing happened. We chatted a bit; he showed me the ATM and then hailed me a taxi. As he shot me a wide toothless grin and wished me well on my journey; I realized he didn't want anything at all from me.
The cab driver; the guy who helped me figure out the train schedule; the porter at the left luggage office- everyone was so open & kind. After the 1st 30 minutes in North Africa, every stereotype I had was shattered. By the time I made it to the entrance to the medina, I was ready to drop the surliness and explore the old city streets.
Then I met Masamba...but we'll leave that story for another day.