Outside of a day in Nice and one in Monaco...I spent the rest of my Frenchy time loungy on the beach...travel is tiring & it's always nice to have a somewhat free day...I did decide to go on one other adventure...to Cannes...but I was REALLY dissappointed by it. It reminded me a little of L.A. a little superficial with a huge theatre (along with the requisite celebrity handprints running along the front of the buiding) and a mediocre beach. Maybe you have to see it from a yacht during a film premiere to truly appreciate it! less…
“The outer journey of an inner traveler”
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Paris
So I have finally gone through my pictures of Paris. It was a
daunting task. 1...because I took loads of pictures since Paris is iconic and
stupid gorgeous. But also my camera broke in Paris and I got a new one and when
I uploaded the pictues they were all in the wrong order and such. They still
might be.
Paris is an amazing city. I have a love\hate relationship with
my time there. Had it tough in Paris, personally and emotionally but I also saw
some amazing things. Had a life changing moment with the Monet
waterlillies...saw fireworks....made friends...
Hope you all enjoy the photos!
Friday, September 7, 2012
Toro! Toro! Oh, no!
This morning, my last in Seville, I found myself anxiously pacing back and forth outside the bullfighting ring like..well...like a bull sizing up the enemy. On the one hand, I am in Spain trying to soak up and understand Spanish culture & history. On the other, I'm a year old vegetarian who studies yoga and has trouble killing a bug. Still, how can I criticize something without understanding it and what better way to understand it than by touring the oldest bullfighting ring in Spain? But what is there to understand? Bull enters ring. Bull more than likely dies a slow painful death. The crowd cheers. Do I really want to give my money to support that kind of "entertainment"? Defiantly, I walk away. I realize my statement is small and the €6 I've kept in my pocket will not crumble the National Bullfighting Association of Spain..or whatever it is they call themselves.
Tradition, History. It's a part of the Spanish identity and cultural heritage; just as important as its language, music or art.
The fact that Bullfighting still exits in 2012 in modern western society is quite curious to me. Italy hasn't carried the tradition of gladiator fighting into the 21st century and as far as I know, jousts or duels to the death are no longer part of western culture. And no, the show at Medieval Times does not count!
Bullfighting is so blatantly violent and bloody though. I just don't understand how the Spanish people (more more specifically, the Andalucians) can accept and celebrate it under the guise of sport, tradition or art.
On the other hand, I don't think most of us have to go looking too far to find something we participate in or
readily accept that flies right in the face of our core beliefs. I know
I don't.
I just need to look down at my wrist.
June. Toronto. The distillery district. My friend had taken me to a really cool spot that had lots of working artists selling their wares. I found a bracelet and immediately fell in love with it. It was a cuff shaped of leaves and flowers. It highlighted the dove tattoo on my wrist so much so that it looked like the dove was perched on one of the leaves. I decided it was made for me. I got home & showed off my purchase to my friend's husband.
"Is that made of leather? Hey! Aren't you vegan?"
No! I am not vegan.
Technically true but the point was clear. And it stung.
At what point to you go from being an ignorant bystander to active participant?
I decided to stop eating animals after studying "ahimsa" or non-harming during a yoga retreat; yet, if I really stop & examine my daily life, there are many ways in which I do harm every day whether it be in the products I use or the companies I choose to support or even the thoughts I have.
I'm not saying we should take up every cause; grab a bullhorn and go preaching through the streets or conversely to throw our hands up in defeat because we are overwhelmed by it all. Becoming a vegetarian was a huge step in aligning my core beliefs to my daily lifestyle but I realize it is just a step and not the end goal. It won't happen overnight but I want to remain vigilant and keep my eyes open to the silent complicity in my choices and see if there isn't a way to turn it into a roar of quiet protest; like keeping that €6 in my pocket.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Friday, August 10, 2012
La muerte de Señor Cucaracha
A funny thing happens when you become an observer; you begin to see things...
Although I have already seen many iconic sites on my journey; from the Golden Gate bridge to Big Ben to the Eiffel tower, the purpose of my travels is not only checking off items on some invisible inner bucket list of places and things. There is also a second, concurrent journey happening; an inner journey, a time to reflect and take inventory of where I truly am and would truly like to be. And just like the trusty Michelin Guide I picked up on my first day here in Spain, I am not without "guide books" for the inner journey as well. Among other things, lately I have been reading and rereading passages from "The places that scare you" by Pema Chodron and auditing a UC Berkley "Intro to Buddhism" class via iTunes. I find most of this stuff boils down to the same practice. Be in the moment...observe. Perhaps it's an oversimplification probably informed by the fact that all my days consist of is observing: go someplace, see something, process & repeat. It's an interesting parallel. So I study and reflect and meditate, not quite sure if anything is changing. I don't feel zen or peaceful or one with the universe. Quite the opposite. When you begin to open that channel, you feel like a crazy person.
Enter Señor Cucaracha.
I have just put my bag down and am waiting for my overnight bus to Bilbao when I see him; merely inches from my foot, motionless. I wonder if he's dead. If anyone knows me they know my aversion to cockroaches. Now I know no one "likes" them but my dealings with them border on the irrational. I once called a boyfriend in the middle of the night because I had found one in my apartment. It was clearly dead; on its back, yet I was having a near panic attack, frozen with fear and unsure what to do. He stayed with me on the phone and after 20min I was able to summon the courage to sweep it into a dustpan. But I couldn't throw it in the trash; couldn't have it in the house so I opened the front door, ran to the curb, and flung it across the street. That's just one example.
But as I am now a Zen master, I have learned that just because I am bothered by something doesn't mean I have to react. I can sit and observe. So I tell myself, "This cockroach has as much right to be here on this earth, in this bus station, as I do. He's not actually doing anything to me". So I sit and I breathe and even though the inner panic starts; instead of pushing it away, I bring it closer. I try to quell my thoughts and focus on the feeling of fear underneath that's fueling them and I just try and experience the physical sensation; the hairs on the back of my neck; the twitchiness of my muscles; the heaviness in the pit of my stomach. It's intense but instead of continuing to panic the emotion subsides. Señor Cucaracha & I? We cool.
As I sit and wonder at the power of my mind and pat myself on the back for being able to harness my thoughts, a bus worker comes by to smoke a cigarette and steps on the cockroach; not enough to squash it, mind you, just enough to mangle one of it's legs and flip it onto it's back. I jump up and move away. I look down at the cockroach and watch it's legs and antennae flail around as it struggles to right itself. I watch the cockroach struggle and then...well...then I start feeling the cockroach struggle. I want to help it but I can't bring myself to. I haven't magically stopped being insurmountably grossed out by cockroaches, I've just been able to tolerate this particular one's existence for a few precious moments. But now I am in a panic. Noone else notices what is happening. DOESN'T ANYBODY SEE WHAT'S GOING ON! Maybe I can find a broom or long stick and nudge it right side up. The only other option is to ask someone to help me which is absurd. I imagine the quizzical looks as I ask someone in Spanish to help me "salvar la cucaracha", save the cockroach. At best I would be ignored as someone who did not have a basic understanding of the Spanish language or at worst only serve to hasten the cockroach's death. I watch it struggle and think, "it's struggle would be no different from mine in the same circumstance" and still I can't bring myself to help him. I can only watch from a distance and feel crazy with guilt and shame. Only when I realize they are making the final call for my bus do I tear myself away from the scene.
As the bus rolls out and I calm down, I am amazed by what has transpired in me; the internal drama of what would normally be an ignored scene. This is absurd, I tell myself but in a deeper place I realize that it's not. It's open. It's connection. It's yoga. It's just new and unsure and unfettered. I feel bad that I didn't help the cockroach but I couldn´t. Really, I felt paralyzed. I could not help it even though I wanted to. Then my mind's eye began flashing on moments in my own life when I felt people could have...should have...helped me out but didn't. Then I started having real compassion and understanding for the possibility that maybe they wanted to but were also paralyzed by their own fears. I, know! I know! It all seems a little insane that my heart and soul crack open from a momentary encounter with a Cucaracha but that is the reality of inner exploration. Damn this stuff is potent! I am completely petrified and exhilirated by the prospect of what's next....
Although I have already seen many iconic sites on my journey; from the Golden Gate bridge to Big Ben to the Eiffel tower, the purpose of my travels is not only checking off items on some invisible inner bucket list of places and things. There is also a second, concurrent journey happening; an inner journey, a time to reflect and take inventory of where I truly am and would truly like to be. And just like the trusty Michelin Guide I picked up on my first day here in Spain, I am not without "guide books" for the inner journey as well. Among other things, lately I have been reading and rereading passages from "The places that scare you" by Pema Chodron and auditing a UC Berkley "Intro to Buddhism" class via iTunes. I find most of this stuff boils down to the same practice. Be in the moment...observe. Perhaps it's an oversimplification probably informed by the fact that all my days consist of is observing: go someplace, see something, process & repeat. It's an interesting parallel. So I study and reflect and meditate, not quite sure if anything is changing. I don't feel zen or peaceful or one with the universe. Quite the opposite. When you begin to open that channel, you feel like a crazy person.
Enter Señor Cucaracha.
I have just put my bag down and am waiting for my overnight bus to Bilbao when I see him; merely inches from my foot, motionless. I wonder if he's dead. If anyone knows me they know my aversion to cockroaches. Now I know no one "likes" them but my dealings with them border on the irrational. I once called a boyfriend in the middle of the night because I had found one in my apartment. It was clearly dead; on its back, yet I was having a near panic attack, frozen with fear and unsure what to do. He stayed with me on the phone and after 20min I was able to summon the courage to sweep it into a dustpan. But I couldn't throw it in the trash; couldn't have it in the house so I opened the front door, ran to the curb, and flung it across the street. That's just one example.
But as I am now a Zen master, I have learned that just because I am bothered by something doesn't mean I have to react. I can sit and observe. So I tell myself, "This cockroach has as much right to be here on this earth, in this bus station, as I do. He's not actually doing anything to me". So I sit and I breathe and even though the inner panic starts; instead of pushing it away, I bring it closer. I try to quell my thoughts and focus on the feeling of fear underneath that's fueling them and I just try and experience the physical sensation; the hairs on the back of my neck; the twitchiness of my muscles; the heaviness in the pit of my stomach. It's intense but instead of continuing to panic the emotion subsides. Señor Cucaracha & I? We cool.
As I sit and wonder at the power of my mind and pat myself on the back for being able to harness my thoughts, a bus worker comes by to smoke a cigarette and steps on the cockroach; not enough to squash it, mind you, just enough to mangle one of it's legs and flip it onto it's back. I jump up and move away. I look down at the cockroach and watch it's legs and antennae flail around as it struggles to right itself. I watch the cockroach struggle and then...well...then I start feeling the cockroach struggle. I want to help it but I can't bring myself to. I haven't magically stopped being insurmountably grossed out by cockroaches, I've just been able to tolerate this particular one's existence for a few precious moments. But now I am in a panic. Noone else notices what is happening. DOESN'T ANYBODY SEE WHAT'S GOING ON! Maybe I can find a broom or long stick and nudge it right side up. The only other option is to ask someone to help me which is absurd. I imagine the quizzical looks as I ask someone in Spanish to help me "salvar la cucaracha", save the cockroach. At best I would be ignored as someone who did not have a basic understanding of the Spanish language or at worst only serve to hasten the cockroach's death. I watch it struggle and think, "it's struggle would be no different from mine in the same circumstance" and still I can't bring myself to help him. I can only watch from a distance and feel crazy with guilt and shame. Only when I realize they are making the final call for my bus do I tear myself away from the scene.
As the bus rolls out and I calm down, I am amazed by what has transpired in me; the internal drama of what would normally be an ignored scene. This is absurd, I tell myself but in a deeper place I realize that it's not. It's open. It's connection. It's yoga. It's just new and unsure and unfettered. I feel bad that I didn't help the cockroach but I couldn´t. Really, I felt paralyzed. I could not help it even though I wanted to. Then my mind's eye began flashing on moments in my own life when I felt people could have...should have...helped me out but didn't. Then I started having real compassion and understanding for the possibility that maybe they wanted to but were also paralyzed by their own fears. I, know! I know! It all seems a little insane that my heart and soul crack open from a momentary encounter with a Cucaracha but that is the reality of inner exploration. Damn this stuff is potent! I am completely petrified and exhilirated by the prospect of what's next....
Monday, August 6, 2012
All directions...one way
Indeed, I thought; it doesn't matter which way you go; you ultimately
end up where you are; and oftentimes exactly where you need to be. In my current incarnation as professional vagabond, this is a point that is not easily lost on me. Every day, without fail, I am called to make decisions about where to go, how to get there, how long to stay and when to move on. Sometimes everything works out perfectly and those days are AWESOME. But most days, something goes horribly wrong. Buses are missed; train schedules are wrong, places are closed, items misplaced, language barriers insurmountable. Those moments, if you let them; and I have, can derail the rest of a perfectly good day. If you let them. But I have also found that there is always a next train or a bus to someplace else that's interesting. Leaving something behind is an opportunity to gain something new. And language barriers can be a path towards new understanding. Ultimately, it doesn't matter which road you take, you will always come to the same end. I have come to learn, in a very practical sense that every day begins & ends whether or not I want it to; whether or not I have crossed everything off my sight seeing list. Whatever direction I decide to take, wherever I go or don't go; whatever I see or don't see; each step is moving me forward to the same place-the end of this journey.
In the penultimate sense, it's also true. All directions...one way. Every road leads to the same place for everyone. There is only one real direction we are traveling in, from the moment we breathe our 1st breath, and it is the march towards our last, towards death. And I don't mean it in a macabre and depressing way. It's actually quite liberating. It is a fact of life. One we are startlingly adept at trying to avoid. And I am not an exception. Yet again traveling like this, to so many places and for such a long stretch of time; the concept of monumental beginnings and endings is always staring me square in the face.
"Wow! I'm in London!"
"oh, I'm leaving London"
"Wow! I'm in Paris!"
"oh, I'm leaving Paris"
But beginnings and endings are all around us, always. And now that I have begun to settle into the lifestyle of a solo traveler these subtle beginnings and endings also start to reveal themselves; of breath and thought and emotion. I have started watching these things much like I'm watching the scenery outside the train to Valencia. Mountains come and go, cities pass, the sun begins to set and ultimately disappear into the horizon which itself disappears into the oncoming darkness of night. Soon I will be at the end of this day of my life; this small trip within my larger journey. Where to next? Mmm..All directions..one way.
Friday, August 3, 2012
God save the Queen: the UK Jubilee Tour
Here for your viewing pleasure..
Pictures of my chilly July in the Northern UK...
Pictures of my chilly July in the Northern UK...
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Stumbling into darkness in the city of light
*Prologue*
I wrote the post below over 2 weeks ago, while in Paris. I wondered if I had the courage to share it. To be brutally honest, It wasn't exactly the same post. The post I initially wrote was accidentally erased as I impulsively tried to upload it. "Well", I said to myself, "must be a sign from the universe! It wasn't meant to be shared." But it keeps popping back up in my thoughts; unfinished business. Before leaving on this trip, the fact was, I wasn't happy in my life and I didn't know where to go to find whatever it was I was looking for. So now I'm going everywhere and shaking things up and seeing what transpires. Not everything I've found is pretty. But if I can't even be honest in this blog, and with the people who love me, how will I ever find the courage to be honest with myself. So here goes...scarred and all...where I was..2 weeks ago...
..,It's 4 in the afternoon and I'm licking Nutella off my fingers; not because I've just indulged in a delicious French pastry in some adorable street cafe but rather I am getting rid of the evidence. Evidence of polishing off a jar of Nutella and a full size baguette, among other sundries, as if I were an athlete training for some championship eating competition.
I have always turned to food for comfort. Or at least that's how it began. But like a bandaid, food was never a cure; merely a temporary cover so the bleeding could stop. By the time I left for New York after college, turning to food was like breathing air. Hurt, angry, depressed, anxious, joyful, tired, bored: food was the solution. Soon my source of comfort became an act of violence. A textbook case of battered woman syndrome; I returned to my lover again & again, always thinking things would be different this time.
But that was years ago. I paid my dues. Hit bottom, strained friendships, lost boyfriends, got help. I opened my Pandora's box and waded in the shit. And yet it seems, a stubborn spot remains.
Don't get me wrong, Traveling has been wonderful overall and I understood from the beginning that it was also going to be a challenge. I purposefully placed myself in a groundless situation. I have nothing to hold onto here. No person or place is familiar or constant. The only "things" I have are the few clothes & toiletries strapped to my back. All I have is myself. It's freeing to live this way; with nothing to hold you down. But even though I chose to walk off the cliff, I kind of feel like Wiley Coyote now; who only upon looking down realizes he's not on solid ground and begins to fall. And I am falling...
*Epilogue*
Since the day I wrote the above, I am in a different place...literally & figuratively! Distance allows perspective and I can honestly see the gift in having gone through that particular low point. To try & explain what's changed is challenging. In some ways nothing has changed...nothing concrete that i can point to. I'm still traveling, still exploring, still having highs & lows; challenges & triumphs. But there has been a shift. I still experience excitement and wonder & loneliness every day. I still experience peace & chaos; times of clarity and doubt. I still wanna eat. The difference? Instead of feeling strapped to this roller coaster of emotion; I'm learning to be a spectator. The feelings are still there, still intense but a space is opening and a road unveiling itself. And so I take a step forward even if it feels like I'm walking backwards and I remind myself a stumble is not a fall.
I wrote the post below over 2 weeks ago, while in Paris. I wondered if I had the courage to share it. To be brutally honest, It wasn't exactly the same post. The post I initially wrote was accidentally erased as I impulsively tried to upload it. "Well", I said to myself, "must be a sign from the universe! It wasn't meant to be shared." But it keeps popping back up in my thoughts; unfinished business. Before leaving on this trip, the fact was, I wasn't happy in my life and I didn't know where to go to find whatever it was I was looking for. So now I'm going everywhere and shaking things up and seeing what transpires. Not everything I've found is pretty. But if I can't even be honest in this blog, and with the people who love me, how will I ever find the courage to be honest with myself. So here goes...scarred and all...where I was..2 weeks ago...
..,It's 4 in the afternoon and I'm licking Nutella off my fingers; not because I've just indulged in a delicious French pastry in some adorable street cafe but rather I am getting rid of the evidence. Evidence of polishing off a jar of Nutella and a full size baguette, among other sundries, as if I were an athlete training for some championship eating competition.
I have always turned to food for comfort. Or at least that's how it began. But like a bandaid, food was never a cure; merely a temporary cover so the bleeding could stop. By the time I left for New York after college, turning to food was like breathing air. Hurt, angry, depressed, anxious, joyful, tired, bored: food was the solution. Soon my source of comfort became an act of violence. A textbook case of battered woman syndrome; I returned to my lover again & again, always thinking things would be different this time.
But that was years ago. I paid my dues. Hit bottom, strained friendships, lost boyfriends, got help. I opened my Pandora's box and waded in the shit. And yet it seems, a stubborn spot remains.
Don't get me wrong, Traveling has been wonderful overall and I understood from the beginning that it was also going to be a challenge. I purposefully placed myself in a groundless situation. I have nothing to hold onto here. No person or place is familiar or constant. The only "things" I have are the few clothes & toiletries strapped to my back. All I have is myself. It's freeing to live this way; with nothing to hold you down. But even though I chose to walk off the cliff, I kind of feel like Wiley Coyote now; who only upon looking down realizes he's not on solid ground and begins to fall. And I am falling...
*Epilogue*
Since the day I wrote the above, I am in a different place...literally & figuratively! Distance allows perspective and I can honestly see the gift in having gone through that particular low point. To try & explain what's changed is challenging. In some ways nothing has changed...nothing concrete that i can point to. I'm still traveling, still exploring, still having highs & lows; challenges & triumphs. But there has been a shift. I still experience excitement and wonder & loneliness every day. I still experience peace & chaos; times of clarity and doubt. I still wanna eat. The difference? Instead of feeling strapped to this roller coaster of emotion; I'm learning to be a spectator. The feelings are still there, still intense but a space is opening and a road unveiling itself. And so I take a step forward even if it feels like I'm walking backwards and I remind myself a stumble is not a fall.
Friday, July 27, 2012
How it was supposed to go...
My bus isn't until 3am so I spend a large part of the evening drinking coffee & finally uploading my large cache of photos. I leave the hostel just in time to catch the last night bus, which will bring me just outside of Terminal 1 at the airport. That gives me about an hour to wait before catching the overnight bus to Barcelona. Nearly 12 hours later, I make my way to the hostel just as check in begins. I settle in, do a load of laundry, shower and nap. I wake up refreshed and ready to watch the Olympics opening ceremony over tapas y cafe con leche. THAT'S how it was SUPPOSED to go.
But I am still at the airport..in Nice..in France. I made it to Terminal 1 by 2am. Bus didn't leave until 3:15. True there weren't as many people as I was anticipating but I did spy a couple of people dozing near the door with backpacks by their side. And even though I was standing under a door with a stenciled picture of a bus and the same words that were on my bus ticket "Gare Routiere" in big block letters next to it, apparently, I was supposed to be across the street.
I really have to learn French.
So now it's 18 hours later and I'm still in this airport but now with a reservation on the 10:55pm to Barcelona which costs more than double what the bus cost. To be exact, because of a
Wifi/computer glitch, I have 3 reservations for this flight and as many charges to my debit card. I spent the afternoon practicing the phrase "si vous plait, je ne parle Francaise, parle vous Anglais" before being transferred to someone else and getting to practice some more bad French.
I am surprisingly non-homicidal.
I have had lesser deviations throw me on this trip. Maybe it's the fact that I've been working on my tan for the past 4 days or the utter absurdity of it all or maybe I am settling into the unpredictability of this trip. The best laid plans...what can go wrong inevitably will...the only constant is change...
I've had my moments today. After spending over an hour on the phone trying to sort out my reservation only to be told not to worry and they would cancel my reservation when they found it...(but how would they find it and let me know when they didn't take any info from me?)...I made a beeline for the newspaper stand and comforted myself with a can of Pringles & some Malteasers. But I got back up, dusted the crumbs of my chest and went back to the phones. Nothing has been settled. But I am here. And I have a seat. And I will get to Barcelona & probably spend some time at the airport there. It's been a long day and a hard day and it's not over. But I am here. And I'm not grumpy or angry or twisted up from the inside out. And that is a gift. It wasn't how it was supposed to go but it was a good day nonetheless.
But I am still at the airport..in Nice..in France. I made it to Terminal 1 by 2am. Bus didn't leave until 3:15. True there weren't as many people as I was anticipating but I did spy a couple of people dozing near the door with backpacks by their side. And even though I was standing under a door with a stenciled picture of a bus and the same words that were on my bus ticket "Gare Routiere" in big block letters next to it, apparently, I was supposed to be across the street.
I really have to learn French.
So now it's 18 hours later and I'm still in this airport but now with a reservation on the 10:55pm to Barcelona which costs more than double what the bus cost. To be exact, because of a
Wifi/computer glitch, I have 3 reservations for this flight and as many charges to my debit card. I spent the afternoon practicing the phrase "si vous plait, je ne parle Francaise, parle vous Anglais" before being transferred to someone else and getting to practice some more bad French.
I am surprisingly non-homicidal.
I have had lesser deviations throw me on this trip. Maybe it's the fact that I've been working on my tan for the past 4 days or the utter absurdity of it all or maybe I am settling into the unpredictability of this trip. The best laid plans...what can go wrong inevitably will...the only constant is change...
I've had my moments today. After spending over an hour on the phone trying to sort out my reservation only to be told not to worry and they would cancel my reservation when they found it...(but how would they find it and let me know when they didn't take any info from me?)...I made a beeline for the newspaper stand and comforted myself with a can of Pringles & some Malteasers. But I got back up, dusted the crumbs of my chest and went back to the phones. Nothing has been settled. But I am here. And I have a seat. And I will get to Barcelona & probably spend some time at the airport there. It's been a long day and a hard day and it's not over. But I am here. And I'm not grumpy or angry or twisted up from the inside out. And that is a gift. It wasn't how it was supposed to go but it was a good day nonetheless.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
LONDON TOWN
As it was the 1st stop on the European leg of my world tour and a city I have been longing to visit for a while, I took a lot of pictures in London...here is the best of what I saw.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Mona Lisa Smile
I have saved my visit to the Louvre for the end of my trip in Paris. Mostly, I planned it this way but also I have struggled here in Paris (more on that later). Paris is grand in every sense of the word and though I traveled to large cities before; c'mon I lived in New
York for 10 years, Paris is larger than life and overwhelming and it's hard to wrap my head around it.
Nowhere is this more evident than the Louvre. It's huge and filled with more artwork than one can possibly contemplate in a lifetime much less a day. So I decided to break it up into manageable bites. And I go straight for the meaty center. That's how I find myself making my way past the throng for the first time at 5pm on a Wednesday; practically a week into my stay. I've come late in the day to see the "highlights", the best of, the top 10. Then tomorrow I can arrive and lazily stroll around knowing I won't miss any of the "biggies".
First up, obviously, the Mona Lisa or more properly, La Giaconda. I brace myself, literally & figuratively. I'm hoping there will be a small mob as opposed to a stadium sized crowd as I've come at the end of the day. Just a quick look to say I've done it and move on, I say to myself. I'm already geared up for disappointment. I mean, this is an image i have seen..who knows how many times. Also, Ive heard, in person, it's small and behind glass and you have to jockey for position among the hoards. All this is true, although it's actually larger than I had imagined in my head. Also, it's spectacular. This is an image I have seen hundreds of times in my life and think I know intimately. Even so, I am surprised when I see her. It's familiar yet completely new. I had often wondered why out of all the wonderful paintings daVinci did, and I have seen many, why was the Mona Lisa the most enduring? And then I stood in front of her and it made me emotional. All around me people were snapping pictures and I wanted to shout,"what are you people doing!" I have stacks of pictures of this image and now know no camera lens can capture it. And so I stand and I stare and she stares back. And I smile and she's smiling back. And even though the 20th person elbows me out of their shot, I feel like ML and I sharing a private moment, a secret and it fills me with emotion and I feel like if I let myself I could cry right now, let go the way you can with a good friend. Hello art, old friend. Thanks for the warm hug.
http://www.lairweb.org.nz/leonardo/monalisa.jpg
York for 10 years, Paris is larger than life and overwhelming and it's hard to wrap my head around it.
Nowhere is this more evident than the Louvre. It's huge and filled with more artwork than one can possibly contemplate in a lifetime much less a day. So I decided to break it up into manageable bites. And I go straight for the meaty center. That's how I find myself making my way past the throng for the first time at 5pm on a Wednesday; practically a week into my stay. I've come late in the day to see the "highlights", the best of, the top 10. Then tomorrow I can arrive and lazily stroll around knowing I won't miss any of the "biggies".
First up, obviously, the Mona Lisa or more properly, La Giaconda. I brace myself, literally & figuratively. I'm hoping there will be a small mob as opposed to a stadium sized crowd as I've come at the end of the day. Just a quick look to say I've done it and move on, I say to myself. I'm already geared up for disappointment. I mean, this is an image i have seen..who knows how many times. Also, Ive heard, in person, it's small and behind glass and you have to jockey for position among the hoards. All this is true, although it's actually larger than I had imagined in my head. Also, it's spectacular. This is an image I have seen hundreds of times in my life and think I know intimately. Even so, I am surprised when I see her. It's familiar yet completely new. I had often wondered why out of all the wonderful paintings daVinci did, and I have seen many, why was the Mona Lisa the most enduring? And then I stood in front of her and it made me emotional. All around me people were snapping pictures and I wanted to shout,"what are you people doing!" I have stacks of pictures of this image and now know no camera lens can capture it. And so I stand and I stare and she stares back. And I smile and she's smiling back. And even though the 20th person elbows me out of their shot, I feel like ML and I sharing a private moment, a secret and it fills me with emotion and I feel like if I let myself I could cry right now, let go the way you can with a good friend. Hello art, old friend. Thanks for the warm hug.
http://www.lairweb.org.nz/leonardo/monalisa.jpg
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Hiding
Just finished walking through the Anne Frank house. I'm now in the cafe enjoying a warm cup of tea. Outside is cold and rainy. I'm grateful for the cafe at the end of the museum, not only for the shelter and tea but as a place to regroup, collect my thoughts and become human again after touring the museum. To call it it a museum is really a misnomer. It is a haunted house. That's the best way I can describe it. When you go to the museum you don't enter the house straight away. There is a space next door, connected, that you enter through and a small exhibit of artifacts from Anne's life before the war and before she went into hiding, as well as artifacts from the time. You know when you have entered the house. I am certain I would be able to tell even if I was led in blindfolded. It's cold. The air is thick. My chest closed up tight and it felt like I couldn't relax until I was out. Standing in line waiting to get in, the enormity of what I was about to see hit me. This is a real place. Real people lived, no, were trapped and tried to live here, for 2 years. The place is unfurnished, as requested by Otto Frank, Anne's father and the only one hidden to have survived the war. There are pictures and artifacts and moving video portraits but the emptiness pervades and lends a ghostly air. I wanted to weep openly but instead continued blink wildly, dab at my eyes, sniffle and keep some sort of composure. There were a couple of things that particularly moved me.
-A yellow star mandatory for all Jews to wear browned from time and frayed at the edges
-the wallpaper in Anne's room decorated with clippings of celebrities like Ginger Rogers & Sonia Henie and a picture of monkeys at a table
-a video of Otto taken in 1967 describing getting Anne's diary back by saying "After I heard the news that my children would not come back"
-And pages from Anne's notebooks; in her handwriting.
The actual diary is not here; just a replica. The original is somewhere safe in a temperature controlled environment. Everything else remains protected behind glass. Still I couldn't help but reach out and touch the glass; the need to connect, feel, have contact with this story and with the people was so strong in me.
Standing in the middle of these tiny rooms I tried to imagine the daily life of being hidden for 2 years in such an extreme way; how anything can become the the new normal. Anne Frank's father made a comment in his video about how much about Anne's writing surprised him. Its depth and emotion making him realize he barely knew the girl he literally spent 24/7 with for 2 straight years. Even Anne confides in one of the first entries how she hopes this diary will be something she opens up to more than anything or anyone she ever has. It made me think about all the ways in which we as people hide ourselves. Whether with make-up or clothes or people or relationships, sometimes it can seem easier to hide. I am in no way trying to compare hiding from the Nazis to hiding from ending a bad relationship
or hiding from expressing any part of yourself. It's that when faced with the remnants of someone literally having to hide themselves away because of who
they are for fear of death, one can truly see the absurdity of hiding from anything less than that. The legacy that Anne created (as well as the incredible people around her) just by expressing her true self is an inspiration and just as important as the legacy of tolerance her writings leave behind.
-A yellow star mandatory for all Jews to wear browned from time and frayed at the edges
-the wallpaper in Anne's room decorated with clippings of celebrities like Ginger Rogers & Sonia Henie and a picture of monkeys at a table
-a video of Otto taken in 1967 describing getting Anne's diary back by saying "After I heard the news that my children would not come back"
-And pages from Anne's notebooks; in her handwriting.
The actual diary is not here; just a replica. The original is somewhere safe in a temperature controlled environment. Everything else remains protected behind glass. Still I couldn't help but reach out and touch the glass; the need to connect, feel, have contact with this story and with the people was so strong in me.
Standing in the middle of these tiny rooms I tried to imagine the daily life of being hidden for 2 years in such an extreme way; how anything can become the the new normal. Anne Frank's father made a comment in his video about how much about Anne's writing surprised him. Its depth and emotion making him realize he barely knew the girl he literally spent 24/7 with for 2 straight years. Even Anne confides in one of the first entries how she hopes this diary will be something she opens up to more than anything or anyone she ever has. It made me think about all the ways in which we as people hide ourselves. Whether with make-up or clothes or people or relationships, sometimes it can seem easier to hide. I am in no way trying to compare hiding from the Nazis to hiding from ending a bad relationship
or hiding from expressing any part of yourself. It's that when faced with the remnants of someone literally having to hide themselves away because of who
they are for fear of death, one can truly see the absurdity of hiding from anything less than that. The legacy that Anne created (as well as the incredible people around her) just by expressing her true self is an inspiration and just as important as the legacy of tolerance her writings leave behind.
Monday, July 9, 2012
London Fog
It's drizzling...
of course it is...
It's London...in July.
Apparently grey is the norm for summer in the city.
I am standing in the groundling line waiting to storm the standing room only space in front of Shakespeare's Globe Theatre..not THE Globe of course...but a faithful recreation of the original which was demolished by the Puritans in 14whatever. Still, it's exciting. In a hour or so I'll be watching some amazingly talented English actors perform "The Taming of the Shrew" while standing outside in a pit for 3 hours..totally worth the £5 I paid (about $8). Tomorrow will be my last full day in London & I'm hoping to catch another performance..perhaps a musical this time. When I first arrived in London I wandered from my hotel through the streets of the city. As if by internal beacon, I found myself smack dab in the middle of the theatre district. And so I got a £15 discount ticket to The 39 Steps; A slapstick retro play based on a Hitchcock film and done with 4 actors playing all 100 or so parts. I sat in my seat and as the house lights dimmed and the curtain opened, I felt my eyes well up full of tears...of joy. Later that week as I heard the first few notes of the Westminster Abbey Chorale fill, then echo across the high ceilings and stone walls, a similar swell of emotion. I anticipate it happening tonight.
I used to be an artist; perhaps I still am. There is definitely some unfinished business there. I had aspirations to be a theater actor; a singer; to connect with others through performance the way it connects with me. That deep, gutteral, emotional connection that cuts through reason and punches right in the gut. But fear kept me from giving it a fair chance. I took a break, went to school, went to therapy. I worked on myself hoping to unlock the prison door that kept me from fully expressing this part of who I was. I learned so much about myself and shed a lot of trauma from my childhood that was festering inside me. But I didn't go back to the theater. I don't know why exactly. No matter how much I have loved my work as a massage therapist, I continue to have this nagging that there is a missing piece to my life. But when I try to listen to it; I realize there is still fear.
When I found music and acting, it was an escape for me; a place where I could be someone else. I grew up in a dysfunctional family where a child was seen & not heard, where emotions were never discussed much less shown and where the rod was never spared even if the child was spoiled. The stage was a place of freedom. It was a place where I could reveal myself and be as expressive as I wanted; safely shrouded in the artifice of a role or a song. I wasn't me yet felt more alive than I ever felt in my reality.
As an adult that's all been reversed. Being on stage makes me feel exposed, vulnerable. The voice is my own even if the words are someone else's. I am revealed and there is nothing to hide behind. And I am still scared.I know that if I can give this part of me permission to express itself, my life will profoundly change. The particulars remain fuzzy. So for now I watch and listen and learn all the while knowing that while this adventure may be about seeing the world; it is not about remaining a spectator.
of course it is...
It's London...in July.
Apparently grey is the norm for summer in the city.
I am standing in the groundling line waiting to storm the standing room only space in front of Shakespeare's Globe Theatre..not THE Globe of course...but a faithful recreation of the original which was demolished by the Puritans in 14whatever. Still, it's exciting. In a hour or so I'll be watching some amazingly talented English actors perform "The Taming of the Shrew" while standing outside in a pit for 3 hours..totally worth the £5 I paid (about $8). Tomorrow will be my last full day in London & I'm hoping to catch another performance..perhaps a musical this time. When I first arrived in London I wandered from my hotel through the streets of the city. As if by internal beacon, I found myself smack dab in the middle of the theatre district. And so I got a £15 discount ticket to The 39 Steps; A slapstick retro play based on a Hitchcock film and done with 4 actors playing all 100 or so parts. I sat in my seat and as the house lights dimmed and the curtain opened, I felt my eyes well up full of tears...of joy. Later that week as I heard the first few notes of the Westminster Abbey Chorale fill, then echo across the high ceilings and stone walls, a similar swell of emotion. I anticipate it happening tonight.
I used to be an artist; perhaps I still am. There is definitely some unfinished business there. I had aspirations to be a theater actor; a singer; to connect with others through performance the way it connects with me. That deep, gutteral, emotional connection that cuts through reason and punches right in the gut. But fear kept me from giving it a fair chance. I took a break, went to school, went to therapy. I worked on myself hoping to unlock the prison door that kept me from fully expressing this part of who I was. I learned so much about myself and shed a lot of trauma from my childhood that was festering inside me. But I didn't go back to the theater. I don't know why exactly. No matter how much I have loved my work as a massage therapist, I continue to have this nagging that there is a missing piece to my life. But when I try to listen to it; I realize there is still fear.
When I found music and acting, it was an escape for me; a place where I could be someone else. I grew up in a dysfunctional family where a child was seen & not heard, where emotions were never discussed much less shown and where the rod was never spared even if the child was spoiled. The stage was a place of freedom. It was a place where I could reveal myself and be as expressive as I wanted; safely shrouded in the artifice of a role or a song. I wasn't me yet felt more alive than I ever felt in my reality.
As an adult that's all been reversed. Being on stage makes me feel exposed, vulnerable. The voice is my own even if the words are someone else's. I am revealed and there is nothing to hide behind. And I am still scared.I know that if I can give this part of me permission to express itself, my life will profoundly change. The particulars remain fuzzy. So for now I watch and listen and learn all the while knowing that while this adventure may be about seeing the world; it is not about remaining a spectator.
Going back to Cali...road trip 2012
Pics from my California adventure with one of my favorite people in the universe, my wonderful, intelligent and inspiring friend April. There's no one I would rather be stuck in a car with. Click on "view these pictures larger" to see all the action.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Feeling love-The Farewell Tour
There is so much love. It's overwhelming. There's not enough room for it all and so my heart stretches and it starts to hurt; like when you laugh too hard. I knew I had friends. I've always had friends.
After leaving Niagara, I made stops. Visits with friends. But instead of seeing friends, I felt love. I felt loved. There were old friends & new friends; dear friends & acquaintances. People I spoke to often; others I hadn't seen in years. People who were expecting me & others who made time for me with little to no notice. Some I spent an hour with & some I spent days with. Some who were kind and gentle; some who knew me well enough to throw some (much needed) punches. I can't believe I have all these people and all this love around me. It's such a cliche. I often find myself rolling my eyes when I think it but I feel truly BLESSED. My heart has cracked open and is bursting with emotion. This is a good place to start. Broken, in all the right places.
I am embarking on an adventure. I am excited. I am ready. I know it will change me and see that it already has. Change is birth. Change is death. I recognize as I move forward, I will need to leave some things; people, relationships, thoughts, stories, dreams. There are things I cling to that I not serving me. In order to grab a hold of the things coming my way, I've got to let go of something. And so, although I am happy and excited...there are tears. Although I can't stop grinning from ear to ear...there is sadness. Beginnings & Endings. There will be too many to count on this voyage. Gonna strap myself in and let this ride begin.
After leaving Niagara, I made stops. Visits with friends. But instead of seeing friends, I felt love. I felt loved. There were old friends & new friends; dear friends & acquaintances. People I spoke to often; others I hadn't seen in years. People who were expecting me & others who made time for me with little to no notice. Some I spent an hour with & some I spent days with. Some who were kind and gentle; some who knew me well enough to throw some (much needed) punches. I can't believe I have all these people and all this love around me. It's such a cliche. I often find myself rolling my eyes when I think it but I feel truly BLESSED. My heart has cracked open and is bursting with emotion. This is a good place to start. Broken, in all the right places.
I am embarking on an adventure. I am excited. I am ready. I know it will change me and see that it already has. Change is birth. Change is death. I recognize as I move forward, I will need to leave some things; people, relationships, thoughts, stories, dreams. There are things I cling to that I not serving me. In order to grab a hold of the things coming my way, I've got to let go of something. And so, although I am happy and excited...there are tears. Although I can't stop grinning from ear to ear...there is sadness. Beginnings & Endings. There will be too many to count on this voyage. Gonna strap myself in and let this ride begin.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Toronto...Through my eyes...
Finally! Got some time in front of a computer so please click the link below to see the sights of Toronto...at least as I saw them.
Much Love!
-Cristina
TORONTO PICS
Much Love!
-Cristina
TORONTO PICS
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Finding my Buddha smile on the banks of the Niagara...
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| The Stupa containing 10,000 small buddha statues & other relics |
Who'da thunk that I would find a Buddhist Temple in Niagara Falls of all places? It's not all that surprising that the natural beauty that is the falls inspires the spirit. After all, I had felt it myself not only in front of the falls but exploring further down the river. Having done the "strip" with the Falls and the ferris wheel and the souvenir shops, I rented a bike and ventured away from it all to the opposite end of the Niagara River; hoping for some quiet reflection and interaction with nature.
I had heard about the whirlpool area of the River and a hiking path that would take you all the way down to the water's edge. I set out early in hopes of avoiding anybody else. The weather was amazing; bright, clear and sunny with a crisp fresh cool in the air; something I had come to miss during my time of never-ending hot sunny Caribbean days. There is something about feeling the warmth of the sun on your face and the tickle of cool air on your skin that makes you feel vibrant and alive. The hike down to the water was beautiful. The canopy of trees allowing glistening pockets of sun to peek through and illuminate the rocks. The earth was soft and squishy below my feet. The path led me down, down and then out to a clearing...
Wow.
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| The whirlpool |
The sun, the air, the view...the solitude. How is it that when you are alone in nature; sometimes that is when you feel the most connected?
I haven't meditated in a while. Sat down and made the effort to sit. It had become an effort. It seemed like such a chore, such a heavy thing. And so I haven't…in a long while. But when I reached the clearing that opened up to the "whirlpool"; I was inspired. I spent over an hour there, by myself. I wasn't meditating the entire time although everything I did from that moment forward was meditative. I took pictures, dipped my feet in the brisk water, practiced yoga poses on the rocks, sat and watched how the sunlight played on top of the water's surface and finally meditated. 20 minutes of stillness…well…I'm lucky if I found 20 seconds of actual stillness but the practice felt…glorious.
I am not an expert. I consider myself a novice at best. But following are some thoughts I had while meditating:
Sometimes (ok almost always) it's hard to quiet your mind enough to feel like you are even in the moment. When I find that my mind must concentrate on something that will hold the attention more than breath, I listen. I concentrate on noticing each new sound. It gives my mind something to do other than chase thoughts and I find I can actually be in the moment by experiencing the sound and silence around me.
When I was meditating by Niagara; this technique was really helpful. I noticed the roaring of the rapids, constant but distant. Right at my feet, I also heard water but it was the gentle lapping by the shoreline of water tapping the rocks. I suddenly felt like the roaring of the rapids in the distance was like life; the sound of loud, constant movement and that the gentle lapping was my inner stillness. The "rapids" in life are usually what grabs our attention, especially if we put ourselves in the thick of it. The noise can be deafening. So much so that we don't even realize that there is a place at the water's edge where the pace slows to create a peace and tranquility in its soundscape. That place is accessible within ourselves. The outside doesn't change. The rapids are there; roaring; calling out for attention. But the gentle lapping, although softer, is closer and is more aligned with our true nature. The goal is to make the peaceful lapping louder and let the rapids fade into white noise.
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| "paddling" in the Niagara River |
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| downward dog on the rocks |
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| getting my meditation on! |
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Better than Disneyland!
I decided to come to Niagara Falls to basically kill time and check off another box on my "places I've been, things I've seen" list. It's not a place I was dying to get to or have always wanted to see but I'm leaving feeling this may be the most perfect place on earth. I'll definitely be back.
It's odd I haven't been here before. Growing up in the Northeast, Niagara Falls feels like one of those places that I should have been to on a Girl Scout trip or a school trip or a weekend getaway. I imagined it like the Poconos or Atlantic City; kitschy, depressed, more tourist trap than destination. That's not to say that Niagara is nothing like that. Walking down the newly revived Queen St. in downtown Niagara this evening looking for a spot to eat yielded more "closed" & "for lease" signs than actual establishments. And the Mr. Sub (a clear rip-off of Subway) that I finally settled into for a tasty veggie 6" had at least 20 kids outside doing bike tricks on the handrail and steps.
Still that's all part of the personality of Niagara. It is part depression era town, part slick amusement park/tourist trap & part natural wonder; all co-existing in perfect harmony. Obviously, the falls take center stage...as they should. I was expecting to be underwhelmed. I thought I would see an ok waterfall surrounded by tacky souvenir shops and hundreds of places to buy a Jumbo Hot Dog. And yes, all that is there in droves but the falls...wow. It is awesome. As in the true definition. As in awe inspiring. I felt expansive, soaring. It was majestic. I found I was literally singing the Star Spangled Banner to myself in my head. Even though I was in Canada! I could have passed a whole day just watching the waters rush over the falls from every possible vantage point and the light bounce off the water and the mist at every possible time of day. But there was no need. There's loads to do.
The Canadian side of the falls has very extensive public park space that is impeccably maintained. I rented a bike and made my way north, away from the epicenter of the falls and found NATURE! Bike trails and hiking trails and a natural whirlpool and a botanic garden and wineries and lots more. A place that I thought I could completely exhaust in 48 hours has become a wonderland of hidden treasures. Even the gaudy amusement park feel of Clifton Hill with its flashy neon signs touting Ruby Tuesday! & Starbucks! coupled with the constant noise and movement of the animatronic mascots of Ripley's Believe it or Not and Louis Tussaud's Waxworks (the lesser known of the Tussauds) only serve to add to the appeal of this special place. This is a place best explained in pictures so here are a few teasers of my time so far. Tomorrow I visit another personality of this border town - spiritual center. Apparently, there is a Buddhist Temple about a 3 minute walk from here. Who knew...
The Canadian side of the falls has very extensive public park space that is impeccably maintained. I rented a bike and made my way north, away from the epicenter of the falls and found NATURE! Bike trails and hiking trails and a natural whirlpool and a botanic garden and wineries and lots more. A place that I thought I could completely exhaust in 48 hours has become a wonderland of hidden treasures. Even the gaudy amusement park feel of Clifton Hill with its flashy neon signs touting Ruby Tuesday! & Starbucks! coupled with the constant noise and movement of the animatronic mascots of Ripley's Believe it or Not and Louis Tussaud's Waxworks (the lesser known of the Tussauds) only serve to add to the appeal of this special place. This is a place best explained in pictures so here are a few teasers of my time so far. Tomorrow I visit another personality of this border town - spiritual center. Apparently, there is a Buddhist Temple about a 3 minute walk from here. Who knew...
Below..the many faces of Niagara Falls...
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| Boarded up hotel near downtown Niagara Falls |
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| Sunset approaching the Falls |
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| hiking to the whirlpool |
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