emily joffrion

I Look East Redux - New Beginnings with Airbnb

2011-05-18T11:55:00.000-07:00

When I arrived back in the states in 2009, I deplaned and went to Venice Beach with my family and closest friends. Over iced tea we discussed the year I had abroad: teaching in Japan, exploring the Mekong and Luang Prabang and riding elephants and trading with hill tribe people in the Golden Triangle. While thumbing through the extra pages in my passport, I promised myself that I would fill those pages before the 2015 expiration date – that I would find a way to get back into the world that had so impacted me. It was late May.

Now, nearly three years later, I have been given the opportunity to give back to the industry that has given me so much and I will be joining Airbnb – a trusted community where you can list, share and book a place to stay: anything from a couch to a castle. This incredible idea is already taking root all over the world and changing the way we travel and interact with each other – and since this is a topic very close to my heart, I am honored and excited to join the team.

Like any PR pro worth their salt, I like to get my hands dirty with a product and experience things first hand, so this weekend I set off to celebrate my new gig by booking a last minute getaway with my mother and sister through Airbnb. I was working on a quick turn-around leaving me five hours to find a place to stay, communicate with the host and finalize our end destination in Monterery. Luckily, I found an amazing listing: a 32 foot sailboat in Monterey Bay’s Breakwater Cove Marina operated by host, Captain Dutch who responded to my query in less than 20 minutes. After a couple quick conversations and payment through the site, we were set up and whizzed down south, through the winding, wooded roads around Santa Cruz and picking up fresh cherries in Gilroy on our way to Monterey.

We arrived at the marina to the shore divers finished up their exploration of the kelp forests, trudging toward their trucks under the weight of their gear. Salmon fishermen docked their boats after hours on the crystal blue sea catching their trade. I wound my way down the docks and met up with Captain Dutch who introduced me to my temporary abode: The Pegasus. Serendipity has many shapes, but tonight she came as a boat that embodied the librating image of a gleaming white, winged horse I had learned about through my travels and obsession with Greek literature. My sister Laura, however, had a much more direct connection to the name Pegasus. Only two days ago, her best friend’s mother went into surgery for pancreatic cancer and the family has been heavy on her mind. Pegasus is the name of their boat, named for this amazing matriarch.

Needless to say, the three of us were overjoyed with our booking and as we sat on the deck drinking pinot noir and eating cheese and crackers, seals began to spring up and circle the boat. Their bodies were sleek with water and in their jaws were massive salmon they tossed in the air to tear apart. Across the waterway, another boat named The Other Office The sun began to set and a storm set in, but my family cuddled around a laptop watching the Twilight Zone until we fell asleep to the light rocking of the boat.

Soundtrack My Childhood

2010-09-09T00:15:00.000-07:00

Beatles sing-a-longs not withstanding, my first musical memory was probably either singing MC Hammer at a water park or going to see the New Kids on the Block in New Orleans when I was five. Needless to say, the 80s impacted me growing up, but not in the zany Cindy Lauper kind of way- more like the cheesy Vanilla Ice kind of way. By the time I got to middle school, however, my sister started dating an artsy guy who listened to The Cure and Alice in Chains, so I got a little better in the 90s. It took a little while for me to start buying records that didn't completely suck- the learning curve is pretty steep when you're from Baton Rouge and music blogs haven't been invented yet. Two things saved me from the the suburban palate of bland: soundtracks and MTV. Granted, they represent a limited segment of the color wheel (maybe 3 primary colors at best) but soundtracks were the blogs of the 90s- professional mixed tapes, musical tastes customized from the music industry elite.

Soundtracks that sculpted my early musical taste include: Reality Bites, Singles and Good Morning Vietnam.

Reality Bites:
In 6th grade, I got hold of the soundtrack for Reality Bites. I'm still not sure how I managed to smuggle Juliana Hatfield's 'she's such a sucker, he don't wanna fuck her' lyric past my mother (who, for the record, burned Footloose because it glorified premarital sex), never mind Alanis Morisette who's still referred to as 'The Chicken-shit Lady.' The song on this record that stands out the most is still Turnip Farm by Dinosaur Jr. Probably my first exposure to dissonant rock, where the guitar overpowers the simplified lyrics. It's a great mix of grunge, acoustic and (wait for it) Peter Frampton, with a little bit of revival thrown in there for diversity.

Singles:
Admittedly, I heard most of this record on repeat through my sister's wall, but exposure to 90s Seattle gunge was a huge deal in the sheltered South. My virgin ears learned Soundgarden, Alice in Chains and Pearl Jam -- doubtless some of the best bands of my formative years. In fact, when recently polled on my favorite records of all time it was *very* difficult not to include Jar of Flies in this mix. Another huge favorite (though not from Seattle) from this record was The Smashing Pumpkins - still one of my all-time favorite bands (Mayonnaise kills me). And though I didn't learn about Jimi until my dad busted him out on a road trip much later in life, Hendrix's "May This Be Love" made its way on to the record.

Good Morning Vietnam:
Way before Forrest Gump was even an idea, Adrian Conauer taught me about the 60s with some great tunes and really dirty jokes (which I can quote to this day). A lot of these bands are past my time, so this soundtrack spark a musical adventure, but it did function as a complete piece of art that encapsulated the energy and pain of the Vietnam war. "Nowhere to Run To" by Martha and the Vandellas - yes!" and the Supremes, "You Just Keep Me Hangin' On" are great favorites - with their brassy ladies leading the charge with tambourines and sparkles to back them up. The Beach Boys got hooked up with three songs here, including "I Get Around" and who could forget Louis Armstrong closing the record with "What a Wonderful World" which is played as Saigon takes on gunfire.

Honorable Mention -- Dangerous Minds:
It would be hyperbolic to call this whole soundtrack earth-shattering, but Gangta's Paradise really was. Beyond my dance team picking up an edited version for our half time performance (true story), this soundtrack opened up rap and hip-hop in my school. Master P, C Murder, Mystikal and the 504 Boyz quickly popped up as we all tried to rebel against the status quo with really bad Gangsta Rap.

The Housewife and The Hipster: BR vs. NOLA

2010-09-08T23:33:00.000-07:00

I've been meaning to get back to Louisiana for quite some time, but there's something that makes me procrastinate the pilgrimage. Part of me in undeniably proud of my culture. We have the best food in the country and the warmest hearts, great music, Cyprus drenched wetlands and iconic self-expression that includes words like, "DIN" (pronounced, daa-gn, as in Boudin).

But for me, there is an incredible schism between what exists between New Orleans and Baton Rouge- and it's a lot more than 60 miles and a few feet of elevation. Baton Rouge. No matter how far I travel or where I go, it's a word that I can't escape because - though I feel a sharp sense of self-loathing at admitting this - it was and is a huge part of me. It's not that I'm ashamed of who I came from- as my grandparents are the most amazing people on the planet- it's regret that I put up with the city for so long. They are the types of things that are hard to explain unless you've been there...It's that right in front of the Budweiser distribution center, there are 3 massive crosses that stand 10 stories tall. It's the gigantic outdoor store and the concrete shopping center after concrete shopping center that stretch across the entire 'city.' It's that there's next to nothing going on, unless you're into football...and if you're not into football, there must be something wrong with you.

But, as long as it's been, I still know the short cuts to avoid traffic and I still know where to go to see the best view of the LSU lakes. The most redeeming quality Baton Rouge has is that in houses 3 of my favorite humans in the world. My maternal grandmother, Beverly, and my paternal grandparents, Bebee and Will. Bebee's house is straight out of the 40s- it's not dwarfishly small ceilings and a upstairs that feels like you're living in Barbie's house. She and Will both have their designated sitting chairs, though they'll give you the honor of sitting in the chair of your choice when you're their guest. Will shuffles to the door from his chair, pulls his glasses down to the string around his neck and says, "Hello, Em-ly. God bless you" and gives you a tight hug and kiss.

There's something about the smell of their house that used to unnerve me, but now it feels like the safest place on earth. Perhaps it's the Civil War swords mounted on the wall or the way they carry orange juice on a tray to serve you with their shuffling steps. Looking at them and their complete devotion to each other makes me think I might be able to love someone if I could stop dissecting everyone and everything for 15 minutes.

It's literally gotten to the point where I feel nervous about returning home and facing all of the emotions that have taken me a lifetime to sort through - or pretend to sort through. The religious presence is stronger than ever, positioned alongside the daunting social class stratification it's hard to believe that I came from there. From the skyscraper-tall white crosses that portal you into the city -- the ones that we've joked about painting in rainbow colors -- to the insistence that we pray at every meal, religion is the South. It's a beacon that they don't even see or notice, the proverbial elephant in the room.

And yet, to all that Baton Rouge is -- it's rules and simplicity, camoflauge and football games -- New Orleans is its stepsister. Both beautiful females, one is a docile home-maker and one is a renegade hipster running on 4 nights sleep a week.

Without fail, every time I'm in New Orleans it feels like I've eaten a vitamin filled with all the nutrients I could need for my spirit. All of the things I miss when I'm away -- everything is music, dancing is unencumbered, smiles are unbridled and creative inspiration is like the humid air taken into the lungs, to the arteries, to the very cells in my body. This is the very fiber of what matters in life - it is something to cherish and to protect.

As I leave the city, on less that two hours sleep, hungover in last night's makeup on the longest one hour drive known to man to a ladies brunch at my grandmother's posh town house in Baton Rouge, I'm reminded that I am both of these worlds and I am neither.

Purple Lights, Pointe Shoes and Cupcake Dresses

2010-01-22T02:17:00.000-08:00

After the Gala last year, I knew that I wouldn't miss another kick-off of the SF Ballet season. While I'm normally a low-maintenance type of girl, there's something about this environment that turns me into a total priss. Put me in a gown with a train, add a spectacular updo (by Lindsay at Acme) and the next thing you know, I turn into a princess. The "hold your train and wait in the car for the dude to open your door" type. Hopefully Dan & Andrew - cause the lady needs two escorts - didn't mind too much.

The program was beautiful. Last year, the program consisted of 3 distinct pieces with a theme that was beautifully conveyed through the music and choreography. It included the entire range - from the company to the soloists - without breaking the continuity of the pieces. The downside of this is if you're not into the theme, but when it's great it's *great* Last year, I heard/saw "Within the Golden Hour" and I started crying within the first section of the piece. It was like the moment I first heard Max Richter, such surreal beauty that you think you could die with fulfillment.

I've gone to quite a few ballets since that night (and before) and I will say that the way the SF Ballet chose to organize this year's program catered to the short attention span of the SF startupper. While you're not commitment to a piece that wasn't quite doing it, you also miss the chance to fall in love with the stuff that's really working. There were 6 pieces that really stood out last night, bu it's not as clear because there wasn't enough time for me to get attached to each section.

I am so proud SF Ballet community! If you haven't yet seen them perform, get a taste on YouTube and come out for the season. It's magical. If you don't have time, you can also check out amazing photos like the one above, taken by a rising star in the company and stunning photographer, Quinn Wharton.

a tribute to beck, jurassic park and houston texas

2010-01-17T19:39:00.000-08:00

my musical preferences were transferred through the wall i shared with my sister. the first time i heard beck might have been on the radio, but it was that wall that taught me all the words to 'beercan' and made me envy her CD of the month club membership (the one that she was technically too young to apply for, so they never had a binding agreement so she never paid for any of the CDs she got- including that first Oasis record.)

those were the days when i made a mixtape of all of my sister's CDs and finally got bjork on my walkman. i took her and beck and the soundtrack from flashdance on a walk through the woods to the snowball stand. it was really hot, mosquitoes attacked me because i tasted like wedding cake syrup. i came home with over 50 bites on my shoulders and legs that afternoon.

i decided that i should venture into less hostile woods, where dens of mosquitoes weren't pent up to attack their next saccharine infused victim, so carly dwyer and i trekked out to the woods around episcopal prep school. when i say trek, it's more like a casual meander, but everything feels far when you're an 11 year old suburbanite. i had just finished reading jurassic park, so that i could go see the movie for my cousin coco's birthday without spoiling anything, so i narrated the plot to carly while skipping over branches and puddles, working my way through the paths where the older kids came out to smoke cigarettes and get felt up.

i took that mixtape on the bus to houston with my 7th grade class, on a field trip to astroworld. while my peers stuck pringles in their mouths so they looked like duck bills or peered over fashion mags, naming all of the models, i was boomboxing like it was 1987- dancing up and down the aisles to 'beercan' and alanis morissette.

i remember almost all of the lyrics from the songs of those days. someone recently told me that i must have been the coolest kid in the 6th grade because i remember all the lyrics to roi from the breeders (and here and now by letters to cleo & smells like teenspirit by nirvana). it's true, the 90s has shaped my musical taste. to this day, beck is one of my favorites and i have mad respect for dinosaur jr. i just hope kids growing up now have a sliver of the experience i had then, but i guess that's what fanatics of the beatles and the stones say about me.

My Cat is Insane: Certifiably

2010-01-17T19:32:00.000-08:00

Charlotte the cat- misunderstood and loathed by most, particularly my roommates. It's true, Charlotte the cat is a fucking handful. She's never satisfied and in constant need of attention, yet when you show her any affection she goes tearing down the hall in the other direction. Ah, cats. So much like Cosmo Girls.

Here are a few things she's done to date:

This is Lazer. Charlotte aimed to prove who wore the pants in her household, so she attacked this dog. A perfectly timed attack, she literally sat in the hall waiting until he had to pass her and his guard was down when she kitty punched him, claws drawn and hissing, sending him yelping and cowering down the hall. Yes, she instilled a lasting fear in poor lazer. #fierce.
Charlotte has an advanced palate for a kitty. She's been known to eat spinach, raw ground beef (that she steals when your back is turned while cooking) and raw pasta,
Charlotte is always desperate for attention, but refuses to be picked up and held. I discussed this problem with a co-worker to sent me this link, which got me thinking about spanking the cat. I've always thought of cats as snugly creatures, but Charlotte's weird, so I tried it. I shouldn't be surprised- she's a lot like a character from a Dostoevsky novel.

She can be cute sometimes, though. Not to sound like a cat lady, but she does this roll when she wants your attention that just kills me. She also has amazing taste in music - she loves The Beatles White Album and The Shout Out Louds.

Mixed Tapes + Mixed Media

2010-01-15T15:11:00.000-08:00

Some of us communicate with Tweets or blog posts. Others through phone calls or coffee meetings. For me, music has always been the catalyst for emotion, enlightenment and understanding, so there's no greater gift than a mixed tape. I used to think it was the collection of old memories associated with the songs that made the mix so powerful. My buddy Alvaro used to make mixes chock full of Phish songs and obscure Latin music that made me laugh. They reminded me of dancing in the streets during El Primero de Agosto in Nicaragua and his river home in the hills of Birmingham. Those were humid porch nights, playing drums and listening to the bugs hit the screen, attracted to the lights.

Mixed tapes are stories - audible memory books of silicon and shine.

Over the years, I've discovered that playlists are actually messages themselves. Talented mixologists- have the uncanny ability to speak through the music they put together. It's beat and lyrics, the memory of the past tied with your present state of mind. Looking back, a couple mix tapes stand out as the best among many because these mixers have something to say and it's translated with lucidity through the music.

"Bread & Circuses" is an election mix created by a fantastic underground DJ and above-ground high school Civics teacher: Matthew Owen Reininger aka DJ CNTRL. This piece is a raw critique of our failed government and the consumer culture that enslaves and blinds us from justice. CNTRL was one of the most artistic and innovative DJs on the Miami scene, but his music was a complete work of art that didn't fit into the scene of Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Peter Bjorn & John fans. I sincerely hope he's still making him music. It's bold and tangible and I am looking for a link.

UPDATE: 1/20 -- CNTRL has just sent me a link where you can download Bread & Circuses for free. It's a MediaFire link, so it's likely to expire. In the meantime, Go crazy, kids!

My next shout out is to the guy who gave me Frightened Rabbit, The Raveonettes and Andrew Bird through his weekly Academik podcast. Andrew Kippen is an inspirational human- a quick witted, snappy dresser who's the master of all types of facial hair. As my office mate and dear friend, Kipp taught me about Lala, Hype Machine and wireless networking. Of all of his podcasts, two have made my time in San Francisco. The September Electro Mix got me running in the panhandle every morning when I first moved and The The Mix got me addicted to The Kills. Now that Kip's working for boxee.tv, podcasts come out less frequently, but you can check out the whole list here: http://feeds.feedburner.com/Academik.

My newest mixer may have the most experienced palate of anyone I've ever met- DJs, Musicians and music analysts beware of Matt Graves aka mgrooves. Matt has over three thousand CDs and a weekly routine of scanning the stacks at Ameoba to see what's new. Matt has an uncanny ability to playlist on the go, as if he's conversing with you through his iPod. He rarely repeats songs- with a massive archive that's to be expected. Unlike novice playlisters, Matt's got epic mix skills from his years of being the voice of what was imeem. Matt's playlists went offline when MySpace pulled the plug on imeem (and put up ringtone ads on people's websites where the playlist used to be), so I can't share mgrooves with you here. I will say that listening to Matt's most recent playlist- a seamless 75 song, 5 hour long giant- is like looking at a 15 foot tall collage of pictures that, when you step back, form a greater piece than the sum of its gorgeous parts.

I'd like to end this with a shout of to my friend Ryan Humm, a videographer I met when I lived in Japan. He composed this mix of visuals from his experience in Hong Kong, IndoChina and Japan and layered on top of M83's We Own the Sky, it is breath-taking.

m83 - we own the sky from YouHadMeAtASL on Vimeo.
There is so much talent seeded in the people around us. I hope this post encourages you to find the Matthews, Andrews, Matts & Ryans around you and thank them for sharing the gifts that matter the most.

the last thing i have to say about myspace...ever

2009-12-10T09:42:00.000-08:00

it's been a LONG time coming but i finally deleted my MySpace account. i've been calling MySpace detroit for a couple years not, so it shouldn't come as a huge surprise but up until this week, i haven't had a serious problem with them...they just sucked.

this week, MySpace officially bought parts of imeem (read: the technology, the users and the 4 C-level execs) and then sent a nuke to the rest of the company. without telling the 16 million imeem users and developers who use the platform, MySpace shut down the service and took away all of the playlists and community messages that had lived on the site.

when i was asked to choose a reason why i was leaving, i chose 'too much drama' - an option they provided - as the reason. here's my letter to them:

the way your company conducts business is pathetic. you purchased 16 million imeem users and then couldn't be bothered to effectively communicate with them about the changes you were making to their service. you have continually taken the big business approach, when the product you're trying to sell is a social tool for dialogue and building relationships.

if you want to compete with facebook, then you have to start thinking about your users and listening to them. winning on the music front is not going to sustain your business long term- especially considering the poor quality of your music player and all of the ads plastering your pages. i would rather pay a subscription fee to stream whatever music i want than click on your music pages. i no longer want to have anything to do with your company...and i'm not the only one.

The Future of Online Music

2009-12-02T00:01:00.000-08:00

when i was in high school, my parents had shitty computers. i sank endless hours into the old school dial-up trying desperately to connect with my nicaraguan boyfriend, so when it came to music discovery, i was a mess. columbia records got me started with some bjork, beck and the reality bites soundtrack, but napster was a far cry from anything we could pull off at home.

in college things got better (mainly bc i was in close proximity to kids with music). then there was iTunes and the iPod, making everything portable and easy(er) - but we became obsessed with our friend's libraries so we could have the latest and greatest. i've been to 'ripping parties' where a bunch of people shared DRM free tunes, but hell if i remember what i took. with so much music, there's not that sentiment attached to a mixed tape or the thrill that comes with buying a new record. the lack of cover art is just the beginning- we don't have time to organize all of the information we're getting. it's all stuffed into folders and archives that live on our hard drives, but when do we actually dip into it?

there's freedom in a subscription service like rhapsody - you don't have to spend money on a record with only 3 good songs. hype machine gave love to the mashup darlings, making stars of dudes like atrak and fred falke, while pandora revolutionized music discovery. then lala came on the scene with ties to hip music blogs and lets you listen to any song once, before paying for a web stream or download. today, a new player is entering the scene who i believe combines the best aspects of all current music services into one service that's affordable and super fun.

mog.com is a network of music blogs- they pull together the best stories from their network and push it out in a weekly newsletter. every week, i get a newsletter from mog about new top albums, songs and stories from their community- which is a pretty cool alternative to pitchfork's way hipster approach to music. today, mog launched a new music player that gives you "all you can eat music" for 5 dollars a month. you can build and share playlists with your "real" friends AND connect with other users who have similar taste to discover new music.

i've spent the past few weeks testing out the mog player and i love it. it has the best of rhapsody and pandora in one player- you listen to an artist "radio" station, sliding a ruler to set how heavy you want that artist in rotation. this lets you choose whether or not you're in discovery mode and also gives you the option to queue an entire album or search for playlists that have your favorite artists.

i have high hopes for this baby. seeing that i spend way too much time married to my computer, it can only make my day more fun and less productive. maybe if they come up with a mobile app, i can actually get out the house more regularly.

The Wedding Spree: Part 1

2009-10-12T11:14:00.000-07:00

the wedding spree- we all go through the point when your vacation time is chucked up to weddings all over the place. i'm told it's an age thing, a la "oh, you're at the age where everyone starts getting married. just wait until they all start having babies!" christ.

last night was the wedding of my neighbor from the miami dorms to one spyder rosenthal. he's an awesome guy and their story is a magical ball of romantic goodness that would make Richard Dawkins believe in destiny, but throughout the whole ceremony i couldn't help but wonder what the hell his parents were thinking. i can't begin to imagine what the playground taunts were like and there's no way to say, "i kara, take you spyder forever and ever" without losing it. it's a good thing they're the type of couple that loves to laugh so it wasn't a big deal. they actually helped the groomsmen trick a guy into believing it was a beach boy/ hawaiian shirt themed wedding. the poor guy showed up to a pretty posh wedding at the adamson house loggia in malibu decked out in chucks and a lei.

despite the dj opening with billie jean (really- where do you go from there?), it was a gorgeous ceremony with the irish blessing and poems from rumi intermingled with their story from kindergarten and i'm not gonna lie- i cried a little. i know it's sappy but i cry at weddings. this is why i like outdoor weddings where i can hide my romanticism behind huge sunglasses.

romantic inspiration aside, this wedding was the complete opposite of wedding #1 of the season, the new orleans with oysters overflowing from their shells and a tiny recreation of the south rampart street parade. the reception was killer- put nicaraguans and columbians in the same room in new orleans and the bacanal is unstoppable- but the ceremony had me a little freaked out.

it was held at saint louis cathedral and since i'm not catholic, i had never been inside. cathedrals tear me up: the artistry (esp. when there's a choir) makes me want to kneel down in awe, but you think about all the dogma and guilt that built it- the families that were suckered into going without so the pope could reign supreme- and it kinda grosses me out.

i'm sitting in my pew, peering around this dominating structure when i notice crusader flags lining the congregational seating. i follow the flags to the mural above the alter and notice that it's a dude surrounded by guys with swords. sure enough, the caption in french says, 'st. louis announcing the 7th crusade.' in the paintings, in the stained glass- even held by statues- there are swords everywhere, proudly declaring the christian attack against islam and seeding the friction that caused the attack on the world trade center.

holy shit.

Free Charlotte Gainsbourg Teaser for IRM

2009-10-11T10:49:00.000-07:00

I discovered Charlotte through her father, Serge Gainsbourg. While traveling in Osaka on Christmas Eve, Antoine Guidicelli gave me a complete compilation of Serge's wild, jazzy sensations complete with allusions to comic books. I fell for Charlotte before I realized she was the darling from Michel Godry's Science of Sleep.

Charlotte Gainsbourg has teamed up with Beck and released a new album. Dubbed 'IRM,' this album is inspired by the MRI tests endured to tackle a brain hemorrhage she suffered after a water skiing accident. It's clangy, mechanical percussion give the sensation of an assembly line of robots poking and drilling while lights and sparks flash in every which direction. Layered above, Charlotte's soothing voice walks you through the song like a nurse narrating the procedure.

To get a free download, check out her site: http://www.charlottegainsbourg.com/

Behind the Lines- Using Technology to Fight Oppression

2009-06-17T16:51:00.000-07:00

The world is changing and for some it's turned into a fast paced, adrenaline rush of meaningless Twitter babble and adult ADD (guilty). For a while, I've been skeptical of the overall social benefit of technology. When you analyze how many Facebook friends people have vs. real-life friends, or how often we IM someone who's standing in close proximity it seems like we have a serious problem. But, this week I've been inspired by the pulse of social media and its ability to transcend oppression and empower the individual to speak out against injustice- and be heard.

We've all heard about the elections in Iran, so I'm not going to start there. This morning, I came across an article about a Chinese girl who stabbed a man to death when he tried to rape her. He was a Communist official and she was promptly thrown in jail. A blogger got wind of the story and rallied an "online outcry." Here's a snippet from the NYT article:

The case of Ms. Deng is only the most recent and prominent of several cases in which the Internet has cracked open a channel for citizens to voice mass displeasure with official conduct, demonstrating its potential as a catalyst for social change.

The government’s reactions have raised questions about how much power officials have to control what they call “online mass incidents.” China’s estimated 300 million Internet users, experts say, are awakening to the idea that, even in authoritarian China, they sometimes can fight City Hall.

It's pretty amazing that despite the closing of TV stations, shutting down the Internet and arresting protesters, the truth can still prevail. Deng's story reminds me that - despite how bleak and irrational the world can seem - people will fight for justice and truth.

Since the word broke out about Ahmadinejad's "victory" in the Iranian elections, something has caught fire in the Iranian people that has laid dormant for 3 decades and technology has been the catalyst. For this fight, there are few journalists on the ground- instead reports are coming from amateurs on the ground who leak rocky shots of protesters being beaten. After I stumbled across the Twitter #IranElection filter yesterday, my stream updated with 169 tweets in ONE seconds- many of which spoke of people on balconies watching the rallies, others which gave the world instructions on how to help. Inspired, I wrote an email to my dear friend (whose name I will not reveal, for her safety) and asked if she and her husband were okay. I would like to share her email with you, but first I'd like you to take a moment to think about this:

In this moment- I am sharing with you a letter from half-way across the world. I will embed this link into a number of social network profiles and broadcast the hell out of it. Within seconds, this post will be searchable, tangible and immortal for whoever chooses to seek it. This is the power of technology - and in this case, it's fighting oppression against the individual.

Dear Emily

Thank you for your email and your attention. Nowadays we are fine, of course physically but spiritually, what can I say.....!!!

It is so nice that the world can hear our voice. This is the voice of real Iranians who are tired of hearing lies from the authorities. The result of presidency is a big mistake which makes us upset and aggressive. We think that this is our human right to choose our president by ourselves, but our votes were not their favorite so they changed it and it is not acceptable for us.

The situation is so taught . I myself try to follow all news minutes by minutes. In my life and in my country, I have never seen something like state. In all protests, people try to stay calm , but unfortunately the opposition side are so nervous and uncontrollable .

We want just to know that " WHERE ARE OUR VOTES ???"

Is it difficult to understand???

Hope one day, everyone lives in a peace and safe world .

again thank you

Big Hug .......VIVA

In our little Silicon Bubble of glossy icons and over-communication, it's truly inspiring to see technology give voice to those that are silenced by their governments. We're reaching an unprecedented era of accountability, where the people are informed and empowered to voice their opinions about the actions of their leadership. But, as we all know from Marvel comics, with great power comes great responsibility. We as individuals have to realize that our leaders- from Obama to Putin, Kim Yong II to Netanyahu reflect our voice and it's our job to exercise it.

* photos taken from the New York Times

beyond a reasonable doubt

2009-03-17T14:36:00.000-07:00

It is not required that the state prove guilt beyond all possible doubt. The test is one of reasonable doubt. A reasonable doubt is a doubt based upon reason and common sense----the kind of doubt that would make a reasonable person hesitate to act. Proof beyond a reasonable doubt, therefore, must be proof of such a convincing character that a reasonable person would not hesitate to rely and act upon it.

a few weeks ago, i was in a bar listening to a young lawyer explain the logistics of her defense cases to me. after a deep line of questioning and the mental acrobatics that followed, one crystalline fact rose to the surface: our justice system has nothing to do with justice. it's a chess game of revealing certain facts and flashing them in front of the jury box like a red cape, hoping that they don't ask questions beyond that. indeed, to my knowledge, jurors aren't even allowed to ask questions to counsel.

then how do you quell reasonable doubt? if the base of our legal system is that people are innocent until proven guilty and attorneys must prove them guilty beyond a reasonable doubt, how can someone who takes their responsibility as a juror seriously be true to their conscience without bringing up the questions that are on their minds as individuals. in florida, a mistrial was called when 8 jurors used their cellular phones to research whether a defendant had illegally sold prescription drugs online. and why not? if the information is publicly available, isn't it simply researching common knowledge?

but this is where we get into the strategy of defense, what can and cannot be included as evidence based on how it was collected and so forth. the young lawyer that told me about her case was completely candid about what she knew and was keeping from the jury. if she was forced to give up all relevant information, which objective justice would require, there would be little strategy left to be had. but isn't that the fair way to do things? shouldn't law be about justice not about trickery?

Eduardo Galeano from 'Patas Arriba'

2009-03-16T21:52:00.000-07:00

Does history repeat itself? Or might it be that it repeats itself only as a penance of those who are unable to listen to it? History is not mute. As much as they burn it, as much as the break it, as much as they lie about it, human history refuses to shut its mouth. The time that was continues to beat, alive, from within the time which is, even if this time (the present) doesn't want it to, or doesn't know. The right to remember doesn't figure among the human rights consecrated by
the UN, but today more than ever it's necessary to reinvigorate it and put it in practice: not to repeat the past, but to avoid repeating it; not so that we, the living, should be ventriloquists of the dead, but so that we may be able to speak with voices not condemned to the perpetual echo of stupidity and disgrace. When it is indeed alive, memory doesn't contemplate history, it invites us to make it. More than in the museums, where the poor man gets bored, memory is in the air we breath; and she, from the air, breathes us.

he's a keeper

2009-03-06T14:36:00.000-08:00

my neighbor and i have a joke about building a dictionary for all the terms that our generation uses to abbreviate slang. clearly, sometimes 3 syllable words are so laborious to sound out that they are butchered into words like, obvi and totes. as an x- reading teacher this pretench way of speaking is so abhorrent to me that it borders on repugnant.

so today, i receive a text message from jeremy- who seemed normal enough when i met him at a party months ago, but i haven't seen or heard from him since. so oddly, he tries to open the door up again with the lamest attempt at spitting game i've ever seen. here's the message:

--
emily its jeremy. i saw ur nmber stl in phone. we dnced at cole st hourse party n i liked that. thght id let u knw i hve salad grns if u njoy that sort, holla.
--

beyond this shoddy attempt at rekindling what never, my distaste was further flared at the vague, possibly sexual innuendo that this text presented. what the hell does salad grns mean anyway? was young jeremy being cheeky and hoping i was down for salad? if he's referring to pot then he obviously doesn't know me. either way, this text representing one gigantic fail and needed to be addressed lest he think this kind of laziness was acceptable on any level. i responded with the following:

--
Fer srius? Salad grns need tossin? WTF? U Shld git ur shizzle togetha be4 u holla at a grl.
--

UPDATE...jeremy responds with the following:

--
... grns for eatin or use as culinary HerbS is what im sharin. keep that quik wit n byte cutie.
--

modern day ragnar...sort of

2009-01-29T09:14:00.000-08:00

one of fannie mae's engineers planted malicious code that could have wiped out the servers and destroyed their data, had he not been caught. guess that's a good thing, since our government would probably give them bail-out money to fix their servers anyway.

"According to media reports, a federal grand jury in Maryland has indicted a 35-year-old man for planting a malicious script, designed to destroy data on the US financial giant's servers.

Rajendrasinh Babubhai Makwana, worked for three years as a software engineer contractor at Fannie Mae's offices in Maryland, where he is said to have had access to all of the company's 4000 servers.

...'Had this malicious script executed, engineers expect it would have caused millions of dollars of damage and reduced if not shutdown operations at Fannie Mae for at least one week," said FBI agent Jessica Nye in a sworn statement. "The total damage would include cleaning out and restoring all 4,000 servers, restoring and securing the automation of mortgages, and restoring all data that was erased.'"

http://www.sophos.com/blogs/gc/g/2009/01/29/fannie-mae-employee-accused-planting-malware-timebomb/

it's raining

2008-10-30T15:53:00.000-07:00

the fog rolls in and it's raining.
the repetitive simplicity of the piano keys, one bright note lingering above a dark chord
like a kite attached to a gnarled tree.

a child stands under an umbrella, weathered brown boots in a puddle murky water and concrete. in her hands she holds a music box and turns the key. the gears churn and prick the tiny pieces of metal, causing the notes to sing from her tiny hands.

an airplane in the distance catches her eye, and she looks up toward it to see where it's going, where it's been. it's not bright, but she narrows her eyes, shields them with her hand as she watches the plane disappear into her imagination.

she pictures them going to france, or to tokyo- somewhere where it's still raining and still chilly, but somewhere where the cobblestones or the glitter make it seem glamorous and purposeful.

2008-10-21T16:16:00.001-07:00

http://www.treehugger.com/files/2008/10/ugly-sneakers-generate-electricity.php

port ordford cedar

2008-09-10T22:52:00.000-07:00

when i got out of a meeting today there was a package waiting for me on my desk. convinced that i had forgotten an online order, i brushed it off and returned to a meeting.

when curiosity got the best of me, i began to peel through the paper to the box. the scent seeped through and i began to detect the humble beginnings of a masterpiece. when i peeled the tape away, curled wood chips exploded from the box and euphoria shot through my nostrils.

i was instantly in nagoya, right after a run from my house to the train station. i was out of breath, hands on my hips and head down, walking it out. mrs. price- my middle school running coach- had always lectured, "breathe through your nose" and for once i was grateful for cross country. i had never seen a saw mill before, much less one inside a big city, much less one that slices planks of wood that smelled aromatic. i come from a place of oak trees and spanish moss, so i welcomed this new scent: a light, beautiful smell that makes you think of blonde children running through fresh meadows with kites. it makes factories with rusting saws and broken trucks seem like sanctuaries.

the box i opened that day was a gift from a guy i met, while sitting on a curb smoking a cigarette. he was an eccentric furniture maker, obsessed with his craft and the integrity of his medium. he told me about the sensation of carving a living thing into functional art, ambled through ranges of the texture and scents of various wood. what he sent me in that box was not just a block of port ordford cedar, but proof in the magical ability of scent to conjure up memory.

UNIQLO

2008-09-05T16:41:00.000-07:00

oh the js and their robots! today uniqlo introduced wakamaru, your tiny, happy shopping friend that makes the racks at uniqlo even more apealing. yes, the js have coupled their favorite hobbies: shopping and robots in the most symbiotic relationship of all time. what wakamaru actually does to help you shop, i'm not quite sure. he's said to be able to make eye contact and help you shop using simple phrases, but until he starts holding my shit and saying, "nah, girl. that makes your ass look big," i'm gonna stick with fashion diva, roberto sosa as my guru. sumimasen wakamaru-san! gomenasai.

...

2008-08-02T10:13:00.001-07:00

it's so pretty outside
i know i should go for a run and enjoy the ocean
but it's so hard to unfold my legs right now

the end of the world

2008-07-25T15:08:00.000-07:00

ko phi phi is legendary for its beauty. the islands surrounding it include maya bay, where leo filmed "the beach," as well as mosquito island, monkey island, and bamboo island. our second morning, allan haggled with a tour guide and rented our own longtail boat for the day. we waded in the surreal green waters of maya bay, amid scores of international tourists. it made me realize why the characters in "the beach" went to such cruel lengths to protect the secret. i went snorkeling by the reef on the south side of the island and went swimming through schools of tiny silver fish off of monkey island, but nothing was quite as beautiful as bamboo island. the sand was lightning white against a soft, cool green ocean. longtail boats bobbed up and down, flaunting their ribbons like young children. we ran onto the sand and walked along the rocks, passing bamboo huts and a giant swing made of rope, until we came to the edge where you could see mosquito island and ko phi phi in the distance. later in the day, jenny and i saw tents and asked some thai guys about staying overnight.

"sure. you want to reserve now?"

we said no, but when we got back, we made arrangements to be dropped off on bamboo island for 2 nights. when we arrived and moved into our tents, it dawned on us that we were the only people staying in tents. looking around, we realized that everyone leaves bamboo island right before dusk, as we had the previous day. soon enough, that moment came and the tourists packed into their boats and headed for their resorts. gunner, allan, jenny and i walked around the island, letting the sun sink behind the trees and allow us to cool off in shade. the sun began to dip lower and lower into the sea, setting part of the sky in a pastel smear and the other in a light grey mist. we gathered on the curve of the sand, like we were facing the end of the earth and watched the sun fade and the stars wake. i never took that moment for granted- not for a second did i doubt how fortunate we four were to have seen such magnificent beauty and to own it, personally recount it without the pollution of crowds.

we walked back to our tents, but heard the rangers talking and laughing. we joined them and played cards, smoked harsh cigarettes rolled in bamboo paper, and exchanged languages. Ekk and Rit taught us Thai, introducing Mon- the cook- who brought us a mammoth papaya as a gift. we drank Mekong whiskey from a bright orange bottle; when the night wore on we went swimming in the ocean and the water glowed with algae. we walked naked on the beach, talked for hours and finally fell asleep in our tents, despondent when we heard the sound of the first longtail boat.

it was gunner's last morning, so we walked around the island- partly to explore and partly to hide from the tourists who were beginning to populate the sand. we walked past our sunset spot and came across a fisherman's camp, where he sat grilling a kuhl stingray over a fire. we examined the ray with its grey body and turquoise spots, and the fisherman climbed into his longtail boat, pulling a basket of crabs from the water. with sticks, we drew pictures in the sand and negotiated the sale of 2 kilos of crabs for a few baht and what time we would return with our money. he ushered us over to his wife, grinding a powder of chile and lime, and shared a taste of his stingray with us. it was good and chewy. we went back, crossing rocks that looked like they had been drizzled with chocolate syrup and caste from marble cake, and saw gunner sail away. watching him load into the boat, i realized that he was going back to "the real world" and my time in this paradise was rapidly ending.

we feasted on crabs and fish with the rangers. they insisted on cooking for us and sharing beer and wine with our group. we laughed a lot that night and sang "the winds of change" and "the gambler," rivaling the roosters for gawking, off key noise. we woke up early and watched the sunrise. the boat back to ko phi phi arrived later that day and i threw my bags into the boat and watched ko mai pai get smaller and smaller in the distance until it disappeared behind the curve of the island, like it never happened.

Marin County

2008-07-24T17:00:00.000-07:00

"Do you know where the bus stop is?"
It's a simple enough question, but when I asked Maureen she looked a little befuddled and instead offered me a ride back to San Francisco.
"It's a tight squeeze in the back of the Porsche, but we'll take you if you don't mind the space."
"When would I ever turn down to ride in a Porsche?"
And that settled it. I said goodbye to Alina and her economy rental car and crawled into the back single back seat of Ray and Maureen's white, vintage Porsche. We sped through the hills of Marin County, past the thick smell of evergreen and pine saturating the cool mist that was rolling over the mountains. Watching the sailboats like white flecks of paint on a deep green sea, we drove across the Golden Gate Bridge. We talked about life and youth, how they met and the hitchhiking adventures they took as kids. Right out of college, Maureen had attempted to hitchhike from Boston to Maine, only her first ride, an old couple from Massachusetts, had been afraid for her to go alone and taken her the whole way. Ray had hitched from San Diego to Vancouver, then from British Columbia to Montana and back to Southern California after he got out of the service. He kept his eyes on the road, lowering the Porsche into another gear while Maureen turned toward me and smiled.
"But you can't do that nowadays. There are too many crazy people out there; I taught my kids better than to do that."
"Yeah, my mom obviously didn't."
They both look back now and laugh at me.
Sometimes you just know people are good and you trust it because it's so much better to hope for the best than to be afraid all the time. Then I realize how often I've been burned and how many times I've promised myself to become more guarded. Yet, here I am again and because I wasn't afraid, I'm gifted with an adventure that makes me continue to love my new city.
They drop me at the 31 bus stop, Eddy and Van Ness, and zoom off to check out designer furniture at Room and Board. A guy I know works there, so I call and tell him I have friends coming into the store.
"How do you know them?" he asks.
"Well, I don't."

layers of alice

2008-07-20T22:17:00.000-07:00

alice lowered her head and toward the bowl and began smashing the avocados into a creamy pulp. i put on anthony and the johnsons who sing "fistful of love" and i think of a lover i once had once, of shivering underneath blankets in winter, that cup of coffee when i said goodbye. it had started to rain and the sunlight dissolved into a gray mist that darkened the porch outside. the wind picked up and made the hummingbird chimes clink together in a silvery song. i swirled my wine and inhaled the aroma, trying to detect the slight smells they always tell you about: dates, velvet, oak, hay, whatever it is they say you should be able to smell.

"how did you know i wanted to hear this song?" alice asked, barely turning her cheek toward the table, where i sat holding my wine.

"i didn't know anyone else really liked them"

"i do." she brought the bowl to the table and sat down without touching it. she looked at the contents without accomplishment or joy. it was a task that was finished, nothing more. "i really needed to hear this song tonight."

"yeah, me too." i poured her a glass of cheap pinot noir and had another sip of mine.

"it's strange, you know you never stop loving when it's over. it's like layers, like childhood and growing up."

"i don't understand." i said, looking up at her, but she didn't raise her eyes from the bowl.

"all those things that make up a person- the joy and pain and fears of childhood- are always the same in people; they just learn to cope with it. when i was a kid, i went to new york with my parents and this homeless guy gave me a newspaper. i was shocked that he was so nice to me, said thank you, and walked away from him. he followed my family to the car and told my dad he wanted money for his paper. my dad got mad and started yelling, took the paper from me and threw it at him. my mom told me it wasn't my fault, but i felt so terrible. i played that scene over in my head for weeks and i never really got over it. i felt like i had done something terribly wrong and i still feel a little guilty about it."

i didn't know what to say exactly. i was worried that if i said the wrong thing she would stop talking, but if i said nothing she would feel like i didn't understand. i wanted to watch her open up- to watch her facial expressions as she thought through those moments and compiled them into something manageable.

"i still do things like that on a grownup scale." she looked at me while hanging her head slightly downward, so that one lock of red fell across her cheek and it looked like she was blushing. "those experiences, they are like love because it never stops. love layers like age. it gets old and distant, but it never really stops. it's still there, underneath everything that you do and who you become because you've let that person shape that time in your history."

last week i dreamed that He got married and told me after it was done, like it was a secret i was supposed to keep from others. i woke up sweating and i cried because i was terrified that i would never love like that again. i wonder if alice is thinking the same thing; i wonder who her He is.

"it's raining." she says.

"i know."

un-plugged

2008-07-18T15:23:00.001-07:00

as i was about to board the bus yesterday, i realized i had left my phone at home. i felt like a samurai without a sword, waging the pros of hand-to-hand combat versus a battle glittery steel. i had to make immediate choice: risk being late for a job interview or leave my weapon at home. sullen, i boarded the bus and made my way to the back of the bus. how bad can it be to be unplugged?

on the ride downtown, i struck up an interesting conversation with a lady who was also on her way to an interview and my handy-dandy NFT supplied my maps. i had a little wave of panic when i thought the address was wrong and i wouldn't have my internet to troubleshoot the problem, but that proved itself unnecessary and i showed up for my interview ten minutes early and rocked it. so far so good. then i realized that i had about 2 hours to kill before my next interview and i would be so much better off reading and preparing for it, rather than idly wasting that time reading SF weekly. (that being an enormous understatement considering my "deer in the headlights" moment with the firm's partner on the EASIEST question known to man)

later that night, i went to see the new BATMAN movie just to be as consumer america as possible. after getting my midnight dinner of a large cherry coke and popcorn, i noticed the line of kids waiting to get into the imax, seated i might add. oodles of them sprawled out on the floor dressed in all black amidst mounds of smashed popcorn. about half of them were plugged into an iPod, despite their friends being seated right next to them and one cluster actually had their MacBook with them. the phenomenon continued when i turned around at one point in the theater to see that almost everyone had an illuminated screen in front of them (yes, another MacBook) and they were clicking away, playing games or listening to music, despite the fact that they are out to a movie with their friends.

so let me get this straight- we facebook, myspace, twitter, linkin and blog our lives away to stay connected so that when we actually go out with our friends, (to plug into a movie i might add) we ignore them?! seems a disconnected type of connect, and a little more like the people on WallE than i'd care to admit. the irony is that we glean these lessons FROM A MOVIE and that i feel my avenue for venting this frustration is a BLOG!

from dusty cabs to turqouise waters

2008-07-14T14:05:00.000-07:00

it was five in the morning when i roused my crew out of bed. ben swung himself down the ladder of the top bunk, flashing us all a glimpse of the ladies panties he was still wearing from the pool. gunner's face was priceless as those frilly, electric blue boy shorts clung to him and he rummaged through a pile of clothes to find his jeans. i rushed the crew through breakfast and loaded them into a rickety toyota corrolla: our cab from siem reap to the border crossing. when i tell people i took a cab from cambodia to thailand, i always get a look of shock, but when the alternative is a chronically late bus ride down asia's most infamous road, it's well worth the ten dollars per head to cab it. apparently, the road hasn't been paved so that thai airlines can capitalize on the tourists who don't want to deal with the discomfort. i'm not sure if that's true or possible, but i wasn't willing to deal with those alternatives.

i knew that getting us all to the thai beaches would be a mission, but i was determined to get us there within 24 hours because i did not want to spend my birthday on a bus. the sun beat down unmercifully into the back seat. we couldn't roll down the windows because of the dust, couldn't crank the air because of the gas, and couldn't sleep because of the heat. by the time we got to the border and stood in line for customs, hopping on a bus was not an option for us. fortunately, thai cabs, while considerably more expensive, have AC, seatbelts, and drivers with serious road rage. within three hours, we were cruising through bangkok and on our way to the bus station. another two hours later, we were on the a double decker sleeper bus with a stewardess and snacks. it was 6 am when we arrived in krabi, thailand and sussed out a breakfast of rice and egg, nescafe and condensed milk.

we ferried from krabi to ko phi phi and found ourselves a bamboo bungalow and immediately changed into our swimsuits. floating, i was surrounded by sharp cliffs, palm trees, and green water. while resting, jenny heard a familiar voice and two guys walking toward the cliffs on our south side of the island.
"allan!"
we knew that he was on the island, but when ko phi phi is crawling with wild, young debauchers you don't expect to run into your friend when you're taking a nap. instead of going to the cliffs to climb, allan led us to the other side of the island, long beach, where we drank tall, cool chang beers and watched the sunset stretch itself along the glittering water. that night we met for cocktails at a little bar with red, pleather booths and it started pouring down rain. we waited and had another cocktail, hoping the rain would lighten up, but it didn't. the light clay mud began to run and the streets began to flood. we took off our shoes and ran for it, laughing as we got lost in the streets looking for a particular seafood restaurant. under an awning, we gave up and began the search for any restaurant that had space for us. the waiters didn't know what to think of us as they ushered us to our seats; other patrons glared as we scuttered between the tables, trying to avoid dripping on people. when we sat, they brought out a case of napkins and we laughed as we dried off. more beer chang, thundering rain, steaming bowls of tom yam and enormous prawns.

gunner and jenny went back to the bungalow, while allan and i continued walking. we went to his hostel, where his bedfellows were listening to 90s alternative rock on their ipod, which they had hooked up to tiny speakers. it was still pouring and the humidity was starting to set in, a sticky warm wet that makes your fingers prune so that you can't tell if it's rain or sweat on your skin anymore. allan and i crammed on his tiny bunk bed and talked until we fell asleep, to sleep until the mosquitos woke me up and it was dawn and time to walk home.

Siem Reap and Angkor Wat

2008-07-08T20:52:00.000-07:00

The bus to Siem Reap from Phenom Penh traversed dusty Cambodian roads and the worst car accident I have ever seen. Whenever the bus stopped, children would swarm around to sell exotic fruits or coconut rice cooked in hollowed out bamboo shoots. "Ladiiiiiieeee. You buy from me ladiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeee" they sang, holding up plastic bags mango. When we finally arrived in Siem Reap, Tuk Tuk drivers shoved each other to stand in the bus door, each desperately trying to be the first to gain our attention. The sweat caused the dust to stick to my legs and face; I lifted my hand to shield my eyes from the sun and pushed my way through the sea of men shouting about Tuk Tuks and accommodation. I found my bag and walked away from the commotion, too tired to worry about finding a ride. The people still suffer from the Khmer Rouge takeover and tourism in Siem Reap is a huge revenue for profit. Most men earn their family's keep by shuttling tourists around and they know that if they meet you when you get off the bus, you will probably use them every time you go to the temples. It's fierce competition and a lot to handle after dealing with fruit ladies all afternoon.

We eventually met a man who would guide us through the week, shuttling us to Angkor Wat in the pitch dark so that we could watch the sunrise over the ancient temple. He took us to his favorite temples: the crumbling Angkor Thom, the bridge of the giant snake tamed by Vishnu, the mounds of Bayon with the faces in each direction. The complex of the Angkor Temples was massive, stretching over 400 square kilometers with dozens of temples and crumbling friezes of battles and the Ramayana: the roots of ancient Hindu culture in Cambodia. A family of monkeys played by the side of a road, gathering a crowd of tourists in their Siem Reap t-shirts and locals who fed them bananas. One mother scurried toward the food, chasing away the juveniles, while her infant clung to her underbelly screeching. In every temple, roots of trees tore through the stones toward the earth and planted new trees on the rooves, so that the roots would surround the structure like rain. The temples, though a gorgeous reminder of history and culture were no match for nature, giving the compound an Ozymandias air to it.

At the entrance to one of the temples, a group of men played traditional music. When I stood and listened, I noticed their missing limbs and their scarred bodies. They were a troop of landmine victims who chose to play music instead of beg for their living. They smiled at me and invited me to sit with them and play music with them. I was given reeds and began banging on an instrument that resembled a harp. When I had successfully destroyed their song and meekly returned the reeds to the man with the huge smile, he giggled and gave me tiny cymbals instead. We were driven through the ruins in the Tuk Tuk carriage, and then to the lesser temples farther away. Passing through the villages, the children would raise their arms to wave at us from their shady, bamboo huts. Women washed by soaking themselves with water from an enormous clay pot in the yard, while adorning colorful sarongs. One child rode a bike that was so big for him, he looked like a light brown Kermit the Frog. I let the wind cool me down and listened to Bonobo, watching the rice fields and the water buffalo stream by.

The Killing Fields and S-21, Phenom Penh Cambodia

2008-07-01T19:41:00.000-07:00

The first time I heard about The Killing Fields was through my friend Jose's blog. He described the scene in harrowing words that shocked me, but nothing could prepare me for the feelings that this place stirred in me. The pain and sadness that came from me that day was not a simple mourning like the loss of a family member, but something more profound. What I saw that day, what caused me to stagger around the complex in a shock of sorrow, was the loss of humanity that results from the abandonment on reason.

The creed of the Khmer Rouge was even simpler than the creed of communism, against which America was obsessed: destroy anyone who has a mind and exterminate their families. Drive fear into the hearts of any who would think for themselves, anyone who has an education or knowledge. When we got to the compound and began to explore, the first thing I saw was an enormous tower, constructed for the exhumed bones of the Khmer Rouge's victims. The skulls were categorized according to age and sex, layered shelf upon shelf to the top of the tower. My eyes lifted toward the glass shelves and my friend asked, why would they display these bodies so ungraciously. So it doesn't happen again, I said. I'm not sure if I can believe that. There is no expiration date on the cruelty of which human beings are capable. We have seen these themes repeat throughout our history, from the Viking raids to Hitler's Holocaust, the brutal have always sought power.

We wandered around the complex, from mass grave to mass grave. We saw the killing tree, against which children were tortured, and read about the loud music they played throughout the day so that people working in the fields beyond would not know what was happening in the complex.

After the Killing Fields, we went to S-21, a high school transformed into a torture facility and prison. I walked along the corridors, stepping into a few classrooms along the East side of the complex which had been converted to large, single cells. There was an iron bed, wrought iron leg shackles and an iron box for the prisoner's excrement. I made my way around the bed, my imagination surging until I saw the photographs. When the Vietnamese raided Phenom Penh, after the "American War", they found the remains of the Cambodian victims of S-21 and photographed them. When S-21 became a memorial museum, these photographs were mounted on the walls and the beds placed as they had been. After the first photograph, I was shocked and left the room. When I came upon the second, I started to cry.

When I turned around to look at the grounds, it was as if the facility had been resurrected in all of it's horror. I looked onto the grounds of the compound, picturing the smiling school children running for recess, until my imagination played fast forward on the tape. The children are rounded up and kicked out, barbed wire is coiled, scaffolds builts, bayonets thrust, the blood and and the screams. The center building contained a gallery of rows upon rows of photographs, mug shots of the victims upon their entry into S-21. Some men wore a vigilante glare, daring the photographer to attack. Others were terrified, unable to protect their loved ones. I came upon the children before I saw the women, little babies in navy blue suits staring blankly at the camera. The youngest that I saw was a child so little, he was cradled in his mother's arms. The vacant look on her face is not afraid or even alive anymore. It's as if the child she holds is already dead. As I walked the rows, staring into the eyes of these people, struck by the myriad of emotion conveyed through their eyes, I came upon one girl who moved me to tears. She had been beated, her eye was swollen shut and bruised but she was still fighting. She faced a fear greater than any I will ever see, but she looked at her captor and raised her head proudly.

The dilemma that this experience brought to me was profound: The tragedy of this totalitarian government is so appalling that we want to keep these things from happening in the future. However, the only way to do this is to assert a moral superiority to these intolerable actions and one can only achieve this by establishing that there is such a thing as RIGHT. This means accepting that RIGHT exists, not "right for me" and "right for you." One's right to life supersedes the world's cultural ideals: the individual's right to life is the highest moral ideal. It is against these atrocious acts that people must stand and defend the world's smallest minority: the individual.

(Since writing this post, I have read First They Killed My Father by Luong Ung. For more information and a non-fiction account of being a child during this time, I refer you to the book)

observations of the outbound 5

2008-06-24T17:04:00.000-07:00

"Are you French? You look French" says the man in front of me, while chomping on tiny balled bites of raw ground beef out of the package. He has peeled away the plastic wrap and shoveled down the whole packet of Safeway meat. Impressive in a Rosemary's Baby kind of way. Though his head is clean shaven, Bic style, blond hair bushes from his ears and I notice a streak of blue dirt behind them, tucked in the creases. He steals an occasional glance backward toward me, trying to catch my attention again. Perhaps I should tell him that my family heritage is French.

There's a little boy on the bus, dressed in a green snowflake sweater and a red scarf. He is missing his two front teeth; he giggles at his mother and squeezes himself between the spaces of the seats which sit back to back. The bus wrenches to an awkward stop, throwing me forward in my chair and the child falls forward into the leg of a man standing up. His mother apologizes and grabs him, her hat falls forward over her eyes.

so much government, so little time.

2008-06-18T14:57:00.000-07:00

if there's one thing my travels in japan taught me, it was the stealthy and disarming nature of government. socialism is so embedded in japanese culture that people rarely think that they might be entitled to feel or act in opposition to the group. i saw this most clearly when i worked for NOVA but i won't get into that again. recently, i found out the extent to which the government's mandates have crossed into the public health arena and i had to share this. the new york times reported that the japanese government has made obesity illegal. in an attempt to lower the health care costs shelled out by the government, men and women between the ages of 40 and 74 must have their waists measured as a part of their annual physical. if they are metabo (+33.5 inches for men, 35.4 inches for women), they have 3 months to loose it or face 6 months of mandatory lifestyle training. the idea is to shame people into loosing weight because no one wants to be singled out as a fatty. because the government will penalize private companies (who provide health insurance for the metabos), private companies have begun measuring their employees from age 30 and having family metabo days where you have to listen to lectures about how to eat right.

to me, this is a clear-cut example of why the government should not provide social services for its citizens. anyone who pays the price for a service wants to make sure they minimize their waste: if you pay for your car, you drive carefully; if you pay for your education, you go to class; if you pay for your healthcare, you eat right and excersise. when the government gets in there to provide these "necessities" it also follows that they will find it mandatory to minimize their losses, thus restricting the freedom of those that use their services.

For Love of Da Robot: A Shout Out to Daft Punk

2008-05-15T14:23:00.000-07:00

What is it about Daft Punk that makes people paint themselves with their lyrics and choreograph catchy little ditties for YouTube celebrity? If you have seen their videos online and listened to their music, you might have an idea, but true Daft Punkers will argue that you don't know what you're talking about unless you've been to a show. With fierce competition and jaw dropping prices to acquire tickets, few people are able to experience the electo-high of a Daft Punk show.

When the Da Funk Fest came to Toyko, Alive 2007 had just been released, fusing the energy of all those old favorites together, resulting in a seamless stream of power. I couldn't miss it, so I made the trip to Tokyo to pay homage to the French masters. Held in greater Tokyo's Makuhari Messe arena, I was surrounded by thousands of screaming fans from all over the world. When the curtain went up, neon light spilled onto the crowd, alternating static and lyrics, beaming incandescence onto the screaming, dancing mob. Famous for their love of robots, the French duo wear robot helmets at every show and make their radical electro-funk from inside of an enormous pyramid. The lighting is as important as the music; the glowing pyramid being the cornerstone of the Daft Punk image. Its radiance flickers over the raised hands of the crowd along with the music, starting with simple light flashes and building into full graphic photos along its walls. A lighting grate frames the pyramid like a halo while the back screen provides the background for the scene. With the music and the lights creating an electronic wonderland, it was impossible to stop dancing through the whole 3 hour show and despite being completely out of breath, I was still begging for an encore.

Arguably the most successful electronic artists of all time, Daft Punk have forged an electomania for the mainstream. DFA artist LCD Soundsystem alluded to Daft Punk as far back as 2005, making a top 40 dance record that featured the track "Daft Punk is Playing at My House." We have seen big-name artists like Busta Rhymes and Janet Jackson use their songs to make hits, most recent success story being Kanye West's sample of "Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger" which won him an appearance at the Grammy's and a number one slot on the charts in the US, UK, New Zealand and Canada (for starters). While this might make Daft Punk purists' stomachs turn, there is no arguing the proliferation of this group's past popularity. And as our culture becomes more cyber-possessed, there is no limit to how popular these electo-dieties might become.

Update: 3/3/09
Another movie score will be added to Daft Punk's orchestral repertoire...They've just been signed to do Disney's score for upcoming film, Tron 2.0.

The Goriest Meal

2008-05-12T16:58:00.000-07:00

Jenny and Monika are vegetarians, though you would never know this if you were their travel buddy. One day in Hanoi, the girls meet me in the room and pull a pink plastic bag out of the fridge saying they have brought me a present: dog meat. Since they are vegetarians and they ate dog, I should do it too. Well, I couldn't do it and I never heard the end of that. Look, I'm all about experimentation, but eating Lassie is taking it a bit far for me.

Being born in Louisiana, eating strange reptiles is pretty normal. I've grown up eating crawfish, alligator, turtle soup and frog legs, so when the girls heard about a snake village outside Hanoi, I was game. The snake village has these specialty, family-run restaurants that serve cobra feasts featuring the raw heart of the snake and snake blood wine. We selected our restaurant and withing minutes, the server's father and brother brought out a writhing cobra to the corner of the restaurant, stepped on its head and stretched out its body, slit its throat and drained the blood into a goblet. Our server then ushered us back to our table and mixed the blood with rice wine. As we toasted, she brought out another goblet containing a greenish liquid, which turned out to be snake bile, and 3 cobra hearts in 3 glasses for us. We were told that the cobra is supposed to give you long life and fertility, which is why Vietnamese have these restaurants. After having our "wine" and some beer to wash it all down, our server started bringing out the rest of the food.

The menu was so extensive, we couldn't eat everything she brought. Imagine iron chef where the secret ingredient is cobra. Among the twelve dishes we were served, we had snake gruel, snake with ginger, sauteed snake with garlic, snake steamed with Chinese medicinal herbs and fried snake with dipping sauce. I wouldn't have been surprised if she had served us cobra ice cream at the end of the meal.

My vegetarians made me proud that night. The slaughter didn't phase them one bit. When our glasses were drained and our bellies full, we caught our taxi back to town, a little grossed out that we were stuffed with snakes.

Notes from the Underground: A Look Inside the Love Hotel

2008-05-12T15:35:00.000-07:00

At first mention of the words Love Hotel, most Americans envision flickering Neon signs and dank walls shedding their paper like dead skin. But, since we’re talking about Japan, this is not the case. Fuse the Japanese obsession with technology and cleanliness, twist in some kinky fantasies and you have the Love Hotel, or Rabu Hoteru. These gigantic, window-less buildings look like they have popped out of a Disney theme park in the shapes of ships and pyramids. Wandering through the maze of private entrances and frosted glass doors, you'll be lucky to stumble upon the reception board since no one is there to tell you where it is. The most important feature of the Love Hotel is discretion; no grimy man handing out keys under a flickering florescent light here. The reception board displays illuminated photos of the rooms they have available and upon selection, illuminate a map to your room. Your room number is also illuminated so you know you're in the right place, which is helpful since you haven't been given a key. But don't worry about someone bursting into your fantasy romance: that sound you hear upon closing the door is the magnetic seal and no one is coming in (or out) until the bill is paid: a security measure that makes you feel like a character from a Murakami book.

The room is pristine and fully equipped with all the necessary amenities: mini bar, video game center, karaoke station and a vending machine filled with toys and edible panties to spice up the evening. While the knowledge that an unknown number of people have "done it" in this room is slightly unnerving, the sheets on the circular bed are pressed and the mirrors on the ceiling are sparkling, so it's easy to shrug it off. Besides, the jacuzzi and bidet being standard equipment in the "LoveHo" makes emerging from your lust cubby less conspicuous.

But now it's time to pay for your evening by turning on your T.V. and selecting payment from the game system's drop down menu. The amount you owe the house then pops up on the screen and you swipe your credit card using that card reader on the wall. If you don't have plastic, no worries. Just use the pneumatic tube to send your yen soaring to the unknown people on the free side of the door. When you get your change and receipt, the door unlocks and you are free from your prison of pleasure.

For those of us more accustomed to space, this might seem like a lot of effort for a lay, but its not surprising that these dens of fornication are so popular among Japanese who haven't given up their love of paper walls. Add onto that the merging of families into common households and the idea of going out to get it on sounds completely reasonable. As real estate prices continue to soar and fewer people can afford the spacious homes to which Americans have become accustomed, you might see this Love Hotel phenomenon trickle into the states.

my cup runneth over and the transitions thereafter

2008-05-02T16:23:00.000-07:00

in the process of living, i suspended writing for the last few weeks of my trip. sometimes people forget the details so they insist on writing everyday. in my case, these details are burned into my mind so vividly that when i close my eyes, i see them. last night i was dreaming about a kayak and water flowing over my computer. i was using the computer to protect myself against the elements. then i was in the arms of a man who loved me and made me laugh. my sister woke me up with a giggle, "you were a smiling sleeper!"

i rolled over, but was unable to harness that dream again. that's very much where i am right now. like a dreamer suspended between reality and a weightless, watery dream world. i am now in limbo between my past experiences and my future goals. i am terrified and exhausted, thrilled and expectant, but i have been unable to touch this blog since i left asia. it's just too personal, too reminiscent of those days and right now i just can't process all of that joy. in the words of henry david thoreau,

"if the day and night are such that you greet them with joy, and life emits a fragrance like flowers and sweet-scented herbs, is more elastic, more starry, more immortal- that is your success. all nature is your congratulation, and you have cause momentarily to bless yourself. the greatest gains and values are farthest from being appreciated. we easily come to doubt if they exist. we soon forget them. they are the highest reality...the true harvest of my daily life is somewhat intangible and indescribably as the tints of morning or evening. it is a little star-dust caught, a segment of the rainbow which i have clutched"

i have touched the rainbow, worshiped the dawn, bathed in luminance and danced in the air. looking over endless fields of green rice, pointed hats knee deep in planting, i turned to allan and whispered, "my cup runneth over" and smiled like the light across the horizon. i agonized over the decision to return to the old life, knowing it would entail forging a new life in a new world and now i return to reality to push the pages from this old, gorgeous chapter in the book of me to the new, blank pages. possibility in my life legend is currently giving me writers block, so i stand, poised with a mammoth quill waiting for the dust to clear from my mind.

"everything had changed suddenly- the tone, the moral climate; you didn't know what to think, whom to listen to. as if all your life you had been led by the hand like a small child and suddenly you were on your own, you had to learn to walk by yourself. there was no one around, neither family nor people whose judgment you respected. at such a time you felt the need of committing yourself to something absolute- life or truth or beauty- of being ruled by it in place of the man-made rules that had been discarded. you needed to surrender to some such ultimate purpose more fully, more unreservedly than you had ever done in the old familiar, peaceful days, in the old life that was now abolished and gone for good."
-boris pasternak
from dr. zhivago

vietnam: from russian symphonies to portable pho restaurants

2008-03-31T03:13:00.000-07:00

my first impression of vietnam was at a border crossing, dawn after an overnight bus from vientiane. fuzzy after all the sleeping pills and the blurry overnight train, we come to the lao border, spend all our kip on pringles and shuffle into the government building where we stand in awe of the utter mayhem springing around us. the room is packed with travelers, most of them lao, in no particular order desperately trying to shove their passports behind a glass window AT THE SAME TIME. forget lines, forget order- this is asia. it's the same story once we walk across the border, leaving our bags on the bus. we have to hand our passports to the people in front of us, who pass them through the crowd and under the glass window. from there we wait and elbow our way to the glass window to watch the men process, stamp and grimace. we wait while the passport agents flip through the passports, befuddled that jenny and monika have extra pages, until they finally let us through. then the morning fog rolls in, shrouding us all in a chilly mist.

hanoi

motorbikes are everywhere, like ants, honking and whipping around. in order to cross the street, you just walk- very slowly- and they swerve around you like a rock in the middle of a stream, surrounding you in honks and exhaust fumes. the city is packed. there are ladies carrying baskets like giant scales across their shoulders, heads down, pointy straw hats hiding their eyes. they sell fruit, flowers, car parts, set up restaurants on the street and make pho. every brick of the street is a store, a restaurant, or a barbar shop crammed so close that you can't take it all in. as you squeeze through them all, dodging the motorbike that's now cruising the sidewalk, blaring its horn at you, you pass the dishwasher who crouches on the curb with her tub of soapy water and try to cross the street again.

on the other side of this extreme is the luxury of the nicer places in the city. the opera house, a lavish renaissance structure built by the french, where we see a symphony and piano concerto underneath glowing chandeliers. the music of russian masters brought to life again in front of us, moving us to grab for each others hands in the dark. after, dirty martinis and cuban cigars in the gazebo by the sofitel pool. candle light and wicker lounge chairs, talks of graham greene and secret affairs, laughter. the next day, we return to our oasis for high tea, lightly scented lotus, tiny sandwiches, chocolate buffet.

sapa

vodka bottles at a nearby lesson yield english lessons and walrus grins from chopsticks. everything blurred by the orange lights of the train and our friends from the hotel ushering us into the train, hugging us farewell. our windy bus ride from the station to sapa overlooks the rice terraces, carved from the mountain over 500 years ago. they resemble architectural topography, sketches now living in the side of the mountain. we start our trek, followed by a train of hill tribe people and chicken, our pink bunny balloon. the ladies of the hill tribe smile wide, explain the use of the water buffalo and pose for pictures in front of the landscape. then insist that we buy their headbands or earrings or pillowcases after lunch. we sleep in a village of 600 people, the mountain rain tinkling on the tin roof, squeaky wood floors and uno games. the next morning, we set out along the terraces, swimming in crisp river water as children watched and laughed on the bridge above. the next day, the mist rolled in so our walks were like being in a cloud. fog settled above rice fields, gardens of lillies and bamboo tucked into a sheet of mist.

halong bay
the bus operator accidentally plays a pole dance porn video on the neon bus to haiphong. in town, we search for exotic foods and find izakaya instead of blackened sea slug and snails. the japanese business men are from nagoya, so i reminisce about my old city and befriend yamakawa-san, who gives me his vintage lighter. the next morning, we ferry to the bay, through the damp mist to cat ba town. our hotel is on the 6th floor with our own private balcony, overlooking all of halong bay. we play cards and watch the sunset behind the mountains, then take a boat to a floating restaurant where we choose our fish from nets under the restaurant. they prepare a feast of fish, clams, crab and slippers marinated in lemongrass and peppers. we take a boat back to town and dance to the music we make up. dawn and we are off on our own junk- a traditional vietnamese boat taken through halong bay. we are surrounded in an eerie mist as we pass the floating homes of fishermen, constructed above their aquatic farms. chows run along the planks of the homes, barking as we sail by into the mist. we kayak along the salt water reefs, through caves that sing with dripping water. when the rain starts, we hide in a cave and watch the drops dance in the distance. mammoth jelly fish pulsate through the water during the day, and at night the black water glows with phosphorescence while we drink moonshine by candlelight. the bay feels like a mystery, a place where time slows down to a crawl. so little light can actually penetrate the fog that the entire day seems like dusk; like you're looking at the world through lenses of green and gray. and though it's not traditional beauty, it's an honest one; like seeing your lover as they sleep. it's a beauty that is three dimensional.

on being a quiet american

2008-03-23T23:31:00.000-07:00

i originally had a conflict about coming to vietnam. should i spend tourist money in a country whose political system i morally oppose? christmas morning at the vietnamese embassy further concertized these oppositions and made me a weary of testing these waters, but now that i'm here, i am glad to be seeing how communism works, or doesn't rather. this trip is not just about leisure but about education. sometimes, i am an ambassador for my ideals in conversations with others who want to share. this is not about politics, more about seeing the guts of a country and realizing that their way of life has nothing to do with my values. they have the right to live as they please and organize themselves how they wish. as long as they are not aggressors, then it has nothing to do with me. (which makes me really think about the wars...)

oh hanoi, the train, the smells, the noise...i will tell those stories later. right now i want to talk about sam and hannah, the iranian couple who shared our cabin from hanoi to sapa.

we rolled in, laughing and drunk, holding a pink chipmunk balloon and talking to everyone in the way. sam and hannah were already seated on a cot, so allan and i settled in and started talking. when they said, "iran" i was so excited because they were already so warm. for hours, i sat with them and talked to them about their culture and their politics and their conception of americans. i got to cross the lines that the borders and the media barricade between us and reach locals in places our leaders won't let us go. hannah must cover her head in public. sam and hannah have never been to a beach together, as men and women must be separate. alcohol is illegal and must be ordered over the phone like drugs in the us. but, girls do have sex with their boyfriends before marriage, though they don't talk about it. they do drink and live like we do, though they must be secretive in most ways and though i think this is oppressive and would not want to live this way, (which is why i don't), sam and hannah seemed exceedingly happy in their lives, tolerant of their challenges, and excited to share themselves and their culture with others. not all of the population is religious or even agrees with the fanatic government ruling the nation. they said about 5 to 10 percent of iranians think that way and the rest are just like them. if that is true, then i am going to iran. i have never been so in love with a couple: their smiles and warmth, sincerity and joy of life despite its difficulties. we talked about language, poetry, japan (sam lived in japan), culture and love.

and then i thought, if only 10 percent of the population are like ahmadinejad, why don't the rest of them stand up and fight against it? how could a country that was so liberal be forced back into such repression? as i asked myself these questions, i realized that OUR government is being ruled by the same concept. maybe it's a majority, but it doesn't make it right and it doesn't make it free. why can't new, innovative, radical ideas take root in OUR american society? we are always stuck in a middle rut of compromise and moderation, which is just a muddle of right and wrong. it's not easy to pass judgment on something you don't understand and are not a part of, kind of like you shouldn't take the stick from your neighbor's eye when you have a log in your own.

(for more on this theme, please read graham greene's novel, the quiet american)

same same...but different

2008-03-21T01:21:00.000-07:00

the motto of laos, same same, but different, has become my motto. i am the same same, but these weeks have made me different. it's a nuance, a cloud lifting and opening my eyes to something wonderful: possibility. through my whole life i've felt obligated to do things without really understanding why. there's been this pressure to please or take care of everyone but myself, but now i'm starting to see that the only person i am accountable to is myself. the only person i need to make happy is myself and i'm doing that.

i love my life

i have said this aloud so many times and meant it with the utmost sincerity. i love my life.

riding the slowboat up the mekong, surrounded by people that see me, that understand me. conversations about murakami with norwegians and sharing beerlao and slow joints. listening to graceland and singing to myself, for myself and admiring the scenes around.

relaxing in luang prabang, the french colonial city speckled with lao culture. the wats overlooking the long french windows, drinking wine in fishbowl glasses and runs along the river- the markets illuminated with white lights and bananas roasted on an open grill. the lao disco where we drank scotch and danced till we were drenched and the locals laughed at our charisma. the waterfalls- pools so clear and blue we argue about whether or not they're real. we hiked up through the fall, past the danger signs, following the groves made by the water and stood at the top of the enormous fall. the lush forest in the distance, the green blue layers of water falling, falling to the ends of the earth.

the smell of fresh mint everywhere. splashing in the tube in veng vieng, kicking my feet, calling to the mountains in elation. the color of the sunset, a burning red behind the sharp blue cliffs as i drove a moped down the street, overcoming a paralyzing fear. lagoons, crisp and refreshing after a blistering bike ride over rocky roads, and the lighting of the caves illuminating the golden buddha inside. dancing- fireside while everyone rested in hammocks and finding ben in the crowd, making up words to the song based on back to the future. moments that make you laugh so hard you can't talk. running around the boardwalk, screaming for ben as he screamed for me to dance thriller. kayaking from veng vieng to vientiane, admiring the boulders, the child fishermen and conquering the rapids.

our last night in veng vieng, i looked around at our crew- a group of 15 strangers who had kept running into each other and formed a bond. misunderstandings and fights morphed into daredevil moments and crazy conversations. each of these people brought something diffent to the table and each of them has left me a little bit different, better. but mainly, this is about my girls. traveling with jenny and monika has been the best choice i could have ever made. both of them enrich me in ways i forgot i needed and every moment with them i feel more and more complete.

from monika, i'm learning to leave time and space for myself. to create and let go, to have the guts to take chances alone. also, to commit to things and follow through with the crazy ideas you come up with.

from jenny, i'm learning to learn. i'm reminded of my love of learning and beautiful things and how to make my goals translate into long term possibilities.

i am the same person i have always been- the core is the same, but the layers around me are peeling and changing colors- more vibrant, more rich, more. i am same same, but i feel so different.

the gibbons experience

2008-03-08T01:46:00.000-08:00

as a youth, i always marveled at the idea of tarzan swinging through the jungle on the vines of trees, calling out to the open space- a king of the natural world. i thought i would never find a place so untouched and so alive, but i was wrong. i found such a place in the jungle outside of houay xai, laos. we woke up with the town rooster crows, packed and ate our muesli and fruit. we then climbed into a white landcruiser, 9 near strangers following trails into the bokeo reserve, where the gibbons experience has set up its operation. the landcruiser came to a stop at a small village. we all piled out and were greeted by sang keo- a short, muscular lao guy with a light chocolate complexion contrasted by a huge, toothy smile.

almost immediately, we were off, following him and sheil down winding paths. soon we came to our harnesses and put them on; awkwardly shifting our weight and tying the carabeeners to the loops around our waists. sang keo attached himself to the zipline and took off, singing and swaying like the line was an extension of himself, completely relaxed and at home in the jungle. then it was our turn: i snapped my safety on first, then attached my roller and held my breath. "okay" sang keo shouted and i jumped. i held onto the roller at the top to steady my swaying but the wind rushed over my body, whipping my clothes and hair. i looked around me- water running below, 150 meters down. trees everywhere, canopies, green, lush, birds, and a treehouse stuck in a tree below. in the distance, the mist and the mountains, an infinite space where you are completely alone. then i shouted- i let out an exultant cry of elation and i have never felt so free. imagine flying across the canopy of the jungle, looking out for the first time

this first zip line was over 300 meters long- the longest that we would do and by far the most memorable. throughout the next 3 days, we zipped over 20 times, to where it was as natural as jumping for us at the end. the gibbons experience was started by a french guy who was interested in preserving the rainforest in lao. he pays the government "rent" to keep this area a reserve, free from poachers and loggers. we were told stories about how the staff have stolen baby asiatic bears from poachers and brought them to bear camp to try to assimilate them to jungle life. jeff, the french "owner" of the gibbons experience, has constructed 6 treehouses throughout the jungle using ziplines and trails to connect them. our first day we did about 5 zips before coming to the first treehouse, where 6 of us would sleep. we dropped our things and zipped to a waterfall, stripping down to our bathing suits, we swam in the clear, freezing water.

i climbed along the waterfall, playing and slipping in the swirling pools of icy water. we laughed and raced in the pond, then dried off and tried to make our way back to the treehouse for dinner. we got lost and luckily a girl who worked in the kitchen zipped up to us and showed us the way home. our dinner was there waiting- a bamboo box of sticky rice, mushrooms, bok choy, and beef with onions. we had fruit and nuts to our hearts content, then i made tea and the others lit candles so we could play uno in the dark. we pulled down our mosquito nets and settled into sleep with the sounds of the jungle lulling us. the bird calls intermingled with the cool mist and protection of the canopy.

soon it was dawn and the bird calls changed to something more bright and chipper. we were awoken by the sound of sang keo zipping into the house, "morning! coffee? tea? who want?" we packed our bedding as he laid out drinks and cut up a pineapple with his machete, we ate and soon were off again to the kitchen where we met up with the others for breakfast. the day was composed of trekking through the woods, up hills so steep i felt that if i stopped i would not be able to start again. i welcomed the burning muscles and the panting from loss of breath. after so much time in one place, sitting on the boat, i loved the intensity. the jungle looped around us, embracing our crew with its arms and scented flora. the earth was moist and smelled fresh. we zipped- every time seeing the forest from new perspective and each time loving it more. it was like being completely alone for one minute, a solo celebration. tonight we stayed in treehouse 5, a two story treehouse with a honeymoon suite as the loft. jenny, monika and i took the loft, since it's meant for 2 people and we don't mind sleeping close. we can see people enter the house on the zipline and enjoy a 360 degree view of the jungle around us. it's truly stunning. we have seen and heard so many smaller animals, but unfortunately no gibbons. i think we are too loud, having too much fun with each other.

sang keo took us on another trek from the exit zip, past the kitchen to the primary entrance zipline. it was an intense hour of hiking, in the middle of which we found an enormous tree, probably 40 feet tall, which had grown around a hollow center (unless it was once a tree that was squeezed to death by the vines of another). i climbed up the center, following sang keo like an agile animal, crawling vertically hand over feet, pulling up, switching for strongholds- live sturdy branches and vines. we towered up, poking our heads out of the mammoth tree. every few feet our heads through a different gap, our smiles and our hands showing our friends below where we were inside the tree. 3o feet? 40 feet? i'm not quite sure how high i went- but in the bowels of this tree, i reminded myself of my college days, climbing trees with jacobi and terrance- scaling the ficus trees in the arboretum, napping in the arms of the trees on campus, the youth of our spirits. when i came back to the treehouse and showered, the waterbeads fell from the the tree down to the bottom. it looked like a silver shower of light beading its way down forever.

we started to stir when the birds' song changed again into morning tunes; when the sky began to show its misty grey of dawn. it was moist and cool when those of us who wanted to look for gibbons left the treehouse by the entrance zip. now, zip lines are constructed so that you are going downhill, which is why there is an entrance and exit zipline. this morning, to avoid the same hike as yesterday, we had to do a reverse zip and climb the rest of the way up the cable. allan went first, barely reaching the center before turning around to pull himself up the line. jenny followed, his weight making it easier, then marnie, then me and monika. 5 people, white gloved pulling themselves up the cable in the grey early morning. we hiked to an observation spot and listened for 30 minutes. we wanted to hear gibbons. instead, we got to hear the entire jungle wake up: the birds call, the deer bellow, the domestic kitchen animals compete with the others. the sun rose between the trees, a burning orange ball that melted into a pale yellow.

we returned to our treehouse and packed. we left on the trek back to the village: a 6 hour trek with 9 zips over the river. we followed the trail through an unused portion of the jungle. the earth was moist, scenting the air with a soft, cool aroma of things dying and new things growing from them. the leaves were quilts, covering the next generation of life. mold and mushrooms grew over old wood and broken branches. we followed the river. thorn-covered trees and vines gripped at our legs, tearing at us. leeches reached out for our shoes and clothes, attaching themselves to our ankles. throughout the journey, sang keo rarely left the lead. he used his machete like a key, gracefully opening up the locked doors of briar and vines, opening up the mysteries of the earth to us. my muscles burned and i was short of breath, but i was too joyful to notice and too melancholy at leaving the heart of the forest.

we arrived at the end almost by surprise. we were suddenly walking down solid paths made by tires, not machetes. we zipped our last line without realizing it- i leaped from the platform, first in line, listening to "no cars go" by the arcade fire. "i know a place where no trains go. i know a place where no ships go...no cars go" i unhooked myself and yelled "okay" then sat down and scribbled in my notebook, trying to encapsulate the joy, realizing that this experience is too complex to articulate. we walked to the river and put our tired feet in, admiring the river devices the villages had constructed to mash rice: two windmills powered by the river current which raised a large mallet and then dropped it onto a basket of rice. soon we were in the landcruiser again, leaving the village with its sow and 3 piglets, all black and squealing, leaving all of them for the bumpy road. the car brushed past hundreds of plants, throwing their soft, billowy pollen into the air like a cloud of dancing snow flakes. i sang tiny dancer and remembered singing arm in arm with line in tokyo- that night i rode the roller coaster and she and kjersten waited for me and then we ate cheeseburgers.

that night, we slept in beds, ate dinner at the pizza shop and went drinking at a swank bar. it was the one with the great lighting and the chairs made from tree stumps. they served good vodka and let monika pick the music. we talked all night, weening ourselves from the sounds of the forest, trading them for the howls of the stray dogs in houay xai.

river trips, hill tribes, elephant rides...the end of thailand

2008-03-02T02:56:00.000-08:00

thaton

the bus to thaton was a crazy green with polished cielings so that we could see our reflections in the metal- it screamed vegas. the air became sweeter as we pulled away: the smell of bamboo and horses on the outskirts of chiang mai gave way to even subtler scents- of honeysuckle and bananas. i peered at locals piled into a pickup truck, adorned with bright linens and colored headdresses. the mountains are not peaked like they are in america, but clustered fists covered with lush foliage. i am pleased to be outside of the city now, away from the pollution and the hustle.

when we arrived, i tripped and fell from the bus. a terrible dizzy spell and a sickness i've never felt followed and i couldn't sit up straight at the bar where we had looked for shade. out of no where, a thai woman with rough dreadlocks saw me and ran to get a key and lay me down in one of her rooms. she but tiger balm under my nose and some rust colored powder on my tongue, instructing me to wash it down with water. she returned to the room with a wet towel and wiped me down, instructing me to rest. she had such a calm, serene authority to her, that i never questioned her motives or techniques. i let her nurse me and make me soup and lecture me that evening about not wearing long pants. i turned out to be very sick- though i'm not sure what it was. perhaps my body just needed some time to adjust to this new culture or to purge itself before starting again. i'm not sure, but i had a hard time getting out of bed for the next two days. i slept most of the time in thaton.

that is, with the exception of visiting the karan hill tribe outside of the city. the karan are a indigenous people to northern thailand who elongate their necks using gold coils of metal that stretch out their necks and knees. they look like giraffes, walking down the street trying to hold the weight upright. in addition to these, there are women with elaborate headdresses and black teeth, some of which have stretched out earlobes. the groups of women (i'm not really sure where the men are) sell handmade scarves and trinkets for tourists who pay to come and see them in their "natural habitat", which is strange because it gives them a freak show quality which i found really awkward and distasteful. i felt bad taking their picture. i kept looking at the little girls with these massive coils around their necks and knees and wondering if they did it for their own cultural reasons or if they do it so that tourists will come and gawk at them and give them money. i have a feeling its the latter, which made me feel strange.

mae kok river
thaton to chiang rai via bamboo raft

from february 28th to march 1st, monika, jenny and i pulled a huckleberry finn in the most authentic way imaginable: we floated on a handmade bamboo raft down the mae kok river. it was the most leisurely pleasurable experience so far on the trip because it got us far away from other foreigners, and go slow enough to really absorb everything around us. our raft was about 20 feet long, most of which was a covered hut where the three of us played uno, read or listened to music most of the day. the rest was the bow and stern where our guides stood and steered the vessel that they had assembled for the purpose of our adventure down river. the bow is handled by me, a dark old Thai with laugh marks entrenched in his face. he's always pointing to things and asking for them in english. when he messes up, he laughs hysterically and turns his head, revealing the mole on his neck from which 3 long silver hairs burst like streamers. tan, the stern, is much more mellow and reserved. he rarely tries to speak or respond to us, he just smiles and smokes from his long, hand-rolled cigarette. tan always wears a straw hat that, since he looks so young, makes him seem even more like one of mark twain's characters, except he wears a bright green t-shirt that says, "happy halloween" on it. tan's always the one sneaking up on us with plates full of fresh fruit- papaya, watermelon or pineapple that he's literally just sliced up with his all purpose machete.

over the days on the river, tan and me taking care of us was the main theme. they liked to try and joke with us in their limited english- entice us to sing and then laugh at our silly songs or what they hear as garbled language. we stopped in 3 villages along the way, meeting many small children who loved to show us through the streets of the village. pointing out where they live or showing off their little brother, the pregnant ox or the local mission. when we would return to the boat, tan and me usually had lunch of noodle soup ready or, if we were camping the night, had begun setting up the grill for dinner. every evening we slept on the raft under mosquito nets after feasting on fresh fish grilled on the open fire over a handmade bamboo grill.

on our last day, we went to a hot spring that had been made into a spa and soaked, relaxing away the sore necks from sleeping on the hard floor. then we continued to float until we came to an elephant camp. here, at my request, we had worked in a stop at a place to ride elephants. we automatically bought food to feed our elephants, which made all of the others acts giddy and perform for the possibility of getting fed. one balanced in a tripod using her trunk and front legs, kicking her back legs up gleefully. the others were equally excited and blocked my way with their trunks- sticking the moist, pointy end toward me and sucking in torrents of air. we paid our money and were off- two guides, three girls and two massive elephants rocking down the road. we switched places a few times, so that in the end the guide was walking and giving verbal commands as i rode on the elephant's enormous, bristly head.

chiang rai- chiang khong

shortly after the elephant camp, we arrived at our stop for chiang rai. a driver met us there, we said our goodbyes to tan and me, and we were off to chiang rai. though chiang rai is a pretty big city and there is probably a lot to see, we decided to head directly for the smaller border town of chiang khong and stay at a guesthouse there. we relaxed and had a hot shower, did laundry, played with the guesthouse kittens and had our thai massages. the matron's mother and i bonded over a game of charades, trying to find the thai translation for "ginger" i finally went into the kitchen, but still couldn't find it, so jenny looked it up online. king is the word. so grandma and i had ginger tea together and then i was invited to share breakfast: purple sticky rice that you mash with your hands and then press into a second dish- pork with stewed garlic and vegetables. as we were talking, it turns out that she lived in osaka for 5 years, so we spoke a little japanese and she pulled out her pictures from 20 years ago and how happy she looks beneath the sakura blossoms. now it's time to raise our gaze to the other side of the mekong, the river that you see if you look out beyond the guesthouse as you sip your ginger tea. that's the city we're moving too. houay xai, laos. a whole new country. a whole new chapter.

sigh of relief, skytinis and long live the king...the beginning of thailand

2008-02-25T01:24:00.000-08:00

i was a wreck when i left japan. it's embarrassing to admit it, but i reached my threshold of tolerance and i completely lost it. christina had to pour me into a taxi and take me to the train station and then to the airport. when i finally arrived in bangkok, hired my taxi to take me to the guesthouse, and saw my friend jenny waiting for me wearing that sweet blue dress and a smile, i cried and cried. i feel like japan was an abusive boyfriend that i tolerated and worked with despite the underlying knowledge that it would never suit me. i have never fought so hard to keep my head up but now that i'm gone, i somehow miss it. now that i'm in thailand, i find myself excited when i hear japanese or see that familiar writing.

thailand

bangkok

this city is teeming with life, like a continuous street fair. the thais have food vendors lining the streets, and in every open space there is a gold framed photo of his majesty the king (or his wife). there are street vendors on every corner and rickshaws have been replaced by little tripod motorcycles called tuk tuks which buzz through the streets of bangkok, leaving a trail of black smoke behind them. thai massages, lady boys, outdoor markets and hipped out tourists compose the streets of the city and it is charming. when you walk by, the thai people greet you with a toothy smile and a nod. they are very friendly- often offering advice about sites and holidays (though it's sometimes a scam)- which is such a nice change. i was fortunate to visit bangkok on a buddhist holiday, so i was able to see the ceremony at the golden mount and at the wats (buddhist temples) around town- witnessing the monks in their bring orange robes chanting and praying beneath enormous golden buddhas, the lines of people carrying lotus blossoms folded upward to release the fragrance, and the buckets of goods that people donate to the monks. thai temples are lavishly decorated with bright gold and jeweled figures. i was struck by the similarity to thai artwork and hindu artwork- it seems that the history of these two cultures are tied together, which i didn't know before. after seeing the grand palace and all its splendor, monika, jenny and i went to sky bar for drinks. we overlooked the Chao Phraya river and drank martinis amid the sparkling lights of bangkok. when we left the hotel in search of lady boys in the red light district, i was struck by the poverty that is mixed right in with the wealth of the city. on the same street as bangkok's most posh bar are homeless sleeping on the streets next to stray dogs.

chiang mai

we were all excited to leave bangkok for a smaller and hopefully less chaotic city, so we headed to the trade city of chiang mai in northern thailand via slow sleeper train. it was an adventure: our toilets opened up to the tracks and the steward wanted to drink with us, but it was really exciting and comfortable for the most part. since our arrival, we have explored many more wats and temples, though the ones in chiang mai have exposed brick and broken down statues, which make them seem more authentic and traditional. yesterday, we took a car to Doi Suthep national park, which contains one of thailand's most famous wats: wat doi suthep. we climbed 306 stairs, the handrails of which were two giant serpants fanning down from the temple. right inside the temple, 6 young girls were performing a traditional siamese dance, accompanied by children playing bright, whiny thai instruments. we covered ourselves and went into the wat. at one point, a monk threw water on us with a cluster of reeds and prayed over the people in his presence. you aren't supposed to stand higher than a monk or the statue of the buddha, which makes entering and exiting temples quite interesting: you see thais shuffle and scoot along the floor with lowered eyes and hands placed together in prayer.

after the temple and checking out the local shops (and the elephant chained up behind the shops) we left the temple compound and wandered into the national park, which was completely deserted. we found a footpath and decided to do some outdoor trekking through the jungle. we climbed banon trees, videod a marching assembly of ants and met russians in the forest who gave us hats they had made from banana leaves. as we continued, we found a waterfall and sat beside it just listening to the sound of the water pounding the rocks. i finally felt tranquil and happy. i looked around at the jungle around me, listened to the birds caw and watched my friends, equally moved and speechless. our journey finished with a bamboo forest and another set of waterfalls which were too cold to swim in.

that evening we went shopping through the streets of chiang mai for its legendary sunday night bazaar. i have never seen such a huge outdoor market, selling everything from thai silver to rip off threadless t shirts. even though everything shut down at 11, it still wasn't enough time for me to see everything they had to sell and showcase.

thaton

tomorrow morning, we are leaving chiang mai for a remote town in the golden triangle: the area where thailand, laos and burma touch. apparently you can explore some of the smaller villages which are off the beaten path. our plan is to spend a few days there and then hop on the Ping river to float to the city of chiang rai where we will get a bus to cross the border into laos. from there its time for the gibbons experience!

Photo Album

2008-02-06T18:06:00.000-08:00

For all of you who made my life here a joy
To those who held me up and made me laugh
Remembering the music and the adventure

JE Question 9

2008-02-04T20:47:00.000-08:00

"So what do you want to do in the future?"

This is one of 10 questions in a set which I have been asking all day. One of my side jobs here in Japan is conducting end of the year interviews for kids who are learning to speak English. There are about 8 levels for kids from age three to fourteen. This means that I am asking the same 80 questions over and over from 9 to 5, trying to look interested and supportive so the kids don't get nervous. At about 3, lunch is over and I still have 2 more hours of this. I have heard every possible answer possible. Despite the levels, I have memorized all 80 questions and asking 1,350 questions is starting to wear my voice to a scratching post. That's when Akari walks in. She is a junior high school student who actually looks like she's breaking the mold. She's not wearing the usual marching band uniform that makes young girls look dumpy and ill-kept. She is also not wearing one of the slutty varieties of the junior high girl uniform, where the leg warmers draw your eye up to the sliver of skirt that barely comes underneath the sweater. She is not caked in makeup, but she's not awkward or insecure. She stands in her sweatshirt with her hot pink clip pulling her hair neatly from her eyes. She waits for me to invite her to sit and she says thank you.

"Please introduce yourself"
"My name is Akari Suzuki. I am fourteen years old. I live in Yokkaichi. I go to Yokkaichi Junior High School." She pauses and looks to the ceiling, then exhales and looks back at me. "I like swimming and listening to music. I don't like math and umeboshi. Thank you"
Well we can agree on that. The fermented plum, umeboshi, is not the treat it's commonly said to be. Even if you drown it in sho-chu, it's still a bitter, salty fruit that spoils your cocktail.
"Me neither." I smile. She relaxes and she smiles too.

The questions continue. She has 4 people in her family. She likes natto. Nothing really different, but then we come to question 9: What do you want to do in the future.
"I want to be a bride."

I feel like a million years go by in that single second where I can't take my eyes off of her and I can't move on. I am shocked and saddened. I want to scoop her out of her chair and open her eyes up. I want to shake her so all those cliches of what a woman should be come pouring out of her, so that the ideas of this country will allow her to be more than a bride. "I want to be a bride"- that's not even being a wife or being a mother. That's not even specific on whose bride you'll be! Who cares, just as long as it's someone and people can look at me and think I look pretty. Then I'm reminded of that story that Mark told me: about a female student who turned thirty and was still unwed. She had to go to a local shrine and shamefully ring a bell on her birthday to pray for a husband. I look at her and wonder what kind of poison she's been suckled on and what kind of words have left her only dream as her wedding day. "Oh God," I think to myself. "What have they done to you?"

Last week when I left Kobato Kindy, Sato-San was there and stood up to address me as I entered the office with the usual, "Onegaishimasu" and "Otsukaresamadeshita."
"Emily-Sensei, you will return to your country soon?!"
"Yes, sir. I miss my family very much. I have had a wonderful time but I am ready to be close to them." The words come out like a script. You don't tell people that you can't stomach their culture; that the country of yes-men is not the place for someone who wants to think and be unique. You don't say those things out loud, especially not here.
"Oh I understand!" I let out a sigh. "I have daughter your age. I would not want her live in another country. I want her to marry with Japanese. I am sure your family is ready to see you return and marry an American."

This man has no idea that those words, the fact that he and everyone believes those words, are why I want to run as fast as I can. These are the ideas that make this country, with its reputation for safety, the most dangerous place I have every been. I attempt a smile and nod, making for the door. "Arigatou gozaimasu" I say as I bow my way out of the office to put on my shoes and make my way to the next school in a cold that seems warmer than the frigidity of those values.

And now I'm watching Akari receive her present and bow to me as she makes her way to the door. It's like watching a beautiful daffodil in the way of a lawn mower and you're too late to stop it. Instead you just stare and try to absorb as much beauty as you can before the thing gets mashed to bits and the spirit of it is forgotten forever.

in limbo again

2008-01-28T05:26:00.000-08:00

i am never comfortable unless i am moving. i'm coming to realize that the personality trait that makes me continually learn and grow will leave me exhausted in constant pursuit of the "next big thing." be it relationships, jobs, or even getting ready in the morning, i can't complete one task without wondering what else is out there. i realize the magnitude of this folly, but being conscious of something is the beginning of tackling it, right?

that being said- i'm totally and completely over japan.
the food, the people, the bureaucracy, the complacency and the contradictions have made me feel like i'm in some 50s paradoxical universe. don't get me wrong, i'm glad i've stayed and stuck it out but it's out with the old and in with the new.

so i decided to quit my job and take what little money i have (thank you nova and the japanese government) and start moving again. february 19th i'm leaving nagoya and flying to bangkok where i'm meeting my best friend, jacobi, and another new friend, monika, for the beginning of a two month trek through south east asia. from bangkok, we are heading north to chang mai to ride elephants and visit the world famous night bazzar. from there, we are heading east to Pai and Mae Son, which is a mountain loop , boasting some of the most beautiful scenery in all thailand. depending on time, we will visit the golden triangle before heading into laos to do "the gibbon experience" we are going into a gibbon reserve and staying in treehouses which are connected by zip lines. we will search for gibbons and swim in waterfalls for 3 days before going into northern vietnam for about 2 weeks. we will head back into laos and go to luang prabang, vientiene, and float the mekong river down to cambodia. there we will see ankor wat, the world famous temple and the islands of peninsular thailand. it's a lot to think about and plan, but i am so excited about this transition.

so that leaves me in limbo, once again. it's really hard to enjoy the little time i have left in japan when i am working two jobs to make enough money and its so cold (36 degrees in the sunshine- and i'm at the point where that's warm!) and i have such hot, exotic places on my mind. i am so excited to be back in the states, surrounded by the people i love and going to cochella with laura and whatever friends we can muster (hint, hint).

this is very japanese

2007-12-27T01:34:00.001-08:00

etoooooooo ne...eeeeehhh!?

the drunk business man passed out on the train...this is very japanese

the girl who sits next to you at a coffee shop and pulls out an electric curling iron...this is very japanese.

the shirts in strange engrish, usually offering some strange sexual suggestion...this is very japanese

children (or adults) dressed as cartoon characters or animals...this is very japanese

(by the way: these outfits are placed next to the lingerie)

pickled anything and fish on a stick...this is very japanese

really really short skirts with boots and really really big hair for girls. really really white boots and pink leapord shirts for boys...this is very japanese.

bars and restaurants crammed into one tiny office building, with a tiny sign outside that makes it impossible to find a place if you're actually looking for it...this is very japanese.

hostesses wearing thin dresses in the cold while bowing to a group of departing businessmen repeatedly, as if the bobbing warms them up...this is very japanese.

littles in really kawaii outfits...this is very japanese

puppies for 235,000 yen...this is very japanese

bling...cell phones, belt buckles, boots, jeans, fingernails. if it's got surface area and you can put jewels on it, it needs bling....this is very japanese

a high pitched phone voice and a costume to sell electronics...this is very japanese

getting really red and falling on the floor OR pretending to be mickey mouse when you get wasted....this is VERY japanese

meri kurisumasu

2007-12-24T19:20:00.000-08:00

i knew if i didn't get my act together, i wouldn't leave nagoya for christmas and that would depress me. though it was a risk that i would be alone for christmas, i decided to take off and travel through kansai for the holidays. as you know this is a huge gamble because it depends so much on who happens to be in the same hostel as you or who you happen to meet at a coffee shop.

osaka

for such a cosmpolitan city, osaka is very confusing. unlike other japanese cities, osakans walk on the other side of the street and stand on the other side of the escalator. this is pretty confusing, considering, as an an american, i'm conciously trying to follow traffic as the japanese drive. also, unlike most japanese cities, they don't have signs romanji or provide maps in english are addresses in either language. lucikly, my amazing sense of observation triumphed and i found my way by following everyone else. i dumped my bag at my hostel and wandered around osaka-ekis looking for the umeda sky building. what i found there was so bizarre, i should have expected it: a german christmas village set up at the bottom of the building featuring a huge christmas tree and js stuffing themselves with bratwurst and sauerkraut while taking pictures of the miniature snowman placed on a throne in a roped off section of the village. gotta love the randomness of japan sometimes- you never know what you're going to find after a wonderful dinner with my friend's family and a failed attempt at riding the world's largest ferris wheel, i head back to my hostel satisfied at my christmas eve. only when i got there, the hostel kids were partying with calpis and chuhai, so i joined in and kicked off for a very merry christmas eve. we planned a christmas breakfast and christmas carol karaoke, but that wasn't in the cards for me.
instead, i spent christmas morning at the vietnamese embassy trying to get a visa (since i'm only in osaka today and i had to get in while i was in town) it was only 2 hours, but it was really frightening: the room was barren and the face of the employees were stark. it was the epitome of statism at its best- cold and calculated. the english forms were behind the desk, but the man wouldn't talk to me until it was my turn so i couldn't start filling out the form. then when i borrowed a pen, i was lectured on not returning it promptly and putting the glue and scissors in the wrong place (which ironically was where i had found them) i can't say that i was shocked, but i felt compelled to call him "sir" and sit up straight in my chair. so when i left, i made a point of telling him merry christmas, even though my new friend the college professor from San Francisco reminded me that "communists don't celebrate christmas!" so i missed the group, but my friend willow arrived shortly after and we made our way to kobe, eating our american christmas feast of mcdonald's on the train, earning us looks of disgust and complete shock for our lack of manners.

kobe

my hostel was hidden above a car repair shop in a pretty industrial neighborhood, but when i went inside it turned out to be just charming. willow and i befriended a few hostellers and we went through the neighborhood sake breweries for sake tasting. 7 factories, countless glasses and a detailed guided tour later, we made our way to harborland: kobe's port amusement park. willow, taro and i got on the kobe ferris wheel with a bottle of sake and toasted to christmas while overlooking the port with it's crazy modern buildings and lights. we found a great restaurant with a view of the water and feasted on grilled hamburgers and beer. willow went back to osaka and taro and i drank chuhai on the steps of kobe dears' backpackers.
so the next day, we borrowed bikes and tried to ride to the cable car to visit arima onsen. this mission was seriously flawed in that the cable car is almost impossible to find, which is why people take buses up there. after climbing 2 mountains, screwing up and soaring down them at at top speed, we finally got to the cable car. we took it up to mount rokko and had a coffee at the top of the mountain as the sunset over kobe and revealed the lights of the city. from there we rode our bikes back down the mountain without having to peddle once. we then went to chinatown for gyoza and to the trendy district in search of gaylord, the indian restaurant, which is really funny when you start asking people for directions. (garlord wa doko desu ka?)

around the world- tokyo in 24 hours

2007-12-23T22:41:00.000-08:00

this trip definitely gave clarity to the phrase, scratch the surface. i realize that to go to tokyo for 24 hours is a little on the crazy side, but the purpose of this trip was to see daft punk, which alone was worth the trip!

i was about to blow it off with my million excuses: too expensive, too difficult, too much to do alone. well, then my friend martin called and told me he and his friends were going to do it and i was welcome to come along. we left nagoya at 10 pm on an overnight sleeper bus and arrived in tokyo at 5 am, just in time to make our way to tsukiji for the freshest catch of the day. we ate the world's best tuna nigiri: toro, the belly of the tuna, for 800 yen a piece. worth every savory, melty cent!

from there we went to the imperial garden and wandered around the city's electronic district, made our way to shibuya for the classic "lost in translation" video moment. we watched hundreds of people flood the intersection, crossing through innumerable ads featuring cameron diaz the softbank poster girl and will smith (pronounced uiu sumisu in katakana). thierry and i ran from the shinjuku station, attempting to outrun the sunset. defeated, we took out a stiff bottle of gin and drank on the steps of the government building until martin and daniel arrived. we went up into the government building and peered over the entire expanse of tokyo city. it spanned for miles: purple and orange lights creating a dreamy effect on the city.

once we found our hostel and took showers, we made our way out on the town- down shinjuku dori and then to roppongi where we danced all night. the bar was so packed, it was impossible to move without being shoved, so i took shelter atop the bar and convinced some of the bartenders to hook a girl up. so we returned to the hostel around 5 in the morning, thus completing one full circle of 24 hours non-stop tokyo.

the next morning we took our trains to get to the venue for dafunk fest: daft punk in tokyo. mathieu had brought a bottle of whiskey and since some silly j had not shown up for work with the tickets (an unheard of japanese error), and all the gaijin were stuck in a line waiting for their etickets while innumerable js, who had been smart enough to buy their tickets at the circle k, walked right in, we decided to keep warm with whiskey cider. this lightened the mood considerably. once we finally arrived inside, we saw a japanese electronic band play that had an animation film behind them which coincided with the music they made. the film was crazy: two chinese dragons come to life from a shrine and fly around, then dive into the sea and chase sea life around. it was like pixar meets dj shadow- cntrl would have loved it!!

the show had 10,000 people in the venue and it felt like it when the pyramid was revealed. i was smashed against a sea of people who errupted in screams when, "television rules the nation" sounded out over us. the set was unreal. the lights were unreal. the energy was unreal. it's hard to put something like that into words- which is why man invented the camera with video capacity.

so, without a doubt, this has been the highlight of my trip to japan. i enjoyed every second of my intense tokyo weekend. i'm going back for new years, so i'll be sure to add all the lovely details of crazy j parties and ridiculous outfits; like the hostesses dressed as sexy santa. its to die for funny!

matheson hammock

2007-12-06T07:05:00.000-08:00

i remember my heart swelled up that night and i erupted into an aria. we had ridden our bicycles like two small children down banyan-lined streets, their branches twisting toward the sky, forming coves and hiding places. admiring homes and imagining what our lives would be like in those places until the streets led us to the park, void of all human breath save the guard sleeping behind the gate. we wound around the yachts and the mangrove thickets, emerging at the lagoon- silver in the moonlight- beyond which we could see the lights of downtown and the beach. the distance was comforting. we climbed on the coral rocks and looked into the silver water, then mounted our bikes and rode, the moon shining from our t shirts and the blondest flecks of our hair. i pedaled fast to match my joy until the release became a song. the music was born from the most beautiful part of me and it rose above the wetland mangroves and into the humid air.

top ten most ironic things about japanese

2007-12-05T03:53:00.000-08:00

10- as obsessed as they are with separating their recyclables, they end up in the same can.

9- single girls pulling out wireless curling irons at coffee shop tables to fix their hair while most married women dress in plaid aprons.

8- excellent public transportation, all of which stops at midnight- why the party rep? i guess that's why you can sleep in internet cafes!

7- you can't book anything online- that would jeopardize the jobs of people who aren't as efficient as computers.

6- there is a form for everything- which must be filled out correctly and fingerprinted or stamped if imperfect. this process can take up to 6 hours to complete because someone has to find the form in a filing cabinet and someone else has to write and stamp everything. (see point 7)

5- but didn't js invent computers?

4- japanese don't have central air or heat because they are worried about effects on the environment- because it's more important for your the environment to be a little less inconvenienced than your sweating or freezing family.

3- ovens and dryers are not standard japanese equipment- which makes housework more tedious, thus housewives more necessary. see point 6.

2- you must take your shoes off everywhere, which is more sanitary than sticking your feet in communal slippers. ( i know a girl who got a foot fungus from that). you can't wear your shoes inside BUT you can wear the slippers outside and come back inside without changing them (?)

1- public bathrooms have either heated toilet seats or you're squatting over a hole in the ground. no soap. no toilet paper. if those things bother you, carry your own. but isn't this supposed to be a sanitary country?

feast for the eyes

2007-11-26T03:52:00.000-08:00

thanksgiving came and went without even realizing it. i happened to glance at my computer where my friend roger had left me a thanksgiving message and it dawned on me that i had missed the holiday. no matter- this year thanksgiving was a visual experience because i got to see the legendary leaves change in kyoto.

i desperately needed to get out of nagoya, so i woke up at 4:30 and took the first train out to kyoto. as the sun rose, we passed through gifu and i could see the snow touched sky slopes and the leaves beginning to turn. my train twisted itself through mountain passes and persimmon orchards and i felt freedom like a physical change in my body. i felt like wordsworth, gaining strength by leaving the stink of the city behind.
kyoto has 17 world heritage sites, which means they have historical significance and are recognized by the UN. throughout the weekend, i would visit about seven of them and take five hundred photos. my friend jonah greeted me at the train station with his friends toyota and mari. we dropped off my luggage and were right off to our first sight, Tenryu-Ji. this temple was constructed in 1339 when Emporer Go-Daigo had a nightmare about a dragon. This site was supposed to ward off the danger from the dream with its spectacular gardens. the pond had coy as long as my forearm and overlooked the changing mountains. after this, we strolled through the crowds along kyoto river before rendevousing with our friends at kyoto station, the controversial modern structure in japan's most historical city. from there we walked past an authentic japanese wedding to Kiyomizu-Dera which is a buddhist temple built without any nails which sits on the edge of a steep cliff. our friends tested their luck at the love shrine and drank magic water said to give you wealth and luck.

we were trapped in a crowd stampede when we cut down a side street to go spotting geisha in the gion district. i saw many maiko, or geisha in training, including an extremely rare male maiko, but i was told that to see a real geisha is extremely rare. these women are trained to host parties and entertain men with conversation and gentility, so they are too refined to be seen posing with tourists. however, i did get to see 2 real geisha walking down the street, but they were so quick on their wooden sandals that i couldn't get my camera ready in time.

the following day, jonah and i went bike riding all around kyoto. we started with Ryoan-Ji, with its famous pond and rock garden. the garden contains 15 rocks and intricate raked gravel, but i was more impressed by the trees and ducks by the pond. from there we pedaled to Ginkaku-Ji and Nijo-Jo, both of which had gorgeous leaves turning. Nijo-Jo is the imperial palace of japan, where the shogun lived. it is famous for its stunning screen paintings and its nightingale floors. these floors squeak when you walk on them so that samurai couldn't storm the palace without being detected. outside there are beautiful gardens and even a traditional tea ceremony where women in kimonos serve bowls of steaming tea and touch their foreheads to the floor before scooting away from your view of the gardens. we saw a hawk demonstration and at rice balls covered in sweet soy sauce, then continued our exploration to Maruyama-Koen and Tetsugaku-No-Michi- a stunning park and a famous walking trail called philosopher's path. the day was capped off by a night viewing of Eikan-Do, which boasts the most spectacular leaves. this shrine had gorgeous illuminations and a small performance by 6 traditional japanese musicians in front of the temple entrance.

the next day, i was exhausted so when the crowds surged to get into Tofuku-Ji, i turned around and elbowed my way off the bridge. it really was beautiful, but not worth a fight. instead jonah and i made a picnic and wandered to Fushimi-Inari Taisha. after eating, we began the 4 km hike with no intention of finishing. we got about halfway through counting 1,875 torii, or gates, along the way. apparently, the torii were built for inari, the goddess of grain in order to bring bountiful harvest. along the trail there were many miniature shrines, figurines wearing bibs, and gravestones wrapped in red fabric. the trail had a queer peace to it, kind of creepy but tranquil nonetheless. we climbed until we found a nice lookout and sat with a small group of japanese to watch the sun set over kyoto.

at this point, i was ready to return home and take the long trek back to reality. imagine my surprise when, after all of these glorious moments, i found a cafe du monde in the kyoto train station. so my thanksgiving trip concluded with a shining moment from home, sipping cafe au lait between the Bourbon and Bienville street signs in kyoto station.

sputnik sweetheart

2007-11-18T19:16:00.000-08:00

last night i was in one of my reflective moods, so i curled up in my little pink couch with a cup of tea and read all day. the wind was howling outside, so intensely bitter it was strange to realize that it's only the beginning of fall. i moved to my bed, but i still couldn't keep my hands warm. it's amazing that in a country supposedly so technologically advanced, there is little trace of such things. there is no insulation, which means it's freezing in the winter and roasting in the summer. without my little electric heater, my apartment is only a little warmer than the outside.

at the end of sputnik sweetheart, i was left with another glimpse into the japanese psyche which crystallized a lot of things that i've been experiencing. here is the quote which struck me the most:

“So that’s how we live our lives. No matter how deep and fatal the loss, no matter how important the thing that’s stolen from us- that’s snatched right out of our hands- even if we are left completely changed people with only the outer layer of our skin from before, we continue to play out our lives this way, in silence. We draw ever nearer to our allotted span of time, bidding it farewell as it trails off behind. Repeating, often adroitly, the endless deeds of the everyday. Leaving behind a feeling of immeasurable emptiness.”

this author uses surrealist writing to escape consciousness, because reality is too oppressive to deal with consciously. but of course reality would be impossible to deal with if you allowed yourself to be silenced by your culture and controlled by the values of the majority instead of yourself.

i finished the book and closed it. i then went for an hour run through the streets of nagoya from imaike to sakae and back. i didn't even feel the cold or the ache of my muscles because it felt so good to be free. the wind and the chill and the time of night could not keep me in my apartment. the wild looks of the locals as ran through red lights and whipped around oblivious pedestrians didn't faze me. empowered, i took control of my emotions that night. i will not be a scream silenced by a fear of standing out of upsetting the flow of things. i will not let anything rob me of my individuality.

yakuza, kindy and nationalist propoganda

2007-11-06T04:45:00.000-08:00

where stealing internet at my old apartment required hours of standing, the balcony of my new apartment allows me a chair and an inside look at the workings of my neighborhood. given its reputation as a yakuza neighborhood, this should be much more interesting. i see the occasional motorcycle and shiny cadillac, but nothing that lives up to bad-boy reputation that the yaks have.

when i told my boss, honda-san that i was moving to imieke, he said "i do not recommend" but it's pretty tame. there is a yakuza club down the street but it's completely silent, like a silver fortress surrounded by tinted black escalades. as i've mentioned, reputation is a lot for japanese, so i found it funny that i was dissuaded from living here when my old neighborhood, kanayama, is where the yakuza actually party.

this doesn't even account for the droves people -a few homeless scattered among wasted businessmen- sleeping on the benches in a swanky shopping center. one homeless lady who had a killer spot right by the bridge on the outskirt of the mall. she wore a different outfit everyday, always had cigarettes and recieved visitors (who were suprisingly well dressed, i might add) who squatted in her little area, joining her for tea- which she made with her range. (not sure how she powered it, but i swear i saw a rice cooker there too... i know. i don't get it either). i actually looked for her today as i passed kanayama on the train to my morning kindy class. i could barely see her gray hair behind the white fence, but i could make out a little something huddled there and i don't know why, but i was comforted.

i rode the train through kanayama and went to taiko kindy for my first morning class. i have been dreading these because jlittles have a terrible reputation for the koncho: when two fingers are aggressively trust into the bum of an unsuspecting adult. up to now, i've taught littles in manageable numbers (like 6...which was tough), but today it was a lot- 4 classes of 30 followed by my regular 2 classes: 3 and then 7 littles.

first class of the day: i am seated on the floor getting my CD for the Hokey Pokey cued up, when a young jlittle approaches and sneezes on me. i am understandably disoriented and a little grossed out when a younger, seemingly innocent jlittle girl walks up and flashed me (which is a little weird because her cooch was at eye level and way too close to my face). so i stand up to gain my distance, at which point she punches me in the vagina. yes, you heard it.

so now i have officially been punched in the vagina twice! the day continues like this with a few bits of "kawaii" stuck in there. at one point, i completely loose control of my class of 30. they are chasing each other, screaming, touching colors and skidding across the floors into furniture. the official sensei has one in her arm upside down while comforting another, cooing , "daijabu?"

i look around- the scene is absolutely absurd. so absurd in fact that i laugh out loud. " this is a disaster," i say aloud, knowing no one can understand me anyway. i walk to the far side of the room, remembering what i learned as a teacher in miami: you can never be louder than a class of kids. when you want to get their attention, speak softly.

i sit, tucking my legs under my butt and sing the itsy bitsy spider- walking the spider with my fingers, twisting and touching, while singing as softly as i can. a few almond eyes flicker my way and slowly they start to kneel around me, enthralled with my fingers and alien words. they gather around like a little flock of lambs, mimicking my fingers and hand motions. i start to laugh again.

so now there is a truck passing through my neighborhood blaring noise that's supposed to be music. it sounds like the islamic call to prayer in turkey, but not as pretty. i can't tell if it's nationalist propaganda or someone selling sweet potatoes, but the sound is harsh and unappealing. whatever it is, it's too much for me right now and too chilly on the balcony.

Tatemae vs. Honre

2007-10-29T20:18:00.000-07:00

I was probably as low as I could possibly be when I went out for Izakaya with Atsuko and Teruzo. I was brought to this country with the promise of pay and now the company had collapsed, leaving me without pay and now my wallet had been stolen. It seems to me that the reputation of Japan has very little to do with its true nature, but with the image that Japan has portrayed through the years. Japan is obsessed with respect and honor, but beneath it all they are rude and pushy, just like every other culture. There is a tremendous air of evasion in this culture: anything goes as long as you pretend not to see it.

When you walk down the street, people lower their heads so they won’t see you and proceed to walk wherever they want. If they don’t see you then you aren’t there and they won’t be at fault if they run into you. At first you think it’s cute when the short, hunchbacked grandmothers are walking with their sunvisors lowered to the floor, but when you multiply that image into an entire population not looking, it’s impossible to get anywhere without a collision. So you too lower your head or text while you walk, and then it’s not your fault either. Evasion is an embarrassing contagion.

This theme in Japanese culture was most obvious to me when Nova started to collapse and everyone pretended that everything would be okay. The Japanese staff were paid late months in a row and denied their annual bonus, but they frowned for a second and said, “So desu ne” and continued to work for free. They put on their genky face and laughed with students, while they had gone without and waited for months for their salaries. It was shocking to me. For my Japanese staff, leaving or standing up for themselves was never even considered because they thought higher ups must know what they were doing and things would work out eventually. Well, Nova is now officially closed and they still haven’t received their wages from August which were due on September 27th. I started looking for another job immediately when I saw these signs, but most of the staff just ignored the symptoms of disease in the company. When I talked to my students about it, they said how angry they were with Nova, but they continued to come to classes and expected to see their teachers there, like the situation could just go away if they pretended not to see it. At points, I wanted to scream just to make the lunacy of the situation clear. I asked everyone out loud one morning when Mark hadn’t been paid for 3 weeks why we were here. They all looked at me like I was crazy and I stayed at work that day. I wish that I’d had the sense to walk out then- but the situation was so surreal. I couldn’t imagine that this was real and no one else was running out of the door.

When I was at dinner with Atsuko and Teruzo, I was venting about all of these terrible realizations and they told me that Japanese even have a word for this falseness- it’s called Tatemae. Tatemae is a fake feeling or attitude that you present to the world to hide your real feelings or intentions, called Honre. Funny, I just realized that Honre sounds like honor, which is the thing they hide behind falseness. On an individual scale, I have found Japanese people to hospitable and warm, but on a large scale they are very cold and irrational. For example, their society makes it almost impossible to be a foreigner and be independent: you need to work a month before you get paid and you have to have a lot of money and a Japanese sponsor to find a place to live. But, people fall over themselves to be nice to you in small ways: they invite you to parties and offer to lend you money, but it doesn’t breed self-esteem but indebtedness. You are dependent on someone to help you always, so you can never really be an individual.

Rebound

2007-10-29T17:38:00.000-07:00

These last couple weeks have been an extremely intense soul search, where I’ve been constantly assessing my actions and choices to remain in Japan. Second guessing yourself creates a limbo like bog that you can’t escape. It paralyzes your ability to make the choices that would stabilize you because they would commit you to the environment you might want to escape. Knowing that I can go home at any time has been poison for acceptance and dealing with the problem. There is a time to run and there is a time to fight, but knowing which is which is extremely difficult to decide.

I decided to stay at least until Christmas to give myself some time to be sure, and now it seems that things are getting much better. I have a handful of really great friends to thank for that, namely my dear friend Fernando. You meet people traveling that talk a lot and plan a lot, but you never get your hopes up because they usually turn out to be full of it— I must say, that goes for most people. Fernando has been the greatest gift that I have gotten out of this experience so far because he is such a happy and generous person. He is the kind of person that offers to help you move and get a car to borrow that day without any solicitation. He is the kind of person you call when you wallet is stolen to help you talk to the cops. He is the kind of person that will come to the store with you to help you buy medicine if you are sick.

So last night I had the adventure that I’ve been needing: the one that lets me know that I’m doing the right thing. This was the adventure that reminded me that things are going to happen all the time if I give myself time. It started at the Nagoya/Boston Museum of Fine Art, where there had an exhibition on Rembrant’s etchings. They were fantastically intricate and exciting. Though many had a religious theme or depicted a troubling view of man’s nature, they were beautifully crafted and very exciting to see. I needed some time alone to listen to music and be inspired by great art!

Later that night, I went to another party in Tsurumai Park: a local park with beautiful statues and gazebos where the gaijin like to gather for drinking parties. That’s one thing I love Japan, and most every country in the world: they do not mind people gathering in public to drink. I remember going to Paris and seeing kids gather at Sacre Couer to drink wine and play music while looking at the skyline of the city. I was so jealous that we were not legally allowed to gather and drink in a positive environment like that instead of a crowded, loud bar that usually doesn’t yield any good conversations or real moments. So finally I live somewhere where we can drink in public and play soccer or relax in a gazebo without having to worry about police. I hung out there for a few hours, talking with my friends and playing a little soccer until I decided to try to go to Sakae to meet Fernando.

He had called me about a rave about an hour from Nagoya and I was so excited about the possibility of going on an adventure with him and his brother. Well, I was thrown into a fountain because I didn’t think my friend Aaron would actually do it, so I met Feru and Ricardo at my place with their lovely girlfriend Sawako. We left Nagoya at 1:30 in the morning, dancing like crazy inside and outside the car, and didn’t arrive at the rave until 2:30 or so. In order for us all to communicate, we go between three languages because Ricardo refuses to speak English, I can’t speak Japanese and Sawako doesn’t speak Japanese, so Feru and Ricardo speak Spanish and Japanese, Sawako and I speak our perspective languages, but Spanish to each other. It was such a trip. We parked the car and brought our Asahi and Grapefruit Chu-Hais, climbed a small levee and saw the party on the banks by the river. There were a few DJs that rotated in and out and a hot dog stand that sold Zima, which so typically random of the Japanese. The music was great and the people were crazy and we all danced until the sunrise and the moon shared the sky. It was a beautiful morning, clear and warmer than it has been here the last few weeks. I feel like the weather here is a great analogy for Japan as a whole: you can never tell what it’s going to be like or prepare properly, unless you are Japanese. It is either unbearably miserable or it is gorgeously clear. On those days, everything falls into place. You can air your futon and dry your clothes with no problem on those days. On the other days, you curse the logic and the silliness of the culture and your clothes mildew.

As the morning grew brighter and the scene got old, we piled into Ricardo’s car and went to the “convenie” to pick up tasty snacks and drinks and make our way to the beach. We drove for about an hour through industrial Japan, with its factories, smoke stacks and crowded apartments airing their laundry. We arrived to the beach and I actually laughed out loud at the Japanese “surfers” trying to surf on the smallest waves I’ve ever seen. They weren’t even breaking. They were so small that I wouldn’t have even been able to body surf them and these guys are out there trying to surf.

We sat on the concrete peer and watched Sawako soak herself in the waves and then fell asleep for an hour. When we woke up, Ricardo’s battery had died from leaving the car on so we had to get a jump to go home. By this time it was like noon, so we headed back to Nagoya. Before dropping Sawako off, we went and had Taiwanese food together at a restaurant near the house of Feru’s tia. I had a delicious ramen and tofu with hot chilli oil. It was really nice to feel part of a crew again, to feel so content with the friends around me that I forgot for a moment how much I miss my friends back home. It felt good to laugh and dance and ride around in a car on such a beautiful day. Leaving today, I felt better than I have felt in weeks, and I know its because I had so much fun and because I got to see the ocean.

shinkansen from hamamatsu

2007-10-29T09:51:00.000-07:00

the clock ticks unmercifully and i stand frozen before the mirror, noticing the wrinkles and the silver streaks in my hair. i am not immortal, as i once thought i myself to be. i am also not an artist- i am a shadow of an artist.

i put on my sunglasses for the train, hiding the circles under my eyes from this florescent light.
the cold circles around my neck, burning my ears in the morning. my walks to the station are not beautiful. there is no sanctuary here. everywhere i look, all i see is evasion.

there is a silver tint to the scene around me, as if the mountains were washed in misty blue watercolors, but there is no glory in this landscape. i rush past the sprawl on a man-made bullet, but i am uninspired by the scene around me even washed in silver and blue, i am unmoved by the pillars of industry and the streak of uninspired aesthetics.

words of the duke

2007-10-25T21:35:00.000-07:00

so i'm reading a lot of plays right now and i stumbled upon some very meaningful words by william shakespeare. it's very relevant to my current situation.

When remedies are past, the griefs are ended
By seeing the worst which late on hopes depended.
To mourn a mischief that is past and gone
Is the next way to draw new mischief on.
What cannot be preserved when fortune takes
Patience her injury a mockery makes.
The robb'd that smiles steals something from the theif;
He robs himself that spends a bootless grief!

-The Duke, Othello

handa city festival

2007-10-07T06:06:00.000-07:00

My Nova branch is located in a small city called Handa and since I started there I have been told about the Handa Festival. Every five years, the city has a 2 day festival where they parade 31 handcrafted floats down the main street of town. Now, being a native Louisianian when you tell me parade and floats, I get a certain idea in my head. This was nothing like that. These floats are about 2 stories tall and are carved out of wood with huge embroidered tapestries draping over the sides. They are adorned with red tassels, lanterns and traditional Japanese pictures. Each float has a small stage at the front for a puppet show, which they performed at the end of their parade down the road. They are not motorized, but build upon wooden wheels. In order to move, crews of young men dress up in traditional Japanese outfits and tow the floats down the street with ropes. There are about 30 men in each crew, one of whom runs around yelling and sometimes hitting the others to get them excited. And so we spent the day and all 31 floats paraded down the street.

Brandon, Yuika, Ryan and I walked around Handa and drank Asahi while I should have been at work. We dressed up in Japanese clothes and admired the line of Japs lined up for the Vinegar Museum! (yes, y’all…a museum for vinegar. Apparently that’s a point of pride for Handa). There was amazing food: Tacoyaki (octopus bread balls), Sobayaki (grilled soba noodles), squid on a stick, Yakitori and Yakiniku (meat or chicken on a stick) and others lining the streets. I tried Yuika’s favorite fair food and was less than impressed: octopus flavored cracker folded in half with egg, soba, sauce and mayonnaise in it. Yuck…proof that “When in Rome” does not always work out well. The floats gathered in a large stadium by the hospital and each crew performed a puppet show. One that Yuika told us about was the story of a man who saved a magic turtle. As a reward he gained entrance into a sea kingdom. While it was difficult to understand the stories, the overall experience was unreal. This is one little, tiny city in the middle of nowhere Japan and it has such pride in its history. Its pretty remarkable to realize how old the world is and how vast.

trials and triumphs

2007-10-07T05:45:00.000-07:00

The last few weeks have been a mental battle between comfort and self-actualization. I was ready to pack up my things and admit defeat because I wasn’t sure that staying in Japan was worth the effort. I am not a passive person, but if I am to fight to get something I have to be sure it’s worth having and this usually takes me a long time. I can’t ever seem to make up my mind. I spend countless hours deliberating on whether I should go out or not or what to write on a piece of paper, so deciding whether I wanted to stay here was a real battle.

Then I sat down with a student names Yukiko, an older woman with a glorious smile and crow’s feet from her years of beaming smiles. She has been a traveler for many years and has been all over the world, including Turkey. Sharing our experiences back and forth made me realize just how important this time is to me. I want to be here! I want to experience Japan and explore the rest of Asia while I am young. I refuse to quit now that I am on the threshold of such a goal- not when the only thing holding me back is a small wall. Someone once said that the wall does not stop you- it stops all the others who don’t want it as much as you do.

I have always been taught not to be a quitter, but I don’t think I understood that you have to want what you are fighting for and then the battle becomes glorious. Strife breeds character and pride. Difficulty yields wisdom and strength. Things usually come really easily for me and I shrink away at the first sign of difficulty. I fuss and fume and get upset that things aren’t going my way, and I often cut ties to those things and run away. I have realized this in myself this year, and with that in mind I have carefully weighed why I am here and decided that this experience is worth fighting for.

on the bright side

2007-09-16T02:52:00.000-07:00

first of all, i am not really worried about finding another job. i'm already looking and there is a lot out there. this might be just the opportunity to move to tokyo and party like a rock star!

so...here's what i've been up to.

on my first day exploring the city, i met eric (brandon's roomate) and yoshie (his girlfriend from nagoya). we ate the most delicious steaks and then wandered up to the nagoya television tower to watch the sunset. we could see the mountains in the distance and the sun setting over the misty mountains. as we climbed up to the observation tower, we heard an orchestra playing across the street. now the "building" they were in is almost impossible to describe in words. it's like a huge oval pool has been removed from the ground and moved up 10 stories. the open area that remains below the pool is a shopping center. this night, they had an orchestra playing for free there on a weekday. i love this place.

the following day, while looking for posters, we wandered back to the tower and saw little cartoons walking around. my favorite, koran-chan was a bouncy ball that wiggled and jumped when you say "konichiwa!"

after an intense week of training and karaoke knee banging, i was off again to enjoy myself on days off. though it was raining and misty, i went to nagoya castle with brandon, eric and yoshie.

we watched a 3D tour of the castle as it was and observed the skyline of nagoya from the top of the castle.

after that, we walked through the underground mall to avoid the rain until we met some of my friends from training for yakatori: traditional japanese grill. we ate shitake mushrooms, shrimp, chicken and other delicious foods tapas style and drank their local drink: a strong, whisky-like drink that you mix with an apricot. we would call out, "sumimasen!" when we needed something and the whole staff would shout, "hai!" and someone would scurry over. they proudly steered us toward their delicacies, including grilled fish fin, which is suprisingly meaty and tasty, and the osaka version of a traditional liquor. after that, we all walked through the rain to a driving range and played golf.

it was pouring rain when we left and made our way back to kanayama on the last train. not wanting to go home, we solicited a crew of young japanese and then went to joy joy, the 24 hour karaoke bar right by my house. we got a private booth and sang our hearts out for the rest of the night.

the next day, i went exploring with my friend aaron for awhile before going to lunch. my plan was to go to osu to find a bike, but i ended up window shopping and exploring a buddhist shrine in the area.

it's strange- there are shrines everywhere here. sometimes they take you by surprise. i didn't find a bike, but we did enjoy a nice walk around the city. i found the orchid gardens, which will open later this year, and then the robot museum, where we played and assembled robots like huge nerds!

i closed the evening back at the futuristic fountain, watching the sun set over nagoya.

as we left, we saw a hip hop showcase in the shopping center with 2 breakdancers, a guy rapping to a human beat box and live painting. my city constantly takes me by suprise. i figure, if i can love it when it's typhoon season, i'm all set here in japan.

tits up, as mark says

2007-09-15T04:37:00.000-07:00

well, good news for people who love bad news...
it seems that my little honeymoon has been short lived because shortly after moving into my new room, it's come to my attention that nova might be going bankrupt. the teachers haven't been paid this month and, though they have been promised to be paid by this tuesday, a lot of them are leaving. teachers aren't insured against unemployment and the company pays off creditors and japanese employees first, so it looks pretty gnarly right now. i had a bit of an inkling that this might happen (thanks dan), so i've been braced since i got here, but i'm officially on the market for a new job.

i have an interview with a private tutoring company on monday and i'm going to start applying for other jobs online. i'd be fine with leaving nagoya, but i like it here. it's really beautful and the people are nice, yet it's still a big city.

for those of you that love to worry, DON'T.
i have plenty a back up plan and i'm actually having a blast not knowing exactly what is going on. it's very unlike me, but cool.

first impressions

2007-09-10T07:57:00.000-07:00

So I’ve been living in Japan for almost two weeks now and I’m starting to feel like I’m settling down. It’s been a whirlwind of alien registration, opening bank accounts, training and figuring out trains. When I arrived in Kanayama (my neighborhood) and saw my room, my first thought was, “I can’t do this”. It was two strides wide and across and had no working closet. I was so frustrated because after living out of my suitcases for almost 3 months, I couldn’t spread out and put my things in the right place. I was cramped and hot in the Japanese humidity, where I felt that I was trapped in a dense cloud of overcast. My roommates, Christy and Sandy, were really sweet to me but both of them were about to leave so they weren’t going to become tight friends.

The company also had me train with 3 people in a city about 30 minutes away, which is a huge commute from where I work. It was really cool to see how another branch would be, though I thought it was really disorganized to have me train and make friends with people that I will have a really hard time hanging out with. The boys in my training class were fun though. We spent most of our time making fun of our trainer and nicknaming him Gifford. Our last night of training, Gifford took us for drinks and we sang karaoke. This time I made it a point not to fall and hurt my knee. (For those that don’t know, that’s another story).

I am really lucky to have my friend, Brandon, here. Not that I haven’t met a lot of other teachers and enjoyed meeting some Japanese people, but it’s important to have someone you know, who shares your values watching your back. After training, we spent our day off wandering around Nagoya and found a store called Toyku Hands that sold only cartoon paraphernalia. I’ve never seen so many pencils, stickers, notebooks, towels and cell phone bling in one place. I must have wandered around that store for an hour wondering how best to pimp my new Japanese cell phone. I already have 2 charms; the Nintendo one is from a vending machine and the Koran-Chan one I bought from my cartoon friend on the street.

This week I started working at my branch and, though it’s far and very small, I really like my staff and my students. I’m learning Japanese vocabulary and writing characters on the train, so it’s nice to have a long train ride.

I moved into a new room tonight, since one of my roommates moved out. I am finally feeling settled into my new home. I am liking my job, trying to learn the language and meeting people. Now that I’m settled, I’m ready to start exploring the city and then Japan. Watch out Tokyo…here I come. (Daft Punk, y’all! December 7 and 8th. WHAT?!)

audubon park

2007-08-23T09:42:00.000-07:00

my roots soaked in soil
under the loose marsh and the moon
'neath a symphony of singing toads
an empty bottle night in june

memory tiles the mosaic mind
scent of earth and wood and stone
the worship of a summer night
flowered fragrance of my home

the now becomes a memory
night rushes into day
hold my eyes open, ward off sleep
and keep the future at bay

The Golden Horn: Istanbul

2007-08-16T14:35:00.000-07:00

Day One

After the all night bus from Selcuk, I was exhausted and confused when we arrived in Istanbul; mainly because no one could explain to us how we were going to get to Sultanahment. A connecting bus took us there from the bus station and Mike and I separated on the street. Two Australians were on the bus and familiar with the neighborhood, so they brought me to the neighborhood of the Istanbul Hostel. Within 30 minutes, I was showered and out the door to see the sights. Because the only map they had was in Italian, this proved very difficult so I just walked around and took it all in. On every corner is a carpet salesman, trying his best to make you stop and say hello because after that, it’s over and they know it. Two blocks away is a gorgeous fountain embedded between the Blue Mosque and the Aya Sofya. I followed the crowd around and discovered the gates of the Topkapi Palace, so I decided to explore it. I saw prayer rugs, jewels, thrones, porceline and arms from the Ottoman Empire. I was also really impressed with the tile work in the more prestigious rooms, like the Harem and the circumsision room. After the treasury was a killer view of the Bosphorus River. The palace was crowded with people and I saw a huge concentration of Muslim women wearing the complete black burke. Strangely, these were the more pushy and rude people that I encountered in the palace.

After the palace, I had a roasted corn and went to the Aya Sofya for free because some Italians had extra tickets that they couldn’t sell. This mosque was really gorgeous. I’m not sure who built it in 413 AD, but I know Justinian put up the famous mosaics that were later covered up. It’s strange to see Muslim and Christian art in the same building side by side. The light in the building is fantastic: it streams through the windows like beams. It is also amazing to see the view of the Blue Mosque from the Aya Sofya.

I returned to the hostel for a nap and later met some guys and smoked shisha on the terrace with them. I went to dinner with some people from my hostel and then for a beer. Three of us stopped and played volleyball with some local boys until we destroyed the ball and had to stop. A small group from the hostel then went out for apple tea and a rose shisha water pipe.

Day Two

The next morning, I went down to breakfast and met Louisa and Emily (The English). They went out and I went with a few of the guys to the Blue Mosque where Zen (our Pakistani guide) told us about the procedure for entering the mosque. This mosque is also spectacular, though the small woman’s area in the back was quite a sad site. From there we walked to the bazaar.

This is probably my favorite place in Istanbul. There are over 4,000 shops selling jewelry, leather, ceramics, water pipes, shawls, and about anything else you could imagine. I got a feel for how to haggle with the locals and quickly began to enjoy the banter with the vendors. Turkish people are born salesmen; it’s in their blood since the spice trade on the Silk Road. They call to you, but you can’t pay them any attention unless you really want something. “Yes please”, “Where you from?”, “I make a good price”, and “You want apple tea?” are their most prized phrases. If you stop for a chat, you will get sucked into a long conversation that results in you buying something. Then you get home and you wonder who you’re going to give all these things to. I only bought a shawl that first day: I wanted to get a feel for the bazaar before I made my large purchases.

After a lot of tea and walking, we returned to the hostel for a rest and a smoke. Then we went out to the Basilica Cistern, a Roman aqueduct that had the face of Medusa carved into its columns, and the Hippodrome, two Obelisks located right next to the Blue Mosque. We returned to the hostel and had a bite to eat and some shisha and decided to go on the sunset cruise along the Bosphorus. We haggled the price down for the boat and boarded, then met another group of people from a hostel on the other side of the Golden Horn. So we all chatted and hung out, enjoying the wonderful view of the only city that spans two continents. When we were done, we all walked to Taksim and went to a bar on the top floor of a swank hotel. We had a complete view of Istanbul at night, which claims to be one of the largest cities in the world. I hung out with Rich from Milwaukee, and learned about his work in Biology and Geography while drinking mojitos.

We left the hotel and went to Taksim, the hip area in Istanbul. One person wanted to go to a college bar with cheap drinks, which Rich and I (and the English) wanted something a little more unique to Turkish culture. When we wouldn’t sit down, it became quite a fuss and the group ended up splitting in two. We went for beer and pasta on a cute little street further down. Louisa, Danny, Emily and I walked back to Sultanehment together, telling stories and laughing all the way there. The fishermen were still out on the Bosphorus at 3 am with their polls yelling, “fish fish” just because they were proud of what they were doing.

Day Three

Rich had planned to email me and set up a way to rendezvous, but it didn’t work out. Instead, Danny and I went to a local neighborhood called Besiktas, checking out the outside of the Dolmabahce Palace and its changing of the guard on the way. The area was a lot more authentic and Turkish, which was refreshing. We took pictures of the vendors in the outdoor market and got Turkish Pide for lunch. Then we walked to Taksim, the way a car would get there: a dangerous and dusty experience but we arrived in Taksim and explored the hip district during the day. The main street was bustling with cool shops, young people, and a trolley that dinged its way around. We got soft serve and walked on to the nearest tram stop.

I got in touch with Rich, who invited me and the English to come to their hostel for drinks on the roof and then dinner. We drank raki and 3 Germans from the hostel played in the didgeridoo for us. The tower was so close that we could see the tourists on its highest level waving to us. From there we walked around the Taksim district and found a restaurant, where we ordered calamari, raki, cheeses, salads and other mezes. A man played the accordion and a small boy sold Rich a rose for Emily (that’s a Faulkner story). From there, we found a rooftop bar and danced all night. The Germans wanted to go home and I really wanted to chill and watch the sunrise, so Rich and Kyle came back with us and we went up to the roof. Our hostel employees had left the tap on, so we drank free beers all morning. The moon was a silver bowl and the river a glistening necklace winding around the city when the sun started to rise. We took pictures and listened to music until the guys had to leave for their train out of Istanbul.

Day Four

I had to wake up, though I was not in the mood to move. Tired and still kind of drunk, I showered and then went to breakfast, when the English arrived. I checked out and went to the bazaar to spend all of my leftover lira, which was about four hundred. When I got there, I met Ziya the jeweler who helped me find a beautiful silver bracelet at a good price. After I got hustled to buy an amber necklace, Ziya came out of the store and told me he would help me if I needed to negotiate with a storeowner. Then he walked me to a friend who had silver and the man gave me a great price on a really heavy piece that will cover the tattoo I’m getting on my wrist. From there, I was in a great mood, though I had spent most of my money in the first 15 minutes of my being there.

I walked on and started admiring the Lapis Lazuli in a store window of a guy named Deniz. He invited me into the store and we had an apple tea. I was instantly taken with him: such a gentle and genuine person. We laughed and talked and I admired his beautiful jewelry, trying a lot of it on. He brought out an amber bracelet that matched my necklace and was so unique that I really wanted to buy it, but I didn’t have much money left. He sold me on it when he said that he really wanted me to have the bracelet and sold it to me at a 5 lira profit to himself. Of course, this could be a story, but that’s the fun of the bazaar; everything is a game. You have to understand that they hold all the cards because they know how much it’s actually worth and your whole bargaining with them is a game. Deniz had to have the bracelet adjusted to fit my wrist, so I waited in his store and finished my tea. I liked the way he looked at me too, but again, I didn’t know if that was a game too. When he asked me to lunch and dinner and gave me his card so I could call him, I really wanted to but I worried that it was another game. It’s hard to read men sometimes, especially men from other cultures.

So I moved on to the next shop: another jewelry shop where I had seen some gorgeous amber that had insects incased in them. I wandered through the labyrinth of shopkeepers, getting stuck in the trap of the Kurdish “doctor” along the way. I finally found Ali’s shop and he welcomed me in, though he knew I had already spent all of my money. He ordered us tea and proudly showed me his designs and tied them around my neck. I could tell that he enjoyed touching me, but it seemed like he just wanted to share the necklaces with someone who would enjoy them. I saw one made of garnet that I fell in love with, it looked like the jewels were embedded in my skin. When he saw that I liked that one, he gave it to me for free. So, though I was swindled a little bit, I had such fun at the Grand Bazaar. I finished my day by returning to Ziya and having a tea with him in his shop and talking to him. He walked me out of his corridor and pointed me in the direction of the Spice Bazaar.

This area of town is called the Egyptian Bazaar. Instead of being inside, it is an open market with a lot of cheap clothes and shoes. There are so many people there, it is hard to walk, especially with mopeds and men pushing dollies occasionally making their way through the crowd. I walked slowly so that I couldn’t take it all in and soon I entered the Spice Bazaar. It smelled amazing! Every shop was teaming with dried fruits, nuts, spices, henna and tea. Everywhere I turned was a sample of Turkish delight or raw honey on the comb. I bought pistachios, love tea and a pepper grinder for Gunner then made my way back to the hostel. I collapsed on the roof terrace pillows in the cool of the afternoon and napped.

Later that night, Emily, Louisa and I went to the hamam for relaxation. This place was much more authentic than the Bodrum haman, primarily because it was separated into men and women so that you could be naked. We were led into a marble bath room and sat down next to the marble fountains. There we washed and sweat, watching the other girls who were further along than us in the hamam sequence. The show is run by an old woman who seems to have been in the bath house forever. Her bare breasts hung to her stomach and she wore little black bottoms that hung off her bum, exposing her but crack. But what was fascinating was the naturalness of it all in what I had read as such an uptight culture. We sat and steamed for about thirty minutes before the bath began.

You start by laying down on the marble table and being scrubbed with an exfoliating mitten on both sides of your body. Then you are to rinse off using your bowl and the water from the fountain. Then she called to be washed and massaged with foam on both sides. The strength of this old woman took my breath away. She aggressively rubbed my sore muscles and bones with foam so hard that I winced at times. However, when she was done I felt like jelly. Then she washed our hair and put us in the sauna. The whole process took about two and a half hours. When we left the hamam, we were relaxed and in need of tea so we walked to the seafood district for dinner and then cabbed it back to the hostel. Emily chilled with me all night so that I could stay up for my ride to the airport. The guys from the hostel bought us beers and taught us to play “Chinese” on a checkerboard. We listened to Bob Dylan and Pink Floyd until it was finally time for me to go. I hugged my friends and boarded the shuttle to Ataturk Airport to begin my long journey back to the states.

Let's Talk Turkey, Part 2

2007-08-16T14:28:00.000-07:00

Olundeniz-Fethiye-Bodrum

We left early because we knew it would be a long ride to Bodrum, but neither of us could have imagined such a blunderous bus journey. In all fairness, I must say that the Turkish bus system is one of the best I’ve ever seen. It blows the American Greyhound out of the water and makes the Italians look like fools, but this bus trip was so outrageously muddled that I couldn’t stop shaking my head and laughing. We left on time, but as we drove away from the bus station I noticed that the roads were becoming more and more rugged. After a few complicated turns in what looked like a neighborhood, or bus driver took a sharp turn too quickly and slammed into a parked car. Everyone got out of the bus to watch the driver haggle with the car owner, while another employee handed out water to the passengers. About an hour later, they had paid the man off without having to report it to the police and we were on our way again. In addition to the regular stops to pick up people at random street corners or in the middle of a field, we had to stop at a body shop to change a tire and pull over on the side of the road to put more oil in the bus. I’ve never seen a company forget to maintain the bus before taking a trip. At the body shop, all the passengers filed out and were served tea (cay) while watching 4 men and a little boy service a bus. Once again, we were off and really ready to get there. This is when were stopped by the Turkish army 11 kilometers from Bodrum. An armed guard boarded the bus and took everyone’s identification papers and left the bus. It was so odd that we were stopped when so many other cars were aloud to go on. Another 30 minutes later, we were finally on our way to the town.

Exhausted and thrilled to be there, we began navigating our way to our pension, when were approached by Murat. He insisted that we stay at his hotel and gave us a ride and a much cheaper price, so we agreed and lugged our backpacks through the bustling market to his car. The market had a Turkish women wearing their headscarves and sitting on carpets selling apricots, pomegranates, figs, and watermelon. Another lady sold veggies, while the stand across from her had cages filled with ducklings, chirping chicks, sleepy rabbits and chickens crawling all over each other. While admiring this little world under the canvas covering, I lost sight of Murat and Mike and had to jog across the street behind them.

We dropped our bags and had a quick bite to eat before settling in for a nap. That night, we explored the bay of Bodrum. The city is on a port, chock full of wooden Turkish yachts which line the two bays and leave trails of lights on the water. Overlooking the bay, we ate shrimp in chile sauce and a tender octopus casserole on the terrace of a local seafood restaurant. The walk home was almost more crowded than the walk to dinner, as people were starting to head out to the bars and clubs.

It was supposed to be over 115 degrees the next day, so we tried to stay indoors as much as possible. We visited the Castle of St Peter and the Museum of Underwater Archeology, which is inside of the castle. It was really beautiful and featured harbor views of Bodrum and its yachts. My favorite was the English Tower, a tower with barred windows and stones etched with Old English lettering. It was the kind of room you imagine when you think of King Arthur: it had a huge table for feasting, walls covered in armor and animal heads, and the knights’ coats of arms on display. The Underwater Museum was also quite remarkable, featuring the largest ancient collection retrieved from underwater excavation. It was mainly ceramic pottery used to transport olive oil and wine throughout the Roman Empire. They also had small glass objects lit from underneath and a reconstructed stern of a transport boat in an old chapel.

Exploring the castle didn’t take too long, so we went to find wireless Internet connection and spent the rest of the day chilling out away from the heat until it was time to go to the Hamam. A car from Cleopatra’s picked us up at the hotel and brought us to the spa, where we were systematically put into the sauna, steam room and then massage room. We were exfoliated and bathed with a foam massage as well, topping it all off with a relaxing oil massage. I was in a daze as we were driven home.

That night, Mike and I ate at a restaurant where you buy your fish from the market next door and they prepare it for you. It was covered with stray cats and kittens who anxiously awaited the bones from your dinner or a small piece of fish.

Bodrum

I woke myself up really early, grabbed breakfast and then took a cab to the port to go diving with the Bodrum Snorkle and Dive center. The boat was packed with high maintenance French people, but I managed to find a spot next to a Norwegian couple who were very interesting and kind to me. Thomas and Sula had been diving all over the world together and ended up being in my dive group with a master named Jim. The reef was like a giant mountain that we swam around, seeing a school of barracuda, star fish, parrot fish, tiny bright blue fish and sponges. I hugged one of the black sponges! Though I had some trouble with my buoyancy, I had a really fun first dive.

We got out of the water and chatted until we came to the second site, where we had lunch. I went swimming and hung out with the French-speaking Turkish guy who was stuck dealing with the French customers who he was forever having to explain things to. Our second dive was a little bit strange. I couldn’t control my buoyancy because they gave me too much weight and then I ran out of air. I had to buddy breath with Ozgur, the dive leader, until he sent me up to the surface. When the Norwegians came back, we had ice cream and hung out for the rest of the day. I walked back to our hotel and took a nap.

Mike wasn’t around when I woke up, so I went for a jacket potato at my favorite sandwich shop. Then I ran into Mike and we went to the Italian café to use the internet, planned our move to Selcuk, and packed our stuff up.

Bodrum-Selcuk

The ride to Selcuk was wonderful because we took my favorite bus company, Kamil Koc. We arrived in Selcuk and found our hostel, Jimmy’s place. We were given a deluxe room with separate beds and a huge, clean bathroom for the price of a double. Jimmy instantly took a liking to us and brought us across the street to have doner kebab and ayran, the typical Turkish yogurt drink. After lunch, we went to a tea house and watched the old men play rummy cube. Jimmy bought us figs from a young boy in the tea house.

Turns out, Jimmy sells Turkish carpets from his hotel and he brought us into his shop to teach us about the history of Turkish carpets. After 2 hours of Turkish coffee and learning about the art form of carpet weaving, Mike and I were both sold on buying carpets from Jimmy. I bought 2 kilims, embroidered carpets made of silk on cotton. They were made by nomadic Turksih women from the Noah’s Arch region of Turkey, each of which tell a story about her family and her feelings.

We had barbeque with Jimmy, then Turkish coffee, then pistachios, then a bottle of wine. Jimmy’s brother, Capatian G, was parading around with his beautiful, new daughter, Hessia, or shooting the stray cats with water guns. I loved staying at Jimmy’s because the vibe there was so familiar and relaxed. I felt like these people had known me forever.
Jimmy brought me up on the roof, where we drank another bottle of wine and looked at the castle and the stars.

Ephesus- Selcuk- Istanbul

The bus arrived to take us to Ephesus right as I was finishing my tea. Our tour guide brought us to the city gates and then around the best preserved Roman city in the world. We saw the government centers and ancient board games carved into marble, the remnants of huge fountains and brothels, ancient communal toilets, and the amphitheater. I was most impressed by the city’s towering library, the front of which has great, carved Corinthian columns and statues of scholars that are surprisingly well preserved. The city was remarkable, despite the fact that only 20 percent of Ephesus has been excavated. As we left the city, local actors were reenacting a Roman show for the tourists from the cruise lines.

From there, we were brought to the site of the Temple of Artemis where only one column survives from what was one of the seven wonders of the ancient world. We then saw a fashion show at a local leather wholesaler and a demonstration in ceramic pots at another showroom. We also visited the Selcuk museum, which housed a lot of artifacts from Ephesus. Seeing the museum made the fountains and buildings come to life more, as it held a lot of their statues. When the day came to an end, Mike and I returned to Jimmy's to hang out until it was time for our overnight bus depart for Istanbul.

Let's Talk Turkey, Part 1

2007-08-07T08:32:00.001-07:00

Marmaris- Antalya- Olympos

Yesterday morning, Mike and I woke up in Rhodes and took a cab to the port in the early morning. The wind was so harsh, my hair was continually in my eyes and my coffee cup almost fell over. We waited in line to pay the port tax and to have our passports stamped before waiting for the boat to depart. The ocean was so rough, I thought I was going to be sick, so I climbed to the top of the boat, falling on multiple people along the way. As the Turkish mountains were unveiled from behind mist, I became more enchanted with the exotic trip I was taking. One of the sailors climbed on top of the ship and raised the Turkish flag, scarlet with the moon and star on it, to allow us entrance into the port at Marmaris.

The bus station was unlike anything I had ever seen before. A man from a bus company carried our bags from the taxi and put them in the ticketing office, I paid for our bus fair and we were put on a bus leaving for Antalya within ten minutes. Once aboard, the bus began whipping through pine forests and hills while the attendant periodically passed out ice cream, tea, or cookies. When we were halfway to Antalya, we stopped at a roadside restaurant and had an authentic meal prepared buffet style for about 4 dollars each. I had stewed meatballs with peppers and tomato, rice, bread and tea. Back on board, Mike let me listen to his music so that I could tune out the bus’s terrible Turkish pop music. We listened to Bach’s cello concerto while overlooking farms at the foot of great mountains. The Turkish farmers are mainly women, dressed in long sleeves and long shirts with hair covers. When they weren’t harvesting or tending to the plants, they were picnicking under the shade of a tree.

We came through the mountains and forest to Antalya which, like a tide pool brimming with life, burst forth from the ocean. After some confusion with a security guard, Mike and I were able to buy Tickets for a bus to Olympos which left in 20 minutes. I wanted to visit Olympos because it was a beach city featuring ruins and the Chimera fires. Visitors to Olympos stay in tree houses or bungalows and take adventure tours during the day. I thought this sounded really fun and exciting, so I insisted we check it out. After a 7 hour bus ride from Marmari to Antalya, a 2 hour mini-bus ride from Antalya to a restaurant outside of Olympos, and then a 30 minute mini-bus ride from the restaurant to Turkmen Pension, Mike was not happy with me. Mike was even less happy with me when they were out of air-conditioned bungalows and we were left with a tree house. Mike and I were both taken aback when we realized that “tree house” in Turkish means “shack made from the wood of a tree.” It was a little bit bigger than our bed with a padlock for security, though the window wouldn’t even close. Mike was not pleased, but I thought it was quite funny.

I left Mike to lie down and went to explore Olympos, which is charming but not worth such a long trek. I walked past many pensions like ours with restaurants and little shops along the way, but nothing terribly impressing. I continued walking and saw the ruins tucked in between the boulders of Olympos, but no matter how far I walked, I never made it to the beach. I finally gave up and returned to the pension for dinner to find a very upset Mike Falcon. Together we decided to “get the fuck out of here as soon as possible” and went down to dinner, which was an extravagant Turkish buffet. They had so much eggplant, couscous, yogurt, potatoes, broccoli and meat that I had to stack food on top of food, which got me some really funny looks. When we were done we sat and tried to watch King Kong in Turkish and then registered for a tour of the Chimera.

The Chimera was a legendary monster, part lion, goat and dragon, to whom Zeus set fire and buried alive under the earth. This is the explanation behind the flames that seep out of the earth. They are mostly methane gas that ignites when it comes in contact with air, but it is quite interesting to see at night when the flames seep through the ground like a gas fireplace. By the time I arrived back at the “tree house,” I was dripping with sweat from the climb up the hill and so tired from all of my rocky travels, that I did not care about the lack of air conditioning. Mike and I showered and collapsed in our tiny little room and slept soundly until the next morning.

Olympos-Fethiye-Olundeniz

A rooster didn’t wake me up at the crack of dawn. When I stormed outside of our “tree house” to chase away whatever creature was howling at us, it was a flock of mangy chickens running from a rooster that made those terrible choking sounds. I chased them up into the next level of shacks, but that did little to help the noise. I went back for a hot and muggy few more minutes’ sleep and admired the view of a purple dawn brushing against the mountains outside our “window.”

We checked out and ate as fast as we could to “get the fuck out of there” and get to our next destination without wasting too much time. This goal turned out to be a bit unrealistic as we had to take three different buses to get to Olundeniz, but it was a beautiful drive and we had air conditioning most of the way. I drove along the Turkish coast with its red and chalk cliffs beside a turquoise sea. Though it was a lot of driving for 2 days, I loved seeing the beauty of the coast. I didn’t get to stop there, but Kas seems like a city that I would like to see later on in life.

After 5 hours on the mini-bus, we arrived in Fethiye and took another mini-bus to the beach town, Olundeniz, where we got a really nice room with air conditioning and our own bathroom to try and make up for the rough night before. We went out for lamb shish and Turkish ice cream served out of a melon cut in half.

Olundeniz

Olundeniz is a famous Turkish resort spot for British tourists, so there are a lot of non-local tourist traps to work through, but with enough patience and an eye for authenticity, it’s a really cool place to spend a few days. If you look up at any given moment, there are over twenty people paragliding from the cliffs around the beach. They also have a huge lagoon that hugs the beaches and little coves where private yachts are docked. The lagoon mirrors a beach, both of which are crowded with people lying under the shade of high bushes or trees. You can see Turkish Muslim women in their head scarves and traditional clothing out on the beach as well, though they are usually under the shade of an umbrella.

We took a boat from the shore to Butterfly Valley, a 40-minute journey that exposed a lot about the Turkish sense of life. The sailors loaded people onto the boat using a small ladder that was periodically being thrust 3 feet in the air, as the waves were crashing into the shore. This made loading difficult for people; imagine my face when I saw them pick up and load a refrigerator! It seems that the shuttle service to and from Butterfly Valley also stocks the valley with supplies that they need from town. Loaves of bread, bottles of water, liquor, cigarettes, and cheese were hauled over the toppling waves along with clients for what turned out to be a little commune.

As we rolled up to the shore of Butterfly Valley blaring Tracy Chapman, a crowd of people swarmed on the pebble beach by the bright blue water. I was reminded of the movie “The Beach” where the people never leave: it seemed like travelers had visited the Valley and traded a tent and a vine-covered veranda for civilization. To get to the butterflies, we followed hand painted signs through a farm and garden, along boulders and towering cliffs to a waterfall. We saw very few butterflies, but the trip to the waterfall and refreshing bath made it worth it. We made our way back through the sunflowers and marigold gardens, past the cow and goat, to the veranda where Mike and I played a game of chess and waited for the boat.

We crossed the bright blue bay back to the beach of Olundeniz. It was rush hour when we pulled up, so boats were pulling up right next to each other to unload on the beach. Our captain had to run to the back of the boat and kick another one away so that it wouldn’t damage his prized vessel. I had to jump into the waves wearing my dress and holding my backpack!

Yamas!

2007-08-04T04:46:00.000-07:00

Corfu- The Pink Palace

Kevin, Jake, Mike and I were thrilled to get off of the ferry from Bari. The twelve hour journey wouldn’t have been too hard as it was overnight, but the ferry was like a meat locker and the deck was so cold I lost circulation in my fingers. Kevin and Jake were trying to stay at the Pink Palace-- the same backpacker resort that Mike and I had reserved—so we waited for the rest of the Pink Palace arrivals, a lively bunch of Canadians and Americans who we ended up partying with. We were shuttled across the island of Corfu to the Pink Palace where we shot Ouzo before even eating breakfast.

It’s hard to explain the experience without explaining the palace. It was a resort aimed at attracting backpackers, so it was more like a fraternity house than a resort. Breakfast and dinner were included and drinks were cheap, so it gave you a pretty good excuse to stay put and party all day with the people you met. It was sectioned into 3 parts separated by stairs. There was a bar in reception on the street level, a dinner and drinks at the palladium on the next level down and breakfast on the lowest beach level.

It was like summer camp for a bunch of college students who want to get wasted and hook up with each other. They had activities like kayaking, quad safari, booze cruise, toga parties (with plate smashing over people’s heads), yoga and happy hours. The first day I went down to the beach and roasted myself all day with some of the kids from breakfast. Later, we had dinner in the palladium which turned into a club later that night. I danced and had shots with my new friends, Justin, Sally, Brenden, and Tucker, and listened to Jesper play the guitar on the steps leading us back to our rooms.

The second day we all registered for a booze cruise that seemed more like a glorious boat tour. The coastline had absolutely stunning cliffs and crystal clear water with 30-foot visibility. They took us cliff jumping first. We had to dive from the boat and swim up to the boulder, then scale up the side of the rock and stand in line to wait for your jump. After I went, I climbed back up to try the second, even higher boulder jump. Next they took us to a bat cave in the side of a cliff. We dove from the boat and swam into complete darkness, but when you looked up you could see the bats flying overhead and once the screamers left the cave, you could actually hear them chirping. The last stop was a private beach where we chilled on the warm pebbles.

(i jumped from these cliffs!)

The third day we went on an ATV tour of the entire island with our hilarious guides Brandina and Dean leading the way through rugged roads to beautiful island vistas. (or as Brandina called them, “Wow spots. Wowsah!”) The following day I rented scooters with Sally, Brenden, Tucker and his girlfriend and Mike, which is when the accident happened, causing an extended stay at the Pink Palace. The staff was really kind to me. They let me camp at the reception bar and watch movies. They brought me lunch and made me tea and even picked me up to put me in my chair. It was a little pathetic, but Duncan, Ashley, Francesca, Paula and Charles really tried to help me keep things in perspective and help me as much as they could.

When we left the Pink Palace on the overnight bus to Athens, I was relieved to move on. For every good thing that happened at that place, something equally tragic happened; sometimes the trade off is not worth it.

Athens

I have never felt as helpless as I did when I arrived in Athens. The bus dropped us off in the middle of a neighborhood of which we knew nothing. We tried to hail a cab, but no one would stop and I couldn’t walk yet. A shopkeeper felt bad for us, closed his shop and walked us to a hostel around the corner. It was a really depressing hostel: dirty, overpriced, cramped and far away from anything of interest. This is when I felt I should maybe cut my losses and go home, but I am really glad that I didn’t. Looking back, it was only my fourth day after surgery and I should have been a little easier on myself.

Mike and I got a better place to stay on the second day and found a bus that let us explore Athens without walking. We also took my friend Gunner’s suggestion to take a cable car up to a monastery at the highest point in Athens. We got a killer view of the city and the ocean as the sun was beginning its decent behind the hills. We enjoyed amazing Greek cuisine and found a public bus that took us to all of the sites, so we got to see a lot of the beauty of Athens without having to move around too much. On our last day we tried to see the Acropolis, but the Greeks had gone on strike that day, so I had to miss out on that important site. However, on our walk back to the bus I saw the upcoming Acropolis museum. Though it was under construction, I know this building is going to represent modern architecture as well as the Acropolis represents antiquity.

We finished our day in a really hip area of town, which was bustling with jewelry merchants and an outdoor meat market, complete with whole carcasses of skewered lamb. All along the roads were huge murals of street art, though they didn’t seem to be illegal graffiti but commissioned art in public spaces. All of this added to the charm of this unique little district of Athens. Sorry to say I don’t know its name.

Ios via Sikinos

Determined to redeem ourselves, Mike and I had visited a travel agent and organized the rest of our trip to the islands so that we could get passage on the crowded boats. Because everything was booked out, we decided to splurge and get a sea plane to Ios, an expensive but unique way to travel the islands. Unfortunately, Poseidon had different plans for us: the flight was cancelled due to rough seas. We chartered a last minute flight from Athens to Santorini and then caught a ferry to Ios, or so we thought.

We were so tired from waking up at 3 am that we fell asleep during our stop. Instead of realizing this, we got off the ferry at a little island called Sikinos, convinced that that was just the name of the port. In our defense, the main city, Hora, is the same name as Ios’s so when we got on the bus, we thought we were in the right place. A Greek couple from New York helped us figure it out, but it was too late to fix the problem. We ended up staying in a gorgeous white stucco apartment with blue doors and windows, overlooking the ocean. Our landlord, Luca, also had a restaurant so we ate their delicious local seafood and made the most of our delay.

The ferry didn’t leave until the following night at 8, which is 9:20 Greek time. By the time we arrived at Francesco’s in Ios, we were relieved and ready to enjoy ourselves. What was a 6 hour ferry ride had turned into a 3 day journey; I could see how it took Odysseus so long to get home from the Trojan War.

Mike explored the island by scooter and I enjoyed the beautiful beaches with people from Francesco’s. Ios is a stunning island. It’s small main city is manicured and caters to its youthful, party crowd. You don’t get much sleep on this island, but that’s the point. Everyone is brimming with excitement and contagious about it. Even though I was still in bad shape, I insisted on going out with my Canadian neighbors on their last night. I was up till 6 in the morning without batting an eye, bar hoping and jumping around conversations all night.

Santorini

Even though Mike was sick of hostels, I talked him into staying at the Hostel Anna in Perissa Beach for one night because our friend, Kevin the Hawaiian, was staying there. Kevin had to leave when we arrived, but Perissa was cheap and beautiful. We had a lamb dinner and drank Mythos by a bon fire on the black sand beach.

We caught the bus to Fira the next day, winding through arid vineyards and trees painted white. We walked north from the bus station for what seemed like an eternity, given it was my first day carrying my bag again. We finally found our apartment a beautifully clean room, all in white with blue accents and light wooden furniture.

We rented an ATV for two days so that we could adventure around the entire island. That first morning, Mike returned with our bright yellow ATV and we were off to find breakfast. We stopped to get coffee at this place that made doughnut balls covered in honey and cinnamon. They were hot and delicious! We started our adventure by returning to Perissa Beach to get our bearings. From there, we scooted over Ancient Thira and Kamari Beach for a delicious lunch right by the water. After lunch we continued our trip singing “Born to be Wild” but taking the turns really slowly. (I could tell Mike was holding back because I was so scared to be back on the road) Our next stop was Red Beach, a phenomenal beach at the base of a mountain of red volcanic rock. The lines in the rock are diagonal, revealing a little about the plate tectonics around the island. The water was gorgeous green, covered with rocks for sunning and jumping. Next to Red Beach are its neighbors: Black Beach and White Beach, each named according to the rocks around them. While the beaches were beautiful to see, this was an adventure day, so we continued our travels to a lighthouse on the south side of the Caldera.

This side of the island overlooked Fira and Oia from a distance and gave another great perspective on what the mouth of the volcano might have looked like millions of years ago. The next day we discovered the other side of the island, starting off Southwest, so that we could get to Oia the less conventional way. We saw a random cave and a port that had huge swans. We continued past the airport, still singing our highway songs. We explored the port at Oia and then headed down the highway.

The next day, Mike and I split and I went back to Perissa to stay at Hostel Anna. I’m really glad that I did because I got to meet a group of amazing girls and go out in Santorini. We had dinner across the street and then went out for drinks and dancing. Before I knew it, it was 5 in the morning and I was walking home with Paula. This was bad news, because I was already signed up for a boat tour of the island with 3 girls from my group and it left at 10. This would be pushing it.

The Santorini boat tour was my highlight of the Santorini trip. We explored the Santorini volcano, bathed in the hot springs, saw the Port of Fira, ate souvlaki on the island of Therissa and watched the sunset in Oia after riding donkeys up the mountain. As if that wasn’t enough, I was with 3 girls who I felt so close with by the end of the day it was hard to realize I had just met them. We were so content and tired that the 4 of us drank vodka and played cards for the rest of the evening. This would be my last night in Santorini and while 6 days is a really long time to be somewhere, I got to the point where I really didn’t want to leave. It is a really special island.

Rhodes

I was dreading the ferry ride, a 22-hour journey across the Mediterranean to Rhodes, but it turned out to be kind of nice to do nothing for a minute. I didn’t realize what a cool island Rhodes was until I saw it for myself. People don’t talk about this island because it’s more family oriented, but it is the best-preserved medieval town in Europe. Old Town is enclosed with a protective wall and moat (though there’s no water anymore). All of the restaurants and shops are situated in the original, medieval structure. There are crumbling towers and twisting alleyways, cobblestone streets and beer gardens all along Old Town.

In the morning, I braced myself for adventure and got back on the proverbial horse: Mike and I rented a scooter. Though he’ll argue that I was squeezing the life out of him, I was proud of myself for overcoming a fear. It was a charming tour of the island. We saw beautiful beaches, castles and mountains. The highlight of the trip was when we discovered Cape Prasonisi. What we thought would be a secluded peninsula turned out to be a crowded wind surfing/kite surfing beach, divided in two by a small strip of sand. There were hundreds of people in the water, the experts on the rough west side and the beginners on the smooth east side of the beach, and caravans parked all along the beach where the surfers would stay for the holiday. We watched in wonder for a while, as it was so unexpected. The wind on that side of the island was really strong, so I was really scared as we scootered home.

That being enough adventure for me, I spent the next day on the beach and left the exploring of Butterfly Valley to Mike. We had a really nice dinner at a local taverna and then tea at our favorite Swedish wireless café and prepared for our voyage

The Grand Scooter Saga

2007-07-30T12:55:00.000-07:00

Since I love bicycles and hate cars, the most logical progression in long distance transportation seems to be the scooter. I have loved the scooter from afar ever since I moved to Miami Beach, but have never had the opportunity to ride one. So I guess you could say I came to Europe awaiting my chance to scooter around.

I thought this would happen in Milan where my mom’s friend Marco, a wiry man whose smile seemed to touch either side of his glasses, rides a scooter around town. Alas, Marco had but one helmet so this could not happen. My first proper European scooter ride occurred in Genova late one night and completely by accident.

I had just finished hiking the Cinque Terre trail and was feeling exalted. I met two witty and entertaining guys over Caipiroskas and the Gypsy Kings and did not want to make the 2 hour train ride back to Genova so I procrastinated. I took the last possible train to Genova and did not bother to check its arrival station; I just assumed Genova meant Genova. This is not the case. I ended up at some random station which was covered in graffiti just after midnight. There was not a soul around and I had no idea how to get back to my hostel from there, so I asked the only unfrightening looking person around: he was fair and tall, with pouty lips that made him look young innocent. I asked him if he spoke English. He shook his head and exhaled his drag. “Dove il esacion principe?” I asked, in my pathetic accent. He nodded and walked toward the road. Thinking he was going to point me in the right direction, I followed him, but he turned and walked toward some scooters. He flicked out his cigarette and handed me a helmet, then put me on the back of his scooter and took me there. In our limited phraseology we managed to exchange names and ages and a few facts about ourselves, but I couldn’t stop laughing at how ridiculous this situation was and how screwed I would have been if this guy hadn’t been there. He dropped me off at the train station and I got his email address so that I could give him a proper thank you in Italian. He beeped good-bye and I waved back to Wissam, my hero scooter boy.

Because my first scooter experience was so positive, I thought nothing of it when Mike, Sally and Brenden approached me with the suggestion on my last day in Corfu. Mike and I were scheduled to take the overnight bus to Athens, so we had the day to kill. So I rented me a scooter, filled it up with gas and fell in line behind Brenden and we took to the hills. We had been exploring for about twenty minutes when the roads became curvy and slick. When Brenden slipped on a sharp downhill curve, I panicked. I threw on my breaks and promptly skid out as well. Brenden walked away with some scrapes on his hip and elbow, but I was hurt pretty badly. When my left leg flipped back up from under the scooter, I could see that I needed stitches and a hospital. Mike was behind me and he stopped (without falling because he's a god with amazing pecs) and a friendly Greek stopped his car as well. Spiros and his friends put me in their car and took me back to the Pink Palace, where I knew they would know how to seek medical treatment. These Greeks were so sweet to me. They put me in their car, gave me their clothes to bleed on and tried to soothe me and make me laugh on the way to the hostel. I tried not to cry, but I couldn’t believe how terribly unlucky I felt. I had already lost my iPod and had yet to find out that I had broken my camera during the crash, now I had to see a doctor in a foreign country.

When we arrived at the Pink Palace, Spiros went in to have reception call a doctor while Jake and Dean carried me down to the Quad Safari area of the hostel and sat me down on a sun bed to wait for the doctor. I insisted that they put disinfectant on me, which hurt so much I had to beg them to stop. I can almost hear myself now, trying not to scream and making really pathetic noises instead. Enter Christos the doctor- this man looked like the Santa Clause of all doctors. With a beaming smile and cheerful eyes smushed behind his wire classes, he checked me for broken bones and cleaned my knees and ankle. He told me I needed stitches and carried me to his car to take me to his office.

This man had me in stitches, literally. I was crying and laughing at the same time. He would make me laugh with phrases like, “no pain, no gain” or “you feel pain? Ha ha, it’s alive!” He would also congratulate me when I made it through a hard part by saying, “brava” or “you are very brave.” The procedure was relatively easy and when we were done, Christos looks down at me and says, “Okay! Bureaucracy time!” So even the commies have a sense of humor about their inefficiency. Funny thing is, it is my country that’s giving me the problems with the claim.

But all is well that ends well. Eleven days after my stitches came out, Mike and I rented a scooter to explore the island of Rhodes, our last Greek island. It was fantastic and terrifying. We saw gorgeous beaches, turquoise water lined with rocky cliffs so that it sort of looks like California. But there are pine trees where the road takes you further up the mountain, so that it also looks like North Carolina. Scootering around Rhodes, we saw a preserved medieval castle and climbed to the top to see the view of the surrounding ocean. We also discovered a narrow strip of beach with the ocean on either side, though the south side was flat and the north side was rough. There were more wind and kite surfers than I have ever seen in one place, though it was obvious that the north beach surfers were more experienced. The ride home was frightening because the wind began to knock us over, but Mike, always the champ, got us home safely and even learned how to pass traffic like a Greek.

italy in a nutshell

2007-07-19T05:59:00.000-07:00

in order for me to continue with this blog, it's come to my attention that i'm going to have to skip some of the details that make writing so much fun. there is simply too much to tell and i'm not writing a book here.

venice

after bassano del grappa, i returned to venice with my girls giulia and jenny to do get it done right. i had originally been to venice for a day and a half and left heavy hearted because the experience had been lonely. venice is definately not a place to meet new people: it's more of a lover's hideaway. so when giulia told me that her family had a place and she and jenny were going for the weekend, i changed my reservation in rome and went along.

we got a ride to venice with giulia's uncle, who brought us by his beautiful sailboat in a marina outside the city. when the afternoon crawled on, we made our way via buses and boats and a lot of wandering to the apartment. we had to rush to make it to dinner or time because giulia's dad made us a reservation at a swanky restaurant by saint marco's square called harry's. we had bellinis, tender steaks, mushroom risotto and gelato so creamy it was like icing. after our bellies were full, we walked out into the square to enjoy the string quartets playing at the restaurants in saint marcos. all of us got a little emotional when they played the theme from titantic and phantom of the opera's "all i ask of you". i have rarely been this happy. we topped off the evening with a creepy gondola ride that started under the bridge of sighs.

the next day we saw an international art show and got pizza in piazza de santa margarita. we took naps and then went for drinks at the little jazz bar, even though giulia was embarrassed to show her face there after asking them for directions 3 times the previous night. we turned it in early and i left the following day for rome. it was really sad to say goodbye to my girls, but i had more places to see. i got off the vaporetti (boat bus) and waved goodbye to them as they floated on to murano to see the glass blowers.

rome

i took the train to rome, taking pictures of fields of sunflowers along the way. when i arrived in rome, i found myself wishing the train would just continue on forever. it's always a little bit tough to start in a new city, when you're hot and tired and completely lost. the train station in rome is a city in itself- there's a mall in it! after a little bit of navigation, i found my hostel and made friends with a few guys. we ended up drinking beers on the roof all night, telling stories of our greatest adventures. the kid from hong kong topped us all with his story of eating a live octopus whole.

the next day i explored the colosseum, palatino and the monument to vittorio emanuele. exploring rome was like being transported back in time. While the ruins are old and worn down, it is amazing to stand and look over all of it and rebuild the city in your imagination. the following day i went on a walking tour with my roomates, meg and ivy, that included the piazza novana (with the fountain of the 4 rivers), the parthenon, trevi fountain and the spanish steps. on my last day, i went to the vatican museum, which ended up being a huge mistake. there were so many people that i stood in line reading for 2 hours before realizing that i was only halfway through the line. i had to pull a sneaky move to get in the door so i could see the museum in time. when i got back to the hostel, i met my new roomate, dan. he convinced me to go out dancing on my last night in rome and i'm so glad he did. his friend andrean was an amazing cali girl with a gorgeous attitude and we had a blast on our last night in rome.

naples

dan and i had breakfast with my favorite roman waiter and when i got to the train station i met georgie, an adventurous girl from london who joined me on the train. we had a spectacular view and our own private car on the train, which i though was wonderfully old school. when we arrived in naples, we made our way to hostel of the sun. this place was awesome- carla, lucca and the rest of the staff made our stay so pleasant and sweet. georgie and i went down to the port and laid on the rocks, then met a canadian named john and ate gelato. the three of us had neapolitan pizza and then took a cable car up to a castle which overlooked the whole city. we drank wine and looked at the city lights of napoli, it was spectacular.

from naples i explored amalfi, positano, pompeii, capri and sorrento. i was actually told not to go to pompeii. i couldn't disagree more. if you have the chance, go to pompeii. it was amazing to see how the lives of ancient people were so similar to our own. they had concession stands and graffiti even. it was so well preserved, you could see the frescos and the bath houses. the amalfi coast is also gorgeous. capri is phenomenal and i got to explore it with mike, as our first traveling activity.

mike and i took a bus from naples to bari and then boarded a ferry to corfu. on board we saw an amazing sunset and left italy behind us. at dinner we met jake and kevin, super laid back hawaiians, and we talked about books and movies over a bottle of wine. when it was time to go to sleep, i curled into a ball on my deck chair, using my towel as a pillow, and slept until we got to greece.

Running Up That Hill

2007-07-13T14:00:00.000-07:00

It doesn't hurt me.
Do you want to feel how it feels?
Do you want to know that it doesn't hurt me?
Do you want to hear about the deal that I'm making?
You, it's you and me.

And if I only could,
I'd make a deal with God,
And I'd get him to swap our places,
Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
Be running up that building.
If I only could, oh...

You don't want to hurt me,
But see how deep the bullet lies.
Unaware I'm tearing you asunder.
Ooh, there is thunder in our hearts.

Is there so much hate for the ones we love?
Tell me, we both matter, don't we?
You, it's you and me.
It's you and me won't be unhappy.

And if I only could,
I'd make a deal with God,
And I'd get him to swap our places,
Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
Be running up that building,
Say, if I only could, oh...

You,
It's you and me,
It's you and me won't be unhappy.

"C'mon, baby, c'mon darling,
Let me steal this moment from you now.
C'mon, angel, c'mon, c'mon, darling,
Let's exchange the experience,

-Kate Bush '85

i've had this song stuck in my head for days. it's amazing

so much has happened...

2007-07-13T13:35:00.000-07:00

it seems like ages since i have had the opportunity to sit down and catalog my thoughts and experiences. part of me is afraid that i might loose them if i don't act quickly, like catching fireflies in a jar without releasing any of the ones you've already managed to capture.

i have much to report on venice, rome, naples, amalfi, capri, sorrento, bari, ferries, hawaiians, sunsets, greece, corfu, togas, plate smashing, cliff jumping, bat caves, gorgeous vistas, beaches and friends. much to say about my trip to athens and my new adventure coming up to ios in which i will be taking a boat plane. (yes...a plane that takes off from the water, just like indiana jones.)

there is a lot to say about all of this and i only hope that i can make a dent in the long list of experiences i have to share. i have come across some really tough times in the last week: troubles to match the jubilee. it has taken a lot for me to look inside and question the content of my character as well as the strength of it. there are some things in a person that need an appropriate agent to help them see their faults and their beauty. i believe that i am learning again to see.

technical difficulties

2007-06-27T12:10:00.000-07:00

it was my intention to put pictures up with all of these blogs. i'm working on it, but sometimes things in europe take an extra 6 steps, which is exhausting when you're trying to see the city.

i'm in rome now, so i'm going to get out of the hostel and off the computer. i will be updating with more tales and photos as soon as possible. i love your comments. it really makes me feel like i'm still a part of your lives, even though i'm so far away.

florence, part 2

2007-06-27T11:55:00.000-07:00

for those of you who are concerned, no i did not rush through florence. i was there for almost 6 days, living a sweet life with good friends. i was surrounded by amazing art and fanastic people. i had amazing luck and even stopped into a jewelry store that my grandmother recommended. life is grand. here's the story:

My first two nights in Florence were spent in the Hotel Jolly with my Riomaggiore friends Ian, Kyle and Phil. When I woke up the first morning, I felt as if I were being pulled out of a tomb. My body was like stone and I could barely bring myself back to life, but I had to change rooms so I needed to pack and move my things. The signora helping us was so nice, with her reddish hair and dolphin tattoo on her chest. She directed us to the central market and suggested some things to do.

We walked down three flights of cool stone stairs and out onto the street. We wandered around the outdoor market where vendors sold leather purses, bracelets and journals impressed with the fleur de lis or the naked graces from Botticelli’s Primavera. I bought a beautiful green scarf, impressed with naturalist designs and looked for Italian sandals. We found a little restaurant called News Café near the market and I ate savory gnocci with pesto. We wandered toward the Uffizzi and then to Ponte Vecchio before going into the Palazza Pitti to see the gardens and enjoy the day. We found a beautiful fountain with statues of men riding horses emerging from the water. There was an enormous statue of a man’s visage, which was cracked and colored from exposure to the air. We climbed to the top of the palace gardens and saw our first view of Florence. The duomo towers over the rest of the city. It is quite amazing to see the spread of the city through the valley. The Arno cuts the city in half and across it is the Ponte Vecchio bridge, which holds such sweet memories for me.

After a lot of shuffling, we went to a bar called JJ Cathedral for drinks and waited for Travis. The bar was in the square by the duomo and packed with tourists and kids like us. We got a table outside and I sipped my Caipiroska, making small talk with the New York “artists” until Travis showed up. I was so excited to see him! He looked tanned and healthy, sipping his mojito. I introduced him to my friends, who were really impressed with his talent. He’s so intense with his artistic goals that when he tells people he’s good, but not great yet, they think he’s finger painting. Then they see his work and are shocked. Travis’ art is amazing. I’ve actually never known someone so talented and devoted as him, which is refreshing. I really hope he leads an artistic renaissance with my generation. I’m so tired of pseudo art.

He left us there to go meet Nancy and her mom for dinner and I went back to the hotel with the boys. I got my first phone call from Laura and freaked out. We got our deposit back in full, so I bought a bottle of wine and we continued our drinking. We went out to dinner at a place called the porcupine and had delicious cheeses and Tuscan T-Bone specialty. It is huge and was too much to feed all of us. Even though the waiter from Philly was trying to schmooze us up, we had a really nice time. We went to a place called the Red Garter, of Via de Benci, for drinks and karaoke.

Ian sang Sweet Caroline and I sang Journey, “Don’t Stop Believing” and “Rasberry Beret,” earning myself 2 free shots from the old owner, Vittorio. We drank and partied, meeting a couple really sweet Americans. The group talked and hung out, until we got kicked out of the bar and the bar next door. Since everything in Italy closes earlier, the kids have gotten into the habit of drinking on the steps of churches. Take away beers are cheaper and there’s plenty of room and you can smoke, so people congregate on the steps of old duomos and get wasted, oh the irony. So when we were “asked to leave” the second bar, we took our beers to the steps at Santa Croche and laughed the night away. Craig and Eddie are traveling from Connecticut, taking a break from studying accounting. Heather and her 10 girlfriends are studying Italian textiles over the summer, though they are all getting sick of each other. They were all very energetic and fun to hang out with, though there was definite competition with the girls. They were astounded that I was traveling alone and a little threatened that I was doing it. After an hour or so, I could tell the boys were ready to go home, so we meandered back to the hotel. I was tripping and laughing all over the place. In fact, I burst into a laughing fit on the way home. I felt so lucky to be there and to have had such good luck, to feel so comfortable with these new friends and our situations getting set up in Florence.

The next morning, I said my goodbyes to my new friends and walked through the city to Via de Benci. I crossed the river and headed left up Via de San Niccolo, where Travis lives. He met me there and led me into their apartment, which is the most adorable Italian apartment I could imagine. There are fantastic nude studies stacked everywhere, a still life set up next to an eisel, a little table littered with apple accessories, and a tiny guest bedroom with a black brass bed and a little Italian style window. Their kitchen walls are covered with blue and white checkered tile and they have a tiny round sink next to a quaint little two top range. Inside their kitchen is the bathroom with a toilet, tiny shower and bidet. I was so happy to be in this little place with its adorable fixtures and simple charm.

Travis and I went for lunch at Ebi’s, meeting Nancy, Jesper and Jay. We caught up over tasty wraps made of pulled chicken and Italian salad. After that, we went for gelato and dropped by the studio to check out what they were up to. The studio is like a room on another planet. It is covered with sketches and paintings, higher quality than photographs. They are not only technically accurate, but they do something that photographs lack. They capture and emotion and a depth that even good photography cannot. I was really excited to be invited into their world to see what they have been doing for the last 5 years. The technical skill, discipline and passion that they have is so inspiring.

Travis and I left Nancy to work on her portraits for the rest of the afternoon and walked back to San Niccolo. I spent the rest of the day on the internet, allowing me to respond to my family’s emails and research some of my travel options. Nancy came home and went for a run, then she and I went to the Florence Wine Gallery to meet some of their friends for Aperitivos. The place is owned by Nancy and Travis’ friend, Christian who is a jolly Italian with a magnetic smile. He suggested some wine for us and we sat down to enjoy some Italian delicacies while waiting for the others to arrive. We had olives, salami, cheese, some strange casseroles and liver pate, which I found really gritty and yucky. Their friends from Angel School of Art joined us. We ate and drank for a while and there was talk of a plan to go to a club called Montecarla, but we parted into two groups. Paulo, Travis, Nancy, and I went to Martinho’s apartment to drink wine and chill. Martinho rode a bike and I rode on the back through the cobberstoned streets of Florence, constantly having to pull to the curb to allow cars to get through the narrow passage way. I held onto his waist and took pictures of the others while they trailed behind us.

Martiho’s traditional Florentine apartment has white walls and dark wooden accents. He has a huge living room, connected to a kitchen. We drank Chianti and talked about the academy and how proud they are of their work. In Martinho’s second room, there were paintings, sketches, easels and props stored away neatly. There was no wasted paint or misplaced items. Everything was purposefully stored and organized, which is reflective of what I’ve seen for the Angel School in every facet. No wasted energy or misplaced strokes exist in their art. Everything has meaning and importance to the composition. It’s interesting to see most of the students live that way as well. Take Travis: nothing about him is superfluous or unimportant. There is no gristle in his character and you can see that through the sincerity of his actions. It’s impressive to be surrounded by people who have such talent and devotion to their art because it makes me believe that one day the art world will be restored to what it ought to be. Hopefully these people will get the fame and prestige that they deserve.

Martinho has really made Florence his home, so much that he has been selected for an elite group of Florentine flag twirlers, which is bizarre because outsiders are rarely ever invited to participate in this organization. He pulled out his flag and showed us his maneuvers and then made us all pesto, which tasted like fresh lemon zest. They told me stories John Angel’s villa on the mountain and all the celebrating they do when they finish a term. I could have stayed in that apartment all evening, but we had the others waiting for s at Montecarla, so we had to get going. We walked down to Travis’ bridge and then went to the club.

Montecarla is a members-only club that feels like a brothel the second you walk in. Everything is covered with fake leopard skin and dusted with a soft red light. As I walked up the stairs and into the next room, I was surprised to not see naked bodies intertwined through out the club. It felt like a brothel and the clientele followed suit in their demeanor. I will spare all parties involved from the gory details, but it was quite a sight and it did involve some nipple tassles.

I woke up stale and hung over from our night. Travis, Nancy and I managed to go get a coffee and look around for a sweet, but it was so late in the day that no one had brioche. Instead, we went to the Magi super market and bought eggs, sausage and blood orange juice, which was much better than any meal we could have bought. I had strong tea with milk, toast with raspberry jam and fresh butter, eggs and rich sausage. After breakfast, I walked to the Ufizzi and made a reservation for that Tuesday, when I ran into the Americans I met at the Red Garter: Eddie, Craig and Heather. I was so excited that I decided to go with them to the top of the hill to Michelangelo. We hiked across Ponte Vecchio and up the hill by Travis’ house. We saw a copy of the David, a beautiful monastery, a church and a killer view of Florence. I could sit up there for hours, it’s so beautiful and liberating to be on top of the world, looking down at the business and the commotion, realizing that there’s more than just that microcosm. There are three stopping points along the walk, each expanding the view of Florence in its valley.

There's much more to tell, but some of these things are only special to me. Having said that, I'm going to leave the rest of Florence to my own personal memories. It is an amazing city with so much beauty to offer and hopefully a new artistic renaissance.

the jewel of italy: bassano del grappa

2007-06-27T11:22:00.000-07:00

When the train took off from Venice, I sunk into my seat and welcomed my exhaustion. I had held my fears close for hours, fighting off fits of loneliness and imagining worst case scenarios and how to deal with them, and now I realized that nothing could go wrong and soon I would be in Bassamo with Giulia and Jenny. I tried to listen to music and watch the scenery, but I was too busy recovering from my last day in Venice. So I put my feet up and counted the stops until finally I heard the conductor call out our final destination, Bassamo del Grappa.

I stumbled out of the train and saw Giulia’s fauhock and Jenny’s smile and literally fell into their arms. Finally here and finally everything is going to be easy for a minute. We hugged and laughed and took pictures underneath the sign for Bassamo, eagerly savoring our moments of excitement. We walked to her aunt’s house which was right across the street, walked up a staircase made of various colored marble, and set my things down in a bedroom of great windows. I stammered out a few stories and ran around the house, rushing to get ready to go out in Bassamo. We called Laura to say hello and then walked to a bar, bustling with excitement at how unreal it was for all of us to be together in Italy together.

Giulia is so proud of her hometown, and rightly so. Bassamo is a jewel, hidden away from the tourists of Italy. Its stone streets, lined with shops and restaurants, lead to the city’s river that spills out from the mountains. I was talking away at my girls, when Giulia says, “you have to see this” and leads me to a bridge. Mid-sentence, I stopped, struck by the beauty of my environment. Ponte Vecchio is a stunning old bridge made of cobblestones and strips of stone which pave the way to the other side. Since it is lit, when you look at the water, you can see the rich green color of the river and fish swimming upstream. This is Bassano: a tiny little village with a cosmopolitan feel. We walked back across the street and to the bar, where we met Giulia’s friends: Shumi, Tota, Paolo, Yoyo, Guido, and Carlotta. The night was spent drinking beers by the river, making jokes and dancing to “You Shook Me All Night Long” and Rage Against the Machine. When the bar closed down, we piled in Guido’s car and led a caravan of motorcycles and mopeds to Shindy.

Shindy is Bassamo’s late night club, where we drank mojitos and lounged all night. It is a mansion with various levels, both inside and outside. My favorite place in the club is a little terrace covered with Persian rugs and pillows, where you sit and overlook all the action, but can hear the people around you. I sat there with James, a British songwriter, sipping mojitos until it was time to go. We left the bar as dawn was breaking and while I was waiting for everyone to get to the car, I sat in a little field and enjoyed the morning. The sky between the mountains was turning a pale, luminous purple the silver light stuck the blades of grass.

We all piled into someone’s car and began the ride home, out of the woods by Shindy and the mountains on the outskirts of town. We came to a round about and Giulia insisted that we stop at this little coffee shop, where her mother would wrap up the nights when she was young. The owner was so glad to see us, so we stood for coffee and I continued chatting with James over a Macchiato and a brioche. When we left, we decided to walk from there, so we meandered through the streets in a silly, drunken stupor. Giulia humped a statue of Mary outside of her elementary school and I did a back bend to get rid of my hiccups. That night, we all three slept at her aunt’s house with the huge windows open and the morning breeze blowing in.

The next morning when I woke up, I made arrangements to go to Rome two days later so that I could go back to Venice with the girls. They told me they were going the night I arrived, so I went ahead with my arrangements so that I would be able to go with them. To me, this time with them is priceless. After that, I woke up Jenny and we went to meet Giulia at her Noni’s house. She lives on the other side of the Ponte Vecchio bridge and to get there we walked through a bustling Saturday market. We bought beautiful purple orchids for her and joined her for lunch. She made a cold risotto from ground peas and fresh veggies with tomato sauce as a side. We talked and laughed with her until she was ready for her nap. Noni is such a special lady. She is so happy and personable. It is really a pleasure to be around her. She is all smiles and welcomes, very sincere with her hospitality. She loves to cook and hug you and ask you about yourself. She never wants to stop learning, which is why she has taught herself English and insists on practicing with people. She also never compromises on her happiness, which is why I really admire her outlook on life.

After lunch we went down to the pool and relaxed for a couple hours, soaking the sun and making plans for our trip to Venice. When we were done, we walked around Bassano and took lovely pictures along the river. Along the way, I smelled the roses in a neighbor’s garden and walked in the chilly river. We took pictures of the mountains and the rapids from the bridge and Giulia pointed out the holes in the buildings from WWII bullet holes. We took a bus to a small town called Marostrica, which is known for its life sized chess match. They have posters and postcards of it: the spectators dress in Renaissance clothing and the knights ride real horses along the board. At the end of the match, they set off fireworks from the castle above on the mountain. We walked around the town, stopped in a clothing shop, bought fresh fruit and had coffee in the square.

We left Marosica and headed for aperitivo and beers in Bassano. I was most impressed with Tulia’s friends at Bar Breda. They made us delicious food and welcomed us with open arms. My favorite people were Carlotta’s father, the owner of Breda. He loves to entertain his friends with theatrical displays, like opening up huge bottles of Prosecco by slicing off the top with a sword. We ate bruscetta, flat breads covered with runny cheese and prochutto, and little ham sandwiches. When we had had our fill of laughs and food, we went to another bar to meet some of Giulia’s friends, then I broke off to go back to her aunt’s place for a shower. I got dressed and relaxed for a minute before joining them up at another bar. The night continued with drinks and parties all over town. We went to Sotto by the river, to a bar at the top of a mountain, and then to Shindy which was hosting a random gothic party. We watched the sun come up that morning and enjoyed watching Giulia soak in all of the joys of her home. Maybe it was the hospitality or the cleanliness of this city, but this is my favorite city in Itlay so far. It is, without a doubt, an undiscovered jewel of a town.

florence, part 1

2007-06-18T14:15:00.000-07:00

our train arrived from pisa at midnight. i strapped my pack on and put on my iPod to listen to my new city theme song: broken social scene's "ibi dreams of pavement (a better day)." the song errupts into joyous shouting and i cannot contain my elation. i literally jump and punch the air in triumph. i am finally in florence, the city i've dreamed of seeing since my childhood (my favorite movie growing up was based in florence and ever since then, i've dreamed of coming here. so i head down a street without glancing at a map, determined to find the arno river. we have no reservation, no idea of where to go but i have to see the city just a little before i can rest easy.

we wander through the piazza of the duomo asking every hotel in sight if they have room, which they don't. finally, we get a guy's number from lonely planet and he walks us to a little hotel that charges us 30 euros a head for 2 huge private rooms with a bath tub. i have never felt so good after a shower/ bath (of which i had both) as i did that night. i sank into my bed and felt my body unfold itself and relax into a feeling of security and success.

the next day found us just as lucky. we wandered about the city market and saw florentine goods from local vendors. i bought a beautiful green scarf and then had pesto gnocci for lunch. we saw the towering green and white marble duomo (cathedral), its steps littered with people. once i knew where the river was, it was like an auto pilot driving me through the city. i knew which direction to turn to see what i wanted. about 2 blocks after the duomo, i turned right on a whim and we found ourselves in the piazza della signoria, a square bursting with people and beautiful statues. it is near the galleria degli uffizi and ponte vecchio.

ponte vecchio is the bridge that crosses the arno river on which gold jewelers have set up shops for centuries. when i was in high school, i sang an aria about a ring purchased here, so my excitement was unreal. i was facinated by the glittering beauty of the shops built off the sides of this old bridge. we walked up via guicciardini to the palazzo pitti and viewed the gardens. we saw beautiful statues and my first overlook of the city of florence. the duomo dominates the cityscape, but the city stretches on with its orange rooves built into the greenery of the surrounding hills.

a wonderous blunder

2007-06-16T09:03:00.000-07:00

i left genoa early in the morning and took a 2 hour train to la spezia to catch up with some guys that i met in monterosso the previous day. la spezia was a nice enough port city, but i was not interested in staying there long after such a beautiful hike the previous day. so phil, kyle, ian and i decided to hop on the train to pisa.

only phil, the only on of us actually used to catching trains, put us on the wrong train headed back to riomaggiore, cinque terre. laughing, we decided to have lunch in a cafe that overlooked the cliffs. they were playing david bowie and we settled into eating, each of us eyeballing the beautiful water and cliffs.

this led us to the most wonderful mistake we could have possibly made. laden with our packs, we climbed down the rugged rocks and stashed our luggage between the boulders and jumped into the gorgeous water. it was so cold, i lost my breath. i free dove into the water, liberated by the cleanliness of my environment. we sunned ourselves on the rocks and took turns diving into the water. fifteen minutes before the train to pisa, we climbed out of the water and dried ourselves and got onto the right train.

our luck continued like this for the rest of the day: seeing snow covered mountains from the train, sharing songs and favorite books, finding a place to store our luggage, and getting to pisa right at sunset. we had a dinner and then drank moretti beer while waiting for the train to florence, all the while stunned at how lucky we were to have made such an amazing mistake.

i am new orleans

2007-06-02T16:38:00.000-07:00

i've always insisted in saying that i am from baton rouge because that's where i was born. i think it's pretentious and fake to say anything else, but when i think of home i don't think of baton rouge. i love the oak trees dripping with spanish moss, the chimes with its ridiculous selection of beers on tap, the etoufee at chelsea's and the lakes around lsu, but that really doesn't feel like home to me. to me, when i think of home, an aroma of new orleans comes to my mind accompanied by a montage of vivid pictures. it's the beignets at cafe du monde at 4 in the morning. the sun rising above the mississippi, pushing the moon on its way. its the bars lit by candles and the streets cluttered with transvestites and frat boys- the whole shebang. that is home to me: new orleans.

i yearn for this city like a drug, like a fix that i need when i'm away. the colors, the smells, the music literally feed me when i'm away. i close my eyes and smile when i think of this place, the closest thing to home i've got.

today, i returned to nola on an errand that led me to a friend's house which led us to a music festival and then lunch at coop's in the quarter. nothing planned or high stress, just easy living. i can feel myself relaxing into this mentality and letting go of all of the bullshit i was dealing with back in miami. people here have nothing to offer but their kindness, and they do it readily. it is such a beautiful shift from the culture of TAKE TAKE TAKE as fast as you can, before someone notices they're being ripped off. i tell you what, this city may not seem like much, but there is a spirit here that is indestructable. there is a vitality here that will persevere. there is a voice here that i admire and, though shabby and rustic it may seem, this town has a heartbeat. having said that, i will proudly, unreservedly pledge the dirty coast mantra, "i am new orleans"

ps- for bad ass t-shirts about new orleans with an indie flare, check out www.dirtycoast.com. they are bad ass. be a new orleanian wherever you are

a glance back

2007-05-21T06:02:00.000-07:00

i've finally decided to run away, to plunge into the journey i've postponed for so long. as i embark, leaving behind all that i know, i find myself intimidated. i've said that it is time and i'm ready- that is true- but i was not honest with my tone and my flippancy. i am sad for those that i'm leaving behind because i know things will never be the same. something inside of me mourned and grieved for that a long time ago. it's strange, i feel like i left a long time ago.