Balinese Wisdom
I have always thought of America as a culture consumed with fear. It’s everywhere you look, from the message that (put on your best deep scary voice) “the security threat level has now been raised to (oh, gasp) ORANGE…” to the subliminal messages which allude to the fact that you will get (oh, gasp again) fat if you eat or drink anything that is not “light” or “fat free.” It would appear that our culture thrives on fear, at least in the advertising industry.
The other day as I was on my way home from a weekend at the beach with my Balinese buddy Dewa, he brought up an interesting point regarding the subject of fear. But first, if I may, a few words on Dewa.
Dewa is this tall, well muscled, good looking Balinese dude who seems like he could be employed as a body guard until you catch sight of the flowers tucked gracefully behind each ear and learn that he LOVES to sing Mariah Carrey songs. He is my “driver” which is to say that when I want to venture outside my quiet little town of Ubud and onto the wild roads of real Bali I call Dewa. He picks me up in his funky rig (amazing that the thing hasn’t kicked the can yet), windows always down (no a/c in this country), Mariah blasting on the tape deck, and we cruise. Now it’s important to note that Dewa is an incredible musician. In fact, he is even a bit famous in Indonesia for his talents, those being twofold. The first of his skills lies in song writing for Indonesian pop stars. Many of his songs have even been played on the radio and made into albums. The second of his hidden talents is the “macho dance.” I don’t really feel adequately informed on exactly what the macho dance is in order to give it a just description, but he has promised to show me pictures before I go. Can’t wait.
So when Dewa and I are cruising the crazy roads of Bali, we, well actually HE, sounds quite good singing along to Mariah. As we were coming home from the beach he put on some new tunes from James Blunt (American pop star of the moment).
“Kate, do you know James Blonde?”
“Who?” I said, then realizing what he must have said “Oh James Bond? Yeah, totally, he’s a hottie, well the Pierce Brosnan version is at least.”
Now it was Dewa’s turn to be confused.
“I don’t know what you say Kate.”
“You asked if I know James Bond, and I mean, not personally, obviously, but I definitely know who his is, like I said, he’s a hottie.”
Dewa is now even more confused.
Eventually we boil it down to James Blunt (he has the pronunciation of the last name a bit off), the pop singer of the moment, who was currently serenading us in Dewa’s beat up truck.
So there we are with James Blunt and Dewa singing a broken hearted ballad as we wind through the rice fields.
“What’s that word?” asks Dewa as the chorus comes on.
“Bravery” I respond after listening intensely to the poor recording. “He’s saying he has no bravery,” I elaborate.
“What this mean?” Dewa asks.
“It means he’s afraid,” I say, and so began the conversation on America’s obsession with fear.
“You sure have a lot of word in English for fear,” observes Dewa. “In Indonesian we have one: ta kut. It for every meaning of fear. Not much fear in Bali, so not need much word.”
I smile, loving his observation, nod my head in agreement, and start laughing as he lists off all the English words he has learned for fear.
“Afraid, scared, not brave, terrified, fearful, frightened…..” he keeps on going, and I’m impressed at the scope of his vocabulary.
“You know Dewa, there’s quite a lot of fear in America. I mean, there are even rumors that the Talliban (scary voice again, a bit of sarcasm too) are living among us!”
“Who’s Talliban? Singer?”
I have confused him yet again.
We continue our conversation about fear on a more serious note, determining that maybe it’s the lack of spirituality in the Western world that gives way to so much fear. Then again, many fundamentalist religious groups thrive on the concept of fear, so it’s tough to say one way or the other.
I tell Dewa that I think the problem is deeply imbedded in a culture that seeks happiness in the external world, particularly in material things. There is no doubt that capitalism thrives on consumption, and in our modern society, we have become masters of the art of consumption. Everything in the external world is always changing and impermanent. It can die, disappear, or be taken from you. This is a very scary thought if you depend on anything external for happiness. If instead you look inside for happiness and fulfillment, there aint no one who can touch that stuff other than you. Life then doesn’t seem so scary anymore.
The Balinese get this. What they don’t get is mass consumption. They on the other hand, seem to be masters of moderation. That, or it’s the fact that they spend so much time preparing for this ceremony and that celebration, they don’t even have time to get wrapped up in materialism. They seem to extract their happiness from moments, from being with their friends and family, from nature, and well more than anything, from just being. They do not have agendas, they are not trying to accomplish some big task, they are simply doing whatever it is they are supposed to do at that moment, and they do it not only with the whole of their heart but with a smile on their face. It is a true demonstration of grace and an inspiration to watch.
As a result, they are some of the friendliest people I have ever encountered, and it makes traveling alone feel more like you’ve gone on vacation with the entire extended family than off on a journey of solitude. I hear my name constantly being called out in the streets of Ubud from people I’ve met for all of 5 seconds. “Hello Keit!!! (that’s how they say my name). How are you today?!” always shouted with incredible enthusiasm.
In America, we seem to have lost that time to talk to strangers, or even to say a friendly hello. There’s an ever-present sense of urgency, business, and rush that seeps its way into every quick footstep of the passerby. There is this sense that what we are going to do is more important than what we are doing right now.
While the Balinese may be masters of the present and maintaining grace in every action, there is another side to this; besides I can’t completely bash America, for there are a lot of amazing things about it too. The dark side to this shiny coin is that not much actually happens in Bali. I was here a year ago, and I swear, the exact same clothes are hanging in the store windows. The only difference is that they’ve collected another few inches of dust and their colors look more pastel than vibrant. The same people seem to be sitting in the same places, just watching life happen around them. The same rituals and ceremonies are going on or being prepared for. There’s just a whole lot of sameness going on round these parts.
At first it freaked me out a bit. I mean, in America, the clothes in the store window have changed before you even got a chance to go in and see them! And to see the same person in the same place, aside from the robotic morning ritual dance at Starbucks, is a rarity. I’ve learned to see a subtle beauty in this sameness. It’s very calm and non-distracting, which allows you to focus on what really matters. Suddenly you’re not so caught up in all the change, rather you find yourself paying attention to a new kind of change, like the change in the wind, or the change in the light on a child’s smiling face. Time slows down, moments stand out, and you feel at ease, at peace. Then suddenly you’re thrown out of your peaceful moment by the sounds of a large truck honking, headed straight for you. The dazed look of peace turns into one of a stunned dear in the headlights, and like a cat you spring into action.
I guess nowhere on earth is perfectly peaceful…even Bali! So for now, I will just have to enjoy those rare moments and soak up all the smiles and friendliness I can. Someone told me recently that a smile is the most contagious thing on the planet…I sure hope so, it’s a disease I want to spread, and I think the Balinese have got it BAD.
Hugs from the Beach
Oh the sun on my face, the sand between my toes, and the salt on my skin……I am in heaven! It is sooooo good to be at the beach. I arrived early this afternoon and plan to stay for the next three days. I decided to venture to the east coast of Bali to a town called Sanur. I wanted to check out somewhere I had never been before and Sanur is not too far from Ubud, so it was perfect. I booked myself in a nice little hotel right on the beach and have been grinning ear to ear since I arrived!
The sea breeze is so perfect; perfect temperature, perfect smell, perfect noise, perfect feel. I walked as far as i could walk on the beach when I first got here, during which met the sweetest woman named Rita. She walked with me for about a mile. At first she wanted to give me a massage, but then we just got to talking and found that we really enjoyed each others company, so we just walked. She told me all about the area and the island in the distance which is where she is from. Every step we walked I fell more in love with the Balinese people. The conversations are so joyful, friendly, and light. Once she decided that she could stray no further from her shop she gave me a farewell hug that felt like it came from an old friend. I continued to walk, every now and then dropping my things and sprinting into the ocean Baywatch style (this has been one of my favorite things to do since I was a little kid). I would float for a bit, and then come back out and continue my walk. All along the beach there are these mini piers that have little open shacks at the end where you can just lounge, look out at the gorgeous view, feel the perfect breeze, and get a little shade from the sun. I parked it on one of those for a few hours, reading for a bit, but then deciding that I was enjoying the feeling of just being on the ocean far too much to distract myself with typed words. Two Indonesian boys from Mala came up and hung out with me for a while. They were hilarious and so friendly, as usual. One was wearing leather pants but designed like jeans. I asked him if he was hot and he said “yes,” fanning himself then smiled and said, “but sexy yah?” I just laughed, it was unfortunately the complete opposite, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him. We chatted about all sorts of things eventually determining that there were too many people in the world, all of whom are using too much oil. It was a funny conclusion for an American and two Indonesians to come to while sitting at the end of a pier on a perfect sunny day without a care in the world, but very true. The one in the leather pants was convinced that America is going to bring peace to the world, and I think I did a good job of convincing him that I thought otherwise. Rather, it would be people like us were the ones that could really bring peace to the world, by being happy loving individuals who brought that into the lives of all they meet.
After a little while a young group of boys on bikes with a kite came a joined us. It felt like a perfect little island being out there on that pier. I learned how to say kite in Indonesian which had all of them in stitches for a solid 15 minutes. Apparently my accent is not so authentic! I was kicking myself for not having my camera because the images of the kids trying to fly this kite would have been priceless. But yet again, as I have found so many times on this trip, the best photos have been captured with my eyes and stored forever in my heart. I left our perfect little island when a grumpy old man from Holland arrived and shifted the light laughter to a somber silence. It was getting late in the day so I quickly ran back to the hotel to grab my camera to photograph the locals who come to the beach after work. I did more watching than photographing, but did get some great shots. All of the families come together to play and bathe in the sea. It’s beautiful to see their interaction, every movement so filled with love. They all act as if they have all the time in the world, and in many ways they do. In fact we all do, it’s really just a state of mind. I feel so sad for the many children in the world who don’t get to simply spend moments like that with their families. It seems that it is an epidemic which is worse in the western world than in poorer countries where they aren’t consumed by their jobs. They may not have much money or many possessions, but they have time. Time to spend with their loved ones and time to enjoy the simple pleasures of life which are all to often over looked. Watching all the families play as I sit in the sand sipping on a cold Bintang was like watching one of the best movies I’ve seen in a while.
Just when I was feeling a little lonely and wishing I had someone to share the moment with, a very cute older woman named Wyan (her daughter, husband, and grandchild are all also named Wyan, and it turns out that I too am named Wyan because Wyan is the name for the first born), walked up to me and gave me this smile that said “I am a wise and gentle woman, you want to talk to me.” So I did, we talked for about an hour. She just sat with me, much in the same way that Rita earlier had just walked with me. I couldn’t help but feel as though they were angels fallen from the sky, to give me a hug and smile just when I needed it. Of course first they want to know where you’re from, where you’re staying, how long you’re staying, if it’s your first time to Bali, and if you like it. I think they really like my teeth because I usually only make it about halfway through those questions before they stop, no longer care, and just want to see me smile, which of course I do, so then we have a smile off. Greatest game ever.
Wyan told me all about her family, which was a screwed up as one might find in southern Mississippi or parts of Utah. Her husband has 4 wives, maybe 5 at one point, but probably only 4 now. She doesn’t live with him anymore because he lives with one of the other ones, but he may want to come back soon. She hopes so because she would not like to be alone in her old age. She does have a lovely son though who takes good care of her. As I listen to her words, which are broken english but still quite easy to understand, I can’t help but drift into my own thoughts of how wonderful it is to simply talk to strangers, for when they open their hearts to you and you in turn have no judgement, you can really feel that we are all same. Beyond race, religion, gender, background, size, shape, perfect teeth or no teeth, we are people who just want to express, love, be loved, and laugh.
As the sun set I watched the reflection of the pinks, oranges, and blues bounce off the west coast of the next island (remember I am on the east coast, no sunset over the water for me) and I couldn’t help but feel as though I was wrapped up in the arms of the world, in those of the mother we all share, Nature.
Where ever you are, I hope Mother Nature is hugging you too.
Every Day is an Adventure
Oh how every day is an adventure! I wake up every morning, and a smile appears on my face at the very thought of how absolutely anything could happen, especially here in Bali.
Today one of my few “tasks” of the day was to find the Yoga Barn, which is where I will be teaching (starting tomorrow). Bali Spirit, the studio I’m teaching at has 2 locations, one is their Cafe and small studio right in town, and the other is the new Yoga Barn (which wasn’t here when I was last year) located just outside of town. After my breakfast of banana pancakes and fresh fruit, some meditation, yoga, walk down to the river, and poolside reading, I set off on my motorbike to seek out the Yoga Barn.
It really only took me about an hour to find, which considering the traffic and the fact that I had a hand drawn cryptic map is pretty good. I got lost for a good 40 min of that hour, but I found that in my lostness I actually learned my way around Ubud much better. I just kept saying to myself as I took random lefts and rights, “you can’t really get lost if you don’t know where you are going to begin with…..” The town of Ubud is a very complicated and completely irrational network of one way streets. The concept of “grid” does NOT exist here, but it makes driving all the more enjoyable as you twist and wind every which way through the jungle. I almost hit a monkey, yes that’s right, a big fat monkey was sitting dead in the middle of my path as I rounded one of the many bends. I took it as a sign that I must be on the right path. Whether or not it would lead to the yoga barn was another story, but eventually it did.
The Yoga Barn is located among some terraced rice paddies which gives it a stunning location. There are two large studios, both gorgeous and completely open to the outdoors save for the roof. The selection of classes is equally impressive, including a sunday evening yoga flow class that they call “cello flow” because you practice to a live cello player. How beautiful is that?! I was intending to attend that tonight…but lets just say “Bali” got in the way. Let me explain.
After finding the yoga barn and going on a wild goose chase trying to get a Balinese cell phone (which was miraculously successful in the end), I decided to go home, drop off some stuff and then come back into town to go to the cello flow class. As I was cruising down the main road of Ubud, my motorbike decided it had had enough of the hard life on the road, so it up and quit mid traffic. I carefully maneuvered it over to the side of the road, trying not to cause too much commotion, which proved very easy considering the constant on going commotion caused by everyone else. I tried every trick in my book to get the little guy up and running again, but it soon became obvious that someone with a bit more mechanical skills than my own was going to have to be involved in saving the motorbike’s life.
Ok, so now what? I figured I would go to the shop, inform them of the ill state of the bike, and go from there. I hitched a ride to the shop by a man who turned out to be a painter and we had a lovely chat about how painting creates more beauty in the world (only in Bali do these conversations occur on a regular basis!) When we got to the shop it was closed. Sunday. Damn. Now what? I decided that I might as well go home since I had a ride, and deal with it from there. I managed to find the number of the woman who rented me the bike and had Dewa, my Balinese friend and who I now refer to as my Balinese angel, call her and see what could be done. A few minutes later I got a call on my cute gheto pink Balinese cell phone from Dayu, the woman who rented me the bike. She is cheery as ever, and tells me how sorry she is about the bike. How not to worry, she will go get it and bring a new one to my hotel by 6pm. It would be sooner but she is in Temple and must sing and dance for a few more hours.
She is very sorry for the dely. I am delighted at how simple and joyous every potential disaster turns out to be in Bali. Oh if only the rest of the world could learn to be like that!! There would be a lot less disease caused by stress, I tell you that much. Maybe we all need to sing and dance a bit more too 
Ubud Life
The place I’ve come to call home here in Bali is PERFECT. I am up on the second floor of a house, of which the entire thing is open save for a paylapa style roof. There are a few bamboo shades to drop in the event of a torrential down pour (which I might add, would do jack shit in terms of keeping things “dry”), but other than that, I am one with nature. From my deck, which is a funny term to use because the whole place is really like a deck, I over look the jungle and river bed bellow, while off on the horizon rise the three volcanos, Mt. Batur, Mt. Agung, and the third of whose name I do not yet know. The view is simply stunning, and I have found myself just staring out at it for hours. I always stop when I feel the droplets of drool pooling at my feet.
In my hours not spent gazing out on the landscape, I have made myself a wonderful little home. There is a nice big open space where i have put out my yoga mat. Near that, a chase lounge where my ukulele lives. My books have made their home on one of the tables and all of their covers are curling up in response to the almost liquid air. There is a round table for eating that holds a big bowl of mangosteens, and other native fruit that i love but don’t know the names of. And then there’s my computer, the object that has no specific location, which looks so out of place among its rustic counterparts, but makes me smile every time I see it. There is something absolutely wonderful about feeling totally alone and out in the middle of nowhere and yet having the ability to be connected to the world in a matter of clicks! And so, I am in heaven.
My body is LOVING the heat, humidity, and constant state of wetness, while my soul is loving being surrounded by so much life. Everywhere I look there is an animal or plant that is beautiful beyond words. I feel like I’m wrapped up in the arms of mother nature, and there is nothing more comforting than that. So yes, Bali is healing. And if the plants and animals weren’t enough, then the people complete the circle. They are so caring, graceful, and present, smiling at everyone who passes. I have already taken over a thousand photographs just with my eyes of all their smilies, and I will store them in my heart for whenever I need a smile of my own. The majestic statues of buddha and various hindu gods and goddesses that are mixed in among the greenery give an ever present sense of mystery and mysticism that I find absolutely fascinating. The rituals that are performed on a daily basis are equally impressive. I have watched the same woman bring the offerings and incense to each of the statues every evening as the sun is setting, and each time she does exactly the same thing, but her movements and expressions are such that it is as if she is doing it for the first time. There is so much devotion and love in every step, I am humbled simply by watching.
Yesterday morning I came out to my parked scooter (yes I got a motorbike), and sitting on the handlebars was a small offering of flowers wrapped in large banana tree leaves. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I knew then that my motorbike was now blessed by the hindu gods and would keep me safe out on those totally chaotic roads. There’s a reason they put offerings on the motorbikes!!! It’s their attention to detail, and the TIME they take to do the LITTLE things that make this place so special.
But there is another side. Not a bad side by any means, just a more “real” side. Let me now paint you that picture: It is 6am. I am lying in my mosquito netted bed, which consists of more holes than protective material, itching the 20 new bites on my arms, legs, and face. The roosters are crowing non-stop as if they have just lost their beloved brother in a cock fight. The noise of the roosters stirs the pigs, so now the pigs are squealing equally offensively creating the most horrific orchestra of noise which rivals that of a slaughter house. No more sleep for me. Miraculously I feel rested, despite waking up every few hours to the howling stray dogs and mercilessly crying cats. Ah the lovely sounds of nature. Top that off with the constant buzz of insects, the distant ritual chanting, and a few other very unidentifiable, mildly concerning sounds and you have a new button on the Sharper Image noise maker entitled “Bali”.
But I love it. I love it all so much that I must look like one of those annoying people who walks around with a shit eating grin on their face at all times. I wouldn’t know this however because my new home does not have any walls let alone a mirror!
My days thus far have consisted of becoming familiar with my new environment, which seems to have an adventure lurking around each and every corner. I had a very interesting trip on my scooter to the “grocery” store yesterday in which I spent hours looking for some form of soap with which I could wash my many clothes (all 2 pairs of shorts and 2 shirts I so modestly brought). They sell the most bizarre things at the Bali grocery store, which only adds to the confusion. I would love to give you some description of what they are, but they are such completely foreign objects I wouldn’t even know how to start describing them!
Simply being on the motorbike is an adventure in itself, but that truly deserves an entire email to itself, so you shall have to wait for those stories to come.
Aside from the joys of pure survival, life in Bali is very relaxing. I have already spent hours reading, writing, lounging, and sleeping. It feels amazing to function with a complete and total disregard for time. I function almost entirely on the clock of the sun, rising around 6am and falling asleep around 7pm, allowing the natural rhythms of my body to fall in line with those of nature. It just feels right (and prevents me from completely loosing it at the roosters and pigs when they go off at 6am).
Only in Bali
The scent of burning trash, burning incense, two stroke engines, and tropical everything overwhelmed my nose as I stepped out of the airport and into the refreshingly humid air. Ahhh Bali, nowhere else on the planet smells the way it smells here. Is it a good smell? Mmmm that’s debatable, but because it’s unique to Bali I love it. I was greeted at the airport by my friend Dewa who was holding a large sign reading “Kate Olson” in intricately decorated block letters. He already knew me, but it’s customary to make a sign if you are picking someone up in the airport. Since everyone in Bali seems to be blessed with the creative gene, the sea of signs as you exit looks more like an exhibit at MOMA than an airport greeting area. Only in Bali. We toss my bags into Dewa’s car, and I attempt to get into the driver’s seat forgetting that they drive on the other side of the road. Soon we are the main road quickly leaving the large city of Denpasar, headed towards the hilly jungle town of Ubud. I stick my head out the window like a puppy dog and giggle as we weave in and out of traffic, narrowly avoiding motorbikes packed with entire families. It’s 1am as we cruise by a motor bike with three teenagers all in barefeet……”don’t they have school tomorrow?” I say to Dewa. He just shrugs. “Oh yeah, I’m in Bali,” I remember, life is a little different here. In unison they wave and flash me some of the widest smiles I’ve ever seen. I grin and wave back, their smiles reminding me exactly what it is I love about Bali so much; the people and the way they live their lives.
By the time we make it to Ubud, I am nearly asleep. As I walk the narrow path to my new home my senses begin to awaken again. Out in front of me lies the most incredible landscape I have ever seen. The jungle trees look like silver shadows as they bask in the moons light while a symphony of insects serenades the few sleeping souls. I am perched high up on a ridge that overlooks and ocean of palm trees and cascading rice paddies. Far in the distance three majestic volcanoes rise up toward the sky. A small spiritual offering with a stick of incense still burning sits in front of my door. Just to the left is a gorgeous statue of a Hindu goddess dressed in freshly picked flowers. I sense mystery and magic everywhere. Only in Bali.
Thoughts from 30,000 ft
Sometimes it takes going way up into the sky to be able to go down deep into your soul for a little peace and understanding.
As I sit on the Boeing 747 looking out onto the vastness of the Pacific Ocean, I can’t help but reflect on the events of recent, specifically Johnny’s death. Sitting on a Korean Air flight bound for Seoul South Korea I am the only white person, let alone the only blonde person. I feel somewhat misplaced, out of context, just as Johnny’s death did. The further away I get from home, the more surreal it becomes, and the more my grasp on reality seems to slip into what feels like a constant dreaming state.
Once again, life has shocked me. I’m OK solely because have come to feel that there is no good nor bad in life. Things just happen the way they happen. It’s when we are attached to them, have expectations, plans, or live outside the present moment that they become good and bad. This is not to say that I’ve become emotionally detached, but I have taken a step back and I can feel my perspective shifting. I still continually struggle to wrap my head around this concept of “life” but I’m beginning to learn that this is a battle not worth fighting, for it cannot be won. The concept of life cannot be understood by our human minds, vast as we may think they are, simply because the very nature of life is that it’s constantly changing. So I surrender, or as the yogis would say, “namaha.” And I focus on only this; breath in, breath out, and I feel lighter.
I have moments of missing John where my heart physically aches and feels heavy. I have other moments of obsessing over his fall, replaying every second in my head, wondering if he was afraid, if he knew in those few seconds that he was going to die, if it hurt….. Other moments I wonder, “what if?” What if I had spoken to him right before his run, what if he had landed that drop and won, what if he fell a mere two inches to the right, what if he simply broke his leg, what if he had become paralyzed. I’ve also had moments of rationalizing it, focusing on how he was happier than he had ever been in is life up there in AK, how he was one of the lucky ones to die without suffering, doing what he loved most in life, how his life may have been a short one, but it was no doubt full off passion and fun, and it’s about quality over quantity anyways right? But all of this is just an attempt to understand the un-understandable of life and death.
My thoughts surrounding Johnny’s death are no doubt affected by the fact that only three years ago I lost a best friend at the even younger age of 21. I thought young people weren’t supposed to die…?? I feel like they are looking down at me now saying, “ah grasshopper, such is the way of the world, you can never know….”
They are confusing events that are all encompassing of every human emotion and experience. More than anything, it makes me question everything; what we think we know, what is reality, why are we here. Maybe it’s as simple as this: we are here, because we are. That answer is very displeasing to my ego. Yet at the same time, if we are simply here because we are, then everything seems kind of OK.
During these intense times of questioning and wondering I find my self drawn to the one thing that stands out as real among a very confused reality; love. Love and laughter are like the golden king and queen that stand strong, floating above a sea of rough, muddy waters. So maybe that’s another answer to the question why are we here, simply to love.
As I cruise somewhere over the middle of he Pacific Ocean I can’t help but love everything, everything from the beauty of the sun setting on the distant horizon to the few hundred snoring Asian passengers I am surrounded by at this moment. Breath in, breath out, feeling lighter.
Back to Bali
On April 28th I arrived back in Bali. It had been almost a year since the last time I was here. While it appeared that not much had changed in Bali, much had changed in my life over the course of the last year. The most significant being that a very close friend had died while skiing in Alaska two weeks before my departure to Bali. It cast a dark shadow on life for a little while, but I knew that Bali was a good place to go for a little peace and understanding. Being here, surrounded by so much life and such a strong presence of nature has soothed my soul and re-kindled my passion for life. It has been a true gift.
I was brought back to Bali this year partly because my heart told me I needed to come back here, but in addition, I was invited to teach Pilates at a yoga studio in Ubud called Bali Spirit. The teaching was wonderful but it was just the tip of the iceberg. I found myself being a student more often than a teacher, some of life’s most valuable lessons unfolding before my eyes. The following entries are from the past few weeks in Bali. Enjoy!
Ketut Liyer
“You will live to be 110 years old!”
I raise my fist victoriously into the air as if my team has just won a soccer match and let out a loud, “yeah baby!” The 90 year old medicine man looks at me with sparkling eyes and flashes a toothless grin. For anyone who has ever thought that good teeth make a good smile, they have not met Ketut Liyer, Balianese medicine man, healer, palm reader, artist, and persona extrordinare.
It is a storm brewing afternoon in Ubud, and I have found myself on the porch of Ketut’s house anxiously awaiting to be told my past, present, and future from the mysterious lines of my palm. I am fully emersed as Ketut tells me the story of how and why he came to be a medicine man. It’s a story I have heard before. In fact, it is virtually the exact story that was re-tod by Elizabeth Gilbert in her beautiful book, “Eat, Pray, Love.” As the story unfolds almost word for word, I realize quickly that his lack of English has led him to prepare a bit of a speech. One I’m guessing he has spoken more than a few times before. Despite this, it is still one of the more enchanting stories I have ever heard, and I feel as though I have just walked into the pages of a fairytale. At the end of his story his tone grows slightly serious as he explains that it is his duty, coming from a long line of healers to tell the truth. If my palm is bad, he will not be coating it in sugar.
I must admit that for a moment, I hesitated as thoughts of hearing a grim future flashed through my mind. Did I really want to hear that I might die tomorrow? I quickly extinguished my dismal thoughts and eagerly hand him my palm. “Hit me with your best shot Ketut! I can take it!”
For the next hour we look over many little, some big, and some invisible wrinkles in my hand. My untrained eye and skeptical western mind had to take a back seat as I let Ketut weave a beautiufl story from the lines of my palm. “Ooohh this is good, this is very good,” he says.
“Yes this is good” I think to myself, “I must not be set to die tomorrow.”
“You are going to become very rich by age 30.” The corners of my mouth turn up a little. Not bad, not bad. I feel like saying, “you too could become rich buddy if you hopped the next plane to Vegas and set up shop.” Instead I say, “I’m already very rich Ketut, rich in happiness.” Big smile.
“No miss Kate. At 30 you rich in bank. You will be very successful, you very smart woman, you very lucky always in your life.”
Keep it comin mister, I like where we are headed with this!
As the story unfolds, I learn that I will have a very good marriage, but only if I am married between the ages of 25 to 28. Before 25: divorce. Post 30: forever single. Hmmmm. I also must come to Bali once I am married so Ketut can bless the marriage. Now this I will do. I continue to smile as he intently disects my palm with great care and intruigue. In the world of palm readers, I believe Ketut would take the cake for genuine.
Gazing at my wrist he whispers something in Balianese then announces that I am the reincarnation from four generations past. She was a doctor, a very strong and wise woman. This is good, very good. Slightly up from my wrist, somewhere in the vicinity of my thumb, I receive and interesting bit of news. “You can make sex with husband two time in a night, but three times too much, you get tired.” Just imagine this coming from the mouth, toothless remember, of a 90 year old man. He didn’t even flinch. He was simply translating the lines, and apparently that’s what they told him. I laughed and gave him a light punch in the arm. “Ketut you are making me blush!” But he had already moved onto my heart line where, you guessed it, nothing but good news.
My favorite part came when he told me that I represented the goddess Sarahswati. She is the goddess of knowledge and creativity. Now who wouldn’t want to be connected to this babe?! She also has four hands with which she holds various beautiful items. To the Balianese they each have a deep meaning. To me, she looks like one hell of a multi tasker!
He brought out one of his magic paintings of her and told me that he would make one form me in the next few days and bless it with a magic ceremony. A magic painting of a four armed goddess. Now what more could you want from a 90 year old medicine man who has just told you that you are going to live the most wonderful life you could have ever imagined.
“Don’t worry in your life Kate (which sounded more like Kte). You have very good life.”
“Yes Ketut” I replied, “You are very right about that.”
Beautiful Bali
Monkeys swing from the tree tops, and there is green everywhere you look. Steeply terraced rice paddy covered hillsides cascade down towards rivers and waterfalls, and the feeling that this island is magical eminates from every living thing. I haven’t even seen the ocean yet, but I can sense its presence near by. For now, I am spending my time hidden amongst the wild jungle of Ubud.
For the past five days (and continuing for the next 25 days) I have been at a yoga teacher training retreat just outside of Ubud Bali. I’m not sure what kind of images “yoga teacher training” conjurs up in your mind, but even with the information I had prior to coming here I could never have imagined it would be an experience as incredible as this. I am surrounded by 40 beautiful souls, in the most gorgeous resort, eating a gormet raw food diet, meditating, learning about yoga, and most of all learning about life. Yes, I am in heaven!
I was also miraculously offered a job on my very first day in Bali. Hmmmm……a new part time home on this magical island…….I have always wanted to compliment all that skiing with a bit of surfing……oh the wonderful possibilities in this life.
Goodbye Chiang Mai
It was the perfect ending to what has been for the past three weeks, my perfect place. As the sun set over the hills casting dramatic and beautiful streaks of light across the sky, I was reminded of an ancient Native American tradition someone recently taught me. Looking out on the place you are about to bid farewell to, you open your arms and take a deep breath in. When you exhale you bring your hands to your heart, theoretically bringing the place into your heart. By doing so, even when you are very far away you can always come back to this place which is now inside yourself. I may have looked like a crazy person out there on the hotel pool deck overlooking the city, performing this ritual, but I didn’t care. I wanted Chiang Mai close to my heart forever, for it became a place that meant more to me than I could have ever imagined.
It is amazing that three weeks have gone by so quickly, yet confusing at the same time because it seems like it has been much longer. As I walk around the city now, I almost feel like I live here. There is an old man who drives a “bike taxi” that I’ve seen every single day for three weeks. And every single day we have smiled and waved at each other, and every single day because of him I have felt that much happier.
The bike taxi is a bicycle that has a small two wheeled carriage attached to the back where you can fit one, maybe two people. I had yet to ride in one of these, so as I passed my bike friend today I thought, “Hey, why not?!” When I approached him for a ride he looked very surprised and excited. I was his first customer in a while. Moments later there I was sitting in the little carriage, cruising down the street. Only we weren’t exactly cruising. What I had failed to notice before was that my bike friend was actually a one legged bike friend. However, this was no problem at all. He proceeded to proudly ride his bike down the street waving at everyone we passed, always to be met with a huge smile, especially from the walkers who frequently passed us. I was both amazed and deeply inspired by this man who pedaled the bike, the carriage, and myself all with power of just one leg. We only went about five blocks, but they were some of the best five blocks of my life.
Right before my heart warming bike ride I had a bike ride of a different kind. It was my favorite kind, you know, the kind with a motor on it that goes really fast! My journey to Thailand would not have been complete with out a ride on a motorcycle seeing as they are the main form of transportation here. You see entire families flying down the street on one motorbike; baby in front, father driving, another kid behind dad, mom hanging off the back holding the other two. Sometimes dad gets on the cell phone too, just to add to the chaos of the moment. I had my own dreams of flying down the road on a motorbike, not necessarily with a family of five, but on my own gazing out over the rice fields. However, I was skeptical about my ability to even make it out of the city, so I never rented one. My dream came true today when I was at my last session with Master Poo. After feeling like I had, to put it as nicely as I can, just gotten the shit kicked out of me one last time by the Master, his wife offered to give me a ride home. I went from feeling virtually dead to jumping out of my pants excited when she revved up the scooter and told me to hop on. I rolled up the Thai pants, slung my bag over my shoulder, slid the shades on, and we were off. “Do you mind taking the long way?” I asked. She looked back at me and winked, “Is there any other way?”
This was by far and away the most exhilarating of all my Thailand experiences, even more so than my death defying elephant ride. Thailand seems to be devoid of all traffic laws, turning the road into a free for all where the biggest guy always wins. The good thing is that the competition is fairly even with almost everyone on scooters. At one point we were lined up at a major intersection with 16 other scooters. I counted. Now these scooters were not all nicely lined up one behind the next like you might see at an intersection in say, Sweden. No, not in Chiang Mai. Here it was like a dog pile of scooters. “I feel like we are in a race!” I said to Karen (Poo’s wife) still loving every moment of this scooter adventure. “Yeah, well don’t get too excited, I don’t think we’re going to win” she said as our little scooter puttered struggling to get off the line.
We crossed the bridge over the beautifully brown Ping River, waifs of sewage blowing through our hair. Now I know it sounds pretty nasty, but I tell you, I could have been covered in sewage and still had the biggest smile on my face!
Once back at the hotel I took care of a few last minute things to get ready for my 6am departure tomorrow, and then I remembered one last thing I needed to take care of.
There is a girl named Nit who is the “receptionist” at a place where I frequently get massages. It was love at first sight for Nit and I. She loved my blond hair and the fact that I was from “USA!” and I loved her big smiling brown eyes. We instantly became friends. One night I walked in wearing the shirt from the Loi Kroh Massage School I’ve been attending. She clasped her hands together and jumped up and down like a four year old at her birthday party. “Loi Kroh Massage!!! I want to go! I want to go! You go? I want to go!” We talked about the school for a little while and it quickly became clear to me that this girl had a dream, and that dream was to go to the Loi Kroh Massage School. It was the look of hope in her eyes that gave me the idea to do what I did next.
Today had been my last day at the school. I excitedly received my diploma and tearfully said goodbye to my teacher, so she was a little surprised to see me running back in the door only a few hours later. I explained to her that I had a friend who really wanted to come to school, but couldn’t afford it, so I wanted to pay for her to attend their beginning course. Technically I couldn’t really afford it either, but I also knew that one night of work back in Aspen would cover the whole thing, and how great would it be to help someone achieve their dream?
My teacher Napa was a little confused on how to go about this, but she loved the idea so we devised a plan and off I went to find Nit. When I told her about it, her big smiling eyes turned into big teary smiling eyes, and then she gave me the biggest hug I have ever gotten from such a small person. We talked about it for a while, but regretfully in the end she declined my offer. She said she was working too much and could not take the time off needed to take the course. I could see the sadness in her eyes, so we came up with a new plan. I promised to come back someday and I would teach her myself, then the two of us could learn and practice together. Who knows if it will ever happen, but I have a good feeling it will.
Of all the wonderful things about Chiang Mai what I will miss most are the people. They are so full of happiness and grace, it almost seems contagious. I will never forget the wise words of my teacher Napa, a woman who simply radiates grace, “You must see the world through your heart and hands. If you do that, then the eyes always see beauty.”
Tomorrow night I will find myself in Bali ready for yet another adventure. I have no idea what to expect, though I am very intrigued as I have been told by six different people that they ”have a feeling” I will end up living in Bali………..
Master Poo Strikes Again
Today was to be my second session with Master Poo, one I had been both eagerly and fearfully awaiting. I arrived at his house where my anxiety disappeared the instant I saw his smiling face. This man knows what he’s doing. I laid down on the mat and he assumed his usual starting position, grasping the incense and praying before Buddha. I observed the offerings of the day. The coconuts were still there, but now a large bunch of bananas had joined them. Buddha eats well. Soon Master Poo was in front of me, beginning with the starting prayer. This time I kept my eyes open to watch the intensity on his face. His expression is something else. I don’t even think a photograph could capture it. Suddenly, he stops and looks at me wide eyed. “You have the moon!” he says and points to his low belly. A moon cycle is an ancient yogic reference to a woman having her period. Good thing I knew this, or else I would have though he was telling me I was pregnant.
Shocked I said, “Yes I do.” “It start today,” he replies with a smile.
Shocked again I say, “Yes it did.” He starts laughing and I am left dumbfounded. How the hell did he know that? I wonder. We haven’t said anything more than “hi” to each other. I’m even wearing white pants (something women typically don’t do when having their period, which after realizing this I gave a quick glance at, no sign of the moon though).
“Your energy is so hot. I could even feel it burn my lip. I knew it was moon.” He gets up, replaces the magic beads back around Buddha’s neck and grabs his calendar. He cannot work on me while I am on the moon, we will just have to wait until I come back to earth I guess He explains to me that we must wait for the moon to go away because my body will not accept the healing energy while it is on the moon.
“When does moon end?” he asks. I point on the calendar to six days from now. He then points to three days from now.
“If you drink only warm water and eat only warm food, moon gone here. You come back Friday and then we can work,” he says with a huge smile. “Powerful moon,” he says, now giggling. I was convinced before that Master Poo held some sort of magical powers, now I would bet my life on it. He is beginning to make me question just about everything I know. Then again, maybe it’s just because I am on the moon!
Elephant Trek
Treking through the jungle on the back of an elephant was not exactly something I’d expected to be doing in this lifetime. But because life is full of many wonderful surprises, this was exactly where I found myself two days ago.
When I originally signed up for the trip I had visions of the “elephant trek” consisting of a long wait in line, then getting on top of the elephant and being lead around in a circle, a picture or two taken, and that would be it. Thankfully, my ideas were very wrong. When we arrived at the elephant treking place I could see elephants freely roaming about the field in the distance. The only other thing in sight was a small thatched roof hut, not exactly touristy or commercial. In order to get to the elephants we had to cross a river on a very high strung bamboo suspention bridge that swung unstabily back and forth with each step. In addition, we had to go one at a time. I did not ask why, but i’m guessing we would have seen that bridge drowning to its watery death in the river had there ever been more than 300lbs on it at any one time.
Once “safely” on the other side, I found myself surrounded by elephants. My jaw dropped and the camera came out. You’d think I’d never seen an elephant before. Then again I really haven’t, only from far away at the zoo maybe ten years ago. There were about five small but very tough looking Thai guys playing around with the elephants. These guys I would soon learn, were our guides; five foot tall, hash smoking, machete carying elephant guides.
“Holy shit” I said to the two other American grils as we stood on the porch of the thatched hut ready to mount our elephants, “this would never go down in the US.” They nodded, a look of fear in their eyes.
Our group consisted of nine people, I being the ninth. Everyone else was magically in pairs, so that meant I would be riding my elephant solo. I was informed of this as I was climbing onto my elephant, which was more of a jump than a climb from the platform to the “saddle.”
“Sweet saddle,” I mumbled to myself nervous and sarcastically as I gave the thing a once over. The best way to describe it is a metal piece of crap attached to the elephant by what looked like twine. “I am totally going to die in the jungle from falling off an elephant!” I thought to myself, “who would’ve thought?!” Everyone else had their compantion to cling to and discuss just how sketchy the situation seemed, but not me. I was left with no one to talk to but my elephant so I thought, “well, might as well make friends with the beast!”
From then on I spoke to the elephant as if it was my six year old daughter, playing her fisrst soccer match. “Common girl, you can do it! Oh yeah! Just a little to the right, perfect! Noo no no no not over there! Stay focused, stay focused!” The intensity of our relationship grew with each step deeper into the jungle.
The “path” we were on might have deserved to be called a path had it not been raining for the past 5 days and still doing so. Since we were in the middle of a down pour, the trail had been transformed into a mini Amazon, becoming quite the challenge for the elephants to find secure footing. The guides seemed unphased by their struggle, then again they seemed unphased by just about anything that occured, including one of the elephants simply wondering off in to the jungle. The guides would sit on the elephant’s head, feet dangling off, huge joint in one hand, huge machete thing in the other. Minus the cameras and the North Face backpacks, we looked like a native tribe going on a tiger hunt.
After about 15 minutes on the elephant I decided that I might as well get over the fear and get into the whole situation. So, I got out of my saddle and got down on to the elephant’s back, squeezing with my legs to stay on. If I were going togo down, I was gonna do it bareback damnit! No sissy saddle for me (this manuver was suggested by the guide who seemed to think that the saddle wasn’t going to stay on once we started going down hill). Oddly enough, it was much more comfortable just riding on the back. Besides, now I felt like a real tiger hunter!
We had one final descent before we returned back to camp, and the rain was really coming down now. The trail was what I would call “skiably steep”. I would have second guessed going down it on a mountain bike, let alone an elephant. But what was I going to do, jump off the freaking elephant? So I leaned back and put my dormant skiing leg muscles to work, inner thies and quads burning. At one point, the elephant in front of mine was slidding down the mud trail, all of its four legs together like a tall skinny bar stool. Not the greatest for stability I would imagine. I started speaking to my elephant again, “common baby, you got it! Eye on the trail, stay strong!” Thank god I couldn’t see its legs as we slid down or I just might have jumped off.
Once back at camp, fully soaked to the bone, I figured all of the excitement was over. I should have known better. To get off the elephant the guides would kick the beast’s back legs causing it to lower to the ground. Then the passenger has about a 5 foot jump off. No so bad, except my elephant refused to lower to the ground. “Jump off the head” the guide yelled to me. “What?” I said, having heard exactly what he just said. “Off the head!” he yelled back. “Alrighty then,” I said scouting my landing and laughing at the rediculousness of the situation. I was about to slide/jump off the head of an elephant into a sea of about six other elephants. I considered busting out a spread eagle as I launched off the head, but the take off was sketchy, so I thought it best to stick to a simple clean air. I landed splat in the mud, looking up at my elephant who I swear was laughing at me. “Thanks buddy,” I said picking myself up off the ground, pretty happy to still be alive.
All in all it was one of the greatest things I’ve ever done, and I wouldn’t have wanted to do it any other way. It may seem like a long shot as you sit reading this from your computer screen, but you too just might find yourself treking through the jungle on the back of an elephant. You never know what lies just around the corner, and that is the best part!
The Best Hug
One of my favorite things to do here in Chiang Mai is to go out in the early evening when the light is at its best, low and dramatic, and park myself on a busy corner with nothing but my camera (my passport comes too, it has not left its little place around my neck since I arrived). I stay in the same place for up to an hour and ”click click click” at all the beautiful chaos going on around me.
Tonight was the perfect evening. It rained most of the day, then cleared in the late afternoon. You could see a look of relief on everyones’ faces, locals and tourists alike. The need for a break from the rain was felt by all. I personally did a victory dance in the middle of the street the second the raindrops ceased to fall from the sky (anything seems to go here, no one even gave me an odd glance).
Tonight I picked my corner in the heart of the Night Bazar. In no less than five minutes I was approached by the Hill Tribe women. These women wonder around the Night Market, dressed to the hilt in their traditional clothes, trying to sell jewelry and these little wooden frogs that make a noise identical to the real croke. Since my first time in the night market I was captivated by these women. They look beautiful in all their bright colors, wearing huge headresses strung with large metal beads and dangly bits, the last thing anyone would want to wear in the heat of May (the hottest month in Thailand), and without the slightest looks of discomfort on their faces. They are by far the pushiest sales people of the Night Market. I’ve watched with great entertainment as they’ve freaked out some of the overly stressed out tourists, but this is why I love them. So far they have left me alone, not tonight.
I brought it on myself because I started taking pictures of them. I think it was hard not to notice this huge black lense pointed right at them, but never mind the camera, they saw it as a sales opportunity and were on me like a moth to the flame. I smiled a lot and let them show me all of their goods. They even got me to play the wooden frog thing, which was actually very cool. Then I asked if it was OK to take their picture by pointing to my camera then their faces. They smiled like good troopers and let me shoot away. Realizing I was not going to buy anything they moved on, all but one. I think she likes to work the same corner I’ve chosen, so we hang out. We try to talk, her in her language, me in mine, but it’s not really getting us anywhere. We are both laughing though at our inability to communicate, regardless she seems to be enjoying my company. She tells me, using hand motions that she has 5 babies, 3 my height and two as tall as my knees. Then she asks me if I have any babies, when I say no, she seems a little disapointed. Soon we are surrounded by a large group of people crossing the street. The disapointment esapes her face and she goes back to work, trying to lure people in with the croking frog. Nobody bites. The crowd disapates and we smile and laugh more. I think we both have found it pretty wonderful that we are just hanging out on the corner together, two strangers from what might as well be two different planets, but who are both brought together by comon desire; the desire to laugh with a stranger.
The next thing I know, she has her arm around me, saying all sorts of things in her language and laughing. I believe I have just been accepted as her new friend. Her new white, blonde, english speaking, huge camera carying, gaint (I am towering over her, a new thing for me who is 5′4″ on a good day) friend. We are now hanging out on our corner, with our arms around each other laughing.
It was a moment I wanted to hang onto forever. Her hug gave me enough warmth and happiness to run on for the next five years. A simple hug, from a woman who was 15 minutes earlier a total stranger, and now someone I will remember for the rest of my life.
I hope I have inspired you to go hug someone….anyone.
“You carry with you, around you, in you, the atmosphere created by your actions, and if what you do is beautiful good and harmonious, then your atmosphere is beautiful good and harmonious.”
Compassion
It was mid afternoon and I was sitting outside at a cafe (aka food shack) loving every moment of the temporary break from the rain. Just as I was about to dive into my very delicious smelling vegetarian yellow curry a very poor looking man approached me from across the street. Using his hands he pointed at my food, then gestured towards his mouth. He was asking me if he could eat my food. I half smiled a pitty smile, (these are the worst!) and turned my gaze downward unsure of what to do. The single female travler side of me, also known as my overly alert head, felt like I had acted just as I should. The compassionate side of me, my heart, was angry at my response.
“Why didn’t you just give him your food?” it asked, “you could have easily spent 60 Baht ($2USD) on another meal. He needed it.”
“But you should just ignore these situations to play it safe.” responeded my head.
The debate between my heart and my head went on like this for about five minutes. By the time I looked up again, the man was long gone. “Damn,” I thought to myself, “I should have done it, I should have just given him my food. He certainly needed it more than I.”
Next time I’m presented with a situation like this I will listen to my more compassionate side. It’s through small acts of kindness and reaching out that we can really make a difference, especially if you do them every day.
“Act as if the future of the world depends on you, while laughing at yourself for thinking your actions make any difference.” ~Buddhist Advice
Dear Starbucks
It’s official, I have sought refuge in the Chiang Mai Starbucks. Now first I will give you a moment to get over the shock that there actually exists a Starbucks in Chiang Mai. OK.
I had promised myself I wouldn’t come here, but the weather sucks (apparently monsoon season came early this year, lucky me!), I was in a bad mood, and I couldn’t get Ashley’s words from a recent email out of my head, “don’t forget to treat yourself to a Starbucks (she has been here).” I must admit, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief and joy sweep over me along with the cool heavily air-conditioned air as I stepped through the door. The building is strikingly modern, resembling nothing like the semi-third world scene of chaos just outside. As the all too familiar smell of Starbucks espresso hit my nose, a tear of joy ran down my face. I looked up at the menue wide eyed and drolling. What was I going to get?! Would it be the mocha frappuccino? The cinnemon dolce late? Or maybe old faithful, the caramel macchiato…oh the choices! This sadly, was one of the most exciting moments of my miserably rainy day so far.
The amazing thing about being inside the Starbucks is that stepping through the door is just like stepping through a porthole to the Western world. If I didn’t look out the window, there’s no way I wouldn’t think that I were anywhere but an average American Starbucks. After being in Chiang Mai for a week, where the third world has sort of collided with the modern world, it is a relief to escape the noise and never ending strange smells to this quiet, calm coffee sanctuary. I feel more like I am in Seattle than Thailand.
It’s quite funny, and I guess evidence to the fact that we live in a very globalized world, but I can recal a few other moments in cities around the world where I have sought refuge in a Starbucks (or maybe this is just a strange thing I do). Dunedin, New Zealand is my most memorable. The scene was remarkably similar, only I was four years younger and stressed out over an economics final I should have been studying for. I was sick of the rain and sick of the town, and yet somehow being in Starbucks drinking coffee and writing in my journal made me feel better. Maybe Starbucks isn’t the sworn enemy afterall……..
Part of the reason I had avoided Starbucks so far, aside from the obvious fact that it isn’t really a part of Thai culture, is because I have “quit” drinking coffee. I had my last and most delicious cappuccino in Italy the morning I left for Thailand. There were two reasons why this was to be my last. First, why even bother consuming coffee outside of Italy, there’s simply no comparison. Second, I am supposed to eliminate caffine, along with a few of my other favorite things, from my diet starting one month before the yoga retreat I am doing in Bali, now two weeks away. Oooopps! However I think that if it was a choice between no coffee or my sanity, the Balianese yogis would let this one slide, just this once. I mean I’m only having a tripple venti carmel macchiato (extra caramel please)!
So just what is it that makes Starbucks so comforting? Well for one, if you are a coffee lover, it’s basically your gas station. I believe however, there’s something more to it than just feeding the addiction. No matter where you are in the world, they always have that same calm mix of music playing. It’s similar to elevator music in the sense that it serves as background noise, but it’s a few steps above in the sense that it’s not so bad it ends up pissing you off. It’s always that same blend of jazzy, happy, calm, uplifting stuff that never fails to soothe the soul. Second to the music is the layout. Every Starbucks in the world has the same furnature, the same procedure – order/pay here, they write on the cup with a black sharpie, shout something to the person behind the espresso machine, then pick up over there. The same groups of people are in every Starbucks ’round the globe, holding their cute little (or in my case enormous) white plastic cups, sipping their various caffinated delights, and chatting about this and that. It’s the sameness that makes Starbucks so comforting (and so freaky all at the same time). If I ever find myself in a Russian Starbucks where the man behind the counter wears one of those tall fury hats and asks me if I would like a shot of Shmirnoff along with my extra shot of espresso, I will totally freak out!
So thank you Starbucks, thank you (you massive evil coorporation you!), for bringing me back to familiarity even if only for a moment. And please, don’t ever change. Except maybe tell the Thai Starbucks to get with the times and print those cheesy little inspirational quotes on the back of their cups. I really dig those.
(Can you tell I have a lot of time on my hands? I am now writing short stories about Starbucks…..this could get ugly.)
Master Poo
For the past few days since ariving in Northern Thailand, I’ve found myself wondering exactly what it was that brought me here. I had an intuition that I should come here. Part of that came from my desire to learn Thai Massage. But there was something else, something I knew I would discover once I got here. Today, my question was answered. It began with a quest to find a man by the name of Ajarn Poo.
Ajarn is Thai for “master.” Yes, this man’s name is Master Poo. Master Poo is a “healer” who lives in Chiang Mai. However, it’s more accurate to say that Master Poo is a healer who is hidden in Chiang Mai. He has no phone, no internet, speaks very little English, and lives somewhere outside the main city of Chiang Mai. The only way I knew of this man was from the first person who ever gave me a Thai Massage, Simon Park. When I told Simon that I was coming to Chiang Mai to study massage, he told me that I must go see Master Poo, and so my quest began. Through some research and random contacts I found the one and only way to Master Poo; a tuktuk driver by the name of Roon. Roon is apparently the only man who seems to know where Master Poo lives. I recruited a Thai woman who spoke Enlish well enough to understand me to use a payphone and call Roon to see if he would pick me up and take me to Master Poo’s house. I was half expecting this not to actually work out, but much to my surprise, as I walked out onto the street the next morning, there was Roon, in by far the oldest tuktuk in town, patiently waiting for me.
Roon’s tuktuk is like a personal shrine. Various photos, pieces of paper, and knicknacks cover the inside. It is so old that every time we stopped for more than two seconds, the thing would shut down. But Roon would simply look in the rear view mirror, give me a huge grin, and start that bad boy right on up again! I liked Roon instantly.
We drove for about 15 minutes out of town, through backroads, never seeming to go straight for more than a few seconds. I laughed to myself at how I had originally considered trying to find this place on foot. Then I saw a small old yellow sign with an arrow that said “Ancient Healing Massage,” and we were there.
Roon walked me up to the front door where, in true Thai tradition, we removed our shoes. A man no taller than five feet appeared in the door. Clasping his palms together in the prayr position he bowed and greeted Roon then myself. I too clasped my palms together and said “sawadee ka” which means hello in Thai. It felt more like I was praying there with my hands pressed together, “please please please be Master Poo,” rather than saying hello, but my wishes were me, it was indeed him. He asked me why I had come, and I explained how I suffered from back and shoulder pain from an old ski injury. “Ski” he did not understand, so I used my hands to show “mountain” and then “go down.” Now he understood, but he looked at me like “why the hell would you do that? what did you think would happen?”
Then he looked at my feet for about three minutes, and somehow he knew it all from that. He explained to me in very broken English exactly what I had been experiencing, what would happen over the next five years if it went untreated, and what he needed to do in order to fix me. He grabed a huge binder full of drawings and detailed maps of the human body, some of which looked to be over one hundred years old. This book is a dream come true for anyone who likes anatomy (I know what you are thinking now, what a dork!! I was almost drooling over the thing.) Then using some of the drawings he pointed to where, “there is problem” in my body. He told me that he thought he could treat me in 5-6 sessions which would be carried out over the next three weeks. I thanked him, said goodbye, and hopped back in the tuktuk feeling as if I had just stepped out of some mystic fairytale, yet really I was just stepping in.
A few hours later I found myself having yet another facinating experience with Eastern Medicine. A girl I had met in my first and only day of Thai Massage School (yes, I am officially a Thai Massage School drop-out!) told me about her experience with a Chineese Medicine Man. Chineese Medicine, like Thai Massage, focuses on the energy flows in the body. Its goal is to balance out the yin and yang energies, which are apparently all out of whack in most people these days for a number of reasons, namely our fast paced modern lifestyles. I was intrigued though, and wondered how out of whack my yin and yang might be….and if they could become balanced again, hmmmm what might that be like ?!! Ironically, I stumbled on a Chinese Medicine place the next day. Inspired by the recent conversation, I couldn’t resist checking it out.
The facility was beautiful with gardens everywhere, most of which were growing the medicinal herbs they use. When I found out it would cost me the equivalent of about $5 to be seen, I signed right up. The next day, a few hours after my magical Master Poo experience, I sat in the “waiting room” which was a garden, with my shoes off (Thai style), driking some tea. This was by far the best experience anyone could ever imagine having at the doctor’s office! Then I was led to a room to meet with the Medicine Man, who to my surprise, was a woman. She asked me a few questions, and was very excited and intrigued by the fact that I was a Pilates teacher. “You must teach here in Chiang Mai!” she said, “So good for people here.” A lovely idea, though fairly unlikely. Then she held my wrists for a while and looked at them in much the same way Poo had done when he looked at my feet, as if they held the secret to life. Diagnosis?? My yang energy was all out of whack, there was a blockage. The energy line that runs from the Kidney (but also the whole length of the body) was not flowing correctly, or virtually at all. “Accupuncture” she said.
Now, you must first understand that I am deathly afraid of needles. I actually passed out in the Aspen doctor’s office when I was getting the shots for this very trip. Now here I was, in a boarderline third world country, agreeing to be stuck head to toe with needles. But there was something in the way she spoke to me, I knew it would be worth my time to give this a whirl, never mind the fact that as you lay there you are a virtual human voodoo doll.
I got stuck with five needles in total. One in the ancle, three in the back, and one in the neck. Then I was told to lay and “take a nice rest.” “Yeah right,” I thought, “Like I’m actually going to fall asleep with all of these things stuck in me?” I was out in less than five minutes. I awoke to the calm voice of my Chinese Medicine woman, of whom I decided was equally as mythical as Master Poo. They must have been born on the same island of “really cool mythical people.” “How are you miss Kate?” she asked. “Good” I said. Then she proceded to hold a stalk of burning herbs over me, moving up and down my body, and circling the smoke around like a dance. I still have no idea what that was about. “Ok miss Kate,” she said when she was finished, “you come back Friday,” and I was on my way, feeling light as a feather!
There is something very hard about grasping and accepting Eastern Medicine for Westerners. First of all, it’s completely opposite in just about every way. Western Medicine looks for the “quick fix” because that’s what the consumers demand due to our fast paced lives. Easter Medicine in contrast looks at the root; what is the cause of the problem? How can you prevent it from happening again? One of the things I find so facinating about Eastern Medicine is the fact that it dates back a few thousand years. The world has changed an incomprehensible amount since then, and yet Eastern Medicine is still around, much the same. I don’t need much more proof than that to think that there must be some merit to this stuff.
As our healthcare system in the US continues to fall apart, and we become a nation who relies on prescription drugs just as much as we rely on oil, we will begin to see that this is an unsustainible and unhealthy way of living. I believe that as this become more evident, you will see a shift away from Western Medicine towards more Eastern methods. While by many definitions the “East” is still the land of developing nations far behind their western counterparts. However, in some ways, particularily certain aspects of medicine, they may be way ahead. Just look at the popularity of yoga over the past 20 years.
And so it is my mission while here in Northern Thailand to learn and experience as much as I can about Eastern Medicine, the history behind it, and the culture surrounding it. To me, it is one of the most facinating things out there.
Traveler
So here I am, or there I was; nearly 40,000 feet in the air, playing solitaire on my personal TV screen, drinking cup fulls of airplane red wine in hopes that I will slip into a wine coma and miraculously awake in Chiang Mai without even the slightest hint of a sore neck. Far bellow we pass over Iran, Kabul (Afghanistan), a sliver of Packistan, and now we are just East of Dehli, India. Despite the feeling that it is nightime inside the plane, there is daylight outside. I raise my window cover and press my forehead to the glass. The landscape bellow is brown, grey, and desolate. I marvel at how people have managed to survive on this land for so many years. Even from thousands of feet above, I can tell that life is not easy down there. It feels sureal watching it all pass by from the comfort of the Boeing 777. The modern technology of the plane seems very out of place in contrast to the rustic dwellings and rural villages bellow.
While the other passengers sleep, my imagination keeps me awake wondering what daily life is like for those people. As we cross deeper into Northern India, the electronic map shows Kathamandu and Mt. Everest in the distance. My legs begin to twitch. Just being near Kathamandu is exciting for me. I have wanted to go there since I first saw a photograph about ten years ago showing hundreds of spinning prayr wheels. I immediately start fanticising about my next trip……Nepal, Tibet, India…..I am eternally lured by the adventure of travel.
I have now been travelling for 25 hours, changed planes 4 times, and logged 17 hours of airtime. It sounds exhausting and like a bit of a hassle. There is an “oversized” man to my right whose body is neglecting to stay within the confinements of his seat. With every five minutes that pass, his snoring rises a notch in volume while his head drops a notch in height, directly towards my right shoulder. Yet, I couldn’t be happier. No mater what challenges and discomforts we face while traveling, they all contribute to the complexity and greatness of the adventure as a whole. Each moment stacks up, one ontop of the next, adding another layer of emotions and experience. When you finally make it somewhere, see something you never thought you’d see, do something you never thought you’d do, you are so happy to be there you could kiss the ground (and should, its quite fun). Then you realize it was worth everything it took to get there.
Slowly the wine coma comes on. I drift off to dreams of a thousand adventures. Suddenly, I realize I am awake. My dreams have come true, I am just about to begin yet another adventure………”Welcome to Thailand” the womans voice says over the loudspeaker, “Sawadee Ka.”
From the Seat of a Bicycle
There is no better way to see the true beauty of Tuscany than from the seat of a bicycle. While it is true that at the end of the day, all you want to do is stick your very sore bum into a giant tub of gelato, it is worth every ounce of pain. Plus here in Italy, you can sit in your gelato and eat it too!
For the past five days I have been biking the picture perfect beauty of the Val D’Orca which includes the towns of Montepulciano, Pienza, and Montalcino to name a few. The colors this time of year are as if they have been taken straight from an artists pallet. Fields of deep green grass are dotted with bright red poppies. Wild mustard fields paint golden streaks across endless rolling hills. Once up high in the hills, you can look out over the entire valley. Amiata, a big volcano, towers over the valley with many little towns scattered about its lower lying hills. Cyprus trees line the long driveways up to villas which typically sit atop perfectly round green grassy hills. There is not a villa in this valley that does not have a 360 degree view.
So yes, Tuscany is gorgeous, blah blah blah . But there is something else that makes this place so magical, and that is the people who live here. One very special person who lives here is Marco. Marco is our bike guide. Let me first paint you a picture of Marco so that you can better understand what it is like to spend your days with this man.
We have just ridden a beautiful long ride up to a town called Radicofani. After the town is a long descent to a section of highway that we have to ride for about 5 kms. At the top of the hill I see Marco on his bike raising both fists victoriously into the air as if he has just won the Tour de France. Then comes all the cheering and yelling. “Wow,” I think to myself, “this man is very happy to have reached the top of the hill.” However, as I get closer to Marco I notice that he is on his cell phone. His 12 year old son has just won a soccer match. Dad is very proud.
Once we reach the highway, Marco tells us to be careful because it is a busy road and ”Italiens are crazy.” “Oh you think so?” I mumble to myself. Causiously we pedal our way down the highway with Marco in the lead. However, Marco has apparently thrown caution to the wind. There he is, a red scarf around his head, helmet dangling from the handle bars. A cell phone in his left hand, attached to his left ear, water bottle in his right hand sometimes pouring water into his mouth, sometimes being used to gesture and throw water around as the phone conversation gets heated. This leaves no hands on the bike. Oh, and did I mention, it is a two lane highway with no shoulder and apparently no speed limit. As cars fly by at what must be near 150 kmhr, Marco never once breaks his stride. When I told him later that, “that was the most Italien thing I have ever seen,” he grins and explains that it was his friend on the phone. “He is having problems with the wife. He knew I was on the bike, so he tells me he will call back later, but I say ‘no! this is important! we talk now. i am in my office.’” Marco’s world headquarters are in the saddle of his bike. His office dress code consists of a red head scarf tied like he is a member of Hells Angels, two gold earings in the left ear, and spandex, lots of spandex. I like Marco’s job.
So this is how we spend our days; out on the open road with Marco, riding through the exquisite countryside, stopping for lunch in towns that date back to pre-Renaissance times where the restaurants have no menues, and the waitress is also the chef, who also owns the restaurant, which has probably been in the family for over 300 years. You eat whatever they bring you, and you will never be disapointed. I made the mistake of asking for some balsalmic vinegar to go with the olive oil. The waitresschefowner looked at me with disgust and said in angry Italien to Marco, “Explain to her that you never use balsalmic with good olive oil, for it would ruin the delicate taste of the oil.” And indeed she was correct. It was amazing.
Being in Tuscany, you feel like you are in Earth’s secret garden. The days are warm, and nights are cool. The air always smells like a bouquet of fresh flowers, and is alive with the buzz of birds and bees. There is a constant cool breeze which makes the tall dark cyprus trees look as if they are slow dancing with one another. Just being in this landscape is incredibly energizing, simply because there is so much life surrounding you.
I will very soon be leaving this beautiful landscape for a new, very different yet equally beautiful place. The only parts of me that won’t be sad to see Tuscany go are my rapidly enlarging belly and my fierce spandex farmers tan. I can’t wait to get them to Thailand where hopefully they won’t survive more than a few days!
Ciao from beneath the Tuscan sun!
Cooking Class with Chef Roberto
There is something much more than just cooking to be learned from our Italian chef Roberto. One of the first things he says to us is, “don’t stressa (stress) the food. If you stressa the food then you gonna stressa your guest, and that is not good for anyone,”as he elaborates, hands in the air, eyes sparkling, smiling and talking all at the same time, he explains that you must enjoy what you are doing, while you are doing it. Whatever emotion you pour into the food, into the entire meal, is what your guest will feel when they eat it. “If you stressa the food, it don’t taste very good.” A great lesson in cooking, also in life.
As Roberto walked us through the preparations for a four course lunch (yes I have gained 10 lbs since coming to Italy), he not only showed us the technical side as to how to prepare each dish, but also how to love everything you are doing. While in the midst of preparing our Tiramisu, Roberto animatedly told a story of traveling to Korea to teach some chefs about working with olive oil. He needed to bring some of his own ingrediance that he knew he would be unable to find in Korea, so he packed a suitcase full of olive oil and pecorino cheese. The airline managed to loose his luggage, which gave Roberto “mucho stressa.” The lost suitcase was either going to result in an arrest (“you know this taking the Italian oil out of the country is very illegal, nearly as bad as trafficking the drugs!”) or a returned suitcase in which he imagined, “maybe full of the mice, and the rotting cheese, not so good!!” As he finished his epic tale, arms up in the most dramatic fashion, he looked to the texture of the batter with great pride. “Roberto, you dance with your food,” I said. “Yes, dancing with the food,” he replied in his thick accent, and looked at me with a huge smile. He agreed.
Everything we made for our meal was entirely from scratch and by hand. Most of the ingredience came from the garden outside, the local butcher, or a farm nearby. Then we used our hands as the only tools from which to craft our meal. “Always use the hands, it is much more good this way. We can make anything just with the hands,” Roberto says as he masterfully kneads the dough for our homemade pasta.
He talks about paying close attention to the weather while one is cooking. “Ok Berto, now you have lost me,” I think to myself looking at him skeptically. But he goes on, explaining that if the weather is very dry and hot outside, or in his words, “not more humid,” then you must add more water to your pizza dough, or else, “it will die. You see it’s still alive, we make it to grow big with water.”
The way he talks about the food it’s as if he is speaking of his children. When I then asked of his children he got very excited. “Oh my son, he is just terrible! Terrible!!” (he means this in the most endearing way and is smiling ear to ear as he describes his “terrible” son). “He is an animal the way he eats. 15 years old, and the hormones, oh it’s like a revolution!! (The arms are thrown into the air once again, to emphasize that he speaks of revolution in its most serious form). I can only imagine family dinners at Roberto’s Villa.
Then we ate, and we ate, and we drank, and we ate, and I assure you there was not an ounce of “stressa” in the food. As I write now, I am lying by the pool. My belly resembles that of a pregnant woman’s and my mind is lazy from the late afternoon wine. But I couldn’t be happier, it was the most fabulous meal of my life. Maybe it was the temperature, the perfect table outside, and Roberto’s voice saying “Don’t eat too much! I suggest you ride the bike today, and tomorrow too.”
A few hours later I awoke from my afternoon nap. As I lye there in the sun my thoughts were drawn back to our incredible meal. What made it the “best meal of my life” I wondered. Then it came to me. I saw, touched, tasted, and worked with every single ingredient that went into that meal. I know where everything came from. My hands, along with my mother’s and Roberto’s were the only things that transformed the raw ingrediance into this amazing meal. When I ate, not only was my mouth overwhelmingly satisfied, buy I could feel the pleasure of the food in my heart. I think if we could learn to not only eat like this all the time, but live like this, our lives would in turn feel much more full.
Grazie mile Roberto!!
Toscana
There is just something about the air in Tuscany. You take a deep breath in, and the way it smells, tastes, feels; it sends a wave of pleasure and fullness through your body. I love it here, and I vow to one day own a house here. We arrived two days ago, walking off the plan down a short stair case and into the warm fresh air. Everything around us was amazingly green. I’ve seen shades of green over the past few days that I didn’t even know existed. The villa where we are staying is only about 45 minuets from the center of Florence, however it feels like worlds away. As you take the A1 highway out of Firenze, you are instantly transported into the most perfect countryside. The very greenest of rolling hills stretch out in front you as far as the eye can see. The green is spackled with bright red poppies, tiny yellow and white flowers, and rows of winding deep brown grape vines. The air is filled with a thousand bird songs and the sky is a cloudless soft blue. A warm wind blows from somewhere (my sense of direction has escaped me here), taking with it every ounce of worry and stress you might be holding onto.
We are greeted by the manager of the villa. She is a beautiful Italian woman who welcomes us with a glass of the villa’s own wine and a huge smile. “Welcome to Casa Monsignore!!” She seems very excited that we have made it, and we are very excited to be immediately handed a generous glass of red wine (our drive to the villa had a few stressful moments).
We are taken to our villa which is beautiful and far larger than two people could ever need. One of the first things I noticed was the lack of clocks. There didn’t seem to be a single one. So in keeping with the theme, I took off my own watch, tossed it into the suitcase and decided from that moment on, I would function independent of time (at least until I left Tuscany!).
I watched the sun go down over the hills in the distance, casting a bright orange light on the stone villa. As the sun slowly receded in the sky, the shadows of the Cyprus trees grew taller and taller until soon they looked like black skyscrapers on the green fields.
We ate dinner at the restaurant located on the property. It is a tiny place with only a few tables, one chef and one waitress. Their friendliness and smiles are contagious, and their food cannot be described by words. The wood beamed ceiling is very low. From it hangs ropes of garlic along with various pots and pans, all lit up by candle light.
At night the only sounds are those of a few night creatures. I fall asleep with the windows wide open, despite the slightly chilly spring air. I’m hoping to soak up as much of this place as I can, so that even months after I have left this place, I still feel as though I am under the Tuscan sun.
Oxford
We arrived in Oxford two days ago by train from London. My oh so intelligent mother was invited here to give a speech on Reading Comprehension, which is why we came to England in the first place. Oxford is the oldest University in the world, not to mention one of the most famous and distinguished . Simply walking around the on the old cobble stone streets, and passing by the walls of countless years of history, you somehow instantly feel smarter, simply by being here. As we sat around a very long table last night for dinner (30 chairs long), in a dining hall that was lit by candles (think Harry Potter), with an enormous oil portrait of the original President of Oxford hanging on the 70 foot wall near the head of the table (imagine a very tall serious looking man in long black grim reaperesque cape with a staff and a red barrette), it was agreed by all that our IQ’s had undoubtly increased even over the time from our first course to dessert!
The beauty of this place is of course all of the history and ornate buildings, but more than that it is how there is still an air of old time academia even in the present modern age. There are old bikes everywhere, no one walks around with a cell phone attached to their ear, old leather messenger bags and brief cases outnumber back packs. People carrying books tucked under the arm are more common than those with computers. It’s refreshing to see that such a historic place has managed to hold on to its roots and traditions despite the rapidly increasing modern world just outside (regretfully, I type this from a Starbucks on the outskirts of campus…it was the free WI-FI that sucked me in against my will!).
Because of my mother’s connections to the University here, we have been very lucky to get quite an intimate view of Oxford, one that you would never get if you were simply a visitor here. We have been put up in “guest professor housing” which is located right on campus in the St. John’s college (one of 30 colleges all comprising the U of Oxford). St. John’s college is 451 years old, which makes for a very magical and medieval setting. To get from building to building you pass though very narrow archways that lead to open courtyards with yards manicured beyond perfection. I am led to believe that even their gardeners and landscapers are graduates of Oxford. How else could they attain such perfection?!
Similarly to London there is an overwhelming international flare to the place. Foreign languages almost outnumber English. As I sat at a café reading yesterday I was surrounded by a group of three loud Frenchmen on my left, and four giggling German girls on my right. The person I ordered my Coffee from was Scottish, the man who brought it was Indian. The bartender who gave me water was South African, and his friend who sat at the bar was from Israel. If you count me in the mix as American, we have seven different nationalities represented in the short span of five minutes!
Tomorrow morning we will get up before the sun to return to Heathrow Airport and hop a plane to Florence. With any luck, I will next be writing from the terrace of our Tuscan villa, over looking the rolling hills dotted with Cyprus trees and endless rows of grape vines. With even more luck, there will be a glass of red wine in my hand and fresh pasta in my belly!
Trafalgar Square
Among the many things we did today was a visit to Trafalgar Square. You may not be familiar with Trafalgar Square by name, but if I told you that it was the place in Mary Poppins where they “feed the birds, tupins a bag” you might have a better idea of what I’m talking about.
There are two very famous museums right on Trafalgar Square. The first is The National Galery, the second is The National Portrait Galery. Both are truely amazing with art collections, not to mention the buildings that house them, which will blow your mind. I was most impressed by a photography collection in the National Portrait Gallery called “Faces of Fashion.” It featured six very famous fashion photographers and their best portrait work. It was beautiful and inspiring.
After the National Portrait Gallery we moved onto the National Gallery which contains the works of famous painters from Renoir to Monet. This captivated my mom for hours, while I made my way through it rather quickly, then found myself capitvated by the scene in Trafalgar Square just outside.
There are thousands, which is an underestimation, of birds in the square. You cannot walk through this place without one attempting to land on your head. It is pure joy for children, and pure terror for some adults (particularily women in high heels I noticed). There are a few people who make their living off of these birds, giving away “bird food” (which was popcorn) for tips. I spent about an hour here taking pictures of the kids with birds on their heads, hands, arms, all squeeling with joy. Then, naturally, it was my turn to get a picture taken covered in birds.
A small Indian man walked up to me and said, “These birds are all famous you know. Every one of them. They were all in that movie, Mary Poppins. Now everyone wants a picture with them because they’re famous. It’s free if you want me to put one on your head.”
Soon my head was covered in “bird food” (remeber, popcorn), and my arms in birds.
London
I arrived yesterday morning in London, slightly jet lagged and longing for a coffee. As we walked out of the airport we were greeted by surprisingly perfect weather and a bright pink taxi waiting to take us to our hotel. Pink taxi, good start.
After a taxi ride that was equivalent in cost to my budget for a month in Thailand we found ourselves in the heart of London and set off for a tour of the Sunday markets with our personal tour guide Nick. Nick is a very tall friend of mine from college who now lives in London. He is the perfect tour guide becuase not only does he know his way around the “off the beaten path sights” (which is what I am after), but if you ever find yourself lost, you simply look straight up and see this man rising an extra 2 feet out of the endless sea of people.
The markets were full of so much energy and diversity. The items for sale were far less interesting than the people wandering around. We walked through maze after maze of stands selling everything from Etheopian coffee to things that apeared to come out of grandma’s closet. In many cases, you didn’t even need a stand to be a vendor. A simple sheet layed out on the floor with some old crap you no longer wanted would do the job.
After hours of market wandering the sun began to fall in the sky and we made our way down to the river for the sunset and beers on the London bridge.
Thousands of tourists all attempted to capture the perfect picture of the bridge in the late day light, while I attempted to capture the perfect picture of the thousand tourists.
On our way to dinner, walking through a beautiful mideval tunnel along the South Bank, we came across what I thought was was the best thing I had seen all day. It was not Big Ben, or the bridge, or the London Tower. It was a very small piece of art that hundreds of people pass by every second without ever knowing it’s there. Stenciled on a perfect brick wall in black spray paint it says “All in all, you’re just another brick in the wall….”
We had a great Asian dinner at some place called Wakamama, which is really fun to say over and over and over again until you’re laughing too hard to get the words out. As I walked home along the Thames which was now beautifully reflecting the city lights my mind was stuck on one thought: all I have to do for the next three months is wander around and take it all in. It felt so good. I think I could do this forever…..
