Encuentro de Cuentos

Pieces

2011-08-23T17:06:00.000-07:00

There are places you visit in your lifetime that leave mark on your heart. A time and a place that cannot be erased. Cannot be denied. It's at the center of these places that we often discover again where we've been, who we are, and what we want to be.

Tuolumne Meadows.

My first rock climb, meadow crossing, hot springs, and impression of the glowing Cassiopeia in the sky. Tuolumne has meant so many things to me for so many years. And the gifts continue.

I retrace the steps I took five years ago on the Glen Aulin trail with a two-year-old girl on my back and memories of my dog, Mo, tucked away in my heart. Together, we search for just the right spot to mark her remembrance. The late August afternoon brings sweat upon my back, achy legs, and an anticipation of letting go of someone so interwoven in my life.

As we cross glacial mountains, pure mountain emerald streams, and shaded deer paths, the perfect place opened up to us. We named it Mo rock. Over the small falls, we released our memories of her: our countless treks to the Sierras, the rocks and trees she climbed alongside me. Mo wasn't just my first dog, but my best friend. In her honor, we splashed in the water, tossed sticks, and ate lunch along the bank. Her perfect day.

And now, five years later, I find myself right back there with her. Everywhere I looked, I feel pieces of my dog, my compadre, hidden under rocks, in whistling pine needles, and running through the veins of every tree. With each step along that trail, my goals in life become more clear. It's not to leave a grand legacy behind me, but to leave tiny pieces of myself in many places. Bits and remnants of where I've been, who I am, and what I want to be all over the world.

Just like Mo. Over five years later, she's still teaching me.

So once again, I share the trail with friends. Awed by the beauty. Peacefulness. Power.

Welcoming in all the pieces of Tuolumne Meadows that add up to perfection.

So rich and textured, I'm ready to jump in...

2011-02-10T08:45:00.000-08:00

Day 3--early morning drive. I bow down to one of those breathtaking sunrises, the kind I haven't seen since I was in Tsavo three years ago. Breathe....

Right away, the 111 on the rear end of the impala flashes before us--the easiest way to ID them-another Lilac Breasted Roller--such soft, pastels to compliment the early morning sky. A kneeling mother warthog nurses her babies, and this makes even the old mama look absolutely tender.

A gorgeous female lion with her cubs. They nurse, and she's seems in absolute peace--even with us spying on this delicate moment. The cubs finish, and she gets to take a stretch. I think I still lose my breathe every time I see a lion up close. I struggle to describe the feeling of being in the presence of such a burly, yet regal beast. She's AMAZING! The cubs wake up, roll around, and y...a....w....n!

There's a bit of action this morning. A lone wildebeest runs across the savannah, then out of nowhere, a hyena takes off after him. The wildebeest zig-zags across the grass, looking over his shoulder at his assailant as they disappear off into the horizon. Most likely, the wildebeest got away, even though it's usually a death sentence for one to be separated from the herd. A little jackal decides to harass a crested crane--who's about four times his size. He annoys the bird, but it doesn't go much further! We finally spot al eland--biggest gazelle in Africa. Such a solid, grand animal--but it has the strength to even lead over a car!

On our drive that night, it's a long ride into another part of the Mara we've never been. Our driver, Dennis, doesn't say anything, but we think he's heading for something special out here. Then we see it! A dead impala, ribcage opened, hanging from an acacia tree. Leopard! (Leopard are the only cats that drag their prey up a tree using their strong jaws. They can eat it for a week--even if the carcass is full of maggots.) The tree is surrounded by other vehicles, but eventually, we spot the sleek animal. It's a mother and her cub. The baby climbs up the tree to give us great photo opp. They are royal and mysterious, like the lion, and we wish we could stay all day.

It's such a calm drive. Light clouds in the sky, the red road before us. Then nature gives us another gift--double rainbow! (no, i'm not going to do the double-rainbow dance, sorry!) But is is sacred and welcoming, and a beautiful way to say farewell. Looking out into the vast savannah, accompanied with the movement of the vehicle, puts me at complete peace--almost like I'm gazing into an endless sea.

Dinner that night is perfection. Another scrumptious soup (this time, butternut squash,) plus mandazi bread filled with veggies, and our chipati bread once again. And don't forget the hot chocolate and chai! It's been an incredible 3 days. We miss our families, and are ready for home. But not easy to say goodbye to such a miraculous place.

That night, we're sent off with an incredible lightening storm. Explosions of electricity in the black, black sky shock and thrill us. Before it all hits, Nicola is able to get a few gorgeous shots of the sky. So rich and textured, I'm ready to jump right in. (thank you Nic, for sharing your photographic patience and talent!)

The sounds and lights are a perfect way to celebrate all we've seen, all we've done, all we hope to do.

Thank you sky. Thank land. Thank you rain and light.

Kenya. We will be back.

My non-profit is in the works! Keep you posted!

Symbiosis and giraffe poop

2011-02-09T18:05:00.000-08:00

It rains at night, leaving the Mara even greener than before. Once again, mesmerized by the buffalo, we witness their symbiotic relationship with the ox peckers. Water buffalo function like a big, sturdy mobile restaurant for these birds who constantly peck off the bugs and eat them for lunch. Lucky for these buffalo, even though one seems a bit annoyed when the bird pecks a little too close to his eye!

I look at the elephants in pieces this time, partitioning off each part of their bodies. The curvy trunk, contemplating eyes, the textured canyon of their rough, gray sky. Even isolated, each aspect of the elephant is truly unique. And the sum, such a wise, grand piece of art. (especially the "old lady" elephant we see!)

The savannah is scattered with other remarkable creatures. More zebra, one with cuddly baby (I find zebra so fascinating now. Did you know that they were never domesticated as pack animals because their spine is so fragile? And, as they make their migration with the wildebeest into Serengeti every year, they make the wildebeest go first across the river--watch out for crocodiles! Smart and sassy zebras. Yesiree!) We watch a A Marshall eagle on top of a tree is dive-bombed by smaller water birds who probably have a nest nearby. Herds of the mauve and tan colored topi, a medium-sized antelope, grace the landscape. (and even a disguised cell photo tower off in the distance: see funny looking tree)

Lady luck in Kenya shines brightly on us in Masai Mara. A female cheetah and her six juvenile cubs race across the grassland. The cubs tackle and tumble and sprint all around us, while mom sits and watches the horizon. It's a gorgeous sight to see these sleek, regal cats in all their glory.

Our friend Simon, is an amazing guide and driver with Southern Cross Safaris. He's out with other clients in the Mara, and every day we seem to "run in" to him on the roads. Today, his van is stuck in a huge mud hole from last night's storm. They attach his van to another SUV with a rope, rev the engine and T...U...G... Eventually, his vehicle lurches out of the rut and we cheer!

There a buster--heaviest bird in Africa, warthog, ostrich, wildebeest, Thompson's gazelle, and an oribi--a rare gazelle--another gift from Lady Luck. The Lilac-breasted roller is stunning and we catch of group of mongoose by surprise. Count to three, snap a shot and there gone!

Masai Mara borders the Serengeti in Tanzania. After crossing the Tanzanian border (for 5 seconds,) we stop at the Masai River for lunch. We get out and talk a walk with a young Masai Kenyan Wildlife Ranger (armed with machine gun.) We cruise along the river and spot lots of giraffe (see poop here)and many BIG kiboko, or hippo partially soaking in the water (they come on land at night.) Even with just their tops visible, we can see the shear brute of their bodies (most dangerous animal in Africa) ...and look at that print in the mud! We cross the bridge, and aim for crocodile--and spot two basking in the sun, absolutely still like marble. Our guide talks about his Masai culture. These traditional herders do not eat animals from the wild, only meat from their cattle or goats ("and don't be afraid, but I do drink blood!" he says to us.) With eyes wide, we listen as he explains the process of draining goat blood to drink! Ah! But I love what he says about his life as a caretaker. He grew up as a small child herding the cattle, and now he cares for the wildlife. All his life, he's loved the animals. I get one photo of the ranger in a shot of my son, but he's hidden in the bush. Masai do not believe in getting their pictures taken. I am enamored by this beautiful tribe--their multi-colored beads, the delicated drape of their Masai cloths (red, black, blue checkered patterns,) wrapped around them in striking contrast as they walk with staff in hand across the savannah.

We have lunch surrounded by weaver birds (who eat our leftovers) and Vevert monkeys (who steal the bags right out of our hands and get into the snacks in our vehicle!) I watch a mother grooming her baby--just like a human mom and child. The baby rushes into his mother's arms. We watch the young monkeys compete for our food, often erupting into screams and fits. They're hilarious, and totally bold in their stake for our food.

My son decides he wants to catch a lizard with using a loop of grass to whisk him up into our hands for the traditional "calm the reptile by scratching his belly" technique. Finally, after days of attempts, he gets the loop around an purple and orange agama's neck. Pull! The grass breaks, leaving a noose around the neck. We chase the lizard back and forth until finally, we grab the strip of grass, pull him close and scratch the belly. And it works! I hold him tight, and three hearts race (two human, one reptile.) We let him go and laugh and laugh and laugh... until our guide, Dennis, tells us that "any reptile with color is dangerous!" We make it through another adventure ...

Masai Mara. So much to take in. So many gifts laid out before us.

(Thank you Nicola for donating some of your AMAZING photos!)

Grace. Humility. Appreciation.

2011-02-07T11:32:00.000-08:00

Time in the schools has zipped past. We visit with our friend Simon's family (he's a guide out on safari) and are welcomed into such a lovely home with such warm smiles. We enjoy chai and mangoes, then head off to pack and prepare for our flight back to Nairobi the next day (which turns out to be so...comfortable and quick compared to the 7-hour bus ride we had originally planned!)

We meet our new guide, Dennis, at the airport and are excited to get to our jeep (big, warm and cozy inside with seats covered with Masai cloths.) Heading off south west toward Tanzania, we embark on our 6 hour drive to Masai Mara National Reserve. It's the biggest and most famous game park in SW Kenya and borders the Serengeti in Tanzania. Named after the Masai tribe that inhabits this region, "mara" means "spotted" and refers to the lone acacia or cloud shadows that mark the area. The paved road is comfortable for about 3 hours--we pass the amazing East African Rift, a 6000 KM plate that extends across eastern Africa. It's a breathtaking expanse and we stop to breathe it in (and get "encouraged" to buy products from the local vendors!) Once past the valley, we arrive at the bumpiest part of our journey (the road into the Mara is scheduled to be repaired soon...but not soon enough!) It's part of the journey, and I have to say, I actually enjoy every toss and turn!

Once we find Mountain Rock tented camp (www.mountainrockkenya.com,) we're so happy to get out, stretch and take in the gorgeous land and awesome camp. Welcomed by the staff and escorted to our tents by Faith (a sweet woman who we end up driving back to Nairobi--works in the Mara, but lives about 8 hours north and only sees her kids every 4 months...ugh.) The tent cabins are warm (Masai bed covers) and have bathrooms/showers. Yay!

We have an tasty local meal (which becomes the norm here..) and get ready for our first drive.

Once at the gate to the park, we spot weaver birds bustling in and out of nests. Waiting there, I'm overwhelmed by color as Masai women push their goods almost into the windows of our jeep. Beautiful beaded products, but we're not buying today. I have to look away--and I hate it. I want to talk to them right there and find out about the rich, traditional lives of these herding communities.

Instead, we arrive into the animal world right way. Welcomed by a hornbill and a giraffe just as we enter. Leaping oryx on the green plain—both front and back legs reaching to make the animal a horizontal plane.

And ah...the Acacia on the horizon. I have truly missed this landscape. This peace.

Huge herd of buffalo—relaxing munching on grass—their faces stoic, undisturbed. Once again sculpted like statues on the plains.

Elies everywhere. We're enamored by a two-month old. We watch him struggle--a real chore for him to eat with his mini trunk. But I admire that spring in his step, and the feisty flapping those dumbo ears!

A huge pride of at least 10 lions (two females, 8 cubs) lounges on the open savannah. They are alert, yet totally undisturbed by our vehicles. We marvel at the spotted coat of the juvenile lions, and sheer regality and strength apparent in the lionesses stature and paw size! The males have scruffy mane still growing in, and they clean each other, and yawn, enjoying their lazy moment. It is not us that gets the lions on their feet, but a herd of elephants coming their way. Like a gang of tough guys, the pride stands, walks away from us down the road. We move our vehicle around them, and it's a mouth-dropping moment to see them lumbering toward us. My heart beats fast as I realize that there is no other feeling like witnessing these kinds of moments. Grace. Humility. Appreciation.

We hear there is a leopard close by, so from our jeep we search the brush. No sign. Later, my son wants to search for leopard once again, and he spots him with binos! Other safari vans see us and follow. They all move to other side but our driver, Dennis stays put—the other cars push the leopard back our way. We're astounded at his beautiful, rosette spots, muscular tail that stands out in the bush with its white underside. The male cat slinks along shrubs and we snap a few shots of the stunning animal—our hearts pounding—not believing we've spotted the most elusive animal in the whole reserve on our first drive. We see our friend Simon, who's out with other clients on safari.

We snap shots of the secretary bird, ibis, Busters, Topi, and hartebeest. Such color, and unique flavor here. I'm swept away by the gorgeous contrasts to green, and lush beautiful land

Then Mr. male lion appears—regal, slow, cut under eye—he gets up and walks right pass cars and into the middle of all the vehicles—just like the lion in Madagascar—staring regally at them. This gives me pause—I realize these animals are acclimated to visitors, but really—what does ten cars full of people do to their psyche? Their wild integrity. It makes me sad as we drive away. But I realize parks like this promote conservation, education, and the wildlife has the power to stray from humans as they choose. The animals here are thriving...and protected--and honored by people from all over the world.

I breathe in the blue sky cut with ivory, textured clouds.

So lucky to be here.

Intricate designs, happy tails and insightful eyes

2011-02-05T20:09:00.000-08:00

Tsavo East

Right away, greeted by a hornbill upon our entrance to the park. Then the tallest tour guide, a giraffe welcomes us in.

I’m fascinated by zebra. Their markers—odd angles. Dissected in parts, they’re truly sculpted animals. Swishing tails, standing end-to-end to watch for predators. Bucking males, nipping and playing in their own red-earthen paradise.

More swishing tails—it’s the Thompson’s gazelle and oryx—moving in a never-ending pendulum of a fly swatter within the savannah.

Elephants graze around a gentle river that runs across a lush valley of green and rolling vegetation. Flocks of white water birds lift into the air, zipping up and around the big pachyderm feet highlighting the striking contrast of ivory on emerald.

Lunch at the Voi Safari Lodge is amazing, (ugali, lentil, passion juice, yum,) but it’s the view out our window that is astounding. Down below, many family groups of elies dunk, dip, and rough-house in the water holes below. At times, they totally submerge, except for the lone sticking out of the water like a snorkel. A small family that includes a mama, aunty, teen, and month-old baby arrive, and it’s joy to watch them drink and play. That baby never quite leaves the protection of his mama’s legs, but he slips in and out of the water in pure happiness. His mini-trunk barely reaches the water for a drink…slurp…reach…slurp! Even from miles away, we observe the many elephants heading toward us. A lone male slurps water from a drainage hole in the group. Sucks it up, sprays in the air, and then repeats—all afternoon!

Baboons rule the grounds. We watch one hop into a hotel room, steal a hat and candy, then another zip in and out of a restaurant window, swiping a piece of bread in just a second. We attempt to catch a agama lizard, and are joined by baboons, totally acclimated to us humans.

Back on safari, we’re overjoyed to see so many animals. Hartebeest, long-crested & tawny eagle, plus the rainbow-feathered superb starling. No crocodiles or hippos at Crocodile Point/Langu Springs, but the beautiful, water-worm red rocks and pools are a treasure. We hike over the gorgeous stones, watching the water rush over curved and twirled formations formed over years and years.

We spot four lions on a buffalo kill. The two males are overstuffed—huge, blood covered bellies, their bodies so still and languid we think they might be dead! Food coma! The two lionesses eat, using their massive jaws to tear and rip the buffalo meat and submerge their heads inside the body cavity. Cruelty, yet the obvious cycle of life.

The giraffe, with their gorgeous marbled design and insightful eyes and gentle gallop. Warthogs with happy tails rising toward the sun cross the road in front of us. Intricate designs, happy tails and insightful eyes. Oh, how I’ve missed Kenyan wildlife!

An appreciation for all that is

2011-02-05T11:56:00.000-08:00

Kileva is small. Pre-school through Class 4. An intimate community of parents and staff members set up a celebration inside a classroom. We're delighted by a song and dance by class 4. Parents in the audience yell and scream with support as each boy and girl come together in unison. Then it's the grown-up's turn to dance! Men and women move and groove with reckless abandon. With every sway, every twirl, there is no hardship, no worry, nothing but joy and goodness and utter appreciation for life. It is such an honor to be there firsthand, absorbing their positive energy--a feeling that leaves you remembering how beautiful and meaningful life is--and how fortunate we are to be breathing.

We pass out pencils to each class. These students are calm and reserved, and they cradle their pencils like treasure. It is such a gift. The potential of their small hands. Inside, I'm giddy thinking about the possibilities of education and connection. I want to hold each hand and bask in the glory of what they can do. What we can do together.

Outside, Julius, our wonderful driver (and Swahili tutor,) sets up a game of catch. I orgnaize more relay races. Ndovu, ndovu, simba. Frisbee and jumprope. Boys vs. girls (which seems to be the norm here.) Of course, girls seem to have a slight advantage... but I'm not partial. Nope, not me.

I ask one of the older girl's for a pair of scissors so I can cut a plastic tie on a jumprope. She bends down to her tiny, pre-school-age-brother, and he pulls a razor blade out of his pocket. I'm shocked. In amazement, I hand it to Julius, our wonderful driver, and he cuts the tie for me. I'm reminded again that Kenya is a different place. Kids here learn to survive at a very early age. Whether it's push-starting our car, carrying a razor-blade in a pocket, or using a machete to help cut down grass around the school to keep out snakes (as Nicola saw earlier,) these young, young kids figure it out.

They learn how beautiful, yet absolutely trying life can be. The result? I'd have to say appreciation. A thankfulness for all that is. Family. Food. Friends. Balls. Frisbees. Pencils. Laughter.

And I'm right there with them.

Nothing but the whisk of the jumprope

2011-02-05T11:29:00.000-08:00

We're welcomed by 250 kids--all clad in the bright orange uniform. From our previous visit a few days before, we remember how outgoing and excited these students can be. We have a small ceremony, beautiful voices singing, bodies dancing, and powerful words about education. The kids can't wait to play. Nicola sets up the jump rope games, and I organize more relay races. Instantly, we're in the groove, laughing, running, jumping and sweating (still about 100 degrees outside!) I teach a big group how to throw a frisbee and we play "monkey in the middle." Somehow, I end up in the center every time (like the mushpot in "ndovu, ndovu, simba!" A few girls approach me and ask me to play. For the rest of the afternoon, we are attached at the hip. We jumprope (until I'm ready to drop.) I can jump in, but have a hard time getting out, which makes the girls crack up. They teach me their chants "January, February, March..." and I'm overwhelmed by the joy I feel here. It's an energy like no other. One of purity, eagerness, all without borders, without barriers of any one thing that might separate us. Nothing matters but the rhythm of the jumprope tickling the red earth. The laughter and bright eyes of the girls I play with. The teachers are so excited to continue working with us. Their appreciation felt deeply in their warm handshakes.

I see a little flicker in eyes of the students as we say goodbye. I wonder if they believe we'll be back.

I hope they do.

Cause we will.

Thank you Nicola, for your gorgeous photos (last 5 here.)

Time to Play

2011-01-29T15:31:00.000-08:00

The games are the biggest hit! No need for language or intimidation. The sports equipment is a magnet, and we are mobbed by hundreds of kids so eager to play. I make the mistake of asking a little boy to hold the soccer ball and within seconds, he's practically dog-piled. Grayson and I have a panicked glance and then scramble to get the kids off and safely in order. (Not easy.) With the help of another teacher, we get the kids in line and begin the relay races. Balls, frisbees, tossing, hopping, throwing, holding in between knees and on top of heads. We are all laughing, delirious with excitement and the electricity is like no other. Grayson and I set up a kickball game (harder than it sounds...they understood the kicking and running, but outfield was a hole other issue!) It's confusing, but totally fun in a chaotic sort of way. Nic organizes jump rope games, which are a huge hit--chanting and all. We give American football a chance too! The warm sun bakes us, but it doesn't matter. Here is where the magic begins. The magic of connection and fun and shared dreams.

We pass out our 200 pen pal letters to the teachers and they are so enthusiastic to begin the relationship with our students. It's hard to say goodbye to all the smiles, the waves, the hopes and promises. Our van needs a push-start and we're reminded again that we're in Kenya. The kids do all the pushing! It's a day I think none of us will ever forget.

Nafarahi Kuwa Hapa

2011-01-29T13:05:00.000-08:00

Kajire Primary School--We are welcomed by 500 kids (some still carrying desks from the classrooms to the stage,) loads of parents, teachers, community members, and the local pastor. Everyone gathers in the front of the school for a new year kick-off ceremony that will include the presentation of gifts and... speeches from us! Eeek! We're so nervous--scribbling Swahili phrases on our palms like nafarahi kuwa hapa--so happy to be here--(that erase from sweat just minutes later!) With hearts pounding, we watch the beautiful faces in the crowd, listen to the poignant poems, songs, and dances about joy, love, struggle, education, and HIV/AIDS prevention. The preacher's voices is strong, soothing, and his message of struggle and education echoes across the school grounds with inspiration. The importance of education rings further through Patrick's words and even in Swahili, I can feel the power. It's my turn--my chest tightens as I walk up to the front. But, to my amazement,I actually remember what I want to say. Habari asabuhi. Jina langu ni Lori. Mimi ni mwalimu Americani. Grayson ni mwana yangu. Napena kiswahili kidogo sana...

Good morning. I'm so happy to be here. My name is Lori and I am an American teacher. Grayson is my son (this is where Grayson interjected 'jambo!' and they laughed.) I only speak a little Swahili...

From there, I spoke in English, voicing my appreciation and excitement to be here. Nicola introduces herself (and makes it almost without a tear) and we talk about how these gifts are the seeds--just beginning of the relationship we want to continue through pen pals, visits and communication. It's a heartfelt moment--and Grayson smirks at our big emotions. The needs of the school are great--electricity, water, supplies, food (the ones who do stay to eat only get corn,) etc. They are overjoyed to accept our gifts--especially the laptop. Grayson, Patrick, and the teachers work on trying to get an internet connection there. Later, school officials and parents take us to a special spot where they plan to build their computer lab and library. They want our approval--and the hope is so tangible. We celebrate the end of the ceremony by a cold Orange Fanta (and cold has a whole new meaning here--no electricity, and even in Voi the refrigerators are not really *cold*)

Nicola works with the younger children--class 3 and 4. She worries a bit that she has no teaching experience, but her nurturing, kind nature, plus the eagerness of the little ones proves a success. Along with Grace, the head teacher, they read Goodnight Gorilla and practice greetings in English--good morning, good night and good afternoon. Together, they have a blast.

I work with Class 8 and these kids exude respect. I walk in and they immediately stand up, and recite their greetings in English. Their teacher introduces me, I say good morning in Swahili and they stand up again, reciting their greetings. Ah! I motion for them to sit down, and right away, I start in with the Magic Treehouse book to read. I feel a little strange at first reading a chapter book to this age group (some of the boys in the back look to be at least 16! But they cannot move forward to secondary school until they pass their exams.) We talk and brainstorm characters (they love the little mouse in the story) and setting, but they are very reserved. I try to figure out if they just don't understand me, or if they're uncomfortable by the fact that a strange woman has barged into their class to read to them. I make them laugh, teaching them words like "wow" and "yikes" and eventually we get involved writing a paragraph "If I had a Magic Treehouse, I would go to..." but I realize that imagination might have different parameters here in Sigala Hills--what imaginary safaris, or journeys, they have taken in their minds . We brainstorm the continents on the chalkboard, and talk about the rainforest like the setting in the book--but it's tough to find other imaginary destinations--the moon, a volcano, the time of the dinosaurs. One boy in the front (looks to be the youngest in the class,) is the most vocal--and I appreciate him so much! His story reads: " In my magic treehouse I will go tot he moon. I will see a monster there." He was the star dancer in the anti-HIV dance during the ceremony. My time runs out, and I say goodbye-- and I leave wondering what, if any, impact I might have had on these kids. How maybe I overestimated their English and their willingness to jump right into conversations about books and ideas. It's a good first step for me.

Anticipation and Exhaustion

2011-01-26T11:58:00.000-08:00

Meeting of the Teachers

Kileva Primary School, about 50 students, Class 1-4

We are met at the small school by Margaret, the headmistress. Parents working out front chopping and clearing tall grass away from the buildings—it’s

a snake haven here and this will provide a safer environment for the kids. We discuss how we can help—and we decide to come back on Friday. It is the first day of school here in Kenya—the start of the year when kids move up to the next class. They spend this first week transitioning, waiting for teachers and supplies, food for lunch, waiting even for students to show. We gather together class 3 and 4, both of which speak some English. We put them in a big circle and try to teach them the “Ndovu, Ndovu, Simba” game. Eventually, they get the hang of it, and we play for a while—laughing and chasing each other around the room—that is until we spot 2 or 3 wasps nests hanging above in the rafters. The schools here in Sigala Hills have no electricity or plumbing, but Kileva has had a few rain

containers donated for water collection. But they are in desperate need of the basics: teachers, supplies, food for the students. I find myself wishing on star and star after star. Time to leave, we say tuna ona baaday, see you later, and leave to a hundred waving hands, fifty smiling faces.

At Mwambiti Primary, we are welcomed by 240 wanafunzi (students) clad in bright orange uniforms waiting outside and in classroom as

their teachers hold a staff meeting. (students spend a lot of time waiting here.) They quickly gather round us, and we take photos of the joyous crowd. I ask them to teach me to count to ten in Swahili—moja, mbili, tatu, nne, tano, sita, saba, nane, tisa, kumi—I can’t remember them all, and all 240 students erupt in laughter. It makes me happy. We crash the teacher’s meeting—and they are very reserved at first. They introduce themselves and their years teaching—30 for the senior teacher! When they find out we are there to help in any way possible, the mood lightens (despite the huge wasp buzzing around Grayson's head.) The English teacher is excited for me to talk about writing. We promise to return Thursday, and say goodbye to the smiling faces once again.

Kajire Primary is by far the biggest at 500 students, Class 1-8 (which includes kids up to 17 if they don't pass exams in class 8.) We are greeted by many staff and community members, all welcoming us with a handshake (a special shake from the younger men.) We talk to headmaster, Michael, and he is overjoyed to have us support his school. There will be a celebration for us on Wednesday and then we will spend the day there. Possibilities bubble up inside me.

For the rest of that day, we spend time organizing more books, pumping up balls, and making lesson plans for the rest of the week. We work on the two laptops (one for Patrick, one for Kijere School--thank you Sheila, Kim, Lien and Mark for your amazing donations!) It is a time of anticipation and exhaustion, and the heat doesn’t help. But that night, we get it all done and begin the countdown of two days. What a gift to be here.

White Sand and Warmth

2011-01-26T10:08:00.000-08:00

We make the long drive east to the Mombassa on the coast of the Indian Ocean. After picking up two young women in Patrick’s village who work in Mombassa and who were home for New Year’s, we drive the two hour trek—often slowed by speed bumps through small towns, or road work, or creeping moving trucks we have to speed around (which still surprise me as they pass to the right—opposite sides and all.)

Palm trees signify our arrival on the coast. But the poverty here is striking. The charcoal bundles along the road for sale (from people burning trees in the bush.) Shanty home and structures. Loads

of trash along the street. People moving everywhere in search of a sale, a meal, a job. It’s rough to pass through.

We cross the ferry—our car jammed onto the rig—people on foot flood in like grains of sand in a bottle. We roll up windows and sit in the hot, hot car as we cross. I guess people really get used to sweating here. I'm not quite there. Finally cross the water (no access to South Coast by land) we make our way through winding roads to the coast. Here, the land is lush, and homes seem sturdier, people able to grow crops on their land, raise cattle—safer from the lack of lions or elephants.

Tiwi Beach is gorgeous. We rent snorkel gear and run across the white sand into the warm, warm ocean. We avoid high resort charges by renting cheap gear and staying away from those million dollar lounges on the beach. The aquamarine water welcomes us in like it’s been waiting. Patrick comes in too—he’s never learned to swim, never had the opportunity to visit the ocean as a child and it makes me happy to see him relaxing in the waves. Grayson tries to get the hang of snorkeling, but his snorkel leaks—so after many attempts her grabs the fins and maks alone and hunts for shells. The wooden dhows float on top the water, often homes for the seabirds that congregate there. Underwater, I find a small paradise. Cowfish, schools of tiny stripes, neons with greens and yellows shining brightly under me. I watch a huge hermit crab in a tall spiral shell make his way across a cavern. Then spot my favorite: a tiny bright orange clownfish swimming amongst the tall, red urchins-- about 12 inches. Once again, I’m drawn in to the underwater peace, the white sand and grasses blowing in the current. I’m stabbed my an urchin on my way onto the sand (a tiny piece still in big toe now, I think) we bask on the sand, watching colorful kangas blow in the wind and guys selling coconuts on the beach. We walk down the shore, passing sideways crabs running and dragging things to eat (like spineless urchins) their holes in the sand and guys leading camels down the beach. We have lunch at Twiga Lodge (a resort where you can actually afford the food!) Vegetable curry, fish, cheese/tomato sandwiches and chips.) Topped off by two coconut milk shakes. Full bellies again and happy.

On our way home, we’re graced by a huge downpour. Never seen rain like that here. Rivers of red earth rush down along the side of the road. The sunset is gorgeous, broken up by clouds and small rainbow, as we pass the sacred mountain—Kasigau. I long to turn off the road and into the bush where I studies lions two years ago. The magic is still here—and it fills me up.

Happy 2011 in Kajire!

2011-01-24T17:32:00.000-08:00

New Year’s Day at Patrick’s village, Kajire!

A perfect way to call in the New Year! Commiphora blooms, gorgeous green Sigala hills that surround the area in contrast with the neon red road. Kajire village is 20 minutes down a bumpy dirt road from Voi. Homes scatter the roads, homes that may be half finished or walled with mud, brick, or branches all interwoven together. A beautiful stone church sits sturdy and complete—and I wonder who and when it was built. Villagers wrapped in colorful kangas, western clothes, and some women in fancy dress for the holiday walk the road, some on foot, some on bikes, accompanied with cows, skinny stray dogs, chickens and goats. Children and adults both wave and smile. Some look with a shy curiosity—startled by our intrusion. People wait in front of a small cement station where water runs out from two spouts. The water is piped in from the hills and villagers collect it into large, yellow plastic containers that they must haul home (many women carry them on their heads) for miles. Patrick says that in the dry months, like September through November, the water runs dry and families may only get a liter a day—for everything—drinking, washing, cooking. To me, a well is a first priority.

Patrick’s house is lovely. Inside, green sofas are covered with beautiful, crocheted white doilies. His wife Rachel has a lovely, genuine smile. She expects her second baby in Feb. His daughter Sarah is a little sprite, filled with energy and definitely the life of the party. Grayson plays football “soccer,” kicking one of the balls we brought back and forth over the red dirt and through the spiky, aloe plants (yes, he comes out that day with legs full of scratches!) Sarah and her five-year-old buddy, Macharra, are immediately drawn to our cameras and can’t get enough of us taking their “pitcha.” Funny faces, action shots—the want it all, and we finally let them take their own shots (uh-oh, what have we started?)

Many of the children are shy at first, but warm up to us. Sarah is so happy with the beachball and strawberry shortcakes dolls (that my daughter bought for her) She love us straight away. The Spiderman ball spins and flies through camp (wapi bali?) until the ball disappears. We bring out the Frisbees and jump rope and more kids join us. The men try the jumprope and Sarah laughs at her dad, Patrick. We pass out melted chocolate coins and soon hands and faces are covered in the sticky sweet mess. Nicola shares the Weslch cakes and waffles she’s brought and they disappear in a second.

Everybody in the village greets us, shakes our hands (jambo, Happy New Year!)We are welcomed so genuinely. The women congregate near the outdoor kitchen—small fires burning in holes filled with charcoal in the ground. We join them to make chipati bread—dough rolled and flattened, spread with oil, rolled and flattened again, and then fried in oil over the fire in a black iron pan. The women are joyous, and welcoming in their own quiet way.

More kids join us in play. I teach them out to play snake (nyoka) with the jumprope, and we leap and jump over the serpent for hours—holding hands and laughing and getting bit by the rope snake. I meet Rose and Hannah, and they gently let their guard down, soon speaking some English to me, smiling and laughing and jumping. We teach them “duck, duck, goose” which becomes ndovu, ndovu, simba! (elephant, elephant, lion!) and in our small circle on the red earth we race around the circle, giggling, screaming, giving to the heat and exhaustion and the beauty of being together.

We help Patrick get set up on his computer—load Microsoft office and show in the basics. The men and some young boys gather round the benches under the tree, mesmerized by technology-- unheard of here in the village—a place with no electricity or plumbing. Electrical lines and poles are up, and the village hopes to have electricity by February. That will be a day to celebrate soon.

Nicola and I join in a political discussion with the men. We talk about education and politics. The low performing test scores in class 8 (8^th grade) at their schools worries them. We talk about education and how you get children to perform well in school. How can kids learn with empty bellies, no shoes or pencils? When survival is the first focus for these families? How do we make a difference here? Books and pencils and balls are a start, but the real answer is financial independence. Finding a way to provide jobs and skills and elevate the standard of living here. Inside, I worry about the difficulty of making something so big happen.

We dive talks about the new Kenyan constitution. Great on paper now, but the men are concerned how it will be implemented. How the ideas of economic equality will pan out to erase such poverty and struggle. They speak of the elephants here, and how villagers cannot grow their own food without having it destroyed by the huge animals. How villagers here are never included in the big revenue earned from Tsavo East and West National parks just down the road. Officials do not compensate when livestock or a person is hurt or killed by wildlife. There seems a rift here—a definite imbalance between wildlife conservation and human conservation. Another intricate balance that I wish I had the answer for.

We wash our hands in a small bowl, finish our discussion around an amazing meal of rice, beans and chipati bread. Mango for desert. The heat and energy of the day begins to tire us. We take a group picture, pass out more melted treats (chocolate covered pretzels and yogurt covered stars—note to self, do not bring chocolate to Kenya in January!) I give Sarah one last swing, around and around until we’re both dizzy. Dizzy with happiness, nervousness, possibility. We shake hands, offer up our gratefulness for being invited to such a lovely celebration. Sarah tells her uncle in Swahili that we are “hers.” That makes me happy. With a stuffed belly, and warm heart, we get into the van and drive back down that red, bumpy road.

More children wave to us as we pass. There’s something in gift of their small hands that brings up complete hope and possibility. And for now, I have to believe that is enough.

Thankful and Redundant

2011-01-24T17:09:00.000-08:00

We make it to Voi, and as far as civilization goes, I feel like I’ve stepped into the real Kenya for the first time. It’s a busy town—lined with shops that sell all kinds of goods. People

everywhere on the streets, walking up and down, across and over bumps in the fiery orange road that intersects the heart of Voi town. The open-air structures burst with goods: shoes, clothes, toys, belts, mangoes, avocados, and other vegetables. It’s an overload on the senses, potholes filled with standing water, trash on the ground, yet beauty and richness of color binds the people together.

We check into the

Silent Guest Resort—its right in town, small white building with an open court at the center of the rooms. It’s basic, but clean and safe. Mosquito nets cascade down from our two twin beds, and we’re elated to see the shower/toilet combination. It’s super hot and humid, and we soon realize the value of a cold shower or two throughout the day.

Patrick takes us to the Red Elephant Lodge to eat. He’s very concerned with our vegetarian needs—and seems to know tons of people around town. Feels so good to eat—rice, pasta, veggies. We venture out around the lodge and in the distance see a Thompson’s gazelle grazing on grass, Ververt monkeys hopping in trees, and then a large group of ndovus (elephants) out in an open plain. Ah, can’t wait to get into Tsavo and Masai Mara on our game drives.

Back at the room, we divide up books, supplies, sports equipment and the clothes we brought. It’s a giddy excitement to see how much we have. I am once again thankful for everyone back home and how much they’ve contributed to help the people here. We hear stories of the poverty, and realize that one pencil can really and truly change lives.

We’re not anonymous as we walk through Voi town, but people do smile or say jambo and hello to the mzungu. We stop and buy adapters for the computers and visit the tiny, raging hot internet room within one of the markets. After we buy juice and ice cream and cruise through the open market. I take pictures of two kids—one who’s made a car from a water bottle and four caps. They’re sweet and enjoy me showing them their images on my camera. I wish I had stickers or pencils at that moment to thank them. It’s hard to know the balance between an appreciation or an intrusion into a life so different—from us as foreigners on the outside. I look forward to getting closer to the village and the people from the inside.

We have a nice dinner at the hotel and share two Tuskers. It’s New Year’s eve, but absolutely quiet as we sit out in front of our rooms, watching geckos on walls and listening to the bats chirp around us and the cats call down at us from the roof. Nic and I realize it’s the perfect way to start the New Year. Filled with hope, possibility and connection. And we are thankful.

We shop the next day for the New Year's celebration at Patrick's home. Rice, beans, veggies, flour--all the makings of a delicious vegetarian meal. The markets are busy--bustling places filled with texture and color and richness. The weight of our purchases remind us of how lucky we are to be welcomed into such a big community to usher in 2011. We pass a huge "Christmas" tree--a massive tree blooming with red flowers--how lucky am I to be celebrating the holidays here in Kenya. I love being yanked out of my world; have the blinders dissolve and brand new experiences poured into my brain. I know it's redundant--but man, I'm thankful to be alive, to be seeing and learning and touching things like this for the very first time.

Point me toward Kenya...the Adventure Begins

2011-01-24T16:54:00.000-08:00

Long 15 hour flight—we sit next to a wonderful Indian professor of nano-medicine from San Diego. We're two hours late to Dubai—our connection to Nairobi has already left. We wait in line and are told that we can get on a 11:00 flight. Wait and wait in the airport—get lots of stares—especially my blond son. Men in shieks, veiled women, prayer rooms and calls to prayer. Big and shiny airport, empty—almost spooky. We have a free lunch in the Emirates café, finally get over to counter that opens at 8pm. No one there to help us—wait in line—told flight might be booked, our names are not on list. Meet Lemeca and his wife and sister Carolina and mother Joyce—and little girl Angel--all from Kenyan, some now living in the States. Meet Fara (originally from Kenya,) Bruce, Elizabeth and daughter—all from Alaska. Together, we become the “transits.” The Kenya Air rep never comes back, we are told by an Emirates employee that the flight is overbooked. We wait and wait, finally get sorted out to go to a hotel, stay the night and leave the next morning. 36 hours of traveling. Ah. Eat another free meal at midnight—happy to be with such a great group of people—all with roots in Kenya. I'm frustrated, but as I sit back, listen to the voices of people now connected, revel in the laughter of our situation, I am reminded how life's unexpected turns can make life richer, more memorable. And right away, I'm hit over the head with the idea of flexibility when traveling. No expectations. Remember that if things CAN go wrong, they will~

Next morning easy transit and flight to Nairobi. No problems with bags, customs, visa—Simon and Patrick there to pick us up. Smiling faces reassuring—everything's gonna be just fine! We're here! We made it to Kenya! So happy to be back. Off to the Fairview Hotel. Peaceful, plush place with waterfalls and green gardens. Lovely room. Chat with Patrick and Simon about our plans. Dinner by the pool with gg and nic—pizza, wine and tomato soup. Each bite, each swallow lulls me into a sleep. Dreams to come.

We drive the next morning out of Nairobi—seven hour drive south to Voi. Still crazy busy, traffic, men walking the streets (unemployment levels at 80% now.) The road that runs from Nairobi east to Mombassa has improved since I last made the bumpy, seven hour journey. I notice right away that the summer terrain is greener-more lush, more birds. Many people along the road, their tin shacks set up to sell red onions, tomatoes, mangoes. So many kids dot the path, some just walking, others herding groups of cattle and goats. Grayson enjoys the ones that wave to him as we pass the beautiful red earthen road. We see our first red and black zebra, Grayson asks if he’s real, and then we see the swooshing his tail along the way. He spots a group of 5 more—and the gift of being here strikes me all over again. [Even though we haven’t done too much, Grayson tells me that so far, this trip is 99% out of a 100. J

We meet Simon’s wife-Rhoda, and she radiates with joy, laughter and a vibrance and appreciation. She's so excited to meet us and hear what we’re doing. In the mini van, Patrick, Nic and I talk for hours about our plans, and I think we all see how big the possibilities are for growing a non-profit that not only brings economic and educational opportunities to the community, but that promotes this amazing place and the richness of the people here. We talk of raising money to build a small house in the village to host volunteers, building a website, funding a trip to the US for Patrick to promote this project, and connection with programs for irrigation, water, and medicine. It’s big—and for a second, doubts cloud my thoughts. Can we do it, can I make something happen, something this big and so important? But deep down, there’s a buzz that passes between us. An electricity of hope—one that is born of connection and shared desire to change what is unjust in these times. And I remember to believe.

Turkish Delights

2011-01-18T14:13:00.000-08:00

Our last day in Istanbul and the whirling never stops. We visit the Grand Bazaar and the Spice Bazaar to buy gifts and tangible memories to take home. The colors, the crowds, the smells. It's perfection and chaos all at once. The passing feet, the Turkish delite--I'm overwhelmed and intrigued. We wheel and deal for spices, hand-painted ceramics and sweets. I spot signs that say "Obama was here." and once again marvel at the impact of our amazing president. Does it work for business?Who knows. These vendors are professional--and I even speak Spanish to several of them (the ones who think I'm "Espanola" or "Italiana!") It's a small world packed into a little space and I appreciate every square inch. Outside, we have pastries, tea and yogurt. Wander through the outdoor bazaars where I find three "eye of the owl" dog collars to my pups. Bargain!

We have smoothies--avocado and mango, peach and banana. The vendor is hilarious and decides he wants his picture taken with us. It's a time and a place of absolute rightness. Surprising connections sealed with laughter.

That night we have tea at a local outdoor cafe. We are the only foreigners there, and I get bold--after bringing us Chai, I order gozlemes in Turkish (cheese quesadillas) and they come to us. Finally able to speak at least one thing in Turkish. Yes! It's a perfect moment again, surrounded by tombstones of a cemetery, college students studying English and a handful of chai drinkers. Enamored by Turkey all over again.

That night at a Whirling Dervish show--it's another pure moment of spinning and music--the notes the feet and whirling all put me in a trance of tranquility and electricity at once. More contrast, more emotion, more enlightenment. Thankful for the small things again.

Last night--Indian food overlooking the Blue Mosque. A bittersweet moment to embrace, to say farewell, to three friends that will fly to opposite ends of the globe, but three friends that will carry Turkish memories with them--in luggage and at heart.

Thank you, Nic for your photo donations~

Talk at the Top of the World

2011-01-15T17:28:00.001-08:00

So thankful to have a local, Aran (brother in law to my friend Catherine,) show us around. We explore Ortakoy--a beautiful town on the Bosphorus. We visit a modern mosque and we are enamored by the beauty and perfection. Rumeli Castile is a retreat for us. Away from the hustle and bustle of Istanbul. It's a serene, peaceful castle right on the ocean. We hike to the top (and have really sore thighs the next day.) It's a place for us to contemplate our travels, our lives, the state of being alive.

I meet a wonderful woman up at the top--an American NGO worker stationed in Afghanistan. We have an amazing conversation--and I feel like I've been given a glimpse into a that world--a straightaway look into what's really happening over there. I'm hopeful and saddened all at once. What a gift to be on top of the world discussing politcs and getting a view of a sometimes unattainable understanding of such a complex situation across the globe. Ah the gift of travel.

We have tea by the water, and I fall in love with a golden retriever named Kiraz (cherry.)The harbor cruise on the Bosphorus brings about a meditative momentum. The movement of the water. The glistening reflections, waves of the Turkish flag. After the ferry, I have a baby rabbit thrown into my arms by a vendor outside the dock. After petting him, I am given my fortune on a small slip of paper. In muddle English, it says something about being graced with the beauty of small things in life. I pay a few Lyra and the fortune whirls in my head. I am filled with appreciation for the small things at this very moment. And I realize that the tiny ones are the biggest and most important things of all.

That night we have dinner at a local cafe in Takshim Square--ah, the eggplant, bread, rice, hummus, borek, all mezze-style (tapas) at the outdoor cafe. It's bustling with people, and as the sun goes down, we feel electric.

At the Galata Tower (which once was the place of the call to prayer here 5 X a day,) the sun sets. With swifts circling the tower, I feel straight out of a thriller--Alfred Hitchcock or Stephen King. It's a magical moment--and Nic and I decide to stay and have margaritas there. The magic lasts for hours through laughter and friends (we see Jen and Steve again,) and hilarious recollections of our travels. The perfect night in Istanbul.

We are SO THANKFUL to Aran for spending the whole day shopping, tour-guiding and ATTEMPTING to teach us Turkish! What a guy!

Turkey and Beyond

2010-12-30T19:20:00.000-08:00

We drop our little car off at the airport and take the bus to the train station. There were meet an amazing couple, Jen and Steve—teachers at a charter school in Oakland. They’d been traveling all over Greece and now were about to take the train into Istanbul as were we. Great to share experiences of traveling and teaching. Meeting fellow travelers is always a beautiful gift on the road.

The double bunk train berth is fun—although I can’t sleep with the rolling of the wheels and the roaring of the engine. An old Turkish conductor stops by our cabin again and again to check on us and make jokes. He actually sits down to look at pictures on my camera. I get the feeling that Turkey is a place of slow moments and flexibility.

My hunch is right. After hours of breathtaking sunflower fields outside the window, night falls and in my half-stupor, I realize the train has stopped. I finally fall into deep sleep. But then wake after the sun has risen to find us still in the same place. There’s been a problem with the train—and Nic and I freak out a bit. They’ve taken our passports and our tickets, and here we are in the middle of nowhere, Turkey. Finally, the train moves along. We stop at a tiny duty free shop at a station somewhere that just happens to have an office to buy visas. We sign our name, pay $15, and hours later get our visa stamped in our passport. Oh the interesting ways of Turkey!

After a bus ride at the end of our train trek (a tunnel had collapsed onto the tracks before we’d left,) we take public transit into Istanbul with Steve and Jen. After a bit of walking, and walking, (lost in the rain!) we find our hotel—Zeynap Sultan --a quaint, friendly place just down from the Hagia Sophia. A great roof-top cafe and kitties galore. Istnabul is a place for cats. We put our feet up and sleep and sleep.

Later that afternoon, we meet Andrea from Wiesbaden and walk over the Galata Bridge—where east meets west, Europe meets Asia. go for dinner at a lovely outdoor café. We chat with our Turkish, prone to motion sickness waiter who is bored and looking for a Western girlfriend (not here, sorry.) He sits down with us and discusses Turkish culture and Western ways. I gorge on cheese borek, lentil soup, Tziki, bread, and wine. It’s another happy-belly moment.

Hagia Sofia and the Blue Mosque day. We take our shoes off, and cover our shoulder and head. Entering through the visitor’s entrance, the Blue Mosque right away smells of a purity and a coolness that soothes me, even in the crowds. Old chandeliers lit with bulbs and amazing colored windows. People praying in the corner or snapping pictures in the chaos. It’s a place of quiet energy, yet bits of dark and light, electrical, yet soothing at the same time.

Hagia Sofia—Ah! The grandeur once again of this ancient marble structures, designed and attended to for hundreds of years. A mosque now retired into museum. The Christian and Muslim presence is strong here—and bit by bit, you cans see the connection and struggle to between the two. The colors are warm and surround me in a sense of wonder and magic. It's a clear feeling--an earthy purity I sensed back in a mosque/church in Toledo, Spain a few years ago. I often wonder about shared sacred sites and the connection it brings. A time and a place where walls dissolve and the spiritual origins remain. We are all touched. Seems to be the ultimate beauty.

A bus tour around Istanbul clearly reveals the fortress that once surrounded this important, port town. Once again, I marvel at the mix between old and new, and the Christian and Muslim faith. We pass Takshim Square--a hip and crowded spot rejuvenated recently with shops, cafes and bars.

Later, Nic and I decide to return to the shore. We take the train to what we think is the right spot--but then proceed to walk on and on through "siesta hour" empty and dank neighborhoods. We know we're close, but can't quite figure out how to get to the ocean. A wall divides us--train tracks on one side, the sea on the other. Finally, an opening comes our way and we make it over. It's a warm Sunday, and people picnic, relax, eat and drink. We pass a few stands set up with balloons and soon realize it's a shooting range--pay a few Turkish Lyra and shoot a BB gun to pop the balloons. Watch out for pedestrians! LOL! Men selling chai, watermelon, kids playing and enjoying the day. On the way home, we find a quaint little spot to enjoy our own chai--and it's another moment, a sacred spot in time and place that fuses into my soul. Thankful to be here--thankful to be alive.

Sithonian paradise

2010-12-30T18:50:00.000-08:00

Sithonian Penisula—

Middle finger in the three peninsulas in N. Greece. Gorgeous aquamarine coast, rocky shore along the windy road from Thessonliki. Follow the road to Sarti Beach—downtown like a beach carnival. Bustling with Easter European families strolling along the boardwalk—the shore is lined with resaurants on the sand. The shops are busy, bursting at the seems with inflatable toys, souvinier clothes and cotton candy. We buy bread, fruit, and miel (honey) and begin the search for our villa.

We follow a dirt road until we reach two barking hunting dogs behind the fence. Cross the river and go left at the white wall. Right and fork and follow the path. There, we find a gorgeous, white villa nestled amongst an olive grove up on the hill overlooking the sea. The Sarti Vista bed and breakfast is run by the charming Chichi and her husband Isadore. An American couple that decided long ago to build their home someday on this land that belonged to Isadore’s father—who owned property across the hillside. Built on old tombs, the area is lush and green and buzzing with bees and birds and butterflies. Grape vines drip down over the trellis, accompanied with oldeander and jasmine creeping along side them. Our balcony overlooks the sea, never ending waves and the Mnt. Athos Penisula--the "holy mountain" This unique place is only inhabitated by Greek Orthodox monks, and can only be visited by men. It's shrouded in clouds, hiding from us almost the whole time.

Breakfast on the porch—eggs, fresh apricot juice, bread and jelly and tea. We are welcomed so fully, that we feel like guests invited into their home. Chichi and Isadore visited this spot and believed it would be the perfect spot for a home. Thirteen years later, they’are living their dream. They say Sarti is not a place to check off your list of Greek sites, but a place “to just be.” We soon find out this is true.

The waters right off Sarti Beach are full of ruins—the old Ancient Greek town of Sarti. I snorkel out into the waters, weaving in and out of pillars that look more like weathered rock formations. Although evidence of the ancient community is sparse, I do feel the haunting presence of human life—as if the stones are watching me, wanting me to remember the electrical buzz that once filled the air. It’s sad and spooky and mysterious all at once. The smooth stones erupt into straight edge walls and layers of brick. I long to know the stories of the people that roamed the streets, the songs of the sailors that cruised these shores in the Persian War (during a time when the king of Persian cut a canal here after losing all his fleets in an attempt to conquer Athens. )

Porti Cali beach (point of reference to locate: a trashbin by the side of the road.) Amazing local beach, graced with smooth, curved stones on the beach that function like stone seats. Perfect turquoise water, snorelers, sun bathers—a great mix of local and worldy visitors.—even some that decide to be super nude! It’s not a reef, the the fish are diverse and I’m especially fond of a school of big red and brown guys who allow me to float next to them in an open cavern. The trickle of sand, the gentle push and pull of the tide. Underwater heaven and its best. I dive down to retrieve a perfect sea urchin shell for Nicola (okay so it takes me a few tries) but lo ‘n behold, I pull it for her to take home. We soak in the vitamin D—loving the peace and the sun and the laughter. Nicola’s first time snorkeling here—and she gets more and more adventurous every hour. It’s one of those days, when you feel as if everything is right in the world (even tho we accidentally crushed the urchin shell as we were leaving!) Paradise found. Hard to leave. But a place I know I will return.

Heading North in a Tiny Car

2010-12-30T18:27:00.001-08:00

Drive to Northern Greece:

Nicola and I drive 8 hours north. This time, using Nic’s GPS, we get out of Athens with no problem. Pass agricultural land, farms that remind me of Central CA, then into a rugged coastline toward Mnt. Olympus. Through the town of Litochoro, on the way up the mountain, it smells sweet like vanilla—like my Sierras. We pass a string of restaurants, downtown square, valley off in the distance, and somewhere inside the clouds hides Mnt. Olympus. We drive our tiny car (and Nic finally figures out how to stay on the right hand side!) up the mountain into the thick, white sky. Gorgeous greens, sharp cliffs—but still no Olympus. We’re running out of time. Eventually the road turns to dirt, complete with ! signs to warn us of the hairy drive.

We decide there will be no mountain of the gods for our human eyes, but ever still felt in presence.

Happy in Athens and a Belly full of Bougatsa

2010-12-30T18:00:00.001-08:00

Leaving Athens...

Last night in Athens with the family. Hike to the Agora—the main meeting place of Ancient Greece. Impressive temples and Byzantine churches still in tact. In awe of the structural intricacy of the ancient sites. The time and attention to beauty that was a part of everyday life. Nova poses on pillars as a goddess-and fits right in. We say goodbye to our last Athens street dog—one that Nova truly wants to take home. Say goodbye to the "haunted" house that Dan and Nova discovered on day one.

That night the Plaka is alive. Spanakopita. Greek salad. Greek "apple pie" to celebrate my dad's 75th b-day (3 b-day parties in Greece for him!) The Acropolis lit up like a million stars. Painters capturing it all. It’s a haunting electricity and I feel it buzzing through all of us. Buzzing with love and grace of being together in a place so old yet so alive.

The family ventures home, and through heartache, I explore one more day in Athens. So happy to Nicola join me (we met in Kenya in 2007) I know already that our time together will be incredible! We escaped the heat in Greece for two weeks until today. The temps go past 100 F! Ugh. We take the metro 3 stops back and forth to find a train office to buy our tickets to Istanbul. Stop off at the National Gardens. Booksellers on the street--Diary of a Wimpy Kid in Greek makes me smile! More cicadas filling the air with their sound. Children’s laughter makes me miss my family even more. I escape into the cool shadows—bright sunlight reflecting off the trees to create every color of green. Walking back through the Plaka in search of an internet café, I discover bougatsas—phyllo pastry stuffed with custard and covered with powdered sugar. I’m enamored by this delight and I chomp and swallow not noticing my entire body is soon covered by the white sugar. Tourist moment! I get lost getting through old neighborhoods behind the Plaka--I walk the entire outside perimeter, ending up passing the entire Agora again on the outskirts toward the Acropolis. Hot and tired, but never worried-- a happy belly full of bougatsa.

On Crete and the Cruise

2010-12-30T11:48:00.001-08:00

Old fort out on the water, cobblestone streets, girls playing accordian at the center square. Shopping and goodies. Starbucks and Monster for Dan. We hear a buzz on the streets. Tom Cruise is somewhere on Crete! We cruise back around town, pass blue bobbing boats tethered at the harbor. On the cruise: Family time. Yummy food. Pooltime on the ship. Relaxation, Greek dance lessons, and Jacuzzi.

Magic Islands

2010-12-27T16:41:00.000-08:00

Patmos and Santorini

Places to rest. Breathe in ocean air. Lounge on the shore and search for beach glass. Hike a volcano. Astounded by the geological stories-- the creation of the caldera of Santorini and how Minoans foretold the earthquake and volcanic eruptions and escaped. Brilliance of mind and land. Thermal coves, deep ocean swims, and a red bay. Ah the magic of these islands.

Ephesus, Turkey

2010-12-27T16:26:00.000-08:00

Ah what grand Roman ruins! Spread out and rebuilt many times over. Through the main walkway, once were shops and the agora, the meeting center. The facade of the massive library and "toilets" for the men are still impressive and intact--giving us a glimpse at the advanced water system and progressive nature of this grand empire. Royal cats sit on pillars--even now giving us a sense of the grandeur and pristine nature of this site.

Outside the ruins, a Turkish bazaar. Men stop the children, giving them gifts, pinning them with "the eye of the owl" to ward off evil and bad luck. High pressure Turkish carpets for sale--but we make due with our first cup of apple, Turkish tea! Cheers to Turkey, and more to come!

2010-12-27T16:14:00.000-08:00

Ah Mykonos--a gorgeous bay--white washed homes and the classic white chapel on the beach. Gentle waves bring me peace instantly. Cobblestone roads along the shore lined with small shops and wooden boats bobbing in the bay. Creeping pink bougainvillea contrast against blue doors. And against a vibrant sunset and crashing waves, the Mykonos windmills grace the background. Paradise. True paradise.

Deep Earthen Magic

2010-12-27T12:34:00.000-08:00

Delphi. Pilgrims traveling far and wide to get their questions answered on the 7th day.

Questions that would solidify their future--good for bad. They began with the purification process at the sacred spring, a sacrifice--baby goat (ugh) cooked and ate there. Apollo himself spoke through the high priestess. Pilgrims would ask their questions, and he would answer--giving two sides of the coin--two possibilities.

Built on the side of Mnt. Parnassos, Delphi was known as the navel of the Earth--the magical meeting point of two eagles sent by Zeus from the ends of the universe. It encompassed all the important elements of Greek culture--drama and theater plus athletic events as well. The steep hike up the marble path gives a sense of the work it took to get to Delphi--and in the air the vanilla scent from the pines works its sweetness into me. It's a place of purity and deep, earthen magic. Apparent on the prophecies carved into stone. The future laid out right in front of us~

Olympia

2010-12-26T21:16:00.000-08:00

Imagine you are an ancient Olympic athlete in Olympia, crossing the archway into the stadium. The hot sun on your neck, buzzing of cicadas fills your ears. You race across the track, sweat on your brow, a heartbeat so strong and fierce it take you back in time.

The grandeur of the site overwhelms us. The time and preparation to honor the athletes obvious. Through occupation, earthquakes, statues like the 12 Labors or Hercules survive, sacred places, like the site between the statues Hera and Zeus--the place of the reenactment of the lighting of Olympic fire. It's all still there--still vivid in the remains--everything recovered but the Hippodrome. Even remnants of the walk of shame--statues that honored and shame the cheaters of the great races.

The buzz is still there--and it's so apparent how important competition and athletics has been and will always be. What is it that drives us to compete? To push our physical nature? An innate sense of immortality? Here is seems that the gods and goddesses feel it too.

That night in the quaint town of Olympia--we have drinks in the Green cafe--under sycamores, surrounded by green glowing lights. An old Greek waiter that had a tough time with my minimal Greek created a new beverage for me--a mix with Morello cherry that becomes my favorite. The candle light flickers in the wind and kids play soccer along the streets.

The buzz is still there... ah, Greece. How do I love thee?

Art is Healing

2010-11-17T19:29:00.000-08:00

Drama. Tragedy. We owe it all to the Ancient Greeks. Their open-air theaters were built on hillsides for their terraced seating. For the them, drama meant healing, and these theaters were often constructed near sacred locations. Today, most of the ancient theaters have seen better days. But the origins and advanced architecture are apparent in Epidaurus, the best preserved Greek theater that lies near the sanctuary of Asklepios, god of healing. Here, we climb the terraced seats (once wood, now stone) toward the top. Midway, we lounge in "throne seats" ornate stone chairs designed for ancient VIPs. We do feel royal, looking down below at the circular orchestra, or main performance space--known as the "dancing place." Now thought to have once had the altar Dionysus at its center. This place was grand, and still is.

Sitting in the "theatron" or "seeing place," we are the audience, watching and listening as fellow guests belt out tunes and hum bars down below. Fifty-five semi-circular rows provide space for 12-14,000 people--and is still used today for performances of all kinds. The sounds are amazing--designed with three locations at its center for perfect acoustics anywhere in the theater. Historians believed that the actor's building was spread toward the back across the orchestra. While the choir remained in the circle during the whole show, the actors made several entrances and exits through the doors of the building.

We descend the 55 rows of seats into the center circle. There on cue, we sing "Happy Birthday" to my dad. One of many 75th b-day celebrations he is to have on this trip-- to the home of his ancestors. Greece itself often feels like a place of healing. Here at Epidaurus, people attended the theater as a part of their treatment. A way to purge the demons and bad will inside. I think the magic still exists. The inspiration of a live performance--truth that pours out through a character, a musical note, or a song.

Those Ancient Greeks had it right thousands of years ago. Art is healing.

Cobblestoned Cove

2010-10-06T22:08:00.000-07:00

Lucky our guide decided to make a spontaneous stop. Naufplio--a gorgeous beachside town south of Mycenae in a natural peninsula in Peloponnese. We stroll through the harbor and into town. Beautiful cobblestone streets draped in bougainvillea. Hiking uphill on small steps, we aim for the clock tower of an old fortress that's become almost a skeletal foundation of the town. It's open--not crowded--another integration of the old and new. At the top, we are mesmerized by the aquamarine cove down below and wish more than anything to fly off the cliff, land in snorkel gear, and spend the next two weeks underwater. But alas, time ticks away. The view is full of patterns. Red tile roofs. Arches along the tips of the fortress. An old prison/island out in the bay. It's an incredible place. One hit hard by the economy. Shop owners rely on whatever they can sell. They make due if they can, but take each day with hope. Back in the square, we meet a cute Greek couple (actually, it's my dad in an adorable Greek cap and his wife.) They walk hand in hand through the romantic plaza. Love. Family. Paradise. All wrapped up into one.

Thank you Jeremy Woo-Sam for your lovely shots of Naufplio and our family!

Zeus Outside my Door

2010-10-05T21:42:00.000-07:00

The drive from Corinth to Mycenea gives us an amazing glimpse into the country. Greece itself is on a point where three continents meet--creating a variety of flora. (Think olives and wine. Yum.) We pass glorious vineyards. White and pink oleander planted along the roads to ward off animals and prevent road kill. Small shrines (although some are really HUGE) are scattered roadside--iconostatse--18th century traditions built in memory of a lost lives. In the old days, the shrines held a bottle of red wine to honor the deceased. People would stop by to take a shot. (Humm...alcohol on the road? Who's idea?) I watch goats scuttle along the rocky cliffs, climb past orange trees as we get closer to the great center of power during the late Bronze Age: Mycenae.

It's a gorgeous mountain, naturally protected and crowned with the remains of ancient palaces and walls. We walk up the steep path to the entrance of the citadel--the Lion's Gate. Two lions stand as sentries of protection, leading into the palace. This legendary carving is the earliest known piece of European sculpture.

Just inside the Lion's Gate, we spot the grave circle--home of the iconic golden mask of Agamemnon. This site, once thought only a legend (founded by Perseus) in the poetry of Homer, was discovered by an amateur archeologist named Heinrich Schliemann in 1870. Mycenae was ruled by Agamemnon, the great Greek king who led troops against Troy. Upon returning victorious, he was murdered by his wife, Klytemenestra and her lover. Up toward the top of the site, we pass the remains of the bath where this crime took place. (Those Greeks are all about drama.) Despite it's dark past, it's a lovely walk around the mountain--views of green as far as the eye can see. An unusual feeling to be a present participant on an ancient stage.

We check out the Treasury of Atreus (Agamemnon's father--who they think the golden mask really belonged to.) The Tholos Tomb is empty--long ago pillaged, but it's sheer size (5.4 meters high) is breathtaking. It's muggy. Dark. It's emptiness creates such a void. Memories stolen. Outside, dark clouds rage. As we step through the threshold, thunder sends its voice across the sky. Have we angered the gods?

Who knows. It's true--we're observers of ancient myths come to life. Past cultures forever vanished. But somehow, the ancient feels not so far away. And it wouldn't surprise me in the least to find Zeus or Poseidon standing outside the door.

Greece. It's just like that.

Layers Run Deep

2010-08-26T13:27:00.000-07:00

Corinth. The Temple of Apollo. Greece has many temples dedicated to the god of the sun--like Delphi and Epidarus. But the temple here is the oldest in Greece and the only ancient Greek temple in Corinth. It's quiet. The sun warms my back as we venture through time.

A little history...Built earlier than most--around 560 BC, it had a tile roof, 38 Doric/limestone columns--of which 7 are still standing. This important location--the Isthmus of Corinth--a narrow strip separating Peloponnese and N. Greece thrived till the 8th century. Conquered by Phillip II in 338, who was then assassinated, Corinth soon came under the leadership of Alexander the Great--who led the Greeks against the Persians. It was partially destroyed by the Romans in 146 BC, and then rebuilt in 44 BC under Ceasar the Great--Roman Corinth emerged.

This magnificent epicenter held 800,000 citizens by the time Paul the Baptist arrived--who made two visits in the 50s AD. It was a place of business and pleasure, mainly populated by Jews and freedmen. In 67 AD, Nero wielded his golden shovel, and began constructing the Corinth Canal (but it was not finished until 1893! Talk about procrastination.) Corinth began its decline in the 300s AD, and then it was destroyed in 396 and all its inhabitants sold into slavery. When Constantinople fell , the geographic treasure of Corinth became a sought after prize. Captured by the Turks in 1458, the Knights of Malta in 1612, The Venetians in 1687-1715, back to the Turks, and then the Greek people finally laid claim to their lost city in 1822. It became the new center of commerce between N. & S. Greece--the main shipping route between the Ionian and Aegean Seas.

Now, walking through this ancient site, I'm once again struck by the layers. A sacred site: from prehistoric times, to Ancient Greek, Roman, and then Christian. Tied together by columns. Structures. Gardens. Fountains. Language. There is evidence here in Corinth that the Greek and Roman alphabet overlapped. A very unusual thing. (The Greek alphabet was adapted from the Phoenicians in 7th C BC.) What is it that connected these distinct cultures together? Was it merely stones constructed into meaning? Or an invisible spiritual bond emanating from the Earth? Centuries upon centuries of sacredness.

Most of the visible ruins are Roman--but much has been topple by Mother Nature. Statues of John the Baptist. A sacred spring and Peirene's Fountain--major sources of water for Corinth. Peirene has a beautiful story. She was a woman who wept so hard after losing her son, that she dissolved into the spring forever. There are possible temples to Aphrodite and Octavia--but the evidence not as obvious as the sun god's sanctuary here.

It's no surprise the air itself feels pure. Corinth is 85% mountains. Pine (its sap soon to be the STRONG, white wine called Retsina,) Cypress (known for connecting heaven and earth,) poplar, and eucalyptus. A castle far on the overlooking mountain. A fortress of protection. A point where 3 continents meet-- a variety of flora--olive and grapes. Wine. Vineyard. Homer said that "whoever doesn't know how to make wine is a barbarian." I can see that here. So beautiful. So green.

And then there are the dogs. The big-nosed, daschound/dobie (and who knows what else!) mix. She's just had babies (somewhere) and she is so so skinny. My heart breaks for her. I scratch behind her ears as she lays behind a rock in the heat. She moans. Out of joy or pain--I'm not sure. I fall in love with another dog too--a shepherd mix. He lays on my leg, melts into me as I rub his soft belly. I want to take him home.

Layers run deep. Longing. Sadness. Joy. Perseverance. It's all here, wrapped up in columns and mosaics and clear, sweet and beautiful air.

Long Live the Sea

2010-08-20T19:35:00.000-07:00

Sounio, Greece

We drive south from Athens, along the serene Aegean Sea to the southernmost point of mainland Greece: Sounio. The gorgeous aquamarine horizon draws me in. Sunshine reflections make me drowsy--golden sprays across the water.

Poseidon's Temple. A grand temple to the god of the sea. The creater of islands. Calm seas. Earthquakes. The sanctuary stands atop sheer cliffs along the coast. A landmark for sailors. A site of striking beauty.

First mentioned in the Odyssey as Menelaus' first stop. The first temple was built around 500BC but never completed--but destroyed by the Persians in 480 BC. The current Temple of Poseidon (and a temple to Athena) was constructed on top these old ruins in forty years later. Fifteen of the original Doric marble columns stand today.

Again, I feel that peace walking around these ruins. Maybe it's the ocean breeze. The absolute quiet. The solitary olive tree that stands guard. I'm struck by the white columns contrasting so vibrantly against the sapphire sky. Their royal construction. Solid. Ground to sea and earth of times long gone by. What magic is it that makes them still stand today? I am thankful to science for unlocking ancient mysteries. Thankful for stories and myths that spurred the oldest of imaginations. Thankful for builders who constructed such beauty with heart, soul, and grace.

The power of Poseidon truly lies here. I can see it in the sparkle of gold on the water. Smell it in the purest of air. Sense it in my son's eyes.

Long live the sea. Long live Poseidon.

(thank you steve for your far away temple shot!)

Ancient Voices in Motion

2010-08-18T10:47:00.000-07:00

One of my missions in Greece was to take my father back to Nemea, a village near Corinth where his parents were born. They passed away when he was a teen, and he'd never been to Greece. It was one of those important-must-do activities. So the day finally arrived...

We rent a car. Map out the route several times. Just about a two hour drive to Nemea--no problem. Ha! Let's just say it wasn't such a pleasant drive out of the city. Actually a hour-and-a-half-we-can't-find-our-way-out-of-Athens drive. Greek people are so nice. We stop. Ask directions. With my broken Greek and their broken English--we are told to go straight, turn left or right. But, they say, "ask someone else when you get there." AHHH! Where is "there?" It would have been nice if: a.) I spoke fluent Greek. b.) We read Greek (English translations on the map don't match up to Greek street names c.) We had a GPS. But alas, we didn't and we continue on--hearts pumping. I try to laugh. Make jokes of our predicament. Not a good idea. Just focus on the road. Get brother, son and father to Nemea.

Well, we do. Once out of the city, the drive is cake. Beautiful coastline. We cross the Corinth Canal from mainland Greece into Peloponnese. We wind through green, hilly country. First stop: Ancient Nemea, fomerly named Iraklion. Famous in Greek mythology and with Homer, this Nemea was the home of the Nemean Lion killed by Heracles. The Nemean Games were started by the famous "seven," (The Seven of Thebes,) to honor the infant Opheltes who was killed by a serpent while lying on a bed of parsley . The games began somewhere around 570 BC at Nemea's Temple of Zeus. Winners earned a crown of parsley, and the judges wore black in mourning.

Today, several temple columns have been re-erected. We climb all around the ruins--marveling at their stature and grace.We admire the column pieces on the ground. Massive, circular parts, once stacked together toward the sky. We visit the great alter and the ancient baths, pass skeletal remains of ancient Nemean citizens. I'm reminded of the heat on my skin. The chirp of the cicadas. We're alone at this ancient place. A place of mythology. A place of my origins. And it's magical.

Run near the stadium. Imagine the athletes bursting through the entrance tunnel. We hear voices. Ancient voices in motion. We move with them.

In the town of Nemea--it's quiet. Too quiet. Siesta time (3-5pm.) We're lucky to find a taverna open. We're starving so we gorge on Greek salad, potatoes, and enjoy a lovely Nemean red wine. Famous for its krasi (wine,) Homer called this place Ampelóessa, or "full of vines." We buy ice-cream bites from the sweet shop across the street. Other than the guy snoozing in front of his open air pet shop (really?) we don't see a single soul. We try to ask for a city hall to find records of my grandparents (Peter Polydoros or Mary Lazopolous) or any distant relative still here. But there is none. A cemetery maybe? We are told no. Much of Nemea was destroyed in WWII and we assume that these records disappeared along with it. We're down-trodden. Unable to grasp something concrete of our past. But we push forward. Visit a cemetery near Ancient Nemea. Beautiful tombstones--adorned with photos of the deceased. Lanterns. Flowers. (More on Greek cemeteries and burials later...)

On the way home, we stop at a Nemean winery. Rose and white. Light and fruity. We buy local pine honey as well. Yum. The drive back into Athens is just as fun as the way out. (Did I forget to mention that Greeks don't really follow any kind of driving rules? And motorcycles can appear magically just about anywhere on the road in a fraction of a second?) It takes us another hour just to get back into the city. We all get out at one point, ask different people directions and come up with the same answer. Our car rental office is just about 1/2 mile to our left. But... we can't turn around. So we take Syngrou Ave. for TEN miles down to the port before we can U-turn it. We're tired and cranky and completely delirious about driving in Athens. Wanting the hotel. Wanting dinner. Wanting some sanity.

It's easy to feel like a failure sometimes. Goals not reached. Inadequacies revealed.

But even though I can't find my way home. Even though we didn't find the birth records or gravestones of great-great-grandparents I realize then--surrounded by my dad, brother, my son--that we've created our own memories here in the place we began. We've made our own laughter. Our own footprints. And for that, I'm grateful.

Stillness, Strength and Honor

2010-08-14T09:45:00.000-07:00

Athens. The sweet dogs. Over abundance of pigeons. Taxis. Cars. People zooming through the business district. The stoic guards at Parliament. Signs that speak of the recent protests. The Running Man statue, all made of massive plates of glass.

Then there's the amazing food. I fell madly in love with a pastry called a bougatsa while strolling through along the street near the Plaka. So enraptured by the flakey, phyllo crust and custard filling, I hadn't even noticed the waterfall of powdered sugar cascading down my shirt. Total tourist moment.

Italian food at a beautiful restaurant completely hidden in a dark Athens neighborhood, covered with pines and drenched with grape vines. Owned by an Italian man who lived in LA and then came to Athens. A very slow cooked meal. Battered and fried olives. Tapenade & freshly baked bread. Spinach ravioli. My beautiful family + laughs + food= a little bit of heaven.

I can't forget the interesting people. I remember the guy who picked up six or seven flats of eggs every morning from the small grocery store across the street. He'd pack them on the back of his moped and speed off through the insanity of downtown. Now that's talent. Or there laundry day (desperately needed after about 14 days of the same clothes.) We trek through the mysterious city in search of the laundromat. Tucked away next to a bar run by a Scotsman and filled with Europeans. It's happy hour, of course, so Dan, Steve, and a great American girl we'd just met (who'd just finished college--last semester in England and now off traveling for three months!) enjoy pizza and drinks while waiting for our spin cycle. The barkeep/laundry master keeps our machines running and our spirits high. It's one of those moments when everything just seems right in the world. The inspiration of those you love and clean clothes...

Ah, the history--where to begin? The Temple of Zeus. Unfinished until the Roman Emperor Hadrian completed it in 131 AD, seven hundred years after its beginning. Only 15 out of the 104 columns still stand today. Gold and ivory statues of Zeus and Hadrian have long disappeared, along with most of the temple believed destroyed in a medieval earthquake. Across from the temple is Hadrian's Arch--another iconic symbol of Athens. A breathtaking mixture of old and new. I feel a stillness here. A remnant of strength and honor swirling around in the air.

The old Olympic stadium. A naturally hollow bit of ground transformed into a stadium around 330 BC for the athletic Panathinaea Festivities. Found in the 1870 excavation, the stadium is 204,07 meters long and 33,35 meters wide and believed to hold up to 50,000 spectators. Used for arena competition in Roman times, and then restored for the 1st modern Olympics of 1896. Dan and Grayson race around (13 year old boy advantage) and emerge victorious.

The 3 layered Acropolis Museum--built right on top of ruins, and structured with transparent glass floors all the way up. So many artifacts. So much beauty and artistic design--luckily, recovered and there for us to witness. Everything built on ruins-- life underneath us--thousands of years of families, technology, love and loss--joy and pain--all in crumbled pieces beneath our feet. It strikes me so profoundly today, standing over these three transparent layers--An ascending, glass-floored gallery holds artifacts from the slopes of the Acropolis. The floor gives visitors a view of the excavation, its upward slope paralleling the ascent to the Acropolis. Thousands upon thousands of artifacts--stories and tragedies from a lost civilization. It's overwhelming and I'm not sure what questions to ask. Where to focus. I am taken in by the tales told in sculpture--the Greek gods fighting amazons--giants--titans. The attention to detail and perseverance in getting the story told and preserved for us to see so many years later.

It's that crazy mix of old and new that I love so much. The city presses on through difficult times, and 'm overcome. Treasures uncovered. Mysteries to be solved. Amazing food to be eaten.

(Thank you Jeremy, for the photos of: the guards, pigeons & protest sign. Your photos ROCK!)

The Acropolis. I know it's So.

2010-08-12T20:12:00.000-07:00

The Acropolis (which translates to hilltop.) Crowned by the Parthenon. Stands high above Athens, visible from almost every point in the city. It became my landmark--a way to find my way in the crazy busy city of winding streets and racing cars. And even in the heat, or in the midst of being totally lost, I look up and the Acropolis takes my breath away.

This amazing ancient monument, built by architect Pericles in the Mycenaean period, was dedicated to the goddess Athena. Walking through its grandeur, I'm reminded of the continuous struggle here in Greece. Reduced to ashes by the Persians in 480 BC, Pericles rebuilt, transforming the Acropolis into an iconic city of temples. Destroyed again in the 17th century when Venetians attacked the Turks. The Turks opened fire onto the Parthenon, which is where they stored their gunpowder. A massive explosion, of course, followed by a two-day blaze.

Now, as I walk through this amazing site--we still see the effects of foreign occupation, pilfering, earthquakes, and the black stains upon marble caused from industrial and car pollution. There's scaffolding everywhere. Part of me feels that these reminders take me out of the experience, they pull me out of mystic ancient Greece. But the reconstruction and dedication to preserving this World Heritage site reminds me of how Greece continues to rebuild and overcome.

The strength and perseverance of the Greek people stands tall in the Iconic columns of the Temple of Athena Nike. It surrounds the arena and theater (where Dudamel actually conducted on night we were there, and I could hear the orchestra and cheers filtering through the streets.) This power shines through the Parthenon, the largest Doric temple ever built. And within the 12 meter- high statue of Athena that once stood there. A breast of gold, a small statue of Nike (goddess of victory) in one hand and a spear in the other. When I think Athena, I think of today's Greece-and even in economic struggle, and I believe her wisdom, grace and beauty will go forth. Here, I stand at the top of the world. With pink parasols, cuddly street dogs, and over a hundred steps.

The Acropolis. And I know it's so.

(thank you Jeremy for your Acropolis at sunrise shots)

Speeding cars, ancient ruins & saganaki

2010-07-23T19:20:00.000-07:00

June 21^st

LA to Heathrow. Heathrow to Athens. Wonderfully uneventful. Love British Air and the personalized screens. Movies and conversation with a wonderful couple from New Zealand.

To hotel—ride through the Athens. Should have been my first clue as to the craziness of the city—speeding cars, zig-zagging motorcycles, lack of street signs (all which will almost make me insane later when I myself first drive through Athens!) But I don’t pay attention to the chaos—I’m mesmerized by the ancient ruins that shoot out of the city buildings. Hadrian’s Arch. Zeus Temple. The Parthenon and Acropolis. It's unreal. The ancient and modern coexisting. The stories I've heard for so long. All alive right in front of me.

We're here! A family adventure. My amazing husband and kids. My father, brother and extended family (Linda, Sherri, Jeremy, Jacob & Josh!) And I am so grateful.

Finding our way in the dark. Up and down cobblestone streets. Dinner at a beautiful, yet hidden, restaurant measures up to all I imagine. Saganaki (fried cheese,) eggplant, spinach zucchini balls, Greek salad. The Ouzo I can do without! But the view of the Acropolis at night is breathtaking. Mix that with the amazing flavors and a family’s laughter. A perfect first night in Athens. Perfect.

Five Trillion and One Petals

2010-06-09T11:20:00.000-07:00

There's something that happens when you're surrounded by five trillion and one petals. I'm not really sure what it is. Maybe it's the colors. The happy buzz of the bees and butterflies. Or better yet, the vast open space that allows your heart to be free--if even for just a few moments.

But it happens.

And the Flower Fields in Carlsbad is one of the easiest ways to find it.

An eternity of ranunculus, stretching far and across the horizon. It gives us the inspiration to run. To breathe. Touch the delicate petals, like crepe paper on our fingers. Colors so subtle, yet vibrant all at once. It's a precious field, full of gifts, and are arms are open in acceptance of its graciousness.

A sweet pea maze. We're lost in rainbows and leaves, spun and scattered in a wonderful way. Which end is up? Down? Left or right? Immersed in sweet nectar and pollen, it brings us back to what matters.

Nothing but the moment. The breath. The smile. Two hands interlocked.

Roses. Roses. Roses. Fire and ice. Sweet and sensuous. Glorious and regal. Grown to perfection like the Queen's garden. Happy noses send us skipping along.

Poinsettias in summer? Nurtured and sculpted into works of art. Welcomed all year long.

So walk amongst the blooms. Give that old cliche 'smell the roses' a try. It is wondrous and magical, and full of grace.

Mariposa Gifts

2010-03-25T13:25:00.001-07:00

Last stop. The Butterfly House on St. Thomas. A photographer's paradise.

Butterfly nursery.

Butterflies mating.

Butterflies drunk on banana juice.

And even little anoles hanging around.

All under one tent. What more could you want?

They are breathtaking.

Mariposa gifts.

A perfect way to end the trip.

Taxi Evasion & Giant Hermit Crabs= paradise

2010-03-25T12:50:00.001-07:00

Ah our last island. How can it be over so fast? So many gifts left to find in the Caribbean Sea.

St. Thomas. We decide to take the ferry over to St. John with our two favorite Dutchies, Eva & David. There, we'll snorkel at Honeymoon Beach.

Just off the ship and harassed by hard-working (pushy) men assigning us to taxis. How much to the ferry station? $10 each. What? We're pressured. Pushed. Intimidated. Not liking it, we succumb to their demands, pay the money and get to the station (making a vow not to be THAT naive again!)

The ferry ride is quick and peaceful. Gentle azure sea. Gorgeous rocky shores. Colorful homes dot the hillside. Quaint sailboats bob all around us. We reach St. John, just to be bombarded by more HARD WORKING (even pushier) taxi guys. "No thank you," we say.

But the dilemma is now how to get to Honeymoon Beach ALL the way around the other side of the island. Too far to walk. Buses too unreliable here. Sounds a bit like the taxi guys designed the island transport systems.

We get an idea. Let's go ask a ranger. (St. John Virgin island--a National Park!) Rangers are always so...nice. And we're right. We don't need a taxi, or a bus for that matter. Honeymoon Beach is too murky today. We can hike (yes, hike...yay!) to a better snorkel spot for today. Soloman Beach. Aquamarine water. Seems almost photo-shopped. How could anywhere be this serene?

The hike is perfect. We enjoy hanging out and chatting with Eva & David. Finding out all about their life back home. They sail, live near Amsterdam. David's a detective & Eva a teacher. It's so great to discuss life; differences and similarities between countries & cultures. They are truly lovely people. Friends we look forward to visiting in Holland soon--if they'll have us!

Soloman Beach is a dream. White sand. Palms waving. A back float in the water. So light.

David and Eva lend us a snorkel/mask so Dan and I can snorkel together. Great temperature. Warm sea. Gorgeous fish--more pipe and trombone fish, huge schools of angel-types. Red. Purple. Two treasures of the day: a HUGE hermit crab--I spotted a shell bookin it across the white sand bottom. Dan pulls it up out of the water, and HELLO! He pops out, waving his big claws, eyes at least and inch and a half long. He makes me laugh, and every time I do, the mongo-crab hides. He comes out. I laugh. He hides. We do this little dance for five minutes, and he's had enough. Back to the ocean floor. Next we spot a ray--gracefully hovering over the sand. He's got a few companion fish, swimming along, cleaning him and gaining protection. We follow above him and it's peace. It's a nothing-else-matters kind of moment.

Back to shore. Eva & David snorkel. We relax (sleep) on the beach. It's a bit cloudy--but still warm. Still inviting. Still a paradise.

It would be so easy. "Just stay," the ocean calls. "Right here. Forever."

Why did I wait so long to go to the Caribbean?

No responsibility suits us well. But we miss our beautiful kids. Our crazy family. And naughty dogs too much.

Back off the ferry, we evade the taxi guys, and find our way to another "two-dollar" bus. It's a roller coaster ride through town . Yippee! We zip and zoom past the taxis. A fun, cheap, and fast way to get back to the ship.

Time to head north. West. Home.

Taking island dreams with us.

Thermal Pools, Mangos, & Rasta-man tea

2010-03-25T10:46:00.000-07:00

We knew right away that Dominica (pronounced DOM-i-ni-ka) would be different. No massive resorts or hotels along shore, no posh jewel or watch shops. Just locals. A busy downtown. People making a living.

Our excursion takes us up through the rain forest (Dominica is 7 volcanoes!) to the beautiful Trafalgar Falls & thermal pools, and then back down to shore to snorkel. It's a zippy ride up the mountain--we love our driver, who gives us the low-down on their blessed island, the people's longevity (recently a woman who was 128 just passed away!) Here, there are few storms & few predators. Much pride, for obvious reasons. It's a lush, rich green island with mangos growing right along the road.

At the falls, Dan and I ditch the tour group and head up to the waterfall (we're on a tight schedule!) Igneous, rocky steps lined with massive ferns lead up to the falls. On an overcast day, the leaves look almost neon. I hop into a thermal pool--nature's jacuzzi. The water soothes me, and I breathe in this lovely place. The falls are warm, and we wish we could stay longer.

Back on the bus, we enjoy the conversation and commentary. Stop at sulfur flats--pee-you! We walk down a trail through sulfur smoke. Bubbly pools of gray muck. Being sold as age-defying creams and soaps :) Through the island's botanical gardens (bus crushed in an earthquake--they do have earthquakes!) and back to town. Snorkeling is fun--a little murky, but Dan dives down far enough to see rays, coral and lots of fish. I'm happy just floating in the water--soaking up every atom. Every molecule.

We head into town, passing stands of fruit and veggies, women carrying loads upon their heads. I'm reminded a bit of Kenya. We find a place to kick back, a bar constructed out of an old fort. We relax and drink to Kubulis. Soaking it all up.

I find a shop to buy island tea: soley (dominik,) mango, sweet sensation, pina colada, and hibiscus. The guy behind the counter--dreadlocks down to his butt--tells me, "If you really want to relax, buy the 'rasta-man' tea!" I laugh (What's really in THAT tea?) and stick with my fruity choices. (Later, I ask the concierge on the ship if I should declare my tea? LOL)

I don't want to leave Dominica. I want to go to the heart of the island. Meet more of its beautiful people. Learn and appreciate.

But alas, time ticks away.

And I'll be coming back.

Departing

2010-03-24T11:49:00.000-07:00

Departing from an island gets its own post. We discovered how fun it was to go up on deck nearing departure. Everybody is up there and it's just a big party (a party for EVERY reason on a cruise!)

BUT, if you're late, not so fun. We actually made it back to the ship on time on all four islands. But we enjoyed watching the stragglers get back. The first couple walked, and boy did they hear it from the crown on deck. The second couple RAN (a poor guy loaded down w/ packages!) --and they got full cheers from us!

NOBODY wants to be left behind!

Time on the islands is just not enough, though. Not enough to experience much of any real feeling for the heart of these places. Just makes me want to go back to all of them. I truly respect the people that work so hard to help us enjoy and experience their island homes.

Gifts scattered across the seas.

Floating Markets and Purple Urchins

2010-03-24T11:20:00.001-07:00

In Curacao, we head past the high-end shops (tailored for cruisers--jewelry, watches, etc.) in search of the markets and the bus station. The shops are actually built around and old fort--stone walls still in place which gives it a bit more charm.

At the Central Market--we cruise past island fruits and veggies--a tangy, clean scent. Whole & chopped fish for sale--a not-so-sweet-scent, and by a make-shift internet cafe :) I buy sticks of cinnamon from a sweet lady inside, and we talk in Spanish. She brightens up and I'm thankful once again for the language. To be able to connect makes me lighter.

Outside, at the "floating" market--more goods inside boats that float along the canal. The colors astound me. Yellows. Oranges. Reds. Fruit so lush. A climate so warm, so rich. We buy a hand-painted scroll-type piece of art that depicts the people and the goods. Just a slight reminder of the dynamic energy here.

We find the bus station and hop into our "bus." It's really a small, mini-van from the '80s and we're stoked to be able to get to Mambo Beach for $3 each. The two women driving are friendly, engaging. I use my Spanish, but quickly am told that she speaks English. They speak three languages: English, Spanish, and their native Papiamento. It's a language derived from Dutch, Spanish, English, French, Portuguese and African tongues. Spoken here in the Dutch Leewards, it's a beautiful, energetic language that I wish I could speak! We cruise through neighborhoods--modest, colorful cottage homes-- to drop people off, and we're loving the feel of being away from anything touristy. We know right away that Curacao is somewhere we'd like to spend time.

At Mambo Beach, we find crowded shores (resorts and all,) but secure two lounges on a quieter corner on the sand. Snorkeling is great. Tons of coral, schools and schools of fish--big and small, all colors of the rainbow. There's something magical about swimming through or alongside a school of fish. It's like you become one of them, if even for just a mini-second. The highlight for me is watching tall, spiny purple urchins creep across the ocean floor. And they can move!

We end our day at Mambo Beach--filled with sun--more ocean waves and smiles (and a little taste of green Pistachio liqueur--Curacao is famous for it! Yum.)

So lucky to experience this island life.

Aruba, Orange Peels and Iguanas

2010-03-23T11:24:00.000-07:00

Excited to get off the ship and explore. We've planned a kayak/snorkel excursion for the afternoon, so we decide to cruise around the shore in the morning. The fine, white sand is heaven on my toes. I'm reminded of faraway images as a child- paradises that I dreamed up. Walking the curvature of the coastline brings me peace. Small, wooden boats bob in the gentle waves like a rainbow of floating lilies. Along the trees, we notice tiny green lizards scampering (and I mean scampering!) under the brush. Chasing each other--pumping arms in a territorial race? What kind are they? We find Papa's Beach Resort--a quaint little restaurant/bar right on the water. The Dutch women that work there are beautiful and friendly, and lounging on the sand with a drink in hand seems to be more perfect than anything I can think of.

Running back to meet our excursion bus (late, as usual!) We notice more lizards. But those minis have now become 3-foot long, spiny-back iguanas. And there everywhere! Munching on grass, crossing the pathways, climbing up trees and walls. Not bothered in the least that we gawk at them.

We kayak against the ocean current--warm sun on our back. The water temp is just right. Stopping at the mangroves, we get out to stretch, relax on the beach & eat oranges (and toss the peels onto the sand for the iguanas!) We snorkel off shore. Bristle stars (tickle on your hand,) huge sponges, fire coral (watch out for those white tips) and curious, long-bodied pipe and organ fish. It's an underwater paradise.

As the late afternoon sun sets, we kayak back into the bay where we started.

Being on the water all day soothes me. I'm still moving along with the current, the waves still rocking me through the day. And it feels amazing.

Thank you, David Engel for your awesome close-up photo of the spiky iguana!

Windy and Warm and Right in the World

2010-03-22T10:18:00.000-07:00

A cruise? Me? Never thought I would be into it.

I'm usually a travel-on-foot-(at risk of seasickness) discover a-place-spontaneously-kind of traveler. But it was my husband's 40th birthday, and I surprised him. Eight days (sans kids) in the Southern Caribbean!

We land in Puerto Rico (after a red-eye. Remind me to lay off the red eyes--sleeping on the plane never works for me.) But I'm happy to the exit the plane and smell a slight hint of cinnamon and tang of a spicy chile. Feels good to be back in a Latin American country--see the familiar airport signs in Spanish--to be reminded of my adventures in S. America.

After a little snafu (long wait time for our ride,) we make it to the dock. We don't have time to visit old town Puerto Rico (next time for sure.) Check-in is seamless. And as we board, the sheer size of the ship strikes us first. Royal Caribbean's Adventure of the Seas was the biggest ship on the ocean a few years back (now dwarfed by Oasis of the Seas twice its size :0) It absolutely unbelievable that anything SO HUGE can float!

We love our stateroom--small, but just right with a big porthole window. James, our steward is wonderful (and leaves us folded, animal towels every night that we adore) We tour the ship--astounding by its beauty and completeness. On deck, the pools are gorgeous (all 3!) jacuzzis, gym, rockwall, water slides, and even a mini inline skate track. We hit our first meal--so much food! We make a pack right there to actually eat healthy (it can be done on a cruise, we found out) and workout everyday.

We have the late dining. A table of six--two other couples (and all three of us girls, vegetarian!) Lannie and Cory are from Pennsylvania and Eva and David, Holland. We have a blast eating, joking, and truly enjoying are table-mates every night. Adrian is our waiter for the week. His grace, humor, and charm are obvious right away. He'll do anything for us :) Birthday celebration for Dan. A few nights, all the servers/chefs come down into the three-leveled dining room to dance/sing and show us their stuff! (3,500 passengers about 1,500 employees that represent over 75 countries around the world.) For dinner, we have amazing soups & appetizers, luscious fruit--and all kinds of delicious entries (pan-friend tofu/bok choy & Indian for me. Yum.) Desserts are perfect. Tiramisu. Key lime. Sorbet.

We make friends quickly with the coffee bar--that's along the "boardwalk" on Deck 5. Shops. Cafes. Music. Chai latte everyday, plus a few spirited hot chocolates for us at night (and pizza and sandwich snacks in the afternoon.)

So much to do every night. Pooslide parties (for just about ANY occasion) Talented musicians (acoustic, Latin/salsa, a rockin' piano bar) shows, poker (for Dan,) and we even got crazy and took a tango lesson. Arrribbba! The Transderm anti-motion sickness patch has dilated my eyes (possible side effect,) so I can't read (blurry.) But it's kinda nice. There's so much to do. We even partake in a seaweed massage. So relaxing, and so much fun to have on this floating paradise.

Like we do many for every night afterward, Dan and I hit the deck our first night onboard. It's warm and breezy. Lit up, the ship resembles a galaxy of stars. Walking along,arm-in-arm, the ocean is smooth, the night black. And all seems perfectly right in the world.

Salty and Satisfied

2010-02-05T20:19:00.000-08:00

I knew I'd love New York City. And even after a knee-achin, no-snoozin-red-eye flight, I did. We arrived early early am, tired, frustrated with lost luggage, and COLD. Welcome to NYC, below freezing. Check bags at Grand Hyatt near Grand Central Station. Warm up in Starbucks--and then adrenaline kicks in. Hop on the double-decker to explore Manhattan. First stop-- Rockefeller Center. Built between 1932 and 1940 by John D. Rockefeller, is perfect,even before seven a.m. Cafes, theaters, shopping, all bustling with life. On the lower level, bundled humans glide across winter ice rink. A perimeter of world flags flap in the icy chill, the bold colors a striking contrast against the glacial floor. But the 18 degree weather keeps us from gazing too long at the skaters, or at Prometheus' golden form. Pass by NBC studios--and into the NBC store. We've got to thaw again just after a few minutes. Into Time Sqaure and a glimpse of the ever-famous New Year's Ball. Our California blood still in desperate need of a little thickening. Back out on the street...and into the M&M store. Defrost. And shop! Lots of cute stuff of a "Super Sweet" little girl

Broadway makes my heart sing. To be surrounded by so many theaters. So much talent. So many stories. Truly invigorating. Later today, it will be a hard choice as I wait in line at the TCKTS kiosk to get my discount ticket for the night. Short trip. Only one show. Unfair.

Admiring the skyline, we cruise through the streets in our double-decker. The Empire State Building. The Flatiron District--with the narrow, triangular "Flatiron" skyscraper on the intersections of Broadway, 5th, and 23rd. Surrounded inch-by-inch with history--something not in our SoCal consciousness. This famous and funky building was the city's first skyscraper, all 2o floors, built in 1902!

Heading south through East Village (where the tour guide must stay silent through neighborhoods,) we venture into Chinatown. Exit on Canal Street. Scarves, hats, and gloves are the hot items along the street. I smell a mixture of downtown traffic and a pungent spice I can't quite identify. The vendors pop up every ten feet, ready to make us a deal. And it's an offer we can't refuse. The teeth chattering-knee knocking temps leave us wanting more cloth to wrap around every square inch of our bodies. Heather has no hat, so we find THE perfect $3 beanie, like the stars had left it out just for us. Matching cashmere scarves--and we escape again into a tiny Chinese market to purchase the most important item of our trip. Hand warmers! Little packets of heat that last 13 hours! How could we have lived w/o them?

Off a few more blocks. Time to defrost in McDonald's. Listen to grand piano above (yes, in a McDonalds!) Back out on the street, braving the offshore breeze kicking up in our faces. We make it to City Hall. Take refuge in another Starbuck's, and chow down on a street-prepared falafel. Five bucks well spent. Juicy, white sauce, smothered in onions. Bellies full, we burst out into the cold.

I'm struck by the cemeteries tucked in between buildings. Three-four hundred year old burial grounds laid foot-by-foot with grave markers. Old stories of the dead. A family of tombstones gives me pause. How often do those ghosts try to absorb a transformed NYC? It's the land of lost gloves. Broken Dreams. Harsh winters. Or maybe a place of opportunity. Streets full of unleashed possibilities. History in the making.

Lower West side. We pass Ground Zero. The void leaves me empty. I imagine the crowds racing away from the clouds of dust that barreled down the street like waves that day. I am so disconnected from the reality, though, and can't even begin to imagine the tragedy. The horror of what happened. Haunted by St. Paul's chapel--the sanctuary that housed the heroes that devoted their lives to saving life after life. We're quiet.

Onto Battery Park. Wind chill numbs my lips. My nose seems to disappear. The ocean breeze is unbelievable. We greet the lady of liberty--but absolutely know it's way too cold to take a boat ride out into the harbor. Next time we'll see her face to face.

Back on the bus. Wait in line for a ticket. An hour in about 16 degrees to see NEXT TO NORMAL for $60. Will it be worth it? Back up toward Grand Central. We visit the gorgeous, old NY Public Library and happen upon a teen book club. Check out the shelves, and talk books. Off to the hotel to sit, and rest a bit.

Walk to Broadway. NEXT TO NORMAL at the Booth Theater. Small, quaint, like the Pantages here at home. Ninth row orchestra. I'm stoked. Show starts, and instantly, I'm captivated by this story of love and loss, suffering, complex relationships and the light you search for in your soul to make it through. Why did NOBODY warn me that I'd need tissue? Lots of it. Everyone in the audience is a wreck. The sniffling. The silent weeping. An emotional ride of twists and turns, surprises and unprecedented, sacred moments that tear your heart out. Whew. What a ride.

Outside, Times Square bursts with life. And I'm thankful to be alive. To feel. To breathe in color. To witness story telling and vocal performance at its finest. Yes, I'd have waited in line for many hours in 16 degree weather to see this show.

Saturday I take the subway to Greenwich Village, longing to absorb the literary and creative history. Eugene O'neil. EE Cummings. Faulkner. Steinbeck. Hemmingway. I cruise the streets for hours searching vintage clothing shops, using my internal GPS to find MacDougal St. where Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, and William Burroughs met for coffee. Too many choices. Upstairs, downstairs, hide-away-cafes and bars all filled with life. Oregano entices my palette, Where to eat? I want hang out and write in hopes of conjuring up a literary ghost to inspire me. I finally chose a great spot. The Hummus Place. Potato soup. Hummus. White wine. Could life get any better?

Heather meets me. We toast with a glass of sangria--spiced up with anise and clove. A wonderful walk through the village complete with discussion of the worlds of our novels. We meet our friend Steve at Lombardi's--the ultimate pizza (even though I only smell, not eat, stomach on the mend.) Amazing dinner mates. Talk of travel, books, life. Off to Rice to Riches--a gourmet rice pudding joint. Fancy flavors and toppings. Heaven for me (after recently making my mom's rice pudding recipe.)

Sunday conference. Good to connect and re-inspire. Off to Central Park for an hour. Beautiful contrasts of winter's silhouetted trees and skyline. Ice rinks and snow. We meet Bailey, a Portuguese water dog who loves to hold her owner's gloves. We walk, ice-chilled air, along paths and paths, yet only touch a bit of such a grand park.

Time in NYC almost over, for now. I end with friends and literary dreams. A pretzel off the guy at the corner. I'm salty and satisfied as I head for home. I'll be back. For sure.