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Thursday, July 10th, 2008
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11:47 pm
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okay, I m terrible at writing. it is hard when you are so calm and happy just living. At the moment I am not feeling too many impulses to press pause and scribble it down. But life is good. I am in new york city, putting the sweat back in sweat shop. Life is filled with friends and fuzz and costumes and parades (my bus just won first prize in the coney island mermaid parade ! woo hoo)....I am sure that since i last bothered writing i have been around the world once or twice, but...i just cant seem to focus on it. life is good, i am in love no news is good news. *mmmwuh!*
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| Saturday, January 12th, 2008
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5:42 pm - saturday in ecuador....
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I have been so bad about updating this, SO, now i am just cheezing out and posting a bit of an email i wrote....
I am slowly easing into my relaxing (volcano jitters aside).....but it is hard in a way (particularly since i just drank two big cups of coffee, which is a silliness that should be confined to new york city) ayyyyy!
I am finding this combination of laziness and restlessness to be a little hard to handle. I sorta want to melt into my hammock and let my thoughts flatline, but i sorta wanto climb the highest mountain and ride a rocketship into outerspace.
In the meantime I am settleing for drinking coffee and people watching. Calle Ambato is such a splendid parade of characters. It is like watching a film. I will narrate for you.....
Across the street there is an indigenous couple from Otavalo. He has bright white pants and slippers on. She is wearing a ruffly embroidered top, like those that were all the rage in Madrid circa 1600. She has a tight black braid and piles of luxurious gold beads which I suspect are plastic, made in China.
On the next bench is a man with a yellow shirt stretched tight across his wide belly. He is checking lotto tickets. I think he did not win today.
Next to the market there is a panting chow chow dog. He is big and dirty and looks like a nasty blond dreadlock with legs and a pink tongue. He is laying in the ash next to one of those ubiquitous clown garbage cans. On the side of the can is painted an advertisement for grilled guinea pig with potatos. Several feet up a woman has four guinea pigs on prongs and is roastimg them slowly. Tastes like chicken, they say.
From out of the market walk a group of teen girls. They are all fat, but still clinging to the notion that tight jeans look awesome. Yes, it is camel toe country. A metropolis of muffin top.
Now a municipal truck drove by slowly. The driver was wearing a hard hat and he slowed down to give me "i know you want me" eyes.
Across the street now is a campesina woman, with lots of shawls and petticoats. I think she might be a dwarf, or maybe just really tiny. I think the top of her fedora hat would reach my belly button. I sorta wish I could take my picture with her, and forever after show people and try to play it off that Ecuarorians are really just that tiny. She has a bndle of sticks tied to her back.
Oh, and there goes Linda! I shouted, but she didn´t hear me (so I look like a dork, oh well). She has a big backpack and rubber boots on. Must be headed back to her jungle house. I cant believe she can carry all that! there are steep hills and rivers to forge! She is in her sixties for chrissake! I love her. I would tell you stories about her, but they require certain inflection of speech that i dont think I could get across on a keyboard.
And now Kapi is across the street....walking this way. I am gonna pretend not to see him, because I dont feel like having polite conversation right now. He is nice though. He´s trying to build a cable car from the center of Baños to a mountain top. When he talks about it his eyes sparkle and he never neglects to mention that it would include a patio where European tourists could sunbathe topless.
There go two nuns with surgical masks on.
Oh, god - this is the coolest delvelopment in child mobility since crawling !- A little kid being pushed/ peddaling in this sort of stroller which is made out of plastic, and is a combination between a 1960's cartoon duck and a big wheels. With a pink frilly umbrella on top. Now THAT makes me wanna have kids!
Oh, that lady has the coolest pants....I would waste too many adjectives trying and failing to capture their paisly extravaganza. But let me say that they go nicely with her mustard color 1980's Working Girl business skirt, turquoise sweatshirt, and baseball cap.
And then there are three boys dressed like superman, and a forth in regular clothes, but carrying an inflatable superman.
I could go on like this forever. It is a parade. Oh, and now the creepy danish lady just sat beside me. But I shouldn´t gossip.
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| Wednesday, February 14th, 2007
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4:28 pm - from my other journal...travelingkat....
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La calle más larga,
el río más ancho,
las minas más lindas del mundo...
El dulce de leche,
el gran colectivo,
alpargatas, soda y alfajores..."
I love travelling with an Argentine. When drivers turn around and their seats and ask "Where you come from?" I let him answer. I only smile, allowing myself the guilty little pleasure of neglecting to state my nationality, thus savoring the teeniest drop of the sweet nectar it must be to be Agrentine. I am borrowing his accent too, y ahora SHO hablo casteSHano asi. Que voludo.
It must be so nice to be from a country that nobody hates. To have one foot in the first world so that you can hold your own in cosmopolitan discussions, but with the other foot firmly buried in the soil of struggle and hardship, so that you retain the noble dignity of the poor. Such a pleasing mix of pride and humility.
Everytime he says he is from Argentina, eyebrows raise and the "Oooh!" is followed by some pleasant sentiment or sideways jab about soccer. He is familiar and extic and fascinating and non offensive. It highlights my pasty americanness and embarrassing president. Y me da ganas de mudarme a Buenos aires y tomar SHerba mate....
I love walking down the road with him and singing la Bersuit songs to the point that i realize I have no frikkin idea what the hell they are about. Juan explains the lyrics and then i am THERE and i ache for dulce de leche...ay! I want to put on a powder blue camisa and go to a futbol match and sing ole ole ole!
While shooting the breeze on the streetcorner with an Italian, a sacred truth was uttered..."Argentina, Italia...no importa. Todos tenemos el mismo Dios.......Maradona."
Leave a commentFebruary 9th, 2007Microwave Directions @ 02:58 am
I am soaking up the pleasure of having met another hard core hitchhiker. We speak a common language of knowing glances and filled in blanks. I have all these marvelous, half forgetten crystals of journeys which break my heart because they are turning into dust in my pockets. And I know he has the same treasure chest of implausible sounds and staggaring colors of his journeys that blow away before he can hold onto them too. So, though I may never clearly envison his Afghanastan, and he can only vaguely imagine my Burkina Faso, there is just such a comfort that comes from knowing that you are with a person who understands that these lost moments exist and penetrate you heart and leave you changes, even if you will never find the right words to mold them into.
...if that makes sense....
Or, in other words...Juan from Argentina likes to hichhike too, so we decided to take a trip together.
Thailand seems to us, the arrogant road warriors, to be a play-pen for dreadlocked, full moon party tribal wander people. I quicky became itchy about the interface between foreigners and locals, and I hate looking in the mirror that it holds up to my face. We decided just to leave. To go somewhere without tourists. It seemed easy enough.
We jumped on the first red sangtaw (public transport) and let it take us anywhere. We were happy to put our fate in random happenstance. But the driver was confused and thought we were lost. He smiled a lot and we could tell he sort of wanted us to leave.
Not to worry! We jumped on the next sangtam. Off we go! After a few blocks the driver parked and walked back to us, sure we were lost. The idea that we didnt care where we went only served to convince him that we were lost. Again, we were given lots of smiles and ushers off the vehicle. No one would grasp the concept of *we will go anywhere*....Of course, or combined four words of Thai did little to help.
So we wlked to the edge of town, where the road promised to lead us out into more open pastures. After a bit of waiting a nice business man picked us up. he seemed to understand English, so we chatted over the formalities. He said he was going to a little village. Hooray! Perfect. We dont care what village, jsut take us away from the tourist ghetto.
Juan and a settled down and the back seat and weresoon yammering away in spanish, talking about things thousands of miles away. The scenery opened up and we congratulated ourselves for escaping Chiang Mai. SOmewhere during a story about hitchhiking in the argentine North, we looked out the window and it seemed strangely...urban. Hmm.
After about twenty minutes I realized - hey, i know that stone wall! Wait a minute! I thought we were leaving Chiang mai!
Apparently, our gracious driver became concerned with our lack of diretion, and took it upon hiself to drive embarrassingly far out of his way to ensure that we don't get lost. He dropped us off smack dab in the middle of the tourist street. We were back in the playpen. Help ! We want to get out!!!
***
The next day we had a map. Ipointed North, Juan pointed West, we both agreed that wedidnt care, as long as we got out of Chiang Mai. It was like escaping from an island shipwreck....After some walking we were picked up by a succession of friendly folks in pick up trucks. This is where the magic began. Ah! the joy of laying on my back on a dirty truck bed, squinting my eyes at the sun and the dust, watching fragments of Thai billboards whip by. Yes! I am coming back to life! A glance at Juan confirmed that he was right there with me. I knowhe has that same addiction to movement - the high that comes when you finally make it out of the city and the road oppens up and the car goes faster. Yay!
We wound up off the highway and into the hills. A cute nun picked us up and gave us oranges. She was from the Karen tribe, "Tabloo!" I said, and she and the driver perked up in smiles to hear a foreigner speak theri dialect. "You speak Karen?" the nun asked. Oh, how bably I wanted to impress her with some linguitic gymnastics. I had spent some tiem living in a little Karen village twelve years ago. I knew I had some shards of Karen lodged in my memory, taking up the place where somethingmore useful ought to be.....I thought really hard, and all I could remember to say in karen was "Yu gulay su tahala"...."i go to the bathroom"....Really frikkin useful!
The nun dropped us off at nightfall in some forgettable midsized town with a carnaval. We strolled around and ate cold noodles while watching cute schoolgirls spin around a little too fast in a neon ferriswheel (which was both a pleasingly innocent and lascivious sight)....We were pleased with ourselves that we managed to escape tourists...but wait, what was that up ahead? Oh no, dreadlocks!
SO, we werent the only foreigners in town, but at least our new companion was so suprememly beautiful that we were able to forget that we were trying to get away. Her name was Dagmar, from Holland. She is tall and stunning with supermodel beauty, though she doesnt give any indication of knowing how gorgeous she is. I liked her right away. She wasriding her bike thru the hills. The night before she had gotten lost in a national park and been taken in by a grumpy german elefant rider guy. She told us that there was a german girl at the elephant camp who had travelled last year in Africa. She had apparently bought herself a camel and ridden it to Niger. Juan and I perked up.....Did she have some connection to Kinga? We wondered, but it still remains a mystery.
We sat at a place with sticky tables and drank warm beer while listening to a local musician perform Eagles covers. On the TV was a riveting program about a precocious chimpanzee and his pet bulldog,and all the mischief they got into on their way to buy eggs. Man, chimpanzees in human clothes are never not cute! It was awful and I was enraptured.
***
So, Where to go next? We were up in the hills, with a spiderweb of roads reaching out from us. We glanced at the map. It all sounded the same. Ban Hae SOn, San ban Mae, Mae hong Son, Ban wat Chan.....these scattered speks across the map seemed insistinguishable from one another. But wait! What was that? Huh? Could it be? There was one town that stood out. Was it a mistake on the map? Right by the Burmese border was a little town called......Meo Microwave! ??Microwave?? Juan and I looked at each other, and in an instant of silent sommunication, it was understood that we had found our destination.
To Microwave!
What mysteries might it hold? I just LOVE that i am travelling with someone who will so automaticly pursue something so absurd. We never even had to discuss it.
We twisted thru the mountain roads and ate dusty rice cakes as we ticked off the kilometers to our destination. Hitching in the back of pick ups is one of my life's greatest pleasures. As the sun hung low in the sky, we made it back to the paved road which hugged the burmese border. As we walked down the highway, a pickup slowed down. A giant Blue eyed monk contorted himself to get a better look at us. At first I though he was german, and that he was going to tell us that we were stupid. Instead he was disarmingly pleasant and said, "The joy of travelling without plans is that you get so many great surprises! Every one happens for a reason. Come, you will stay with me!"
So this was Udi. He took us to a meditation center. Turns out he was Israeli, and had been living as a monk in thailand for 6 years. He was oversized and loveable, shrouded in layers of monky sapphron. He reminded me of the Lion from the Wizard of Oz. He had a tremendous spirit. But We couldnt shake the feeling that, well, he was an odd choice for a monk. The guy Loved to talk. And talk and talk. In big gestures and polished sentiments. Udi didnt seem to care about the penetrating quality of his voice and how it might affect the wispy meditators seekeing inner peace all around us. He jsut chattered away. He really was a marvelous host, that it shames me to think anything even vaguely disparaging about him. Im jsut saying that, if it werent for the outsit, you would never think this guy was a monk I think that is what i like about him. He was super gung ho about meditating though. I got the sense that he took us home because he really wanted to change our lives and help us discover the joys of meditation. He is salivating for converts.
I Looked at the perfect postured swiss meditator, shrouded in a poetic swath of fabric, silently inhaling and exhaling with his eyes closed. He never said hello to us the whole time we were at the meditation center. I came to think of him as Siddharta. I am impressed by his poise and dedication, But it isnt inviting to me. God, i dont want to sit still! I a so overwhelmed with life that each limb wants to dance salsa, samba, mosh and ballet separately. How could I possibly sit still like that?
Siddharta meditated all night, until a tiny alarmclock went off. "oop! Enlgihtenment has been achieved!" Juan whispered wickedly at me. I am glad that J and I have the same take on this. We respect it, but dont relate. The next morning, after we ate some more of their food but failed to actually sit on a mat and meditate....we set off again. Udi seems disappointed in us. He stopped paying attention to us, so we just walked away as he and Siddharta had a riviting conversation:
"See this table This table contains the whole cosmos."
"Is the table air? Or is Air the Table".....
A sideways smirked confirmed that Juan and I would have a good chuckle at their expense once we were out of earshot. We love them for who they are, and we are glad not to be them. We were not seeking oneness afterall, we were seeking MICROWAVE....and it was only 72km away!
A really cute woman in a little hatchback picked us up. We listened to bubblegum pop music and sped so recklessly thru the curves that we got tummy aches. I enjoyed the soundtrack. I was really feeling it when "Eternal Flame" came on ....."i dont want to lose the feeeeeeeeeeeeling, ooooooooooooh!" and then, BAM! We saw the turn off for Microwave.
After taking some celebratory pixs under the sign, we resigned ourselved to walking the final 10 up a winding hill. Luckily, a pick up truck full of Hong stopped and let us climb in back. They didnt return our smiles or say hi or anything. ....
e gads!
just saw the time...gotta go...
the mysteries of what we found in mircowave will have to wait for another time!
k
Leave a commentFebruary 2nd, 2007Chaing My oh My! @ 09:39 am
It has been twelve years since I wandered the streets of Chaing Mai with the confident, deluded stride of an exchange student. When I arrived at dawn and was deposited at Tha phea gate, the first sight that greeted me was a Starbucks. Right then I gave up any idea that there was any silver thread of connection between me and here. It is just another town, being eaten by the twenty-first century. But it is pleasant enough. And I am not here for Chaing Mai's sake. I am here because the world seems to have tilted a bit, and all sorts of crazy folks who were not bolted down seemed to be rolling to this city. I wanted to be among them.
And it is a glorious thing. There was a moment last night where i was drowning in rightness. The rash of backpacker-resentment i felt in Bangkok was all but forgotten. The smile inside me made my body nearly spastic. I was exactly where i was supposed to be. And, of course, the moon was full and glowing like an electric tangerine over our heads.
There was a flickering second when a most auspicious alignment of travelers occurred, a constellation that can certainly only transpire once or twice in a millennium:
I was balanced on the back of a wobbly bicycle, clinging to Juan, my new Argentine friend who just hitchhiked across Tibet. I had to splay my legs out wide, so as not to drag my red cowboy boots thru the gutter. We cruised along the canal and screeched to a stop in the old brick plaza, to catch up on our breathing and laughing.
Who should I see, looming tall and moon-eyed above me, flirting with a bashful girl who only came up to his belly button - DEX! He is my travelling blood brother, who i hitchhiked from Quito to New York with, who travelled down the Amazon with me, and sold christmas trees, and co-parented a kitten with me....The weirdest friendship I cling to - this tall, perplexing man....and here is is in Chaing Mai! What a joy to meet old friend in new places!
As I introduce Juan and Dex, I look over their shoulders, and there is Aknes pedaling by, lost in her pursuit of the Banana Guest house. I waved her over. Aknes and I are celebrating the one year anniversary of our friendship. We met in Mali, when I was with Kinga. She had a truck and was travelling around Africa with an inflatable bouncy castle that she stole from a McDonalds in France.
I looked at them all in a row - Juan,Dex, Aknes - I met them on three differnt continents, and here we all are in a line - each having travelled 360 degrees through unexplainable far away places in order to arrive here in this moment. It was a Greatest Hits compilation of megatravellers. I clapped my hands and lamented my lack of a camera.
And then the circus arrived! (www.cyclown.org)
They pulled up on mutant double-decker bicyles that they just crossed Siberia with. They were a dusty, road-worn bunch, accostomed to being the coolest kids in town. I know they couldn't quite see me yet, because to eyes like that, I must still seem like part of the generic traveller background. But I know I can hold my own. And besides, i knew I was about to win their love with a big bag of costumes that i toted half-way around the world.
So the party began. An impish guy with a Buddha belly and clown shoes took out his unicycle and chased street kids while screaming in Italian. Names and nationalities were exchanged. I laughed at how all the Cyclown kids speak English like it is their second language, even though they are mostly from the USA. I laugh at them, because I do it too.
"Wait, are you the friend from New York? The one who brough costumes?" Their eyes swell and I am instantly smitten with guilt that I didnt bring them more costumes. I mean, these folks have been peddaling double-decker bicycles across Central Asia for chrissake - they deserve some fresh sequins!!!
It was such satisfaction to sit in the shadow of a thirteenth century stone wall and watch the mutant bike riders of the apocalypse tear through my bag of costumes, this bag of my own history.
I loved seeing Channing, the accordian player whose birthday it was, squeeze into the fancy band jacket that my crazy neighbor in Santa Cruz gave to me ten years ago. And Janine was beside herself with joy, piling on layer after layer of striped thi-highs and prancing around like a gorgeous silent-movie starlet. Shanty, who had seemed rather reserved, let go of a few sideways smiles as he admired himself in the purple satin tuxedo jacket that Taylor made famous in so many Nub parades. His girlfriend from Barcelona looked fetching in my black cap. It was sprouting with feathers that I had gotten from a Filipino cockfight, held on by a little chickadee enamel pin that I had given my mom as a birthday present when I was eight.
There was a whole bag of bowties and cumberbunds from my catering days. The joy of seeing those passed around and festooning crazy people! It is SO MUCH more appropriate that me wearing them while serving a long sentence as a perrenial catering monkey.
This fat, little, obnoxious-in-a-cute-way street kid in a Che Guevara t-shirt ended up with a feather boa. He rode circles around us on one of the bikes. Beautiful Rocio from Argentina clomped around in my clown shoes and the yellow prince charming shirt that was once immoratlized on the fashion DON'T pages of Jane magazine. Juan took a liking to my velvet leopard butterly pants that grew out of these red velvet bellbottoms that I had gotten on my very first visit to Haight Ashbury 15 years ago with Monika. I LOVE that all these little parts of me will now be riding bikes to Indonesia!!!
This was the scene as the medieval looking fiddle player with the scraggly hair began to fill the night air with gypsy and Irish music. I bet if I asked him, he would have a story for where he learned each of those tunes. He was wearing a gold sequinned vest that I recall wearing years ago on my final casting interview for MTVs Real World. Ha! THIS is my real world!
Someone found a dying mouse and wrapped it up like a present for Channing's birthday. We passed around mushy cake with dragonfruit and dulce de leche. Conversations were so easy with anyone on the right or the left. I cannot express the rareness and the ecstacy of being among such travellers. We can drop names like Syria and Mauritania and Siberia, and even those who haven't been there KNOW. So when Juan talks about the cold nights on the Tibetan plateau, I KNOW that cold. And when Janine says it is nice to meet people that she hasn't seen every day for a year, I KNOW, as though I have just bicycled across Siberia too or something. And when I describe the strange things colors do in Western Sahara, I know they see it too.
And then there are the connections. Turns out that Bouncy Castle Aknes knows the clowns from their days in Barcelona. And Juan knows Kinga. And Channing went to Dragonfest. And Johnny was part of pedal camp in the early Burningman days. And I met Rio on the plane from Taiwan. And eveybody knows somebody, and there are so few degrees of separation. Here we are, so far from home, homeless really, yet in a nest of familiar. Like we are each holding the end of some embroiderd ribbon and dancing around the same giant may-pole. For this one instant we are tangled and tumble on top of one another in Chaing Mai. I love it!
So, as the fiddle plays and bubbles are blown, I listen to all the languages percolating around me. I look around the group. There is Johnny who just peddaled a bicycle across Mongolia while towing a giant stand-up bass. There is Juan who just hitchhiked across Iraq selling poetry. There is Dex who stowed away on a cruise ship to Finland. Aknes with her baobob hair who brought a bouncy castle to the children of Africa....all these mythical people, the kind of folks who would buy a white camel and ride it to Niger......And - holy crap - i am one of them!
Hooray for life.
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BANG! KOK!! @ 09:24 am
There is nothing that can strip a traveller of their sense of specialness like a trip to Khao San Road. It is the biggest backpacker ghetto that i have ever come across in my travels. It was gross twelve years ago when i first visited, and has only quintupled in size and ridiculousness.
Block after block of brightly colored flowey clothes, cheap trinkets, banana panckaes and massage parlors. The streets swarm with backpackers who all seem to distain the fact that there are so many backpackers there. The guest houses are like warehouses. The locals speak to you with robotic english phrases that they can utter without thought, becauser they have seen so many of your type and answered your questions for years. It is ugly. I could go on, about the sex tourism, the drugs, the utter unspecialness of the beaten path....but it isnt worth my thought here.
I jsut felt like I was drowning there. Everywhere i turned there was a dreadlocked traveller with flowing clothes and tribal tattoos and stretched earlobes. They all seems so mystical...yeah right. You can pay a thai woman a few baht to put syntheic dreads in your hair. there are tattoo parlors on every corner. The ear stretchings are fake. It is some mix of illusion and pathetic authenticity. And what i hated most was that no matter how i define myself, i was undeniably a part of it. It made me so itchy.
I had dinner with my friend Nicole She and I go back to New york, in some of my more depraved, post-erik days. She ran off to thailand and lives on an island with lots of dogs and does yoga and works on her laptop. It seems like a good life. It felt good to sip cold drinks and peoplewatch with her. A friend form another place. I love the phenomenon of meeting old friends on new continents. Like it tightence the weave of your existance....hard to explain., it just reaffirms the fact that you exist.
I met some girls on the plane from taiwan. We recognized each others uniforms. Young, funky girls in search of sun and adventure. The four of us shared a taxi to the tourist ghetto. Then we got rooms together. It was nice to have these readymade friends, or else i would have been just really condescending and anti social.
And, it is a small world. One of the girls wore funny socks and had choppy striped dreadlocks and carried an accordian. Her name was Rio. It took all of two seconds to reveal that she was travelling to thailnad to meet up with the Cyclown circus. "Me too!" I exclaimed.
Through a string of random internet coincidences, i had come in contact with tis travelling band of mutant bicycle clowns who had jsut pedalled across mongolia. this occured the same week I was cleaning my closets. So I was carrying a large bag full of circus costumes for them. All rather capricious. And here i was on a plane with one of their random minions.
It is all confirmation that life is an exquisitely woven tapestry, and I am right where I am supposed to be.
I took an overnight bus to Chang mai and slept in the back seat, away from the herds of backpackers on trekking tours. I just am too big a travelling snob to admit that I am as unspecial as them. It is okay deep down to admit that i am as flawed and unsparkling as the next person, but sometimes i need my little smoke and mirror world to give me the sense that i live in a fairytale.
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TAIWAN @ 08:53 am
I had never given Taiwan much thought, other to recall that my grandparents lived there for some time. That is where they were living when my mother met my father. Somewhere in the piles of artifacts form their long lives, it is said that there is a recording that my grandfather made during a huge typhoon. He was tryting to capture the sound of the strong Taiwanese wind, but serindipitously ended up recording a telephone call from my father, whom he had never met, asking for my mother's hand in marriage.
I thought of my grandparents when I landed in Taiwan, though it was hard to picture them walking down any of these streets. The place my grandfather landed after the war probably had little in common with this trhiving, modern land. Big white buildings dot the horizon, testimony to an industrial economy that has grown a head taller than its surrounding countries. I was so impressed with how modern and clean and efficient it all was.
Lucky me though. I had someone meet me at the airport and take my hand and lead me into a more personal Taiwan. Now when i hear the name, or see a "made in taiwan" stamp onthe back of my knick-knack, i will think of Grace and her family, and all the little details that made this place precious.
I met grace in Morocco. She was one of Kinga's dearest friends, and she quickly endeared herself to me. She is adorable in a way that most grown women could never pull off. Her resounding sweetness masks a very bright and insightful woman. Since Kinga died, all of her friends have reached out and joined hands around the globe. It was nice to be able to visit someone who knew and loved her, so much so that even if we didn't speak of her in a given moment, kinga was never absent.
Grace took me to her home, over some mountains (See, i didnt even know taiwan had mountains!). We stopped in a gorgeous little green area, where her father has a proud garden bursting with tomatos and green shoots of many flavors. We picked up her sister in Hsin Chu, and i quickly fell in love with her two daughters. They were 7 and 4, i think. The kind of little girls who play peek a boo and hug you for no reason. I melted everytime they took my hand and walked beside me.
I was only in Taiwan for two days, not nearly enough to penetrate the surface. But I did get a good sense of waht it might be like to live there for a moment. I was delighted by the marekt places. Though I am not a fan of pigs feet, i admt i gather some perverse satisfaction is seeina piles of bloody animal entrails and frogs and hooves and pig ears and fish eggs and duck heads.....I would never want to eat it, but for some reason i thnk it is pretty. these are visceral sights that we keep so hidden in the west. I like to see them on display, no one is trying to pretend that meat was not once a cute blinking animal.
It was a vegetarians paradise as well. Soy comes in many forms. You can buy in in quivering cubes or wormy curls....gelatinous geometric shapes and textured balls. I have never seen such a bewildering collection of fake meat. It was a delight to sample it at mealties, when an impressive variety would be available in tiny bowls on a lazy susan in the middle of the table. Everyone would turn the lazy susan and snap bits up with their chopsticks, slurping it up from little bowls held close to their chins. It was delicious and made me feel happy to share such a meal.
Grace took me to see a towm with an old temple in it. There was a red dragon dancing in the streets, asking for money. We went to a low ceiling building (i have to crouch to get through doors intaiwan) and drank traditonal hakkanese tea. We had to add the herbs one by one and grind them with a stick. It was thick and green and grainy delicious. As we drank the tea, grace told me about her father and his childhood. How he suffered in the cold and worked so hard, with nothing to eat. How he had to sacrifice his education to care for his siblings. How he and his mother knew nothng but hardship. It was a proud story, of someone who keeps their head up and moves forward. And i got the impression that this was the treasure oftheir culture - not the new shiney buidings, but the proud, diligent workers who carried the nation on their shoulders. I am not saying it right....making it sound cheezy romanticized, when really it is quiet and nable...
On my last day we went to taipei. I saw the tallest builing in the world, shaped like bamboo. Ther was prada and fendi and louis vitton. We bypassed that and headed to the night market. There it was revelaed where all the cheap knockoff clothes that flood the US comes form - alley after alley filled with unimaginable cheap knock off clothing. It was like walking through a mini H&M city. Mixed in the stylish shirts and wide hip belts were little remindes that i was in asia. Hello kitty EVERYWHERE. and little jellied sqiggly foods of uncertain origin. There was some funny posters of faces with chinese charactes written all over them.
"what is that?" I asked.
Grace explained that it was an ancient art of reading people's fortune by the placement of auspicious freckles.
I noticed that i actually had a corresponding ausicious freckle. I got so excited. What was this going to reveal about me? Would my destiny suddenly become clear?
I asked grace to tell me what this freckle meant, bracing myself for a flattering bit of insight.
"You really want to know?" she asked, giggling;
"Yes!! yes!"
"It means that you are horney."
Oh.hmm.
I don't know if or when I will ever go out of my way to return to taiwan, because i am already so torn between the millions of other places I love and anticipate loving. But I sure am happy that is seems to be on the way to a lot of places. I look forward to taking full advantage to a life of free-stopovers there. I can't imagine where I will see Grace again, but i know I will. Maybe in New york, or south Africa, or Ecuador. But if it is taiwan, then I will be happy to have made it back. It is a special little island. And the dragon fruit was absolutely delicious.
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| Monday, January 22nd, 2007
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10:42 pm - rrre-ow!
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What follows is a bitchy post. it is embarrassin, but i am annoyed at him. I am so sick of that boy. arg. luckily i am off on a trip around the world. manana manana me voy lejos de aqui...se quedaron llorando palomita ko ko liiiii
and next time i write i will be far away and happppppy.
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10:17 pm - busy signal
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It is a good metaphor for craig:
He decides that He does not need to participate in the world of cellphones. He is somehow above them, beyond them (though he always points out that he was the first person to have one back in the day, when they were special).....
So, Fuck you if it is totally incovenient to you. You have to just accept that craig and his world view are more important than your time and peace of mind. He will call you when He wants to call you. And if you cant get in touch with him it is obviously because his agenda is much more important that your silly plans.
Of course, you can try his land line. But he will not answer. He will screen your call, making it imperative that you leave a message, on the off chance that he might pick up. so you have to leave a bunch of messages you would rather not leave, all the while wondering if he is listening and ignoring you.
That is of course, if you dont get the busy signal. You see, mr F. is too good for call-waiting. Or DSL for that matter. He prefers the vintage quality of Dial-up. And though he never returns a fucking email EVER he seems to spend an awful lot of time online. Thus, chances are if you try to call His Greatness, you are more than likely to catch a busy signal. For hours....It makes you dial his number way more than you would like, and puts your schedule on hold while you try fruitlessly to break thru to this oblivious (or perfectly aware) rude man.
So therefore your needs, your convenience, your urgency - they dont matter. What matters is that Craig can be Lord of his own time and space, and maintain a firm smokescreen of ambiguity and inaccesability around him. He can keep you wanting more. And he will do it with a self-satisfied arrogance - like the rest of the world is simply foolish for their silly text messages and cell phone dependancy.
Who cares about you!
It is all so....CRAIG!
His time, his speed, his convenience, his distance. It gives him so much control.
And lets say you Do manage to break thru these barriers and catch him on the phone, certainly dont expect him to tell you that anyone is over. So if it is midnight and you hear the sound of another girl's cough, don't expect him to volunteer who is there. And if you feel a little needy and insecure and you still want to know, dont bother asking indirect questions. dont expect him to take your bait. He is an information manager. You will only know what he wants you to know. ANd that information will only be flattering to him. *because he would hate to hurt you* *he just adores you*
And likewise, dont think that the fact that you are naked in his bed will stop him from phoning other lovers and neglecting to mention your presence. Indeed, most people in his life will not even know that you exist or have a name. You might occasionally appear in conversations as "a friend of mine", but dont hope for more. When you finally get him to call you his girlfriend, it is like pulling teeth. Later he will resent you for it and tell you he felt forced.
Nope, dont think for a minute he will hold your hand if you are walking down second avenue and one of his friends (which goes without saying is someone he once fucked) walks by. He will step away and the temperature will drop 15 degrees.
But oh, if it is YOUR friend, and especially if it is a guy, then craig will grow two inches and cast a shadow. He will call you his novia. He will peer with a insincere smile and a condescending eye, acting as though he is patiently charmed but not charmed. Patronizing.
And then when you walk away he will find a sideways approach to criticizing that person you care about. So soon all your friends are labled with flaws. Only craig remains perfect.
He wont tell you he loves you. except for once, but in a really half assed way, on an escalator, where you couldnt possibly have a deep reaction. He will follow it immediately with "but you already knew that", thus taking for granted the excruciating pain you have been thru because, actually, you didnt know that.
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| Tuesday, January 9th, 2007
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10:49 pm - trying to keep my chin up
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busying myself with lots of tasks, shuffling papers, making lists....trying to keep distracted because my heart is really broken. feel like ihave a gaping hole in my chest.
ow.
well.
maybe india will make me feel better.
hmmm.
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| Friday, August 4th, 2006
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1:49 am - life just gets more fun everyday...
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exhausted from a long lost weekend in california/tijuana....hung out with dear old friends and a couple of dear new friends....most notably my IDOL - manu chao. He was so cool. His whole band was super warm and friendly and i got to hang out with them for hours...then I hitchhiked to san diego, and they put me on the guestlist, and i went backstage again....felt like an old friends. I can't tell you how cool it was to see Manu Chao's face light up when he saw me. I mean, FUCK! and then he introduced me to someone and said, "Esa chica viaja mas que yo"..........coming from the king minstral of all travelers, i take that as one of the best compliments ever.
and when we (my new friend sarah and I) yawned and said our goodnights, manu became concerned about where we would sleep. I told him we would be fine on the beach, but - "one minute" - he says...and - poof - we are suddenly guests of the band at the marriot. fucking hell!
and they invited us to hang out with them in Tijuana the next day. sarah and I jumped up and down on our bed in our underwear and hit each other with pillows and laughed at how fun it all was.
the next day we missed out ride with them to TJ, so we took the trolley over. Once we were on Avenida de la revolucion we went to call them (yup, we got digits!) and.......oops. we lost the phone number. arg. such dorks.
oh well, I will see them on monday! they are coming to new york. esa me hace sentir feliz! i don't want to be a groupie or anything, i just think it is cool that this band that i admire so much, whose songs have kept me company for years of travels, is suddenly looking me in the eye. and now i know that anywhere i see them in the world i can just go to the edge of the stage and smile, and they will greet me with open arms. fucking A! I mean, I doubt manu remembers my name even....but one day he will!
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| Wednesday, July 19th, 2006
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2:52 pm - spinning free
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armed with moral support from kevin and chris, i decided to start my own business. woo hoo. i am very attracted to the ample vacation time, the flexible hours, the lax dress code, the lack of early mornings, and lets face it, my boss is a baba. but damn, the money thing...
i am spending so much on materials, displays, etc etc....and so far i have not even had a chance to really get out there and sell. i guess i am operating on the " build it and they will come" theory....hopefully eventually i will get a steady stream of customers. not that i want to make this into a huge production. jsut enough to sustain my peripatetic lifestyle. i certainly dont want it to drain me. so far it is so much fun.
i did get a job offer...for painting murals...but the guy wants to date me, and i am acting all evasive and innocent, and i hope it just all resolves itself, because i need the money!
off to california next week to see manu chao. woopee!
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| Monday, July 10th, 2006
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2:10 am - ole ole ole oleeeee
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i had something crazy happen today (though i dont want to jinx it...)but anyway...it seems like my tactic for seeking employment (not submitting any resumes or pounding the pavement, or even thinking about jobs) has finally paid off. when asked what i planned to do for a job, my wrote response was. "Just wait for something to fall down from the sky..."
So today I was lugging a heavy old bag down first avenue, and a young man jumped up to help me (note to self....i seem to have met a few nice guys this way. hmm!) I made some utterly charming remark about the corpses being really heavy...and then within five minutes it was revealed that he is this very well know muralist (i knew his name even!) and he offered me a job as his assistant! woo hoo. an art job!!! as i said, i dont want to jinx it, but it seems like a really good sign. he is super commercially successful (his stuff is all over NYC....) and i think it would be a good influence on me to be around that business end of the art field.....so, who knows...but it was really cool that it just happened like that. so. yeah. that was my day. that and jumping around little italy singing olay olay olay olay, oooolayyyy,oooolllaaaaay with a bunch of drunk soccer fans.
and you?
**·.¸_¸.·'¨¨)
¸.·'
(_¸.·'* kat!
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| Wednesday, June 28th, 2006
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4:48 pm - Sad sad sad sad SAD SAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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My beautiful kinga is scattered in the sea. sleeping in the ground. in the sky on her white camel.
i have been too heartbroken to write. kinga, my african adventure twin, fell ill with malaria. after a week in a coma she took off on an adventure to parts unknown. i have just been to poland for her funeral, and now i gulp down the sadness and try to focus on the magic of her life, and all the ways she will inspire me to bring more beauty to the world.
please,look at her website. life does not make many spirits like kinga, take a moment to appreciate this angel who walked among us....
www.kingafreespirit.pl
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| Monday, May 15th, 2006
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12:58 am - Resume! Rez -oooo-MAY!
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i love my life, but sometimes it looks a little wierd on a resume....I have to find a job now....Time to hide my colors and pretend I am normal. But my life is so fun! I wonder if anyone would hire my if I sent them this resume:
2006 -
Hitchhiked to Timbuktu- Crossed the Sahara Desert, Sailed the Niger River, Navigated the Medina of Marrakesh. Rode with the Paris-Dakar Rally. Learned how to speak French and how not to speak Arabic.
South American Adventures -Repeatedly tear gassed. Walked 50km all night for Jesus. Hitchhiked to Bogota and met my idol. Got attacked by 20 dogs.Salsa danced like crazy. Did lots of art. Disrupted soccer game because goalie was checking me out and the other team scored.
Turned 30 - e gads.
2005
- Sailed down the Amazon (again!) - Lived in the jungle. Learned
(so-so) Portuguese. Tested limits of my patience with *eccentric* traveling companions. Hitchhiked through Brazil and caught a bad fever. Briefly had a pet monkey
Summer in New York - Became proud Owner of a 1979 convertible VW Bug. Discovered no talents in repairing Vw’s. Grew Sunflowers. Did lots of Yoga.Worked on a Boat. Broke my tailbone in a mosh pit. Ran off to Ireland.Informed that some band used my photo on their album cover.
2004 -
Sailed down the Amazon (Part I) - Logged record breaking hours in hammock,sailing from Ecuador to Brazil. Partied with the trannies at Carnavale. Mugged by a band of kids with machetes in Copacabana. Inspired a stranger to blow me a kiss, and then walk into a STOP sign and fall on his ass. Was Finally told “I Love you” on Valentines Day....by a parrot!
Cusco , Peru- Worked for a month at a Cerebral Palsy Clinic.Got beat at Chess.Never bothered going to Macchu Picchu.
Summered in the Hamptons - Worked as a Yachty. Duties included cooking,sailing, maintenance, and trying not to let my expressions betray the utter contempt I felt towards my employer. Learned yet again the money doesn’t buy Happiness.
Got hand disfigured at Mexican Punk Rock Show. Learned not to wear Mini-Skirts in Mosh Pits. Spent night in hospital beside a hooker name Peaches.
Returned to Burning Man - Realized I was over it. Nearly kicked out for assorted infractions, including:Use of a Feather Boa, and Driving an undesignated Art Car.
2003 -
Hitchhiked to Chile - Found the house my grandmother used to live it. Painted lots of murals. Worked as a translator in the jungle. Lived under an active volcano.
Watched lava flow down the mountain, and felt in peace.
New York Jewelry Company - Worked for an obese, agoraphobic, paranoid cat-lady. Learned the names of hundreds of gemstones. Learned how to make up convincing names for gemstones I didn’t know.
2002 -
Heart Broken. Cried a lot.
2001 - Hitchhiked for Ecuador to New York - Travelled penniless through 10 countries with a kitten and a lanky, blue-haired man-child. Crossed the fabled Darien Gap, Panama Canal, and the Rio Grande. Life filled with Magic.
Took Up Running - Began zealously training for a marathon. Ran 18 miles once. Got shin splints.
Sold Psychedelic Schoolbus - (see 1996) Earned a princely sum. Surreal ebay transaction leads to lucrative,lifelong friendship with Atlanta Socialite.
2000 -
Partied like it was 1999 - Got kicked out of Mayor Giulliani’s New Years Eve party just before midnight when it was revealed that I was not with Drew Barrymore. Rang in the New Millenium with nerdy, sober joggers in Central Park.
Quito, Ecuador - Painted Murals. Made Jewelry. Was Robbed 7 times in one week . Learned how to poke thieves in the eye.
New York - Discovered I could never be a flight attendant, due to my unconventional fashion sense. Had a homeless man tell me, “My, what a Fellini-esque ensemble!"
Christmas Trees - Began first of three seasons selling Christmas trees in Harlem. 24-Hour-a-day job. Lived in a trailer on Broadway. Froze my ass off. Established first name basis with many pimps and dealers. Won nothing on Scratch Tickets. Smelled like pine needles.
1999 -
First Art Show - Rave reviews. Unfortunately, the building burnt down, and all art was destroyed.
Ecuador - Used insurance money from burnt art to return to South America, learn Fluent Spanish, meet many beloved friends, and fall in love with a country that would become my second home.
Saturn Café - Rebuilt legendary vegetarian café from the ashes. Painted many funky murals. Became graveyard shift waitress and lost my mind just a little bit, but in a fun way.
Thailand - Was contracted by an exhiled princess of Burma to teach refugees how to make Kentucky Fried Chicken.
Graduated UC Santa Cruz - Bachelor’s degree in Anthropology. Honors. Phi Beta Kappa.
1998- Philippines - Worked with street children. Caught lice. Blindly rode small boats to Borneo. Got caught in Indonesian Revolution. Saved by kind strangers. Peed on by other (less kind) strangers. (Yes, plural). Returned to America with amazing Sequined boustier collection. Rode Greyhound cross country for the 24,352,458,743rd and LAST time. Got peed on there, too.
1997 -
Calcutta, India - Worked for Mother Teresa. Humbled.
Rejected in the final casting round of MTVs Real World. Humph.
Worked as a Baker. Learned how to make a perfect Pie Crust. Got fat.
Endeared self to landlord by painting house bright purple and pink. Ireland - Lived in the trees with eco-Warriors. Met a Leprechaun.
1996 -
Psychedelic Schoolbus - Bought a burnt out bus for $500, painted it six thousand colors, and drove cross country with an amusing cast of characters. Offended by people’s “Partridge Family” comments, because it was so, so, so much cooler than the Partridge family. Beautiful bus.
Nursing Home - Took care of 20 rambunctions Alzheimer patients who had a fondness for Christmas carols and running out onto busy highways in their diapers. Learned that senility is contagious. Now I can sing all of the Old Tunes.
Makeover - As a guest of the Jenny Jones Show, I was given a “Radical Makeover” and bid farewell to my green mohawk and dignity.
Europe - Hitchhiked and trained thru Europe on $5 a day. Whistled “Blue Danube” while crossing the blue Danube. Rode magic carpets in Turkey.
1995 - Guatemala - Worked at orphanage in middle of jungle. Learned a lot about diarrhea and projectile vomit.
Thailand - Studied in Chaing Mai. Made friends with prison inmates. Live with a hill tribe. Made maps of coral reefs for Thai Forestry Service. Discovered that where language fails, blowing bubbles is worth a thousand words.
1994 -Africa- saw the word “Zanzibar” on a map, remembered the theme song from “The Patty Duke Show” and decided to go there. Learned how to count to ten in Swahihili.
*U.S.A* - Hitchhiked across the country a half dozen times. Picked up hitching in Iowa by a naked guy. Fought a forest fire in Wyoming. Went to my 200th Grateful Dead Show. Never touched drugs. Crossed Rocky mountains in the back of a pickup truck, under a full moon. Watched shooting stars and made many, many wishes.
1993 - Italy - Exchange student in Milan. Didn’t quite fit in. Decided never to try to fit in ever again.
1992 - Finished Highschool after 2 years. Became aware of how amazing the world is. Stuck out my Thumb. Started traveling. Never stopped.
****Sometimes people hear of my crazy life and think I must be some kind of fuck-up. Let it be known that in all this time I never used ANY drugs, never got arrested, never borrowed money or went into debt, never even got a stupid tattoo (or any tattoo, for that matter.) I was a straight-A student all thru High School and College. And Every step of the way I had the blessings and support of a gorgeous, loving family. Just an eccentric, that's all. Always will be.
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| Thursday, April 27th, 2006
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6:43 pm - too much of a good thing
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superabundance of choice just breeds discontent. i feel that very sharply when i return to the untied states (typo unintentional, but kinda funny), and i have to buy shampoo or somehting, and i stare at two aisles of shampoo and cant make up my mind for the life of me because i feel like i am making an error (especially because of all the marketing involved in these competing choices, ay! they try to make shampoo look like it is a science, with DNA double helizes and syatheramide 3 etcc....help!))
.....actually, in february when i got back from africa, i went to buy hot chocolate, and my brother left me in the hot chocolate aisle of the supermarket, and came back 10 minutes later, after getting all his purchases. He found me acutely distressed, and reading every label, because i didnt know if i wanted fat free or sugar free or marshmallow lovers or the one that was on sale, ot the two for one, or the fat free marshmallo lover...i was so distressed.
also, that same week in february, the new york times magazine had a very interesting article about choice and class...it was very interesting. they said that the wealthier, more educated a person was, the more they needed choice, and they did not feel as satisfied with a product unless they had chosen it fro m a group of options. where as in poorer classes they didnt show any preference.
also interesting was associations with the word "choice"....upper classes associate it with "freedom" and "opportunity", and all these positive things, while poorer people have a distinctly negative association, "sacrifice"; "dilemma" etc....hmm!
frankly. all the options available sometimes make me want to hide under a rock. too confusing.
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| Monday, April 24th, 2006
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6:21 pm - sa sa sa salsaaaa
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Today i went back to salsa class after a two week haitus. God, i suck. it just isnt fair. i try so hard, but i am just not latina, dammit. And i was so out of shape. i swear i blew like 40 snot bubbles right in Marcelo's face. Yes! my self esteem was flying! And damn, marcelo is so sexy, he dances circles around me, makes me feel like even more of a hippo.
then, i swear i wasnt imagining it....today we were dancing all sexy and close and....he fondled my breast! for real. i think this went slightly out of bounds of our student-teacher realtionship...but he is so cute that i actually didnt mind so much. the funny thing is though, it was so NOT sexy....i was farting when he did it.
ayyyyyyy, has she no shame?
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| Saturday, April 22nd, 2006
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5:10 pm - i did something naughty...
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I have always liked to belive that there might be some very simple solution to all my problems. Some basic premise that I have overlooked. Some easy path that, if taken, will lead to swift and glorious resolve of all that irks me. It was suggested that perhaps i dont drink enough water. I thought about it. I hardly drink any water. Maybe if i drank some more, my system would flush out, and I would take a giant leap to perfect health - radiant skin, weight loss, more energy...Wow, could it be that simple? maybe all this time i have just been dehydrated! oh, wouldnt that be a joy!
In celebration of my new resolution, i purchased a gleaming 2.5 liter bottle of water, and guzzled it down with enthusiasm. Ah yes, I was getting ready for the glorious swan within me to emerge. Those were the thoughts in my head as I prepared to leave montanita. What was NOT gong through my head, unfortunately, was the fact that I was about to get on an overnight bus ride.
No sooner had the bus pulled away from the curb did i realize that i sorta had to pee. No big deal, i thought. I am Traveler WOman. I have a Bladder of Steel. I scoff at my meek bretheren who make all those frequent rest stops. I am a woman who can hold her piss.
Naturally, i had sat right over the wheelwell, which was the bumpiest part of the bus. I was stoic though, i held it in. No problem. An hour or so went by. I started to get a little panicky. I really had to pee. Mercifully we stopped in a small village. As the mamitas streamed on the bus to sell us empanadas and mangos, i wrestled past them to the door.
"Puedo bajar un ratito?" i asked the driver.
"No" he shook his head.
¨Por fa! Estoy muriendo pa usar el baño"
He clucked and shook his head again.
I whipped out my most sugary sweet ecuadorian beggar voice "No seas maldiiiiito. Por favor, dos minutitos no mas. rapidito!"
"Es que ya vamos" he said, and closed the door behind the last of the exiting empanada ladies.
We bumped off down the highway, and i limped backed to my seat, having to lower myself down carefully to contain my pee. Fuck fuck fuck. Oh well, how long can it be to Guayaquil, i thought. Three...four hours more? e gads.
In long standing tradition of painful busrides in South America, a crappy video was put on for the enjoyment of no one in particular. I expected it to be the usual bloody, fuzzy, Chuck Norris crap. But this one turned out to be a rather special tale of a charismatic chimpanzee named Jack who was something of an ice hockey prodigy. I watched it, just not to think about my pee.
More time passed, and eventually i couldnt really give a shit about Jack the chimpanzee and his NHL career. Fuck, i had to pee. I thought that maybe i could sleep through it, but any position just heightened the urge. fuck fuck fuck. My thoughts were consumed with piss. I wish i had something to pee in, and then i could discreetly throw it out the window. but alas, no....
It got dark. Jack the chimp abandoned the NHL, and for some reason was wanted by the FBI. All i could think about was peeing. And while exhausting my file on piss related thoughts, i recalled a few piss anecdotes from my past. There was that time in the Philippines when i woke up because some guy had whipped out his winky and was tinkling on my sundress. (and then he had the nerve to hit on me aferwords!) And then i remembered how, departing Oakland for a cross country Greyhound trip to New York, the guy next to me let out a long sigh and said "daaaaaaammmnnnn. That felt goooooood". I wasnt sure what he was refering to until my only outfit for the next three days got warm and wet with his urine. Ew. Yes, i have been the victim of other people's bladders. I didnt restrict my bus/body fluid thoughts to only urine either. I recalled a moment last year riding a bus through the stifling Peruvian Amazon's winding roads. The woman in the seat in front of me got sick and puked into a sandwhich bag (too small to contain her chunks). Then she tossed out her window, so it flew right back into my window all over me. And, since I had time to kill, I started remembering gross piss stories that i have experienced on boats. Notable among them was how, in brazil, the drunks on the river boats dont seem to think much about wind and trajectory, they just piss over the side, which of course sends their golden stream back all over us, the unfortunate hammock dwellers.
Yes, it seemed that throught life I had repeatedly, well, been pissed on! And here I am, with a bladder so full that i might die. What is a girl to do? I remembered the story of the famous mathemetician who died because, not wanting to offend his dinner hosts, he held his pee until his bladder burst. (i wonder if he would still be a famous mathemetician if he had died in a more conventional way?) Either way, i didnt think that, after all the dare devil shit i have done over the years, dying of a burst bladder on a bus was a fitting end. I had to do something.
Jack the Chimpanzee had, by this point, befriended a plucky orphan boy and taken up skateboarding, at which he was a natural. And I couldnt take it anymore. I am a polite girl. I have splendid table manners, and wouldn't dare wear white shoes after Labor Day. I swear, I am really fucking considerate to everyone all the time. But goddammit i couldn't take it anymore! I said a prayer of apology to all the unsuspecting folks around me. I checked to make sure the guy across from me was asleep. Then I pretended to be deep in slumber as i stealthly undid my zipper and (i am so sorry to all of those nearby wearing flip flops!) I pissed all over the floor.
My god, it felt so good. Sooooo. ggooood. Like the guy in the Greyhound in Oakland, daaaaaaaammmmn.
I tell you, it was one of the best decisions i have made recently. i sat back in euphoric contentment and watched as Jack the chimp and the orphan won a skateboarding competition. The orphan was then adopted by a kind hearted old man, and Jack went back to the NHL and pulled off some unbelievable moves and won the championship. Then he went home to his chimpanzee friends and everybody was happy, especially me.
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| Friday, April 21st, 2006
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3:24 pm - LONG HOLY WALK
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hello and happy easter to everybody! i write from below a huge plume of ash from our beloved volcano, who is erupting like it is going out of style. Even my complacency is starting to get rattled a bit, and i am wondering how stupid we all are to be living under this awakening monster. But it is so easy to forget, with all the sunshine and flowers and fruits and breezes. Baños so easily resembles paradise.
Today is one of the busiest days of the year, with thousands of vacationers filling the streets and devouring the treats. It is colorful and circusy. Everyone is selling something, from coconut juice to taffy, to wind-up plastic chickies. The photographers have hauled out their dusty, crooked ponies. Gigolos are out cruising. Even brigades of beggars show up from who-knows-where to thrust out their open palms. I am enjoying being a spectator.
On Holy Thursday I joined a local tradition the procession from Ambato to Baños. Thursday night i walked with thousands upon thousands of pilgrims who made the overnight journey thru 50 kilometers of mountain roads. It was absolutely, mind numbingly exhausting - at times up hills steep enough to make you grunt, then down pebbly declines that made you slip and jog. Hours and hours and hours we walked by the light of the full moon.
It was longer than a marathon. I was slow. I was like a stone in thick river full of black haired ecuadorians, flowing past me in purposeful strides. I dont know how they all went so fast, when my legs were on fire. Armies of teenagers passed by, turning to look over their shoulders at me and say "Gringa", incase I wasn´t aware that I was different. Everyone passed me - the elderly, the children, the heavily laden. I told myself that it was like the tortoise and the hare, and slowly but surely I would stride by them. Then a guy with no legs passed me. And I re´minded myself that it wasnt a race.
What would bring ten thousand people together to walk all night thru the mountains? Ostensibly it is a Catholic tradition for Holy week, but there was hardly a cross in sight. Actually that was kind of disappointing to me, because I had been anticipating a mass of supplicating weirdos, flagellating themselves and crawling on all fours over drops of blood from their crowns of thorns. Maybe those folks were somewhere in the giant river of pilgrims, but I never saw them. Around me were just normal people, occaisionally lugging boom boxes and playing horrid reggeaton mixes. And of cousre, vendors galore.
They do this procession every year. Nobody I spoke to could say exactly how this started, or why it continues. When i asked how long this has been going on, i was only told " Oh, always", and there seemed no record of its beginning. There appears to be no official organization. There is no prize, no winner or loser or bragging rights of commemorative T shirt. People just do it. It is amazing.
As I looked over the endless sea of marchers, I had hours to contemplate how this would NEVER happen in America. The closest thing we have is a Marathon, which is always approached with some degree of vanity of pride, and requires a dedication that would never permit it to be this casual or inclusive. I dont think that any religious movement in the US still has the power to motivate a local movement of this volume. And sadly we have become indifferent enough about the world that we wouldnt even manifest like this for protest or peace or politics. And certainly the idea of just doing it for recreation is absurd. It makes me sad that in the US we just lack this splenid energy to come together and MOVE.
I began the procession with old friends, quickly lost them in the crowd, and made some new ones. An older woman named Maria was doing the walk for the fifth time. She was walking with her 10 year old grandson, who practically had to jog to keep up. We had hours to talk, and walk in silence together. She told me that she had 10 children, but that five of them went to Spain, and they forget about her. She said that they come back to Ecuador and they dont fit in anymore. They get used to a different life, wth more money, an then they can never really come home. Some of them dont even call anymore. It is a sad story that I hear a lot here. The other side of the immigration stroy - the people left behind.
Her grandson did an admirable job of keeping up the first few hours. But later he was panting and whimpering. He asked thru his tears, every five minutes, if we were almost there. Maria was amazing in the way she refusd to baby him. "No," she always said, "Falta muuuuucho". She was gentle yet uncompassionate, insisting he go on. That crying boy was voicing all of my pains too, as i kept wondering how much farther it could possibly be. Every step burned. At one point I calculated that we had to be thru the wost of it, and that just up ahead we would round the corner and see Baños twinkling ahead. I nourished my wounds with the knowlege that we were almost there, until Maria notioned to the next mountain and said " After that, we will be almost half way". Arg!
When the little boy doubled up in cramps and had to be dragged, Maria said, "Think of your Uncle! Right now he is walking even farther than this, thru the desert with snakes and scorpions. He doesnt even know if he will live. YOU have no reason to cry." She was talking about her son who, at the same moment, was sneaking over the Mexican border into the States. It really struck me, viscerally thru my aching limbs, the sacrifices that people make to get into the United States. They have to walk way farther than this, in the desert sun, without enough water, with no guarantees,no cheesy reggeaton music. They can so easily be killed. And for what? To get to be treated like crap in the United States, and leave their mother at home with one less child. Ay!
Eventually the little boy collapsed. He refused to budge. He was hysterical with tears. But we had to keep going forward. So I put him on my shoulders. I, who could hardly place one foot in front of the other, now had to carry a ten year old on my back. I was swaying from side to sde, apologizing to all the people I was bumping into. My eyes were practically rolling back in my head. But I was glad to carry him. I thought of all the countless poeple who have picked me up hitchhiking in recent months, all the homes i have been taken into, all the hospitality. And all the privelege I start off with to begin with, so that I dont HAVE to sneak across borders and risk my life (i do that voluntarily, for the fun of it!) I felt grateful that i was able to carry this boy and work off a tiny drop of my karma. And strangely, it made me think of Jesus carrying his cross (okay, so the cross is a little bigger) but it ended up, in a circuitous way, leading back to Jesus and Easter,and all those sorts of thoughts that i will not abuse you with. But, funny how i had sort of a religious experience despite myself.
Somewhere before dawn I made it home and collpased in my bed. For hours the river of pilgrims still streamed by my window. I couldnt believe how many people did this! In the half asleep haze of the early morning I heard some strange screaming. I hobbled out of bed to the balcony and had a look. There were several bloody men dragging huge crosses up the street, getting whipped to pieces and screaming. God, we catholics are a weird bunch.
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3:21 pm - hmmmmmm
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just found out that manu chao has a son in brazil.....
i want to have his babay!
www.noolhar.com/opovo/paginasazuis/561357.html
anyway....julian was attacked by baby caterpillers yesterday. i gues it really hurt.
i escaped the volcano in banos, which was really freaking me out, when usually i am so complacent. we went to the beach, but i dont love that either. too much sand in my crotch. so now i am happy to be back in quito. still doing raw food. waiting for all the glowing effects thatpeople talk about, but feeling nothing so far., un dia!
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| Wednesday, April 5th, 2006
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12:08 pm - a lovely day for some more tear gas....
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today i walked thru the park by my house and it was full of soldiers. there are tanks. and red cross tents set up with cots, in anticipation of the injured. I asked the soldier what is going on. he said "we are protecting the city". from what? (thieves, wild dogs, pererts? terrorists?) "from the indigenous people".....oh! right. those four-foot-three ladies with the petticoats and bowler hats.they are coming to protest the free trade agreement with the USA.....so the army brought out its tanks. nice. ayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy. this is so fucked up. i feel like this country is in a war, all the little people revolting, and the big people just squashing them. help help help...why doesnt anyone else in the world care?
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| Tuesday, April 4th, 2006
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11:26 pm - hopefully bad things happen just in threes.
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the gay bar was so pleasantly stereotypical. a lot of bad electronic music and guys in tight tee shirts, who all flirted with me as a way to get to kevin. he liked it.
the hightlight was when cher came on, and suddenly everyone knew all the lyrics, and even i rocked out more than i would like to admit.
on the way there we were the victimes of attempted robbery. two men tried pushing us up against the walls and so forth. but then i poked one of them in the eye real deep and bit him and we got away (really wanted to wash my hands after that)
then yesterday two guys tried to rob me in the park, but i had an umbrella so i took a good stab at the guys jugular, and also got away.
then today, in another park. i was attacked by a pack of dogs. seriously, like twenty of them. i had various thoughts running through my head, the first of which was "be calm", but all that lead to was me being an easier target. kicking was out of the question, becuase there were so many of them, with teeth sunk into my pant legs at all time. so then i decided to run. (take a moment to picture me trying to out run twnety angry dogs) this only encouraged them. but then i couldnt exactly stop running, so i just kept going as fast as i can, and at least my moving legs were harder to bite. but then up ahead i saw my demise was near, because the hill took a drastic turn upwards (i live in the andes mountains, dont forget...it was quite steep)...and before i even got to the hill i had to traverse a mudslide, which led to a lot of akwardness on my part, and a few good bites on the dogs side. but eventally they stopped chasing me, and aside from a few bloody bites, i am fine. hopefully dont have rabies. the bites hurt a little, but it was the whole psychlogical trauma that gets me down. it sucks being chased by dogs. i thought i was on pretty good terms with the animal kingdom.
oh well.
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| Saturday, April 1st, 2006
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8:33 pm - now onto better things....
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i had such a fun salsa class today, with juan carlos and then with como se llama....marcelo! i stopped the regular giro un dos tres shit and said, "por si acaso me pueden ensenar otras cosita, como, por ejemplo, puedo poner un toque de gracia, o seduccion...." y de alla empezo....it was so fun. we were dancing so funny and sexya nd they were showing me all these shoulder rolls and arm thruests and expressions. each time juan carlos turned me he would should an ecpression...."no te importo!", estas aburrida", "me odias" "Estas celosa", "me deseas"...it was so fun. and he showed me how to vibrate my butt like a morena (i still need to practice!) and we did all these funny turns and i fell on the floor like ten times, but always laughing my ass off. it was all dirty dancing shit. and it helped, or didnt help, that my tits were suddenly revealed to not quite want to stay in my camiseta...entonces, everyone got an eyefull from time to time. lots of laughter. and marcelo is such a (mmmm sexy) flirt. he is always spinning me in to these pelvic thrusting positions,and making suggestive (but not creepy or out of place) comments.
and my body feels better and i know the steps a little more naturally, and i am running and in shape and the yoga is giving me great posture....aaaah. all the hard work is paying off. now if only i could get through the class without blowing a snot bubble!
another good thing that happened....i went to the tailor to get my saco, and he showed me how to put a zipper in! i mean, i cant belive how many years i have been making clothes with crappy zippers. and it is sooooooo easy. duh. he was so nice, the tailor. from riobamba....
oh, and my french lessons are going awesome. well, that is because no one witnesses them! i am just reading 1984 (mil neuf cents cautre vingt catre) en francais...i have to look up words on almost every page, but i have gotten thru 200 pages and i totally undestand everything and i love it. when no one is around i read it out loud to work on my accent. and then today i met two guys from cameroon......vous etes d'ou? and we had a decent conversation tout en francais. donc, je suis content avec ca...
y ya....so what if antonio is a lame wanker. yo no hice nada mal con respeto a el. que se vaya carajo.
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8:25 pm - ew. duh.
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ew. so antonio is a wimp. we broke up so lomg ago, and i have been a SPLENDID amigo to him - i am SO supportive and always give him everything 8HE JUST GOTa freaking laptop out of knowing me, for the love of god) i am soooooooo NOT INTERESTED in rekindling a relationship with him, ew, not even a little...but still his girlfriend gets jealous, and now he ascts all wormy and makes me leave the shop. for christs sake. i give him so much and ask/get NOTHING in return. all i was going for was a little normalcy and friendship, because we spent 2 years together, and it is silly to throw that connection away when there is no problem between us. but he isnt man to stand up enough and be my friend. he just acts like a wimp. pissed me off. i wish this had happened a week agoi, before we gave him the laptop. i wish i had stolen my paints back from him.i need them more.or i could give them to fausto. arg. i wish i had thought of that five minutes ago. well, fuck him and his wimpy ass, crappy chess playing, mediocre artist, irritating laughter, skinny stupid wanker ñfekgheoruo8hr.
and not for nothing, but his girlfriend should be more grateful to me, because the only reason that Ant and I didnt fool around is because IIIII didnt want to. its not like HE didnt try. arg.
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