#cubacontradictions

Waiting for the bus back to Havana in a Beatles cafe listening to welcome tunes of American music was really the first time I had felt a tinge of homesickness. Singing along to the familiar beats put a little spring in my tired and heavy steps. A wonderful adventure so far, equal parts scary, challenging and exciting. While I was not as taken with Trinidad as I was with Havana, I couldn’t help but feel that the respite was just what I had needed to clear my mind, and contemplate the the changes that are surely coming in my life. There had certainly been some excellent nuggets in which Trinidad served as a springboard.  The impromptu trip to the sugar mills with my new South American friends, Stefanie and Mateo, and my version of a harrowing bike ride of 12 kilometers. (that may as well have been 1200) Thank god for Pina Coladas!

Much like me, Cuba is full of contradictions; new and old, modern and stopped in time, breathtakingly beautiful, while dilapidated and decayed. I too am trying to find peace in a life that is odds with me. So the visit was poetic as well as polarizing. I have been curious about Cuba for a long time, but the pace at which my curiosity peaked was a slow burn as compared to how quickly I began soaking up the culture as I was there. The “Revolucion” is imprinted there in the same way as a fingerprint, solid and finite. The people are fiercely proud, wary of American infiltration again, but warm and welcoming all the same.

Cuba is a maze of colors, sights, and sounds, Murals, art, Afro-Cuban music, old cars and decaying buildings, all against a backdrop of rolling hills and the Caribbean Sea. The French colonial architecture pervades the landscape and is peppered with Cuban flags everywhere. The brilliance of the juxtaposition of this colorful tribute directly against the clear, present poverty and decay of the city of Havana in particular can be overwhelming, but also incredibly heartening.

There are very few places in which familiar Afro-Cuban beats do not permeate. The base, percussion and maracas are infectious, and you will be dancing salsa with a stranger before you know it. In Havana Vieja (Old Havana) it is alive and plentiful, drawing you in as you walk past. If you don’t partake fully in it, you will surely at the very least, still stop to watch and listen for a moment. (or five)

The people of Cuba are diverse and infectious. From the children playing “futbol” in the streets, to the old ladies smoking cigars in the afternoon, to the hustle of the merchants and bicycle taxis, idle time is for no one, all the while giving a feeling that life it to be savored and not rushed.

So maybe that is the key to finding every day vacay bliss...savoring the moment, whatever calm or storm that may be. Time contemplated is never wasted if we learn to savor it. Just like that bike ride, there will be an end, and surely something sweet to indulge in when we come to it.

#wanderlust

I think I can safely say I have the wanderlust.  But what does that mean exactly? I want to travel, I want to write, I love to live vicariously thru others experiences and travels. Listening to courageous stories, sometimes outrageous, sometimes trying, but accessible somehow. I am able to picture myself in the scene. Trekking in Napal,  lounging on a beach in Mexico, traveling by boat in the middle of Southeast Asia, enjoying the local fare at a street market, reflecting on a sunset or comtemplating a sunrise.  Yes, I have the wanderlust.   

turkey...compliments of a fellow passionate traveler

I have the resources to travel sometimes, mostly once a year, twice if I am lucky.  To far off destinations that take me out of my comfort zone and help me to feel truly far from home. But what about experiences closer, what about weekend trips, day hikes, and evening cocktails entertaining a new band. These elicit many of the same feelings that I want to have, that I feel a need for. It’s a bit like the air that I breath, and when I don’t do it for a while I feel suffocated. When I am doing it, often times, I feel giddy….like a child. Experiencing something I have felt before and long to feel again. Yes, I have the wanderlust.

I sometimes feel it when I get home from a long nite, and I am quiet in my apartment, I pick up a book or make a cup of tea, and I can feel that sense of being far away. Sometimes I feel it when I venture across the city on foot or by the bus, as if I am going to get off somewhere I have never been….even it is one of my favorite haunts. Yes, I have the wanderlust.

It’s not a place, not even an experience. It’s a feeling, it’s within my grasp, and yet so often, I am looking beyond it, feeling that is out of reach….Wanderlust, it can sometimes feel elusive, mysterious, even sexy.  But so many other times, it feels like a warm blanket, familiar and comforting.

home....

#oysteroverload

I finally realized one of my longstanding every day getaways the other day, and took myself and a friend to Hog Island Oyster Company up in Tomales Bay. Sadly, this trip did present itself with a sense of urgency, considering the farm is to be shut down shortlydue to permitting issues…but so glad to have finally made it! 

Now, if you know me, you may know that I have a “slight” obsession with oysters…as in; I dream in oysters and champagne….okay, that sounds so pretentious…it’s usually white wine…

Let’s put it this way, when offered the chance to indulge in an afternoon cocktail and 1/2 dozen oysters, “nah, not today” said by me, NEVER . Being that I have lived in SF the better part of 20 years now, I did get a lot of gasps and gufawas (sp?) when I mentioned I have never been. Geeze people, it’s not as if I haven’t showered for a week! (#oysterdeficiency) 

Naturally then, I was thrilled when my friend Graeme in town from London, agreed to accompany me on my little adventure. Just about half way there, we ended up on a winding road thru the hills, and very quickly, citylife became an afterthought.  I “almost” fantasized about country life…but then I came to my senses, phew! On we drove, through serene countryside and stunning views. It was one of those amazing bay area autumn days, where you had to pinch yourself, and be gently reminded “yes, I actually live here”, and then melt into a sea of serious gratitude for a moment. 

We arrived at the farm, a balmy 75 degrees with gorgeous views of the water, and the smell of grills loaded up with charcoal.  As I eyed the little boathouse where we about to partake in what can only be called a transformational experience by oyster lovers everywhere; not to mention those that have a healthy appreciation for long and lazy saturdays in general, I was postively giddy! Like a kid in a candy store, I was about to have a dozen oysters, white wine, and the lovely company of a good friend. (and…sans the calories that only a good pack of homemade marshmellows can provide…BONUS!!) The day was exactly as I hoped it would be, relaxing, adventurous and delish! My sadness over the closing of this amazing place, is only sated by the contentment of having finally experienced the farm, and knowing that the Hog Island bar is just down the street in the ferry building…

meet you there! 

#balloonsinthedesert #lookmanohands #camelcuriosity

Once upon a dream of mine, which I came to find out, was definitely not Graeme’s, our first excursion was a camel ride in the desert. What we ended up with, was a hot air balloon ride in the desert, and camel ride in a park on the side of the road.  Up at 430a for a sunrise balloon ride was still exciting, with the exception of: the 430a wake up call and no sun for our sunrise. Either way, we were able to get out and see the set up of a hot air balloon from inception, enough to make anyone a pyromaniac. The inflation rate of a balloon that big was quite impressive, and for a split second made you actutely aware of the fact that you might just be taking your last trip anywhere. (or at least your last look at a good head of hair) Once in the basket, it was mere seconds before we were 100 feet off the ground, and from there we eventually reached 2,380 ft. Holy balloon ride, batman! 

Definitely the highlight of our early morning, (which also included a traditional Berber breakfast with about 100 of our closest bee friends) the fact that it was overcast was of little consequence, (or even that it was in fact, sprinkling rain) Some breathtaking views, and a distance from the ground that would take your breath away was reward enough.

This was followed by a camel ride that could be rivaled only by what I believe would be equivalent to a ride in a zoo…but with even less scenery.  The cars passing by were good to grab a taxi if you needed one.  Ah, what to do….when in Rome, do as the natives don’t ever really do. :) I guess some might liken it to San Franciscans and cable cars…expensive and unecessary. Unlike an elephant ride, (which believe it or not is a fairly comfortable experience) camels are as about as smooth as the guys from the a Night at the Roxberry, (and frankly most of my dates over the last 6 months) and they really don’t believe in letting you down gently when it doesn’t work out either. Getting on an off a camel is a lot like me learning to drive a stick shift at sixteen, lurching back and forth, and scary to you and anyone else within a hundred feet of you. However, I don’t believe that my trip to Marrakech wouldhave been complete without it, and I am happy to have done it.

Even happier that I got Graeme to join me, of which he swore he would absolutely not do! Not only do I have the gene for bargain hunting, but apparently the art of persuasion is in my wheelhouse well.  

#tipstricksstickittoya

So two days into marrakech, and the cultural shock waves have subsided to some degree. Being initially well read on what to expect in terms of traveling as a woman, bargaining in the medina, taxi costs and such, I was on high alert. Even packed with my arsenal of trip advisor tips, and wikitravel docs, we will still managed to get duped on our taxi rate and distance to the hotel…only to learn later that 200 dirham (about 20.00) is the going rate for anywhere from the airport, no matter the distance. Having gotten over smarting on that one, we were happy to arrive at our hotel, which lived up in most respects to our hopes and dreams for travel weariness. Althougth, the wifi (“wee-fee”) left something to be desired….hence me getting this post out in Croatia a week later. 

Our first trip was into the medina with a guide, only to later read the guide book to understand the “commission structure” of said guide.  What is that saying?  “when in doubt ask for directions?” in Marrakech, it should be “when in doubt, read the guidebook!" The souks as expected were wild with all kinds of wares, sellers ready to pull you in the first chance they got, and the act of bargining and getting your price, left you with a bunch of stuff you never wanted in the first place. The end goal it seems, is really in the means. Well worth the trip, I picked up some coveted argon oil, and royal tee with orange blossom oil. Supposedly, this cures insomnia....more to come on that back in the states! 

The sites, sounds and smells as you might imagine are almost an assault to the senses, from the vats of spices to the yummy leather, (once cured of course...nevermind the tannieries, full of vats of pigeon poop, holy rotten things batman!) to the meat and fish being slaughtered in front of you. A essential part of understanding that there is virtually nothing that goes to waste here from the earth, to the wildlife. Being that shopping is my fave pastime, (and bargining is in my bones....thanks mom!) I wasn’t surprised to see in Marrakech, it’s basically an olympic sport. I was more than happy to throw my hat in the ring. And as to reward my hard work, I felt is appropriate to take a rubdown at the spa upon the conclusion of our trip. A few glasses of wine in, it was a nice little 30 minute nap.

The traditional Hammam to follow, more to come……