All posts tagged: travel

on what’s to eat, and a respite

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This was a respite within a respite, so to speak: A 10-hour layover in Paris between two long-ish flights, the bookend of a holiday. I was fortunate to have a French-fried friend to ease the airport doldrums, and even more fortunate that she is a great hostess (from as early as 6am!). One day, I’ll do Paris (maybe even the rest of France) slowly. I’ve only ever done it fast, which is entirely inadequate. But for now I only know the city in increments of 18 hours, 10 hours, cramming whatever I can taste/see/smell/hear/enjoy in the smallest window of time.   Arriving in the city by 7:30am, we set out to eat. First a pain au chocolat at the Marché des Enfants Rouges, only just awakening on this Saturday, then a walk about, and a leisurely breakfast in the sun at La Chambre des Oiseaux. What’s to eat? “Breakfast à la campagne” – an assortment of breads, cheeses, charcuterie, and jams, along with a warm and gingery drink. Evidently Paris sleeps in on Saturdays, so we strolled to …

on failure

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The silver lining of being failed by people you care about is that you learn to count on love instead of on people. It takes time, but slowly — slowly — you learn to be buoyed along by the love that floods the universe, that shows itself around sharp corners and airlifts you to a grassy patch when things get really muddled. That sort of love occasionally prefers an 11th hour arrival.default When others fail you, know that they are simply human. And know that more love is available and on its way, packed inside molecules you’re only just about to breathe in, caked with the dirt on your shoes, dissolving in your coffee mug, transferred via secret handshake, or… riding in on a donkey cart. It’s coming, it’s coming.

on going places

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I went to a place where the food is friendly, the people are delicious, the sea is properly drawn, and the sun cooperates. I went to a #1 destination for cloud enthusiasts. I went to a place where the gelato is done right, the cafe con leche is perfecto, and even the barcodes are snazzy. I went to a place where the art astounds, and the locals are friendly… And spirits (and cliffs) soar. I went to a place where the ham is good and the cheese is better, and the wine is more or less incredible, and I tried to relax… And be inquisitive, as a proper tourist might (without being too obvious) … I was rewarded with open arms, sights for days, and A++ hospitality. Such that all I can say is… photos from Barcelona and Monserrat, Spain

on kenya (ii)

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Headed down into the Great Rift Valley, the view is hard to grasp; it’s the kind of view that tells stories upon stories, but above all the story of your own smallness. Because in all your perfection, you’re nothing compared to its vastness. I love those kinds of views–they are both astonishing and soothing, and they give explicit directive not to take life so seriously, considering the long view of things. We entered the valley at Hell’s Gate, rumbling through shrubby plains lined by enormous, wind-blown cliffs. The animals of my childhood storybooks traipsed about, and I pointed in glee again and again. Below, bottom right, there is a small brown bump headed over that low fold in the landscape. It could be anything; it is a warthog (my very first). Hell’s Gate is nothing if not hike-worthy, and we headed into The Gorge, led by a young Maasai tour guide named Richard who was lovely, and patient, and a fantastic contrast to the weathered surroundings in his bright red cloth. we made it all the way to The …

on not knowing

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the accumulation of Things I Do Not Know has reached impressive proportions: i do not know the roads here, or the routes, or most destinations. i do not know half of what people say, or how i’m to feel about it, or how to reply. i do not know how to do my job, or whether i’ll be any good, or whether i’ll find it satisfying. i do not know what’s in most of the food i eat, how to cook over a gas tank, or recognize the things for sale at market. i do not know when to engage strangers, or how, or whether i appear as foreigner or fool when I idle in the street. i do not know how to be funny here, or when to smile, and I can’t quite figure out the tortoise who lives in the yard. and yesterday i realized that i Do Not Know how to tie a bathrobe. the string on the outside and the string on the inside and the loops on the seams don’t …

on control

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Control is crazy-making. It’s impossible to live and let live when information, opinions, and judgements invade the screens we live by at a breathtaking pace; when we organize our time on calendars in clouds; when modern impulses conspire with gadgets, driving us to decide, allocate, schedule, confirm, reach out, touch base, and on, and on. I am victim to these same urges, even as I realize the mechanisms control me more than I care to admit. Control is a wicked illusion; it is a mindset of denial, of keeping fears–inadequacy, incompetence, chaos, confusion, imperfection, disturbances–at bay through sheer will. Control is a (highly soothing) barrier to reality, but it is ultimately futile, and exhausting. So here I am, newly without a home of my own, without a car of my own, without a smarty-pants phone. I eat the food that is fed to me; I go to the places others are going and I stay there until they leave; I use electricity when it is available and I don’t when it’s not; I bathe from a …