The World through my ´´I`s``

the mountain mist

2010-01-12T03:34:00.000-08:00

the rapidly rolling mist in the frigid annapurna valley vanishes as fast as it appears; all but a lingering gust that settles on a settlement. as the last of the day's rays pay homage to the highest land, the mystique of night punctually meets the mountain mist. together they abscond from the scene with the aid of twinkling accomplices to a mere state of mind.

strange asian fruit*

2010-01-12T03:24:00.000-08:00

kathmandu trees bear a strange fruit
grime on the bark, piles at the root
black bags glistening in the hazy sun
strange fruit telling of what's become.

city scape of the bustling street
reflected in bags at passerby's feet.
vendors selling sweets that smell fantastic
then the sudden smell of burning plastic.

here is a fruit for the dogs to scower
for the rain to drain to pools of sour
for the dust to collect, for the leaves to mop
here is a strange and bitter crop.

*fashioned after the annonimously written poem "strage fruit" that billie holiday wrote music to and later became a jazz standard. i by no means wish to compare the two atrocities, i simply wish to make known the state of nature in the eyes of a stranger.

where the streets have no name

2010-01-02T07:52:00.000-08:00

after a day of scrambling through the loud, wet, littered, busy streets the tourista feeling was setting in and i was getting cranky. i felt like i couldn't escape the stigma of being a walking wallet. after being pressured to drop a significant amount of money in 20 minutes time, i had had enough. i skulked back to vicinity of the hotel as i was not yet adventurous enough to negotiate the nameless streets.

my attitude changed when i met up with my two new friends to join Dev's family for dinner as a goodbye for our friend. half way through the jaunt, all lights went out. the further we walked, the more people appeared as we got closer. bonfires illuminated groups and cell phones gave the illusion of disembodied, floating heads. the butchershops proudly displayed their cuts by candle light as the live goats pleaded outside. from the darkness came ominous children's voices who's bodies became barely outlined in the smokey alleyways. conversation between the three of us halted as we took sight of the first full moon of 2010. the black out afforded us a couple more stars -a fair exchange for our temporary blindness.

we made it to his apartment, an almost american styled building, and in minutes tea warmed our hands and insides while his four year old daughter entertained us. Pia, having volunteered in the village Dev grew up in, noted the generational and cultural shifts between village and city, Dev and his daughter. dinner was served shortly thereafter by his beautiful wife. it was an extraordinary (well, ordinary for nepalis) meal consisting of dal, rice, curries and fresh veggies. both Dev and his wife were delighted when i abandoned my spoon to try out the traditional way of eating. it felt wonderful to indulge another sense taking the meal to the next level. we parted ways with Dev at the first sign of a landmark that we knew and together we tackled the loud streets of thamel.

how do you kathmandu?

2010-01-02T07:36:00.000-08:00

throwing caution, and sleep, to the cold kathmandu wind i accepted an invitation to join a few people for new years celebrations just minutes after arrival. i did my best to keep up with Dev, the hotel agent who invited me, as he weaved through the intricate patterns of irrational traffic. he took me to his travel agency -ay, there's the rub- where the others were to meet us. he quickly disappeared and so i rifled through pages of pictures showcasing nepal's greatest beauty. dev reappeared with two cups of nepali masala tea. it had to be the most divine treat at that moment, for the lack of heat and hydration from the flying (not to mention my cold shower) was stealing my concentration.

to my delight, the others showed up and we got to talking. one woman, a fellow solo traveler, was just finishing her two month stay in nepal. she shared some of her experiences with us and patiently answered my earnest questions. the other two girls, a mother-daughter team from switzerland stayed quiet and polite until they excused themselves. left to our own devices, the three of us followed Dev once more to a local restaurant. we indulged in the spices, colours and smells of beautiful nepali curries as i coyly soaked up as much information as possible.

later, just us girls went out among the town to celebrate the surprisingly huge western new years. we spent the countdown hopping to bad hindi pop and avoiding vomit and motorbikes on the walk home. i went back to my luxurious single room (with my very own bathroom too) and resorted to sensory deprivation to calm my nerves after the overload that is kathmandu. bach lulled me to sleep after douglas adams inspired the last two chuckles of the night.

it caught up with me...

2010-01-01T09:30:00.000-08:00

...the transience like the winter i had been evading for the last two months. a new chapter, an old feeling and an unknown experience awaits me. this i know. what i don't know is how this experience will shape the others, what brought me here, what stays here. this place in between the ebb of the mediterranean and the flow of tel avivian traffic poignantly describes my position. as i loose myself in the ominous hovering light from the ceaseless arrivals of airplanes, i am reminded of my imminent departure. until then, the serendipitous hellos and ambiguous goodbyes will bide my time.

what's my age, again?

2009-12-16T05:37:00.001-08:00

we climbed in the car with our day packs packed for a few days of visits and eating up north! we hummed to the 80/90's pop songs that america had forgotten about but galgalatz, the hip radio station, certianly hadn't. the first stop was in carmiel where we stayed with carmel's lovely aunt and cousin. estrogen ruled the roost in this cute home, i ascertained as they showed me around the rose splattered rooms. the best room of all, though, was the one in the basement where carmel's aunt and cousin run a little business throwing birthday parties. clad in flowers of all kinds and two colours: pink and white, it was a little girl's dream room complete with a china tea party set up and party dresses for the children to wear. after a day of driving, we wanted nothing more than to revert to our little girl selves and watch disney movies. after a way too short hour and a half, we decided to act our age and go out to a bar where we analysed the warped body image in the little mermaid.

the next day, carmel and i went to a nearby kibbutz were we had my favourite meal, hands down, consisting of all fresh, all organic, all delicious tapas. words cannot do this meal justice, you'll just have to take my drool for it. we then whisked off to tiberias and found a beautiful hike in the switzerland forest over looking the famous lake. nobody walked on water that day but we did spot a lone, rather omniscient looking shepard walking on high.

when traveling with someone, there comes a time when every social barrier breaks and you discuss your synchronized bodily functions among other experiences. as was expected would happen at some point, we ran into some problems...um running. so that night we went to carmel's cousin's favourite dance club in the middle of nowhere. as people trickled in in their groups, we slowly realized that everyone there was younger than us -the shaved army heads were a dead give away. as the highschool party progressed, the tunes and our bellies got worse. carmel and i chuckled at our yearning for prunes and rest while we sat in the corner and watched the akward mingling take place.

don't ask, don't tel aviv

2009-12-15T09:00:00.000-08:00

smooth sailing for the most part. i got on the last bus to catch the last train from tel aviv to binyamina. slightly out of my head with sleep deprivation (the kind that comes after too much amusement), i hurried a goodbye to fast friends and boarded alone. it wasn't until the bus took off that anxiety set in. fortunately for me, a distraction serendipitously unfolded.

the bus's turn on to the narrow street was interupted by a double parking motorbike. nonchalantly, the driver muttered something in hebrew to the closest passanger and swooped the obstruction from the street and dumped it on the sidewalk. no problem -that is until the delivery boy that the bike belonged to materialized with heat retaining pizza cover in hand. then the arms began to flail and war was waged between the respecitive deliverers. pizza boy whisked off on his bike scouring through the sidewalks, only to be cut off by the mammoth bus at the next driveway. and that's when the bus driver got cocky. long after we lost the biker, the lingering anger fueled the remainder of the ride. surely, he was internally indulging in the post-fight conversation that everybody has with themselves on their "cool off" walk. we sailed through yellow lights, barely dodged pedestrians, scraped by neighboring buses, took over the lanes and abruptly haulted at the train station. partly frightened, i maintained the frantic pace and boarded seconds before departure.

gotta love synchronicity!

a taste of isreal

2009-12-15T08:59:00.000-08:00

"to make aliyah" is the phrase used to describe immigration to isreal. the word aliyah means "to ascend." after a few days in the holy land with a self-proclaimed foody, i began to don a slanted understaning of the phrase. one bite into a seemingly ordinary apple and my taste budds ascended to a world of extraordinary food. yes, everything tastes better here, everything!

i tried my best to distinguish the differences before giving up and eating everything. i did, however, manage to analyze a tad. as ironic and depressing as it sounds, looks are deceiving because they're not deceiving. north america has a tendency to sell you everything (coincidentally, in arabic the meaning of the phrase "to sell someone" is to talk badly behind one's back). with extravagent friendliness, your half clothed server will offer you their personal recomendations; the outlandishly big, redder than red apple in the market is but a genetically engineered product masking a watery interior. here, an apple is an apple (infact, the worse they look, the better they taste); servers want you in and out; cooks will take their sweet time to make you amazing food.

traveling with carmel gave me the opportunity to open myself to a world of food. one of the first places she took me to was in a tabun in a nearby town called daliyat al-karmel. i have to admit that i questioned her judgement at first glance. the walls had years of attempted yellow paint speratically showcasing the not so white foundation. it was decorated in what could have been the storeyboard for the last unicorn. we took our seats amongst the hustle of stressed servers and anxiety of hungry costumers. the chairs were falling apart and when i attempted to fix mine, i got a sticky surprise. after a planned trip to the bathroom, i arrived back in time to chow down on some hummous. carmel had denied me hummous in any other place until now and it became clear to me why as we broke the freshly fire-roasted bread and dunked in the creamy, lushious dip. . .i was ascending...
"at least try the rice," carmel said as she motioned at the chicken dish. another doubt surfaced in a how-good-could-this-be kind of way.
"cinnamon -no nutmeg- are those almond slivers?" i couldn't help but exclaim with my mouth full of delicious fare.

and this was just the beginning!

the f word

2009-12-03T14:32:00.000-08:00

while trying to minimalize my stargazing at the plentiful stars of david, i slowly made it through the tel aviv airport. i waltzed through the security (largely due to the detailed script carmel provided me with) and off i went through the crowd of people searching for said friend. after a couple of false sightings, my eyes locked and arms flailed when hysteria led me to her. a couple months previous to this blissfull reunion, tragedy carved a deep impression in our relationship. from the debris of a hate crime bloomed a beautiful friendship. when she invited me to join her here in israel, i took the offer as a synchronistic event and chose to see it through.

we caught up on the road to zichron ya'akov, her parents place about 20min. south of haifa. i couldn't contain my disbelief when i read each road sign exclaiming the little distance between myself and jerusalem, nazareth, tiberias. . . ect. at long last, we arrived at her parents place where i was shown to my very own room -what luxury! immediately, i felt so welcomed as if i was not just a friend but family. what i was to learn was that these two words are interchangeable here.

this was heavily reinforced the next day at the lunch. carmel and i were invited to at their family friend's house in the neighboring arab town of feridis (meaning paridise). the minute we walked in the house, we were happy recipients of the plentiful loving family atmosphere and amazing home cooked arab cuisine. we were stuffed to the gills with wonderful food -i was very impressed that their persistant offering was both more persisant and effective than dad's! we had to invent words to politely deny more food by the end of it!!

until recently, 24+ family members lived under that roof. carmel described it as a central bus station before the big move. we got to see the new house which resembles an upscale hotel. despite the latest fashions and marble decore, the children yearn for the homey bus station where they shared rooms and laughs under the much used roof.

snow-capped cappedocia

2009-11-17T17:25:00.000-08:00

i scarffed down the absolute worst su boregi (rectangular multi-layered cake of steamed pastry stuffed with white sheep's-milk cheese and parsley) while anxiously waiting for my bus to arrive. the oil seeped through the napkins to my cold and pasty fingers asserting its overbearing presence in my body. i was traveling from antalya to cappedocia with all of my awkward luggage. it was getting cold, i was getting tired and worried that the bus might show up without me knowing it. then the thoughts came: "is this it? it's not in the 23 slot, but it's the right bus company. i'm just going to check. but what if i can't come back into the terminal once i'm outside? what if someone takes my bags? i'll just take them with me. the ticket says 8:30 and my watch says 8:05 but i'm adding from vancouver time -why didn't i reset this useless watch, why? i'll just check the clock, there's got to be a clock. i'll just walk to the middle of the terminal -but if this is my bus and it takes off, i'm screwed. okay, i'll just walk over there and check if it's my bus." and then i heard english twanged with a new zealand accent. blessed, wonderful english. we instilled each other with confidence and exchanged a quick account of our travels thus far. then we were on the bus in our seats and off to goreme, cappedocia.

we arrived at around 7:30am to what i thought was goreme. how did i come to this conclusion? well, for starters my luggage had been tossed onto the puddled pavement, there were signs everywhere with goreme on it, and a man walked up and down the bus aisle screaming "goreme." guess again! i was in nev ashir, a neighboring town and certainly not the one on my bus ticket. it is quite common for this to happen, according to lonely planet. travel agents scoop you up when you're vulnerable. fortunately, this travel agent was really good to me. he took me in, fed me breakfast, housed me until the tour started, housed my luggage for the entire day, got me a really good deal on a bus ride back to istanbul, fed me dinner after the tour and kept the agency open after hours so i could wait indoors with heat and all before my bus ride later that night.

this marked my first snow experience of the year. in my sleepy haze, i forgot my jacket in my backpack before the tour but i was shortly joined by an indian family from london who where also suited inappropriatly. we shivered an introduction and off we went. once we took sight of the marvels awaiting us, it was all worth it. the snow reclaimed nature's rightful work by hugging the curves of hallowed rock. the combination of human ingenuity and natural magnificence was so poigniant that it made me overlook the abandoned ciggarette butts and packages. it was a tight squeeze to the top of one of the structures but, alas, the cozy cave abode proved to be a rewarding look out. as i gazed at the oddly shaped village, i pondered the adaptability of human kind.

it was amusing and pleasant to be surrounded by a young family. the dad walked around filming the dorky home video (loudly narrating about every detail) while the younger boy made new friends and noises. the older boy stayed close to his mother and smiled without complaint for every family photo. i later found out that the older son is autistic. i was happy to share my positive experiences with aba therapy with the mother who had never heard of it before. we talked late into the evening over chai and a heat lamp while waiting for our respective busses. after a long and theraputic talk, we bid farewell in the cappedocian snow.

sisterhood

2009-11-12T13:09:00.000-08:00

ironically enough, there is no linguistic distinction between the genders in turkish yet the two sexes lead pretty seggregated lives. as a tourist, one can get an idea of what the men do as you can find them clumped in men-only cafes spitting sunflower seeds, drinking chai and playing tavla. but apart from watching them scurry around the streets in pairs, one cannot get a real look into the lives of women.

in turkey, a visitor is said to bring you good luck. i think that laurren and i can attest to that for the first weekday after i arrived, she received a call from her boss saying that the school had been shut down on account of the swine flu fever. the luck was quickly reciprocated when we accepted an invitation to a luncheon with her co workers -a rare chance for me to get an inside look into typical lives of women (and an added bonus was that they all spoke english as they are english teachers. score!).

once inside, they let their hair down one by one. i felt a tinge of privilage for witnessing women's rights to bare arms. and how delicate they were, white like freshly rolled pastry. we shared stories and looked at our hostess's wedding photos until lunch was served. now i know that i have previously stated that the food is great it turkey, but the best place to eat is in a turkish household. i had ordered these items before but they had never tasted this good and it's not just perception, believe me! we talked of arranged marriages, future prospects, having children, breast reduction surgery, school trips, and body image among other things. two little trouble makers ran around the apartment and every soul in the room contributed to the collective motherhood that was in abundance -except when it was time to breastfeed! laurren received a crash course on how to wear a head scarf as i entertained the little ones with a bouncy ball. when the conversation dwindled and the kids got grumpy, our gracious host offered gifts of head scarfs that she decorated herself! i left with a positive electric feeling similar to the way one feels after a nurturing yet invigorating hug. filled with food and pleasantry, laurren and i headed over to the beauty salon to complete our femine feast.

mediterranean meditation

2009-11-05T13:54:00.000-08:00

Oz drove Sechel (his wife), Laurren and i for 8 hours from ankara to kas (more appropriately named paradise) in the pursuit of diving and relaxation. the bliss was not realized until the next morning when sunlight illuminated the splendor from our balcony! the mountains were coated with shore lines and decorated with paragliders dangling above them against the backdrop of fluffy, white clouds. laurren, sechel and i skipped through the trails that nonchalantly lead to ancient amphitheaters and picturesque seaside hang outs at every turn! we head to the rocky beach where i played my didgeridoo for the first time in months (validating the curious questions/glances from anyone seeing me lug the awkard package around) and dipped in the transparrent mediterranean. in the distance, turkish music soared from ships decked in the stark red and white of the turkish flag summoning the celebrators.

and what a celebration it was! it turns out that we arrived for turkey's independence day in one of the only cities that actually celebrates it! the raki flowed lıke lıon's mılk and the hıps moved lıke shakira's to black sea beats in between rows of eager diners. a confeti decorated youth marchıng band proceeded the speradic firework spectacle. im happy to say that i survived my first raki experience, as i heeded the warnings about sipping too fast. unfortunately, laurren wasnt so lucky but came out of it alive!

needless to say, our lax agenda was much appreciated the following days.

all or nothing

2009-11-05T12:18:00.000-08:00

in my truly turkish experience today, i lost all of my prescious hair -and i mean all- at a beauty salon in ankara. unwittingly, i was signed up for the works when i expected just the usual half leg/ bikini treatment but apparently the qur'an encourages every hair to be gone (it's somewhere in the back). when my torturer motioned for me to turn around i had visions of laurrence of arabia taking his 100 lashings -a secondary punishment to this in my opinion. it could have been the stockholm syndrome taking presedence but in that bare, medical looking room there were smiles exchanged between heavy breaths and spastic jerks.

pain is nothing to me now! next step, childbirth!!!

in an effort to make amends with our angry skin, laurren and i indulged in the full treatment at the hamami (turkish bath) the next day. i have to say that it was really relieving to not be the only gangly, confused tourist in this adventure! even finding the place was a task in itself. with lonley planet in hand our eyes skanned every corner for any sign of a street name (an anomaly in turkey). we were literally chased out of a few hamamis on acount of our using the man's entrance instead of the woman's! the third time this embarrassing event repeated, lauren had the brilliant idea of jumping in a cab and letting the taxi driver deal with locating it. in an amusing turn of events, he drove around the block to a place we had previously traversed! we paid him the 3.6 turkish lira and scurried into the correct entrance this time.

from the beginning, we were in a haze -a white haze. following the prompts of the women working there, we decorated our shoes with plastic booties and followed their lead to our changeroom. nervous and naive, we didn't know what norm to prepare for. in another stroke of genius, laurren decided to take a trip to the bathroom to scope out the scene to see what was appropriate (not) to wear. against the objections of the women working there, she scuttled through the steam to the bathroom, took a peek and reported back. we then stumbled out with our towels on and the provided plastic sandals. we were led into this high ceiling marble heaven lined with taps overflowing the vases beneath with water. captivated and slightly shocked, we slowly caught on to the sequence that we were to follow: wet selves with water like bathing goddesses, lie face up on pedastal in the middle of the room, endure the pain of exfoiliating recently waxed legs, turn when tapped on the bum two times, delight in watching large amounts of expired skin shed, get rinsed, lie a second time face up, notice the natural sunlight sparkling through star shaped sky lights, get lathered and massaged, turn when tapped on the bum two times, resist the urge to fall asleep in relaxed state, stand up and stooper over vase a second time, rinse self at leisure -and i mean leisure! mid massage, a woman broke out into a haunting hum filling the entire room with echos of minor messages.

yes, the turks certainly do have it figured out! if only ron andrews would catch on...

tea-sugar-eh-dream

2009-10-26T16:46:00.000-07:00

that's how an english speaking person can pronounce "thank you" in turkish. and since my arrival in ankara, i've had plenty of occasions to use it.

the first was laurren's amazing welcoming! plates upon plates of hot, homecooked turkish cuizine awaited us on the table -definitely the best cooked food i'd had since my arrival in turkey! wine and conversation flowed as we caught up on our first impressions of life in ankara and on the road. the next day pleasant banter kept our pace as we aimlessly wandered through old ankara. we stumbled upon the citadel, a charming bazaar, and the anatolian museum. i thought i was starting to adapt to the consistent amazment of turkey's antiquity until i reached the museum and laid modern eyes on ancient artifacts. simply incredible. tea-sugar-eh-dream

a long day of walking and gaping warrents a good meal. we decided to return to a quaint moderately priced restaurant that we had previously got some coffee at. tea-sugar-eh-dream, for the marathon meal that we had coming to us made that night a truly memorable one! the waitor recognised us right away and verbally reinforced us for returning. we ordered our meals and soon he asked if we would like a terrace view. so we moved up and started off on our appetizers. half way through, he came up with a gift of delectable fried fish. the gifts did not stop there! he came with wine and tea and when we were finished our mains, invited us to the garden where there was a birthday party going on. the musicians blared the haunting arabic scales to unexpected (at least for a westerner) beats as the celebrators danced. it wasn't long before we were given incredible hazelnut chocolate birthday cake, more wine and a fruit plate. we danced it off with the merry family and as the turkish saying goes, it became our home.

tea-sugar-eh-dream for a genuine turkish experience!

bazaar

2009-10-26T16:26:00.000-07:00

"yes please"

"lady"

"excuse me"

"can i ask you one question?"

"you speak enlish?"

"huney buney"

"come here"

"yes angel"

"i know what you needs"

"want a look leather jacket"

"let me show you"

"nice lady"

"you look tired. i can help. cay? cafe?"

"spain?"

"you are different"

ALWAYS preceeded, "where you from?" the dreaded question. i only stopped answering it today. it took me a long time to figure out that that was their in to the tourist psyche.

ah, how grand it was! i unwittingly ended up three metro stations away from where i started. and after all of that heckling and looking at worlds of material, i exited with a mere bag of dried figs (that melt in your mouth like cookie dough) and what was left of my roasted almonds (that snap under pressure like twigs). a day of overstimulation demanded a quiet night and i climbed into the top bunk in my shared room as soon as possible. i eagerly awaited the emotional, minor praise of the daily morning prayer exuding from the mosque to wake me up for my next adventure to ankara.

in-stuffed-bull

2009-10-26T15:39:00.000-07:00

i wish i could smell. instead, textures and visions will have to suffice as i comb through the ancient cobbled streets of istanbul. perhaps this protection from sensory overload is a blessing, afterall, it is my first time alone in an extremely populated city. regardless of the fact that my first impressions are clouded by my body's limitations, i am happy to seek solice among civilizations oldest venues.

slowly emerging like shades in the dark, my brain computes the input of freshly roasted chestnuts, second hand smoke, and lingering exhaust. day two brings the promise of completing the experience. in spite of my body's protests yesturday, i was determined to adapt to the time and make the most of it. i managed to have some pretty unique experiences! my girggling, consistent cough turned out to be an optimal weapon against unwanted male attention. nothing says "i'm not available" like phlegm struggling for its independence every 2.6 minutes!!

in true form, my one track mind lead me to a cramped music shop filled with traditional instruments. after much consideration, i settled on a zurna -a rather abrassive sounding, wooden reed instrument- to be the perfect gift for laurren, who i was scheduled to meet in a couple of days. eager for some traditional music, i rambled into the only restaruant with musicians. i orded turkish tzatziki (definitely not called that) and watched intently as they plucked and bowed in feverish tempos. i took out the 3 lira book of traditional songs for mey metodu (turkish whistle) and it caught the eyes of the musicians. before i knew it, the fiddle/clarinet player was giving me a crash course on the zurna and all were laughing at my duck impressions!

after a baklava or two, i wandered into the blue mosque square where i was struck by the flags resemblance of the evening's sliver moon. enchanted, i walked towards the sound of a lone guitarist. after a few songs, he offered me his guitar and i shared what i could with my maimed vocal capacity. he taught me how to say thank you and i taught him the use of the word "jam." he then invited me to "make jam" with him at his gig in a restaurant. thankfully, i had louie with me so we elevated to the top floor of a building housing a gorgeous terrace restaurant overlooking the aya sofia and the majestic blue mosque. the street vendors below captured my emotional splendor with their illuminated toys resembling fireworks as we harmonized for the diners.

mind the gap

2009-10-26T14:59:00.000-07:00

somewhere inbetween north america and europe, i watched the sun emerge. it illuminated the clouds below and bestowed upon me an extreme sense of privilege for knowing that i was among the very few in london that day who got to witness the sunrise. nothing short of typical, the sky was as occupied as the clerks at the bank were sure to be. i was met at the airport by a dear, new friend who offered me his services as smashing host and tour guide all for the low low cost of appreciation (and hopefully someday reciprocation).

it didn't really dawn on me that i was in london until i saw the iconic big ben from across the grey water. the feeling of realizing its fame was comparable to that in new york. the sheer volume of people was hard to comprehend at first. being with a friend certainly helped as we tried to hold on to our personal space in the tubes. after a day of walking around the core of the city, we replenished just in time for one of my all time favourite musicals, les miserables. we then skipped home to the beating of our hearts that echoed the beating of the drums...

...and when tomorrow came, we took a gander at camden market which ended up occupying us for the entirety of the day. its foundation is a massive horse stable from the 1700's!! with its many twists and turns, there's a stall with something to be bought in every knook and cranny. david was very successful in finding funky necessities and i satisfied my craving for playing musical instruments at the piano shop and guitar haven. later, i had a wonderful reunion with my beautiful cousin, joanna, and we talked and laughed over a glass of wine and vegan key-lime pie. then david and i whisked off to a dubstep show in the city of its conception!

we stumbled in late and i stumbled out early with my backpacks eager for some baklava!!

***last two pictures are provided by the talented david mason. check out his work/play at http://www.flickr.com/photos/masepack***

NYC

2009-10-22T06:05:00.000-07:00

my experience of NYC was indicatıve of ıts common perception. ıt was quick, intimidating at first, and very stimulating. the pace quickened on the way into town. i could feel the cortisol levels in my blood risingas the defensive traffic was negotiated by John driving out bıg rented van. scott resorted to sensory deprivatıon as the rest of the band assembled a chorus of directions and sang every song known to us with new york ın the lyrıcs. we were skillfully dropped off in brooklynn were we combed the streets for some good grub. i stumbled upon some jamaıcan (slash) carrıbian fusion and in an effort to blend in, i ate the most portable parts while sporting a directed, fast-paced walk (which is highly uncharacteristic of me) through the busy streets. then came time for the most daunting task, taking the subway. joe tuba (who was putting up half of the band) helped a few of us on and left mıdway wıth the others.

nervously watching every sıgn, i mustered the courage to talk to an assumed to be unfriendly new yorker. she proved the generalısatıon wrong in seconds with the guıdance she gave me and before i knew it, i was cloggıng the pedestrian traffic (a serious offense, btw) with my gapping, upward looks. columbus cırcle, no doubt any larger than other places in the city, filled me wıth the kind of reverence one feels ın a massive temple for being so very small in comparrison. finding my hostel was no problem but time was racing and the subway woudnt have gotten me to our gig in time. so i decided to indulge in a truely new york experience. i dove into the sea of cabs and surfaced in the back of a yellow-top, complete with television. after fulfılling my childhood dream of playing in NYC, i made it back to the hostel (this time only having to ask two people) where i serindipitously ran into Krıss, a friend from vancouver. it wasnt long before delerium interrupted our catch up and sleep demanded my body's presence.

just another day of a carnie lıfe had this one time event on the schedule: playing on top of a double decker bus with about 50 musicians in pyjamas while touring around the most famous city in the world. in association with the dream network, a floating city filled with people's encapsuled wishes and dreams, the bands from the honk tour (the pink puffers, environmental encroachment, black bear combo, yellow hat band) ''woke up'' new york with the slogan ''time to dream.'' some thıngs dont phase any new yorkers -i now know this to be true. mind you, we did get a few trıple takes and dancers!
after the afterparty and 3 slıces of lombardo's pizza -the kind you have to fold because it cant support its own greasy weıght- krissi, jesse, and i wandered the streets of greenpoint ending at our gıg with the yellow had band. after my final solo, i left mıd-gig to catch the greyhound at midnight with both glass slıppers this time.

...so i joined the circus

2009-10-21T12:46:00.000-07:00

it was only a matter of time until i reached the point in my life where i had the option of joining a convoy of loud brass musicians spreading the ethos and personality of celebration. so i seized ıt and ended up joining the yellow hat band on their eastern HONK tour. we took a train to providence, rhode island on which the earnest trombone player (a most talented and quirky individual) taught me a couple of licks. a fellow carnie and trumpet player, jesse, came along for the rıde as well. we had one rehearsal slash (cant fınd that function on thıs turkish keyboard) busking venture in the park and broke for the parade.

autumn was asserting itself that day and in the cold island air, jesse and i talked of music, anarchism, and community. 'music is community,' he said to me. this resounding refrain as soon as it was spoke was destined to be brought along with me on my journey. later that night, we marched a very cold parade down to the waterfront where we played another set and called ıt an early night. the next day, we booked ıt to north hampton where we played one of our better sets at a universıty bar. the energy heightened as the pınk puffers (from roma ıtalia) got on stage and performed their usual nothing-short-of-estatic set!

relaxatıon was greatly welcomed the next day. we indulged in the ıdealıc colours, smells, and harvests that north hampton unıversity's farm dısplayed so effortlessly. band mates became frıends as we joked, clımbed, skıpped and threw rotten tomatoes together. the next day had quite the opposite in store. ..

HONK

2009-10-21T12:08:00.000-07:00

i can still hear Roz's laugh: loud, infectious, and inviting -the very three words i would use to describe my experience of HONK in it's entirety. HONK is an activist street band festival ın Boston, MA. For three days, the community interacted with, housed, and fed musicians from all over the world -mostly the USA, two from Canada and two from Italy. for the dıe hards, there's an eastern tour including PRONK in provıdence, rhode island and BONK in brooklynn, new york.

i went down on a whim and met up with the Carnival band, a communıty band that i've been playing with for the last few months. i arrived late in the evening at my billeter's house to a sick but friendly host and their epıleptıc but cuddley cat. we exchanged stories until his partner and my bandmate showed up. after a flurry of chatter, we went to bed in preparatıon for a long, excitıng day. frıday was like the 'warm up.' the carnıes surfaced in stripes and polka dots, horns a'blazın on route to east boston. there, we marched through Zumıx to Zumıx, a youth orıented musıcal after school program designed to get kids off of the street. complete with a grand piano, a radıo program, recording studio, and workshops of everykınd, one woman's dream materıalızed through outreach and goodwıll. i truely was inspired by the way in which the youth were so engaged. i hope to one day participate in or recreate one elsewhere.

that nıght, we dınned ın the dıllboy hall with a number of different bands. heeding the oath i pledged with my friend we made at the begınnıng of the summer, i took louie with me everywhere! ıt was lıke the band camp i always wanted to go to as a kid. explosive jams, sprited entertainers, sonıc massages and my god the carnies!!! ıt was that night that i first met some members of the yellow hat band, a sıster brass band from seattle, and the thought of goıng to new york fırst materialized in my mind as they told me about the eastern tour of honk. . .

tam tam tam tam tam

2009-10-05T23:38:00.000-07:00

just over one year ago i walked to mont royal on an overcast sunday with blackbird (my guitar) firmly gripped in my sweaty right hand. the intention was to play her at the tam tam festival, a weekly community drum circle. but, alas, the beats proved to be too intimidating to a novice player such as myself. instead, i allowed each pound of the drums to encourage insecurity to increase it's surface area in my brain (technically speaking, of course). luckily enough, this internal battle didn't sufficate the experience and while gorging on self expression and community spirit, i gave myself a challenge.

during the course of the year, i launched a personal investigation into community, music, confidence, growth, acceptance, communication and art. through my work as a waitress, teacher, community support worker, and singing instructor, i developed a respect for alternate points of view and how valued and varied expression can be. i began to realise the importance of communication as the acknowledgement of expression, as well as its multifacited nature. the many beautiful relationships that developed this year taught me that acceptance is lying at the heart of communication. -okay, this is starting to sound like a cover letter- but honestly, i think my struggle with music is synonimous with the "graduate syndrome" so many of us have felt/are feeling. we sign up for classes, buy the books, do anything to avoid reading/practising, take the exam and however prepared we are try to perform our best. and when it's all over, we wait for the grade to determine the next sequence of events. but it isn't until one lets go of the ego -general stress, anxiety, thoughts, wants- that you feel that note, relate to a passage, seize a thought, speak a language, help another. instinctually, your interests and passions shape you.

last sunday, i raced out the door at 1pm into the indescisive october day. the metro ride seemed long and the walk to mont royal longer. captivated by shear energy, i decided against the daily coffee and continued the arbitrary quest to get to the tam tams as soon as possible. once i hit du parc, the rhythms simultaneously comforted and perturbed me as they encouraged my nervous behaviour. once there, i sat right next to the characters i remembered so clearly -the silver haired mystic playing a deep purple saxophone decorated with gleaming gold stars and the disabled teen who could pick out any newcomer in the crowd, and ask for their name and consent to dance. with shaking hands, i revealed my instrument -the very one that collected dust in the corner of my room for six years -louie, my trumpet. i became a member of the circle that day and i felt very gratfull not because of the approving looks i got, nor the variations on licks i started, but because of the fact that i had risen to my own challenge.

sleepless in montreal

2009-10-04T01:01:00.000-07:00

as i write at the stillest of hours plagued by undetermined itches (well, some of them are determined by my wool leggings), i am reminded of the depth of my first horizontal sleep in 4 days. it was preceded by giggles and stories (and perhaps delirium) shared by two women reunited as girls at a slumber party.

the night was long, the dreams short and the next day shorter. but the longest moment the next day held was an exposure of happiness at the art exhibition put on by friends, talent, and love. i speak of ´the happiness project` a musical interpretation of spoken interviews on the subject collected and interpreted by Charles Spearin, founding member of Do Make Say Think and Broken Social Scene. this music inspired rooms full of art and artists alike brought together by the smell of cookies and the life of love, not to mention months of meticulous planning and hard work that i am thankful for. but most of all, i am thankful for the awareness of such an emotion for happiness, like it`s brother depression, is a condition -but it is not conditional.

it`s funny to think of how much some people have touched your life in such a small amount of time. already, i have partook in many reunions with friends i have known for but a month, week a year ago and feel as if i have reopened a chapter of my life. i`m sure that serendipity will write the rest...

thank you for not smoking

2009-10-02T10:24:00.000-07:00

somewhere in between consciousness and un, winnipeg and thunderbay, a low warning reached my gullible ears, ``i repeat, this is the last chance you`ll have to get a snack and drink before...`` either it trailed off or my subliminal mechanism kicked into action and before i knew it, i was blazing through the frigid night air and back with a powerade in my hands. it wasn`t until we left the esso station that i ascertained the futility of such a purchase. not only have i never bought one in my life, but it was even too cold to drink -not to mention that it was a proud sponsor of the 2010 olympics!

soon guilt turned into weird dreams and all was fine. until i awoke to the rumbling of confrontation,

``get off my bus.``

``i will not.``

``tell me what your bags look like.`

``no no no no no,``

``what you did was against the law. why did you do such a thing``

``to get a reaction out of you. and it`s working, you`re screaming like a little girl``

one hour, two policemen, and three apologies later, we were back on course with the criminal smoker on board.

greyhound bound

2009-10-02T10:18:00.002-07:00

i've always thought that true diners don't really exist anymore -but boy, am i wrong! i've eaten styrophoam layden, stomach turning "veggie" burgers made by ma himself (sans hairnet i`m sure) too many times already. if i wasn't so paranoid of the bus leaving me in butt-fuck regina then i'd have the guts to walk across the street and eat at don's chicken joint. but alas, the one feeble departation warning along with the new resounding anthem, where you be headed?, carved into every bathroom stall is enough to give me nightmares in my contorted sleep.

apart from that, the scenery was phenomenal on the way to calgary! my friend dedicated a song to me called "remember the mountain bed" by billy brag and wilco. i must have listened to it 11 times as we soared through winding passages, flirting with the train below. the sun was setting while paying homage to the tallest of mountains, and the rising moon illuminated the crystal blue of the shallow river -blue like a siberian huskie's eyes. it truly is a wonderful trip!

but i babble! i blame the book i'm reading, "all times have been modern." i've been determined to finish it before arriving in winnipeg to lighted my load and speed my reading in general. it's about a middle aged woman and her trials in living in montreal and becoming a writer. there was a point when i'd describe everything as it was happening in an unstoppable internal monoluge (as she types in the cold basement to the accompaniment of the low hums and girgles of an unfamiliar house).
can't stop won't stop