The Big Mango

Sweaty, hustling, modern, flowering Bangkok. Feels like a non-descript Asian city, posters of cheese smiles, weird blobby characters. Advertisements for whitening skin cream, lemongrass fizzy drinks and computers that roll up to be carried like a yoga mat, the city doesn't scream Thai, until the Grand palace.

The Grand Palace was the Palace of King Rama 1 to 3. The most opulent buildings, an entire gold mosaic building, ones with evil monster men made out of colored mirrors, the emerald budahh sitting high. Praying chicken women and delicate flowers. It was overwhelming, we were glad to have a tour guide, although our time was too short. I could have spent at least 4 hours. We had 1.

The next temple we saw was the reclining Buddha, durian head Buddha. From elbow to head, as tall as the entire temple. The whole time with little metal dinging noises, a sort of calming or sound. As you walk along the front of the Buddha, he is intterupted by ceiling to floor pillars. Golden with long legs. The toes are inlaid mother of pearl, whorl prints. When you get to the other side you can see where the metally tintibulations are coming from, little mettal orbed pots hanging in rows that you walk along and put a 1bh coin into. The sound is incredible. The reclining Buddha site is also home to the first ever school in Bangkok to teach massage. There are drawings of people and pressure points all around.

Hoi An

Hoi An is a city of artisans, tailors, cobblers, silk makers, lantern shapeers, with a river that floods nightly. It has lovely beaches and terrifying bike rides. A hand made skirt costs 6$, a coat 20, tailored to fit. A giant bloated rat that I almost stepped on and motor bike ride by our sweet young tailor to find just the right buttons, such a charming city. River and ocean, great food, clothes, bikes.

The discovery of the "lighthouse" restaurant, and the pinnacle of my food experience in Vietnam. The "hot pot" a simmering brother of lemongrass, ginger, tomato, mushrooms, lemongrass deliciousness. You let the broth boil and add in lots of veggies and tofu!

Biking is quite the thrill seekers adventure. The roads have very few rules (and yes this is 'nam). 20 motor bikes going in each direction, no one has mirrors or looks where they are going, families, pigs transported on the two wheeled death traps. Sharing the road or rather fleeing like schools of fish every time . The dirt, black smoke and flies just about suffocate.

On the way back to the airport, we stopped off at Marble Mountain. It was a key strategic site during the Vietnam war, and was often used to house the sick and wounded. The mountain was an incredible site of temples and caves to climb, breathtaking views and calm. Vietnam's charm is nothing short of magical.

near temple, no onion

The only two things I know how to say in Vietnamese. . . near temple, no onion.

Vietnam for Christmas. It felt just like any day, well any day in Vietnam, so not like just any day, but definitely not like Christmas. On the eve we decorated our potted Norfolk pine with cranberries and popcorn and a big red bow for the top. We ate home-made (by me) pumpkin curry soup, focassia bread with goat cheese and layered grilled zucchini and red pepper, banana flower salad, arugula salad and spring rolls, with pomegranate and cava drinks; not the traditional Toussaint Paella or chilis en Nogados, but delicious none-the-less. It was 70 degrees and sunny, and no snow to be found except for the fake frosted windows and tacky sparkly tinsel that hung from the palm trees. . . surreal.

Hanoi itself is overrun with rats and motorbikes, probably the same number of each. The danger of crossing a road downtown I liken to wrestling crocodiles, it is possible you might not get hurt, but unlikely. Babies, being held between the mother on the back and the father driving, men carrying plasma TV's off the back of their motorbike, ten pigs in baskets tied on to the back, entire flower shops teetering off the seat of a moped. All the men and women with masks to keep out the thick exhaust.

The city is exhausting (exhausty and exhausting), if it isn't the thousands of mopeds, it is constantly haggling for a price, or watching to make sure someone doesn't steal your shoes right off your feet. We had a shoe shine kid follow us, and as soon as noogleson stopped, started buffing the thin strip of leather (pleather? leather uppers?) on her shoes and as she lifted her foot, took the shoe off! So there she is standing on the street, the dirty, rat infested street, one shoe on the other off. The boy takes out a piece of tire and begins to re-sole the shoes! It was pretty incredible, for 3 dollars, newly shined and resoled shoes. . .

Christmas Day: The fabric market is a maze of small stalls from floor to ceiling covered with bolts upon bolts of fabric. Some vintage because they have just been sitting there since they were new bolts and others lovely silks and cottons. Haggling over the price became wearing, and the choices and disorganization of it all did me in, in less than two hours. Leaving worse for the wear with red checked cotton and stretch navy blue thick blend with some thick woven silk. I was ready to be done making decisions and bargaining.

Off to Hoi An tomorrow where the yards of fabric will be transformed. Merry Christmas.

("good luck" cell phone numbers for sale as graffiti)

Listening to : A Charlie Brown Christmas: Linus and Lucy and All I want for Christmas is you: Mariah Carey

traveling with words

I have a little notebook where I keep new words I come across, mainly Spanish words at the moment, and with the poet, there is no shortage. But lately, and due to studying for the GRE English words have crept back into my field of vision. I have just finished a very difficult chapter of my life, a relationship that is all at once the best and worst, a contradiction of emotions. We recently had a conversation about our relationship that resulted in the discussion of multiple universes. "I have started to believe and am continuing to construct my theory regarding multiple universes, perhaps infinite universes. I now believe that there are at the very least- Multiple universes, in which the decisions we make on this planet are altered and conversely construed in multiple, if not infinite ways." And in an almost perfect response a day later, I came upon the word antipodes.

antipodes: those who dwell directly opposite to each other on the globe, so that the soles of their feet are as it were planted against each other. (OED)

A parallel universe? Being a traveler, I have to believe that there are other ways to travel, you travel in books, with words and songs, you can travel back in time with a painting or a well told story. But antipodes, like dark wing duck's evil twin. Black is white and white is black. In this world, we didn't mess up this relationship, but had a prized one. While the thought, interesting, I would never trade my life for that of my "antipode." She can keep the man, and I will keep the traveling.


Listening to: Brigitte Bardot, Un Jour Comme un Autre

just to take something. . .

para tomar algo

a statement made every week, casi every few days. Just to "tomar algo" and with my certain "intercambio." It is always casual, but with the intense conversation of a poet/ geneticist, things end up in argument over the Spanish conquistadors and the limited language of English (to which I disagree, no word for nuts or awkward in Spanish, equals a serious loss on their part).

Glad to, after only three years, have made a actual Spanish friend, not only Spanish but Madreleño in every sense of the word. Loud, outspoken, hard to read, speaks deeply, possessive and so un-American. The time spent with Jorge is time cherished and time spent learning. There are always a new words, and ideas to be though about, and cultural differences that become more apparent. Despite my many issues with Spaniards as a whole, Jorge makes up for them (and possibly typifies them), in a perfect way, just for me.

When in Rome. . .

Returning from a successful long weekend in Rome, my memories are quickly fading on the tastes and smells, thank goodness for capturing the sites.

The Colosseum was our first stop. We decided to get a voice guide, this is usually a good decision, best is almost always an actual tour guide, but if your are going cheap, it is a well spent 2 euro. The Colosseum is huge. Thinking about the battles that took place above the pathways below. One time they filled the space with water and had ship battles, another time they had hippopotamus fights with gladiators. It was incredible to think about how many animals had died in this stage, and how far they must have come from. The Colosseum now is a shell of it's former self, but incredible still.
The Roma pass does not cover the Sistine Chapel. One should know this and not follow the Spaniards lead. . . The actual chapel takes ages to get to, but the road is more delicious than the actual entree. Looking up and down is a favorite past time of mine. Many people focus on the walls, but in a building that ornate, the details of the ceilings, shutters, floors and window panes are what keeps my eyes busy.
Listening to a guide talking about the "School of Athens" by Raphael was a highlight. I snuck my way near them, the guide had a great voice, and an insight that captured my art filled mind. My favorite story, was that Raphael painted the great philosophers, but with his contemporaries heads. That in place of Plato, he painted Da Vinci and that apparently he painted someone else for Aristotle, but after seeing the Sistine Chapel, came back and chipped away the original head to replace it with Michelangelo's.

The actual Sistine Chapel was amazing for the grander and historical significance, but the paintings themselves, being so far away, were a little disappointing. It is sad to sy, but I have seen better detail on the side of a coffee mug. Still the shear size of the Chapel is astounding and to think of Michelangelo painting all that really is awe inspiring. Since being in Florence, seeing the Masaccio's Brancacci Chapel, as well as the "Lagrimas de Eros" at the Thyssen in Madrid, have been interested in differing depictions of Eve with the snake. What struck me, was that all the versions of the snakes are women or the heads of women. This did not break the rule. I guess we are the evil sex?

We stopped off, while wandering as we do, into a to-go pizza parlor. The common thing seems to be grabbing something to go, and sitting down on the steps of a church or a stoop to quickly eat a square of pizza. We randomly picked one with mushrooms, this being the best food decision, and least laborious we had. The pizza was perfectly seasoned with rosemary and marinated mushrooms that kept our tongue tingling with pleasure. And then later . . . we saw a pizza and pasta vending machine. I assume we chose the better option.

Letting ourselves get lost in the streets of Rome, we wound up watching some Italian break dancers. Mesmerized by their ability to use their bodies to defy gravity, we stood and observed their every move. Having taken a year of break dancing myself, I am always in awe with the ease they carryout each move. Having spent hours and weeks trying to perfect the 6 step and never carrying it out with much grace, I have the serious respect for the skill. Sitting on the Spanish Steps, listening to the melodies created by the babel of tourists. The sound is a bit jarring at first, and then as it becomes background noise, calming. The steps we sat on were smooth, worn away by the millions of people sitting on those exact spots. The white marble soft under my chilly hands. Watching the city turn from day to night, the lights dance on as the sky turns tints of orange and shades of blue.

The Center of Art

Florence

The slow paced city enveloped in art, surrounded by mountains and hills, the duomo towering over the tiled roofs, a city of magic and deep seeded art.

Walking the streets of Botticelli, Michelangelo, Brunelleschi, Dante, and Donatello, feeling the power of these great artists one is struck with how much was accomplished in one city. For an artist, and art lover, it is almost too overwhelming to bear. The city holds some of arguably the most important works of art possibly ever, but without a stretch for the Renaissance.

Seeing David in person was something that I could never have predicted would excite me as much as it did. The exhibit was interesting in that the curator had juxtaposed the roman masterpieces with photographs by Robert Mapplethorpe. In some ways it was a distraction, especially around the David, but next to other sculptures there was an interesting play between the ideals of the human body. After taking in David, I went on a search for the Vetruvian Man, a fruitless search. . . I guess I will just have to return to Florence.

(David at the Accademia)
Climbed up to San Miniato al Monte to look out over the city, the mosaic tiles glimmering in the obscured light. Chanting of the monks resonating in me. The light slowly fading on the city, going from red tiled roofs to silhouetted domes and spires. The night getting cool, the leaves soft as we walk back down. 

Meeting at Dante for a dinner with friends, every bite a taste explosion of flavors mingling and bouncing off one another. Orange and sage ravioli stuffed with ricotta cheese, and pear and Parmesan stuffed in pasta, combinations to excited the most adventurous foodie. The quaint restaurant made you feel like it was your discovery like you were the first to try these combinations, but the packed joint with a full house proved that man had been there before. Our host, a two year Italian herself knew well enough to take us here.
Since we were here for a conference, the night of the Gala, we all dressed to Florentine standards. Packed on some buses, we get to the gate of the gala where they realize the winding road won't fit the girth of our chariots. We are then put on to smaller vans and shuttled up to a mansion with a path lit by candles. Wine poured freely, feeling rosy, thinking fondly, exploring the grounds and never ending rooms.  (The Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore)

More Hot than Haute

Provence, France

The blues of doors, the teals and aqua shutters, the colors that dot the landscape are ones that are evident in the paintings of Van Gogh. The country side looks like a painting. A place that is full of such beauty, it inspires artistic creation.


The senses overwhelmed, colors, tastes, smells, the feeling of the sun, biting into a fresh fig, it was a road trip unlike any I had taken. We ate fanciful food, presented as artistic creations defying gravity. The sauces mingling, conversing on the tongue.
While in Les Baux, we went on an olive oil tasting, coating the mouth in oil like you would red wine, sounds disgusting, but I assure you, it was incredible. The different oils, peppery, green, light, delicious. I ended up getting a bottle of the most biting peppery oil, perfect for salads. Yum!
Unfortunately we had just missed the lavender harvest, but the sunflowers stood, drying out baking in the sun.

melt in your mouth crepe with nutella.

Listening to: