To believe- The battle of your life

My life is made up
Of a bunch of different beliefs
Some are Hindu, some are Christian
Some are Buddhist, some are Muslim,
Jewish, Catholic, Scientific, Spiritual.
Most of it has to do
With a feeling.
A feeling deep inside of me
That I have carried from lifetime
To lifetime
Something not installed
By the fads of society
Something real and deep
Rising up from the heart
And spreading to my toes and fingertips
Life wildfire
Coursing through your veins.
I used to question life
And religion
When I was a little girl
I would stand at the podium
And stare into the eyes of a thousand desperate souls
And tell them I believed
But secretly believing
I did not.
And that is how I know
That my soul is not new
For she has seen
Other lifetimes
Of heartbreak and destruction
She has endured
Different worlds of love and laughter
Different dimensions
Of war
And she knows
That this is not the beginning
Nor the end
But simply the reason
To pause
And meditate
And call on your inner warrior for help
Because this will surely be the battle
The battle of your life.

10 YEAR ANNIVERSARY

10 years ago today, I woke up for the first time in Costa Rica. I remember the sights and sounds so clearly. I remember the first look my family took at our new home, Cashew Hill. We looked at my mom like, REALLY... you're REALLY doing this to us!? My family has always been a team. Ever since I was little, my brothers have been my best and most loyal friends. No matter what, we could always get through anything together. That's why I knew in my mind without a shadow of a doubt that when we all said we were going to Costa Rica and I threw the idea of college out of my mind in exchange for an adventure in Costa Rica, it was going to be awesome. And when we stepped off that plane for the first time in Latin America and the smell of our new country wafted over us, we knew that our lives would be forever changed. 

A few months ago, I accidentally met (again) the driver who had picked us up at the airport all those years ago. It's funny sometimes how you look at people and think, I know that guy. But I really did know the guy. And when he asked if I knew the family from Cashew Hill and told me he had been our driver in 2003, the memories flooded back to me. I remember how we poured from the airport into the van, and piled our suitcases onto the roof rack. I was sure that we were going to lose all if not half of our remaining worldly possessions that we had packed into two suitcases apiece as they were being throw onto the roof. Our beloved family dog, Coy, was not at all happy about the long flight and then being stuffed back into a kennel for another 4+ hours. We rode in silence for a good part of the way. I think in a lot of ways we were too much in shock to speak. I remember the never-ending winding roads down the mountain, through the rivers, into the jungle. I remember where the paved road turned into pothole road, then the potholes turned to dirt. The foliage got thicker and the driver went faster as we bounced up and down in the micro bus. I'm still haunted by the memory of a bicycle accident (probably with a car) and a group of people huddled around someone... never knowing what happened. First impressions last a lifetime. Finally we reached our street and turned right, passed the soccer field and over the tiniest little bridge, then up, up, up to a big wooden house on a hill. Cashew Hill... home. 

We were greeted by a sight of a man. Brown curly hair flowed down his back as he smiled through his bushy beard. No shirt, no shoes, not a care in the world as he ran down the stairs to greet us. The name Tarzan came to mind and stuck. The house was not much to look at (in the beginning). Tarzan showed us around our new habitat, showed my Stepdad a thing or two about the water system, and then gave us a piece of advice that would will never forget... "When the ants come, you leave." Our eyes widened in surprise and confusion. He then gave us a quick and sparkly Tarzan smile and took off on his bicycle down the hill. (I never, in the 8 years that I lived at Cashew Hill, rode my bike down that hill.) Ants, huh? 

The sun set quickly that first night, as it always does in Costa Rica... 6 o'clock on the dot. The family set off on a trek to town down the very dark, very slippery hill. Mom slid half way down on her butt and then marched back up to change streaming expletives under her breath . It was only slightly funny at the time. We were all a little freaked by the weird noise that sounded an awful lot like a man yelling "Help" from the jungle. Years later we would find out that the noise was really a big owl-like bird. He would hoot "Mom" sometimes too. I remember we went to an Italian restaurant in town. A couple of us ordered Lobster Ravioli... the special ingredient was beetles. Somehow I don't really think those were meant to be in there. After dinner we went walking around and looked for hammocks. Since there weren't enough beds to sleep all of us upstairs we would buy some hammocks to make due. I remember how everything smelled a little funny in town, kinda sour. Everything felt very foreign. There were lots of weird looking guys in town with big hair. Some of them hissed at me when I walked by. Weirdos! 

Later that night I remember I crawled into bed at the tip top of the house in the loft. After a grandaddy Grasshopper (7 inches long, I swear) flung himself onto me while I was on the phone, and taking a shower with a bat as it flew around me in circles while I cried for help, I was convinced that if I was really high up no creepy crawlies would get me. I fell asleep crying and praying that maybe it was really all just a dream after all. There's no place like home. I tossed and turned through the night waking up occasionally to peel off pieces of duct tape that were covering up the holes in the mosquito net. 

I woke up the next morning at 5am as the sun was sparkling out over the edges of the hillside. I remember sitting on a little wooden chair looking out over the garden and crying. This would be our new life. Oh fuck! And then, as I was silently choking out heavy sobs as the tears rolled down my cheeks... THUD! I felt a sort of smack on the back of my hand, looked over and there were two geckos romantically entangled and sprawled out across the back of my hand. I abruptly let out a horrifying, blood curdling yelp and flung them off of me with a smack against the wall. (Sorry!)  It was then that I heard it, the "gecko giggle". It's a noise that the geckos make and, to me, it's always sounded like a mischievous snicker, as if they were plotting against us... "Oh yeah, my poop landed in that dude's Gallo Pinto! 10 Points!" I kind of had to laugh at that sound. And that's when I decided to wipe the tears away and get over it. So what if I didn't have my own bedroom!?! Or my own bed for that matter. And so what if the TV and the VHS player didn't work!?! So what if we didn't own any towels or sheets and we had very little money!?! This was going to be an adventure.

And there it began, the last 10 years and positively flown by. So much has happened, so much has changed. My brothers were 10, 13 and 16 when we first came to Costa Rica. The youngest has spent half his life in this country. I couldn't feel luckier for the experiences that I have had or the people I have met along the way. It has been the adventure of a lifetime! 

People You Meet in Paradise

On the morning of September 11, 2001 I was sitting in my American History class finishing up some homework when the news spread across the school of the morning's attacks on the World Trade Center. I remember being pretty tired that morning and not paying too much attention as the teacher turned on the tv and everyone went silent. Then a message came over the loud speaker saying that my stepfather was at the school to talk to me and would I please report to the main office. My mom had been out of town for the past few days and being the typical teenager that I was, I hadn't paid much attention to where she was going. My stepdad came to tell me that Mom was ok. She was in Washington D.C., about a block away from the Pentagon where there had also been news of a terrorist attack. I don't really remember how I felt, aside from relief that my mom was ok. But from that moment on, for me and hundreds of thousands of Americans and others around the world, everything changed.

Life went on, as it always does. America went to war, and patriotism became a way of life. Family members, friends, and neighbors got shipped off to Iraq, teachers were fired for speaking about peace in classrooms, and the "Pledge of Allegiance" was given new meaning for all Americans. I was young and self involved, and didn't realize how all this affected me. I also didn't know how my mom had suffered from the things she saw in D.C., she did not feel safe anymore in the U.S.A.. I'm not exactly sure when the search began, but my mom started researching countries where she might want to live; somewhere where she could take her family and feel safe.

Costa Rica went to the top of the list for several reasons including their lack of an army, and in February of 2003, right after we had traveled to California to visit the university I was hoping to attend, my parents went on vacation to the Caribbean Coast of the small Central American country to check things out. They returned two weeks later with a sunburn and happily announced that we were moving to Costa Rica in 6 months. After the initial shock, it took me about 2 minutes to decide that I was going to follow my family down south and I happily kissed my plans to attend film school on the west coast goodbye. We proceeded to sell the majority of our possessions and virtually liquidate our lives. Friends and strangers came over to walk through our beautiful victorian home and sort through furniture and anything else they might want to buy. In the end, each of us was left with two suitcases each and not much else.

On July 1st, 2003, my family arrived in Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica. Our new business and home was a small hotel called Cashew Hill, and here we were going to begin our new lives. I can say with all sincerity that when I first got to that small Caribbean beach town I hated it. I missed my friends, my life, my old house, and my privacy. I missed having a bed because for the first month or so of living at Cashew Hill there weren't enough beds for my whole family and I spent my nights in a hammock on the porch with a mosquito net wrapped tightly around me. I missed my tv, movies, my car, and I really missed warm showers. I missed living a life where you weren't swarmed by insects every second of every day. Sometimes I can't help but think how differently I might have felt if I had come to Puerto Viejo first as a tourist, instead of arriving there with the intention of staying to live. I'm sure it would have been very different. But, with time, I got used to the heat and humidity, to the bugs and the jungle noises, and the bats in the bathroom. I got a boyfriend and life became about love, and eventually I got a life in Puerto Viejo. I've learned that with time you get used to even the most uncomfortable of circumstances.

Since then, 7 years have passed and I now look back on those days with fondness. Sometimes people ask me if I regret having gone to Costa Rica instead of going to college, and I can honestly say that Costa Rica was the best thing that ever happened to me and my family. With a little heartbreak we sold the hotel this year. A lot of people ask why, and if you have ever owned your own business you would know how much work it is. The time and the place were special, and the memories we will hold on to forever. After we sold the hotel I got out of town for a while. I decided to travel and see if I could find another place that I could love as much as Puerto Viejo. Change is good and I am young and free.

But the more I travel, the more I realize how special a place it really is. I think about the people that I know there and how exceptional they are. I have met so many amazing people there who have so profoundly impacted my life. Puerto Viejo really is a sanctuary for free spirits who want to live an extraordinary existence away from the rat race, commercials, and consumerism. And there we are all just a bunch of jungle nymphs frolicking along the beaches, waiting for the next barrel, the next sunset, the next season. And I realize that when we are there and because we are away from all the chaos and the traffic, the shopping malls and the never-ending subliminal messages that feed the masses the feelings of wanting more and bigger and better, we are much more free and naked and real and down to earth. I think that's what I miss most about that place is just the feeling of walking down the beach and appreciating the sand under my feet, and knowing that this place is real even if it looks like a dream. I realize that maybe it isn't so much Neverland at all as it is the way things should be. And the people are more beautiful there because they go outside and feel the sun on their face and ride their bikes and swim in the salty water. People don't watch much TV there because they'd rather be outside surfing and they smile a lot and say hello to strangers. I guess that's why they call it the Caribbean. And even though it has it's problems, well... everywhere has problems.

So, to all my friends from Puerto Viejo (whether you are still there or not) and the many beautiful strangers that I have met along the way, thank you for doing your part to make it such a special place. My life has been touched by each of you in your own way, and I don't have the words to tell you how grateful I am to know you all.

Culture Shock

The past three months have given me much time for reflection. Now, looking back on how the year has flown by, I can only say how grateful I am for such an amazing past 343 days. 2010 has given me so many things; a chance to start over, to move on and grow, to reach out and test my wings. This year has given me freedom... and let's not forget, love. 


I arrived in Buenos Aires in mid September: my first time in South America. In a little over two months I had traveled through Europe, the US, Costa Rica, and finally to Argentina. And after 9 weeks of backpacking on the other side of the world, I can't begin to express how exhausted I was. There's nothing like partying for 60 days straight to take the wind out of your sails. It was cold when I got here. And I'm sure I'm not the only one to notice that often times, especially in cities, the colder the weather the colder the overall disposition of everyone and everything. It's only now as the weather's getting warmer that I can feel the heat of the city and it's inhabitants. And as the Jacaranda trees started to bloom left and right and their purple blossoms illuminated the city streets, I finally came to realize what everyone was talking about. Yes, there is love to be had for Buenos Aires. 


As wickipedia defines it: "Culture shock is the difficulty people have adjusting to a new culture that differs markedly from their own. The shock of moving to a foreign country often consists of distinct phases, though not everyone passes through these phases and not everyone is in the new culture long enough to pass through all four." 


According to wiki, the first phase of the four is called the HONEYMOON PHASE, during which the new culture is seen in a "romantic light" full of observations and new discoveries. I can say from my personal experience in this particular case of culture shock that I did exactly fall in love at first sight with Buenos Aires. With places, much like with people, I try to be less quick to judge. I have learned too many times that the first impression is not always the best impression, and even though it's hard sometimes to not pass judgment on a person or place based on that first encounter, I struggle to keep my mind open. But I can also say that I didn't exactly like Buenos Aires at first either. 


For just about the last decade of my life I have lived in a town built around tourism, where new people come and go all the time. This has given me what I would like to think is a fairly open minded demeanor and has allowed me to meet new people from all sorts of different places and cultures. I have come to enjoy asking people where they are from, striking up conversations with strangers, sharing a surprisingly delightful encounter with a newcomer and realizing our common interests and goals. In Buenos Aires, however, for the most part I was not received with the same warm and welcoming attitude to which I am accustomed. I found myself in many a social situation where I was almost ignored by the majority of the group, which I obviously became quite frustrated by. This was one cultural difference I hadn't counted on. And I was disappointed to say the least, not only in the people around me but in myself for not being more outgoing.


I suppose in large part the language has also been an big impediment for me. Although I do consider myself fluent in Spanish, the difference between Costa Rican Spanish and Argentine Spanish is not to be underestimated. For just about the first six weeks of my stay in Argentina, every time I found myself listening to a conversation between two people from Buenos Aires, I just didn't get it. I would listen intently and try to focus, all the while thinking to myself, "What the fuck are these people talking about!?" There was no end to the vexation I felt while with a group of my boyfriend's friends, wanting more than anything to fit in and chatter along with the everyone else, only to be left in the dust by the endless conversation filled with Argentine slang. I felt as though I had been reverted back to 18 year old Emily when I had first moved to Central America and didn't speak much more than the numbers 1 to 10 in Spanish. Oh me oh my!!! 


I asked my boyfriend one day while we were sitting on the bus if he thought that I could pass for a girl from Argentina. 


"Not really", he told me. "You're way too foreign looking to be from here."


"But there are other blonde girls in Argentina, girls who were born here but maybe their parents aren't from here. Why couldn't I be one of those girls?" I argued. 


"You're just too... Gringa, babe."


I'm just too Gringa. And so I sat on the bus and watched the people occasionally stealing glances at me, probably wondering where I was from and what the hell I was doing on their bus. 


Wikipedia's second phase of culture shock is called the NEGOTIATION PHASE (This one I feel like I can relate to a little more.), during which the differences between one's old culture and a new culture become apparent and may create anxiety. In this period people may feel as if their lifestyle is totally influenced, their biological clock is a mess, they might find themselves feeling sick and lazy and may get tired doing anything no matter how easy it is. 


I came to Buenos Aires to visit my boyfriend with the intention of staying for three months. We met in Costa Rica the previous January and after several months of being friends and flirting we became rather inseparable. But he had plans to come back to Argentina and I had plans to go backpacking in Europe, so with more than a few tears we bid farewell in July and hoped to see one another again soon. After a couple weeks of traveling and missing him I bought my ticket to Buenos Aires, two months later he picked me up at the airport. 


You can love someone all you want but I don't think you can really know anyone until you've lived with them. Admittedly, my boyfriend and I moved a little bass ackwards in our relationship and moved in together after only a few months of dating. But it made much more sense for me to live with him in his apartment in Buenos Aires for three months than to rent my own place and spend all my time at his. All at once we were each introduced to each other's annoying tendencies, daily rituals, personal laziness, grooming habits, etc.. And the worst part was, there was no escaping each other. I had no place to go to escape for a few hours, and no friends to call to get away with. He works from home so he was always there with me in the background, and didn't feel right going out with his friends and leaving me at home alone. If there was ever a test of our friendship or relationship, this was it. 


As time went on we had a few bumps in the road, and I contemplated leaving early once or twice. But I hung in and eventually things started to get better and better. We went on a week long trip to Patagonia and found ourselves in a tiny little town called Puerto Piramides where we got lost in nature for a few days. We went on a mission to see the whales and were pleasantly surprised that there were still quite a few mama whales left tending to their new babies in November. I hadn't realized how badly I had needed a breath of fresh air after being in the city for the past two months. There's nothing like the silence of the country and the feeling of being on a beach totally and completely alone. And as we walked for miles and miles down the breathtaking beaches, once in a while we could see the bursts of whale's breath off in the distance as they came up for air, and my reservations about Argentina and relationships faded ever so gently away. 


Wikipedia's third phase of culture shock is the ADJUSTMENT PHASE, during which one grows accustomed to the new culture and begins developing a routine. Usually by this time one knows what to expect in most situations and has developed problem solving skills for dealing with the culture, things start to make sense, and negative responses and reactions are reduced. 


By the time we got back home from our trip I had begun to miss his apartment, which I have affectionately started to call home. Both of us are internet junkies, so during our week of escape we had made it a point to be online as little as possible, and I was pleasantly surprised when several of his friends from Buenos Aires had written me to say they had missed my face around. And as the countdown toward my departure slowly approaches, I have begun to feel a sort of panic that I am leaving. Who knew after all that I would fall for this place? Who knew that I would fall in love?? 


The fourth and final phase of culture shock is apparently what they call the MASTERY PHASE. I can't say that I feel like I can write much about this phase as of yet, at least not when it comes to Buenos Aires. But there just may be and bright and shiny future waiting for me in this city. And so I will not close the book on Argentina, just the chapter for now. And hopefully I'll be seeing you in 2011. Don't forget me.

Ink

I have spent the majority of my waking hours today surfing the net for inspiration and possible designs for my next tattoo. Being in Argentina, where the tattoo artists are apparently exceptional and the price is said to be much more reasonable than most places, I have decided to take the opportunity to have some Argentinian ink done. For hours and hours I've been scrolling through photos of random people's tattoos when all of the sudden I realized, tattooing is an epidemic. This is my generation, we are the tattooed people.

In my family, tattoos have quickly become a favorite family pastime. My mom, stepdad, and brothers all have matching tattoos on their backs. However, the same is not to be said for my extended family, where my grandparents quickly frown and then finally turn a blind eye on my most visible tattoo of the Buddhist mantra, Om Mani Padme Hum, which is written in tibetan down my right forearm. My dad was positively horrified at the idea of his children becoming tattooed circus freaks, but if you've seen my younger brother in the past couple years you must know we're way past that by now. But one day a few years ago, my best friend and I were visiting my dad in Austin. My friend has a number of fairly visible tattoos including two sparrows on her chest and a beautiful aquatic half sleeve on one of her arms. We must have been discussing plans for future body art installations when my dad turned to my best friend and said, "I know it looks all cool now, but how are you going to feel about those tattoos when you're sitting in a nursing home 50 years from now?" My friend sort of giggled uncomfortably and I turned to my dad and replied, "Well, it really won't matter because everyone else will be all old and wrinkly and tattooed too." He sat there stunned for a minute and then nodded his head in agreement. We're all a bunch of tattooed freaks anyway!

They say tattooing is one of the oldest art forms on the planet, dating back to prehistoric times when cave dwellers often created tattoos as part of rituals linked to shamanism, protection, and connection with their gods. Tattooed markings on skin and engraved markings in clay provide some of the earliest evidence that humans have practiced a wide range of body art for centuries.

Marriage tattoos have been historically popular to help make sure that you can find your spouse in the afterlife. Tattooing as a rite of passage into puberty was another common ritual. If a girl could not take the pain of being tattooed she was branded un-marriageable because she would never be able to endure the pain of childbirth. If a boy could not deal with the pain of his, he was considered a bad risk as a warrior and become an outcast. And since the birth of the ancient practice, people have been tattooing their totem or spirit animals. Symbolically trying to gain the strength and abilities of one's designated animal, while also signifying that the bearer has a close and mysterious relationship with an animal spirit as his guardian.

Today we tattoo everything from butterflies and koi fish, pin-up girls, skulls, and dragons, to lions having sex with dolphins. The main point here being: TO EACH THEIR OWN. But with each page that I scanned through today admiring amazing works of art, there must have been at least 10 photos of body art on each page where I stopped and thought to myself, what the hell were those people thinking!?! They are permanent, after all. But I am an artist, and so I will embrace the art. And tomorrow I will go and get yet another tattoo.

Catching Up

THE NETHERLANDS

Since my last Blog, life has been a complete whirlwind. After traveling through Germany and having to switch trains 5 times, I finally found my way to a dream. My brother met me and we got lost in the matrix that is Amsterdam. It really is otherworldly in so many ways. It's funny because I've never heard anyone give a good description of the city or have anything positive to say about it other than that they'd been there. But, at the end of my travels in Europe, I decided that it was definitely my favorite place visited on this trip. From the tilted buildings, to the never-ending canals, the funky houseboats, and the endless supply of coffee shops, Amsterdam never ceased to amaze me. Every day we ventured out into the unknown with a new direction to explore, only to find every section of the city more beautiful and fascinating than the next. And everyone we met had found a different and amazing coffee shop only no one could remember where it was. We were lucky enough to accidentally stumble upon what I would say was the best coffee shop in town on the first morning we were there. We tried various other shops, but always wound up going back to our favorite, the Dampkring, which was rather small but kind of hidden and had a very chic and chill vibe to it.

The Bulldog has to be the best hostel in the whole city and we were also lucky enough to find that they had space during Gay Pride Week, when the city was otherwise hopelessly full. The dorms we stayed in had 12 beds, six sets of bunk beds, with a school regulation locker for each bed, and one bathroom for the room. I had to gently coax my backpack into the hopelessly narrow metal locker which was no fun for anyone to hear any time I had to get something out of it. Crash, bang, boom!!! But that is the price we pay for staying in a dorm room with 11 other people, I suppose. I have to say that it was definitely the nicest hostel that I have ever stayed in. And their website, boasting that it is the first 4 star hostel, surely does it justice. We made several great friends during our stay there and got to partake in some "Amsterdam coffee" and roam around the city giggling with our new buddies. At least we knew that we weren’t the only goofballs doing that. It was definitely an unforgettable experience.

FRANCE

Paris is incredible during the summer time. Everyone is happily sporting the newest summer trends, sitting at sidewalk cafes, sipping lattes, and soaking up the sun. When we arrived in the city with no map and no real idea of where we were or where our hotel was in relation to the train station, we didn't hesitate to hop into a cab and let the taxi driver navigate. But when he pulled up onto a rather busy street corner and pointed to a sign that said Rue de Caulaincourt and rattled off in french, we sighed and got out of the car with our big backpacks. After some argument with Elliot over which direction to walk and a consultation from the handy dandy iphone GPS, followed by a few stops along the way to demonstrate one of the few phrases I know in French, "Parlaz-vous anglais?", we were finally found the Caulaincourt Square Hotel.

I am definitely incredibly lucky when it comes to selecting hotels over the internet because the Caulaincourt Square Hotel is in an absolutely gorgeous part of the city. The rooms were nice and clean and the internet was free, and we met some awesome people while hanging out with the rest of the internet addicts in the reception. We even came across 3 Ticos that were staying the our hotel. What a small world it is after all.

We had an amazing "tour guide". Our friend, Vallentine, a Parisian resident that we met in Amsterdam, and her younger sister, Alice, were kind enough to show us all the sights in the city and give us the lowdown on the metro system. Her family was visiting from Guadalupe, a French island in the Caribbean where she grew up, and they invited us over to drink wine and eat cheese and visit. They really made us feel at home in Paris and it was great to see the city through the eyes of a local.

On our last night in Paris we made it up to the Eiffel tower to see the light show at midnight. The lines are hopelessly long during the day, but you’d be surprised how few people there are roaming around the tower at midnight. And even though the couldn’t go all the way up to the top at that hour, we made it up to the first platform with our newfound friends from Columbia, Costa Rica, and California and we got to the see the light show up close and personal.

Even though the friends we made in Paris pleaded with us to stay a few more nights, we said goodbye the next morning and caught the train to Arcachon to see our friends from Puerto Viejo. It’s always so surreal to see people I know from Puerto out in “the real world”. It seemed that none of our friends could really believe their eyes to see the Gringos in France, and wearing clothes, no less. Everyone knows us as the beach bums from Costa Rica, always surfing or biking, and in our beachwear covered in sweat. It was a great experience to be able to spend time with our friends in their hometown and on their home beach and see where they are sitting at their computers on the other end of our Facebook chats.

Our friends took us into their home and treated us like family. I still can’t really believe how wonderful they were to us. And even though we had a pretty big language barrier with our friends’ parents, they did their best to make us feel welcome. The mother spoke a little Spanish, so we could make small talk, but the father didn’t speak a word that wasn’t French and didn’t ever seem to understand our rather terrible French despite our best efforts. Our one salvation was the translator application on his super hi-tech cell phone. Whenever he wanted to say something or ask something of my brother or I, he would simply type it into his phone and then show it to us. It really was a laugh since the translations rarely come out saying what he wanted, but we could almost always catch the gist.

So we got to party like rock stars with our friends from France and eat incredible seafood, and lots and lots of baguettes!! We even made it to a couple foam parties, which were pretty outrageous, and had a barbeque on the Dune de Pyla with an almost full moon, which felt like a total out of body experience. We made dozens of new friends in Biscarosse and Arcachon whom we promised we would be back to visit sometime soon and speaking better French. Before we knew it, we’d spent 3 weeks in Biscarosse, hanging out on the beach. And although we had tried several times to head on to Bordeaux or somewhere else new, something always seemed to foil our plans. My theory is that our friends didn’t really want us to leave. And every time we said goodbye, we would then extend our departure for another day or two.

BELGIUM

Eventually we waved a teary goodbye to our crazy French friends and headed back to Paris. With only 10 days left in our backpacking voyage and considerably lighter wallets, we decided to make our way back up to Amsterdam via Paris and Brussels, Belgium. My mom’s dad who had passed away years ago used to spend a lot of time in Brussels for work. There was even a small street named after him somewhere in the city. So we decided to stop over for two nights and wander the city streets and think about my grandpa.

We got lucky again on the hotel choice, staying at La Madeleine hotel, which was a mere 100 meters or so from the Grand Place. We were even luckier in the fact that we arrived just in time for Beer Fest Weekend. The Grand Place was overflowing with people filling the tents from the Beer festival and waiting in line for tokens to enter. We were standing patiently in line for our turn to purchase some tokens so we could partake in some Belgian cerveza and making goofy videos of ourselves, when an older couple pulled my brother aside and handed him a bracelet and told us to have a great time. We were completely dumbfounded as this bracelet meant that we could drink for free for the next hour and a half.

So we elbowed our way through the drunken crowds to the Lindeman’s counter where we tried the raspberry, apricot, and cherry flavors fresh off the tap. Better beer I have never tasted!!! The raspberry is definitely my favorite! We moved on to try several others including Achouffe, Ginette, and many more that I can’t at this moment recall. And we suddenly found ourselves surrounded by friendly Belgians who all wanted to talk to us, asking where we were from, what we thought about Brussels, and what we were doing here. They all mistook my brother for my boyfriend, and as I politely corrected them a few squealed in drunken excitement to tell my brother, “Watch our for your sister, man… the Belgians are coming!!!”

I wound up jumping the barriers of the Beer Fest twice that night since our friends couldn’t bear to part with us. We were quickly adopted by a group of young people who invited us to come along to some adventure or another. We wound up at an Absinthe Bar where our newfound friends introduced us to the art of Absinthe drinking. Apparently it’s technically not legal in Brussels, but they had a bar with over 300 different kinds of the green concoction. I didn’t see the green fairy but it burned my throat so good! Then we danced the night away in a crowded with room full of strangers.

Our first night in Brussels was full of delightfully impromptu surprises which will forever endear that beautiful city to my heart!

THE NETHERLANDS II

We decided that we had to end our trip to Europe on a more tranquil note, and elected to spend our last 5 days in Europe roaming the streets of Amsterdam again, exploring anything we might have missed out on the first time.

My brother was preoccupied with an errand that a friend had asked him to do, and he was given the number of a guy in the city, which he was told to connect with for some good information. So we set off on a treasure hunt to find this stranger’s house in the maze that becomes Amsterdam (especially when under the influence of the “coffee”). We arrived at the address and were buzzed up two incredibly steep flights of stairs where we met Merlin, a wizard of marijuana. This mystical man with kind blue eyes and a turban of graying dreads bound with all the colors of the rainbow happily ushered us into his sanctuary. Originally from the states, he had moved to Amsterdam several decades ago and had created a beautiful haven in an old house seemingly on top of the city. The main room in his house could only be described as some magic man’s lair, full of crystals and sacred rocks and dozens of kittens everywhere since three mama cats had recently given birth.

He sat us down and we talked for hours about life and travel, the world and money. We debated the economy and the nonsense that is paper money, which really has no value at all. We realized once we arrived that our new friend was the 2005 Cannabis Cup winner and was also the creator of some of our favorite strains. Merlin also loves to get folks high. And has he pulled out jars and kilo bags of the greenest buds on the planet, our jaws dropped in awe.

I’m not quite sure how we got back to our hotel that afternoon, but I’m pretty certain we also smoked some of the purest Moroccan hash there is. And on our last day we were fortunate enough to bump into our mystical friend again for one last memorable smoke out before the long journey home.

We managed to make it to a “sex show” before we left, seeing as how it is a bit of a rite of passage when in Amsterdam. We found some fellow travelers to tag along with us and we all giggled together at the sight of the different random couples having sex on stage.

Thinking back on these last two months, I feel like I have grown in so many ways. My biggest accomplishment being the ability to sit back, relax and go with the flow. Being open to new people and experiences has expanded my mind more than I ever could have thought possible, and I am still trying to process it all. But I have ultimately learned that if you let go of fear and open your heart to the flow of the universe, the current will always bring you to the most interesting parts of the river.

And like it says on the inside of my backpack:

NEVER STOP EXPLORING

Gringa in Denmark

I arrived in Aalborg Denmark at 11:30 pm on Thursday, July 23rd. The airport is tiny and the guards at the entrance as we got off the plane looked shocked to see my American passport. He quickly glanced through the stamps and then let me through to claim my luggage. I am used to customs and the hassles when traveling between countries, so once I collected my bag I was looking around for the next step, the next line to wait in, the next paper to fill out. But there was nothing. I half expected the airport security to come running after me shouting obscenities in Danish as I wandered through the empty airport looking for a cab, but of course they didn't. I finally found the line of taxis out front and got in the first one and asked him to take me to Den Fede Ælling (The Fat Duckling) where my friend, Mads, works. He had to ask the other taxi drivers where it was which wasn't so comforting since I had pretty much absolutely no clue where I was going. Then we drove off into the darkness. The area surrounding the Aalborg airport is extremely black with nothing else around for several miles and as the movie Hostel popped into my head I told myself there was no way this nice taxi driver would ever mess with me.

We arrived at the harbor in Aalborg, where The Fat Duckling is actually a cafe on a boat, and the driver stopped the cab and told me, "It's around here somewhere." As I sighed and got out of the car, resigned to the fact that this guy wasn't really worried about whether I found it or not, all the young drunk people walking along the road stared at me as if I were an alien with my rather large backpack. Or maybe they were just wondering how a girl like me can carry such a bag. Careful boys, I'm stronger than I look! So I wandered back and forth a little bit, looking like an idiot because I'm a tourist and all tourists look like idiots, trying to decide which boat I dare venture onto to see if it was the Duckling. Finally I decided to ask one of the restaurants on the road if they had any idea where my friend's work was, and after one silly guy who thought his jokes were funny and told me it was actually across the harbor, he eventually giggled and told me it was right across the street. Fucker!!

When I entered the Duckling I found a nice looking guy working at the bar who told me his name was Jesper and apparently they had been expecting me. I was so relieved when he told me that Mads was upstairs and I wasn't lost at all, despite my feeling as if I were on another planet. So I stowed my bag downstairs and went upstairs to greet my long lost friend from high school. He hoisted me up in his arms and spun my around and gave me a big hug and told me how nice it was to see me. It has been about 8 or 9 years since we had seen each other when he was a foreign exchange student at my high school in New Mexico. He returned home when school let out and we had eventually reconnected through Facebook. I was to be his first friend from New Mexico to visit him in Denmark since then.

Mads had to finish up his work shift, but introduced me to Jesper's girlfriend, Shannon, and told me we should hang out. I was terrified to be paired up with this girl not knowing whether or not we would get along. But as luck would have it, she turned out to be awesome! We spent 5 days talking and shopping and walking and hanging out, riding roller coasters and visiting amusement parks.

I can't remember the last time I had ridden a rollercoaster, if ever. But I sure have had a huge dose of them in Denmark. It's definitely been a cultural experience for me as I'm not typically a person who would enjoy going to an amusement park. But Shannon and I had a blast at the little Tivoli in Aalborg, and then with Mads and Jesper at Sommerland in Farup. I have eaten more hot dogs in the past 6 days in Denmark than I think I have in the past 6 years. The food is not my favorite, but I've definitely been experiencing a different type of cuisine.

Yesterday I took the train from Aalborg to Copenhagen. I decided I had to check the city and after looking through all the various hostel websites, I figured I would try my luck with couch surfing and wrote a few people to see if anyone had a couch available on such short notice. I was amazed when I checked a couple hours later and had a reply from Thomas who told me he did have a couch and gave me his address and phone number and that was that. I got on the train the next day at noon and 4 hours later I was wandering the streets of Copenhagen trying to figure out where the fuck Thomas's apartment was at. I don't have a sim card for my Iphone in Denmark because they work on a totally different system and I figured it was a waste of money to get it for only a few days, so my phone is pretty useless here without wifi. I haven't been able to pick up any wifi here either which is a total bummer, but for some reason a little blue dot appeared on the map application for my iphone and showed me which direction I was going and which direction I needed to go. I guess it was a little Danish magic. And I got here in one piece.

I am devastated to say that the little mermaid statue is not in right now... she's in Hong Kong for an exhibition. So I will see Copenhagen without the little mermaid. But at least they have excellent shopping here!!!!