You are currently browsing the category archive for the ‘travel’ category.

img_1455-e1500225353696.jpg

Beware of all enterprises that require new clothes. ~ Henry David Thoreau

Easy for him to say, but he didn’t have a closet full of colors that are a no-no on safari.  (Bright colors and white scare off the animals. Blue attracts tsetse flies, which can give you sleeping sickness. Yikes!) Local stores are full of pinks and blues and whites. It took some real looking to assemble this pile. I hope to wear the same clothes for the whole time.

Tomorrow evening….my first trip to Africa! I’m so excited!

 

 

???????????????????????????????????????

In a parallel universe, I’ve just arrived in Delhi, and am spending the night at an airport hotel before flying to Rishikesh for a week in an ashram on the Ganges. My India trip was cancelled a few weeks ago, but the calendar on my phone hasn’t gotten the memo, and is continually updating me about what’s happening and where I’m heading next (Jaipur, Pushkar, Bundi). I could probably find a way to disable these messages, but I like knowing what alt-me is doing. I hope she’s having a good time, or at least isn’t scared.

It would also be good if alt-me were feeling well rested and ready for the intensity of India. But how could she be, having experienced the same grueling October/November/December as I have? The anxiety and woe of the election, the unexpected deaths and illnesses of friends, the fatigue and moderate insomnia? Also, the crazy busyness at work…we both would have worked non-stop right through Christmas Eve, closing the shop just in time to dash to the mall for a last-minute Christmas gift, and then home roast a tenderloin and take it to a party. Flying out four days later would have been nuts.

So most of the time I feel that the cancellation of the trip has been a blessing, because India requires a level of stamina that I’m not feeling at the moment. For Plan B, I’ve booked a tiny cottage in Provincetown for three nights, where I plan to nap, write, read, meditate, and reflect on life. And then I plan to take a substantial amount of time off in January – a staycation to sort things out that need sorting. I will do my best to appreciate each moment of ordinary life, and not go chasing after bright shiny objects.

But India still twinkles at me. Maybe next year??

ganesh

I’m so excited…I’m going to India this January. Not to meditate, just to hang around and explore.

It’s been five years since my last trip there, and I always knew I would go back. So when my friend Deborah texted Want to go to India?, my instant reply was WHAT???? Hell yeah!

We’re going to base ourselves in Jaipur (think Best Exotic Marigold Hotel). Love Jaipur, a book that was recommended by a woman I met at the NY gift show last month, arrived in the mail yesterday. It had to be shipped directly from India; hence, it arrived bundled up in such a cocoon of cardboard and packing tape that it took me 15 minutes to carefully extract the book from its wrappings. “This is so India,” I thought fondly. Our soap papers come from India, and envelopes of samples always arrive taped up the wazoo like that. (When we get a big shipment, it’s usually in a heavily taped carton labeled Stayfree Maxi Pads. The UPS drivers must wonder about us.)

Of course, this trip contributes to the usual Aiyiyi! quality of my life.  I’ll be plunging pell-mell through the busy holiday season (oh yeah…and we’ll be remodeling the kitchen) and then heading immediately to India! Which is so intense, so stimulating, so exhausting!

Oh well! Life is short! I’ll rest when I’m dead.

Dune shack

This being my last full day at the shack, I’m ready for some human contact. It will help with re-entry.

Coincidentally, this morning I exchanged greetings with the neighbor as we pumped water at our respective wells, and he invited me over to his shack to meet his wife. The two of them are part of the vanishing tribe of shack owners who have had their property taken by the National Seashore.

When I arrived at their shack, their first words were, “We’re in the middle of a situation here.” Turns out that their shack had just become infested with crabs (no, not the kind you make crab dip out of) and they were in the process of removing all bedding for laundering.

It was quite an icebreaker! I perched on a wooden chair on their porch, trying not to touch anything or scratch at psychosomatic itches, and we chatted about a wonderfully broad range of topics. I could not help but be aware, though, that the very situation that was breaking their hearts – their shack lease from the seashore expires next year and they don’t know what the establishment will do – was what made my blissful week in the dunes possible. All the shacks that are available to the public were once privately owned.

Later in the day my friend Carolyn came to call. She’d just arrived for a week at another shack not far away. The mung had receded so she coaxed me into the water. Cold!! Exhilarating!! My week now feels perfect.

If you want to learn more about opportunities to stay in a dune shack, contact The Provincetown Community Compact or the Peaked Hill Trust.

Dune 4

I could live happily here all week in just my crinkly pink tee shirt and tan shorts.

One of the benefits of solitude is being able to wear the same clothes day after day and be as be as unwashed and unkempt as you like. This week has been a good test of my “I don’t get BO” theory. (I believe this because I’ve been testing our new natural deodorant. First I tested it against my regular deodorant (right armpit natural, left Mitchum.) No discernible odor! Then I tested it against an untreated armpit. Still no difference, so the test was inconclusive.)

Staying in a shack with no running water or electricity necessitates some creative personal hygiene. I’ve worked out a routine with two stainless steel bowls and two washcloths. One set is for my face, the other for grubbier ablutions like dirty feet. It’s also good for laundering undies.

Today I took my first outdoor shower. There’s a tank on the shed roof that collects rainwater. It runs thought hoses that are exposed to the sun, so the water came out scalding hot at first. I partially filled one of the bowls with well water and topped it off with the hot stuff.  This made a nice temperature for dumping over my head. Suds, rinse, and repeat. Nice!

Toileting is done in an indoor composting toilet for #2 and outside for #1 because the toilet is nearly full. Not a problem, except for last night. As I squatted in the bushes in the dark, a large noisy insect dive-bombed me. I lurched out of the way, bopping my head on an overhead branch and peeing on my pants in the process. Tomorrow: laundry day.

While I have some flip flops with me, bare feet are the best way to get around on the dunes, unless it’s midday. Then, the sand is like a frying pan, and it’s best to wear some socks.

Here are the two bars of soap that have been my companions this week. One is Nantucket Sea Clay, a spearminty soap which was great in the outdoor shower. The other is a yet-to-be-named experiment created by Jules. It fascinates me. It really goes well with this shack – very smokey and woody with notes of vetiver, cedar and clary sage. I think it’s a keeper. Maybe I’ll call it Dune Shack. Or Sand Dune? Sand Bar?

soap

seals

I walk on the beach every day, but so far haven’t gone swimming. I’m intimidated by the cold rough surf that will probably knock me down, the undertow, and the sharks. They tell us not to swim where there are seals because there may be sharks nearby too. But there are seals all over the place.

Consequently I’m grateful for the mung – an invasion of smelly seaweed that has turned the waves into brown mud. Nobody would want to swim in there! I’m off the hook, and don’t have to pester myself to push past my fears.

When I come down to the shore, a dozen or more seal heads turn their black lab faces my way. A little farther down the beach, a sandbar emerges from the receding tide that becomes a gathering place for hundreds of seals. It’s like a party every six and a half hours. A mournful chorus of seal  talk fills the air – whoa! whoa! whoa! It must be nice to take a break from worrying about sharks.

While those who have grabbed a spot on the sandbar loll in the sun, dozens more circle in the water, waiting for a chance to climb aboard. In the green mung, it looks like seal soup. If I were a shark, I would be all over this place. But so far no sign of them.

Nature question: if seals are mammals, do they have breasts? Do the nurse while they swim?

Dune 5

I’m spending a week barefoot in a sand dunes of the Cape Cod National Seashore. I’m here alone in my little shack, though there’s another inhabited shack nearby. It’s been several days since I’ve talked to anyone except a couple of short conversations with John on my cellphone. The quiet and space are a balm to my psyche, which has worn thin from too much of everything this summer.

The dunes of the outer Cape are an amazing landscape. They have a grandeur and yet such a feeling of  intimacy. I feel like I’ve found my “happy place.” During the daytime I take long walks on the beach. In the evening, I climb to the top of a nearby dune for a 360 degree view the sun setting to the west, the sea to the north, the moon rising in the east, and the endless undulation of the dunes in every direction.

The week is shaping up to be sort of a retreat/vacation hybrid.  I’ve been practicing in the morning and evening (bowing, chanting, sitting, walking) but giving the afternoon over to reading, napping, trying to write, and exploring my new camera.

Every night I listen to a dharma talk. Last night it was Pascal Auclair. A word I liked was specificity. This breeze, this wave, this bow, with its cracking of cartilage, pinpoints of sand underfoot, and flavor of surf sound and smell.  Specificity…a useful little talisman to carry through the day.

(One thought worth recording: God is in the details. Details like sweeping sand off the floor, feeling the breeze, hearing crickets, watching sandpipers skittering along the waterline. All very specific.)

Details

IMG_3029 - Copy - Copy

The other day, I gave a talk at the Barnstable Senior Center about my meditation retreat in Burma. I showed slides of children in Mandalay and the ornate roofs of Kyaswa Monastery. I talked about our 3:30 a.m. wakeup bell, the pinked-robed nuns who chanted for us each evening, and the sunrise and moonrise over the Irawaddy River as seen from the porch of my kuti (hut).

But I know from talking about this retreat with friends that what people really wanted to know was, “Was it life-changing?”

Fair question! But a hard one to answer.

When one of the attendees asked if the trip changed me, I said it had, though I declined to say how. (I don’t even know if it’s true, except in the way we all change constantly in reaction to conditions.)

But if he had asked me what I learned…Well, THEN I could have bent his ear for hours!

I might have talked about how frequently I saw my thoughts being tainted with the  feeling, “I should be different.”

And about how the words, “Of course!” had the power to cut through a lot of this self-judgment.  Feeling restless, sleepy, inadequate? Oh sweetie…of course!  Of course you feel that way!

I’d talk about how things I expected to be difficult turned out to be easy, and how things I expected to be easy were difficult.

But, as is the nature of all retreats, many of the things I learned were quite small and mundane. Because once our mind starts to quiet down, the small things start to shine.

I learned about the pleasure of sleeping under a mosquito net bathed in moonlight. I learned about the natural social behavior of dogs from watching the pack that lived on the monastery grounds. (Turns out dogs don’t actually do it doggie style once they get hooked up.)  I learned about the taste and scent of clementines.

Last year, at the end of a retreat at the Providence Zen Center there was a sharing circle. One young guy who had been on retreat for three straight months  shared what he had learned: that oatmeal is really awesome with peanut butter mixed in.

Did the teacher think he was being  a smart ass? I don’t think so. He told the kid to try oatmeal with peanut butter and kimchee.  He said it was life-changing.

Greenpoint

John and I spent a day poking around in Brooklyn last week. In parts of Brooklyn, you feel like you’re in a sci-fi world where where every being is a perfect specimen of youth. I felt a bit like this:

IMAG1017 (2) (from the Pratt campus in Brooklyn sculpture garden.)

But no matter. We had a great day in Brooklyn.

With its mix of old and new, its vibrant neighborhoods and acres of underused industrial spaces, Brooklyn has become an incubator for all kinds of hip young businesses. The place in bubbling over with “makers,” a broad term that includes tech innovators, traditional arts and crafters, and artisanal producers like whiskey distillers, soap makers and chocolatiers. As a “maker” myself, I love to see the spaces that other such producers work in. Here are several of the businesses we checked out.

SAIPUA SOAP AND FLOWER SHOP in Red Hook Beautifully scented handmade soaps. The blood-red peonies were being prepped for a co-workers wedding that afternoon.

saipua
saipua4
saipua2

BELLOCQ TEA ATELIER IN GREENPOINT.(I got some really good lapsang souchoung.)

tea
tea2tea 4

MAST BROTHERS CHOCOLATE in Williamsburg.The Red Velvet cupcakes were an OMG experience (and I don’t usually like cupcakes).

Mast5
Mast4Mast3Mast2

IMG_2901

IMG_2905

IMG_2907

IMG_2934

IMG_3034

IMG_3029

IMG_2898

10,000 mind-moments:
sleepiness
trying too hard
worrying
comparing
breath-holding
fussing
planning

10,000 mind-moments:
cool breeze, warm sun
roosters crowing
the smell of wood smoke
slow boats on the river
my feet touching cool brick
monastery bells tolling
deep contentment
relief

1

%d bloggers like this: