Downton with cocktails in hand is so close I can almost taste the alcohol. The end of the interminable pause is nigh. January 3rd to be precise.
So a reminder is in order... What exactly are we dealing with here as we wait for the final season to be unveiled in the States? Reading Go Fug Yourself's Downton commentary is a close second to watching the show with friends while yelling at the screen in consternation. Highly recommended on both counts.
Kintsukoroi (aka kintsugi) is the Japanese art of repairing pottery with gold or silver lacquer, understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken. These flawed ceramics were prized by zen buddhists in wabi sabi tea rituals for their perfect imperfection and their visual reminder that all is in flux and impermanent.
Evan skied up Oliver today with a bunch of loved ones to scatter his friend's ashes. The blower powder created a fitting "cold smoke" for AJ's funeral pyre on what would have been his 40th birthday. Evan's grief is simply gutting.
There were seven young widows created this year in the Teton Valley. A number both stunning and horrific. I am reminded of The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion as well as When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi. So the cracks widen and run in our community. And we are left with pieces to make whole and beautiful again. Despite the healing ahead, our lives will continue to bear the marks of AJ's passing. He leaves a legacy of simplicity, purpose and grace.
Recipe for a lovely layover at Denver International Airport:
1. Get a shoeshine while waiting for a seat at Rootdown in Terminal C. 2. Follow your instincts when it comes to the menu (I have a soft spot for the Pepper Blossom cocktail)-- I don't think you can go wrong. 3. Browse one of the bookshops and grab something that looks interesting. 4. Bury your nose in the book while sipping on a glass of wine at Elroy's in Terminal B. 5. Enjoy the walk to the outer reaches of the airport galaxy (the high digits). 6. Grab a catnap on the carpeted floor as you wait for your puddle jumper of choice. Total time: at least three hours.
I didn't know that vaginal suppositories were even a thing. It makes sense looking back, but at the time...
The packaging was in Spanish and the doctor had prescribed four medications without so much as a physical exam. So I found myself juggling boxes in the early morning hours, swallowing pills with minimal thought and even less curiosity. It occurred to me that I might want to have Evan present as the size of one the pills presented a choking hazard. That was a prime opportunity to hesitate and reexamine the situation, but no. I opted against adult supervision and was kinda proud when I didn't get the capsule stuck in my throat. Three days later, I looked at the box again and noticed "via de administración: vaginal". And it finally dawned on me: I had inadvertently been downing vaginal suppositories.
Oh my. What's a girl to do? Not much. Live and learn, I guess. And laugh.
Hats off to surfers everywhere for engaging with water so intimately. It can be a mighty beast.
I just finished this beautifully wrought memoir. It reminded me of high school when I watched the waves on Ocean Beach for hours, subscribed to the Surfer's Journal, and quoted Caught Inside, but never dared to wade out into the water past my knees.
There's an idea in China that we are linked by a red silk thread from birth to all the people who will touch our lives. Especially when I was younger, although it still holds true for me to some extent today, I have always had one girlfriend among my nearest and dearest with whom I was closest. Although many different people have filled that role in my life over the years, it was only recently that I realized how strong the commonalities have been between them. They have all been artists. They have all made me laugh and laugh with their humor. They have all been emotionally intuitive and perhaps known me better than I knew myself. That first part about being artists is what struck me... I remember putting on innumerable plays with Hillary. She is now an actress living in Paris. I remember designing countless outfits with Fiona. She is now a fashion designer in New York City. I remember creating fantastical creatures and imaginary worlds with Emily. She has a MFA now and creates mythical animals and landscapes in Montreal. The pattern continues on and on-- cooks, musicians, gardeners, writers. What a precious wonder that each has become as an adult what we played at as children. As ever, I am in awe of the courage and vulnerability it takes to create for a living. It gladdens my heart to think of these old friends scattered to the winds plying trades that are in alignment with their abiding passions.
Fortifying ourselves for the journey ahead, Evan and I have been geeking out and going through a marriage workbook together. Super fun and rewarding so far!
We've also been mining a personality types website for insights. It's uncannily on point. Evan and I are summed up by the following mess of letters: ENFP-A meets INFJ-T.
Serendipity led us to spend Thanksgiving on the Pacific Coast with friends at a surf camp in Santa Catalina. It was amazeballs.
High tide came to within 20 feet of our front door. The harvest moon rose over Brahman cattle in pastures separated by living fences. Lightening bugs lit our way as we wadded across the estero for sublime ceviche and passion fruit sorbet.
And then there was the surfing itself. We took lessons with a wonderful teacher named Davíd and all stood up on our boards no problem. The break was the friendliest stretch of ocean I have ever encountered. I did something janky to my elbow on that first day and spent the rest of the trip watching people slay it in the surf, progressing by leaps and bounds each day. Midway through our time in Santa Catalina, we ventured out to Coiba National Park on a lancha. The place was a prison until recently which ironically helped preserve it as a relatively untouched tropical beach paradise. Created from the same tectonic hot spot that formed the Galapagos Islands, the region is noted for both its marine and terrestrial biodiversity.
We saw dolphins, flying fish, sea turtles that were a meter across, white tip reef sharks, eels, monkeys, iguanas, and scads of fish along the coral reefs that ringed the islands and boomers off Coiba.
In a miraculous farewell, we were called out of our room while packing to see around eighty baby sea turtles emerge from a nest not three paces from our door. The tide was low so an immense expanse of hot sand separated them from the surf zone. We shuttled them to the water, marveled at their small perfection, and wished them long life.
Our goal for this calendar year was to step away from the known, confront fears, and create space to welcome new adventures and growth into our lives-- both as individuals and as a couple. So we won the moment we left home for a year of traveling and working abroad. Everything after that was gravy. NEPAL
We were privileged to fly to Nepal to teach for an organization called Himalayan Medics, led by a young expeditionary doctor with a compelling vision.
Dr. Nima was first to respond to many of Nepal's most devastating avalanches and mountain disasters in recent years. Those experiences motivated him to begin establishing a Nepali team with remote rescue and medical response capabilities that could help him provide professional level care for those in need far from the reach of hospitals. When strong earthquakes rocked Nepal not long after we left, our Nepali WFR graduates worked tirelessly for months to provide aid and relief to the communities hardest hit. Evan and I felt deeply honored to work with people who were so genuinely committed to their own education and to being of service. They were and are an inspiration to us both. A book I was introduced to later in the year, Flying Off Everest, captured well the Nepali spirit of enterprise we encountered there.
During our time off in Nepal, we ran rivers. The Buri Gandaki, Seti Khola, Bheri, Karnali and Kali. We packraftedthe first three on our own, going off maps like this:
Luckily, our greatest misadventure was staying with Mr. Lal, brother-in-law to the lovely owner of the place we called home in Kathmandu. This was at the put in for the Bhuri Gandaki and involved a dance off with a drunken wedding band as well as Mr. Lal's incomprehensible English (food for thought: he has been the local English teacher for the past twenty years) and tenacious hospitality.
For the next two, we went with friends (thank you, Mama NOLS!) and Paddle Nepal-- phenomenal people made for a phenomenal time on both expeditions.
The Nepali jungle corridors through which these rivers flow gave off an ambrosial smell that utterly intoxicated my senses. Equally impressive were the amount of road construction, signs left behind indicating water levels during the monsoons, and the sight of literally thousands of naked children flinging themselves off the banks of the Bheri in order to swim out and play with us.
Wishing we had more time, we ultimately got our rabies vaccines and headed to India.
INDIA India contains multitudes. There is nothing I can say about India where its opposite is not also true, making it the ultimate country for paradox and diversity. Far and away what Evan and I love most about India are our friends there-- their unstinting generosity of spirit defies belief. We get on the wrong train, headed to Rajastan instead of Uttarkhand, while traveling to teach a course in Ranikhet? Sophia, Ravi, and Mr. Singh all pitched in to get us back on track. We forget our passports on a island near Hampi, a ten hour bus ride from Bangalore with a flight to catch the next day? Dilip finds out about our colossal fuck up at 10:30pm, tells us not to worry and to get some sleep, takes Evan to a doctor's appointment at MIDNIGHT, and then casually passes Evan our passports over breakfast the next morning. A miracle only possible in India. We spend roughly five months in India and clearly need to eat? We didn't cook for ourselves once and the food was consistently off the hook. I still dream about the dosas we had at CTR in Bangalore, of Sunita's banana bread fresh from the oven, and the fruits dipped in chili, salt and lime we ate with Guru and Tej crosslegged on their living room floor. Evan also made a new BFF on this trip to India. The two of them twerking together against the mid pole, throwing stakes at imaginary vampires for hours, and giggling while trying to convince me to talk dirty in Hindi to Mandeep's mother are all memories that make my heart grin.
What was hardest about India for me? The assault on my sense of smell. I met my nemesis for the first time in a Delhi hotel room and then kept falling victim to sneak attacks. It was an air freshener. It was a cologne. It was everywhere. Feces and urine were also everywhere. Navigating public spaces became a guessing game about when to hold my breath. In terms of the landscape, the experiences I enjoyed the most were bicycling through the narrow Goan backwaters and the boulder encrusted rice fields north of Hampi. Most meaningful was returning to Martoli to hang a bell in honor of one of Evan's closest friends, AJ, who passed away in a plane crash this spring.
India turned out to be our first stop on the Eat, Pray, Love pilgrimage trail. At the time, I didn't know that the year would also bring me to Italy and Indonesia. My prayer in India was haphazard at best so I don't think it counts. Food was not the highlight of our time in Italy (in fact, we had the worst meal of the year in Venice) and Evan wasn't with me in Indonesia, so I think I struck out across the board when it came to following the Gospel of Gilbert. IRELAND Having avoided Delhi belly our entire time in India (say what?!), we landed in Dublin and promptly got hit by a mack truck of gastrointestinal distress. Pretty randomly, we had decided to try something new and go bike touring in Donegal and Connemara. Without reliable internet (the branch router kept getting struck by lightning in India), we weren't able to plan the trip ourselves so we splurged and asked Seamus to figure everything out for us. We were in excellent hands.
We rode around 50km a day along scenic lanes and pastoral backroads. Wind and rain dogged us for the first week or so. Looking for shelter in a downpour one blustery day, we ducked into a thatch hut with a welcome sign out front and found beautiful hand loomed woolensmade from patterns collected by the weaver's father-in-law when he worked as a Donegal textile inspector. Wind kept us from riding out to the largely abandoned village of Port, giving me incentive to return one day. I found the pub experience I was looking for at Nancy's in Ardara. We were glad the tourist droves didn't put us off from visiting the gardens at Glenveaghor the island of Inishbofin.
After two weeks biking through rural Ireland, surrounded by truly gigantic cows and oodles of lambs, we returned to Dublin and dove into city life-- me with relish and Evan with mild horror. We stayed at a hip hotel in the center of town which translated as a lovely, but loud room above a bar with no name. I drove Evan crazy with my hunt for food that in no way, shape or form reminded me of the countless mystery meat Irish breakfasts we had consumed while biking. I found Fumballyand 777, but at the expense of my husband's patience and love. I also found a pop up gallery featuring April and the Bear that made me drool.
FRANCE
I feel so lucky that my family was game and found the means to meet us abroad while we were in Europe. Spotty internet access meant we approached them with a pretty hard sell: "We'll meet you anywhere, but we can't take on any of the planning!" My mom rose to the challenge like a champ.
She choose to rent a house perched on a cliff over the Lot river in France because she had always wanted to see the famous cave paintings nearby. At first the beauty of the place seemed fake to me because I had seen so many Disney movies inspired by the area, its dovecotes and mills.
At 71, my mom was a total trooper. In addition to reading, relaxing and shopping for local fruits and veggies, we biked, hiked, floated down the Cele river, caved, explored medieval churches and took turns sliding down a lock's bypass channel. Evan gawked at the limestone climbing along the river too, but we couldn't find any equipment to beg, borrow or steal.
Most precious to me was time to enjoy my mom's company and watch Evan and her grow their relationship. Bonus that it was in a beautiful corner of France.
SCOTLAND
My dad was on the receiving end of an even harder sell: "It looks like our options are rendezvousing with you in a couple of weeks in Scotland (we already bought our tickets) or waiting until the fall when we have no idea where we'll be. P.S. We can't do any of the trip planning, but here are the email addresses of some friends who may be able to help!"
We are so lucky that our parents love us. Amidst the craziness that is life's usual load, my dad went to work figuring out how much beauty we could cram into two weeks in Scotland. In case you were wondering how much beauty that is, it's a lot!
The video that got us hooked on the idea of going to Scotland in the first place:
In Edinburgh and Glasgow, we found lovely nests on Airbnb and culinary delights aplenty. In Edinburgh, the Gardener's Cottage and Lovecrumbs were top of my list. In Glasgow, we found a guidebook which helped us sort through the many options, but my favorites were the Rio Cafe and the CCA cafe, with Bibi's and Inn Deeplooking promising. I was also taken with the shop at the Glasgow School of Art which featured the works of Scottish artist Libby Walker.
In Wester Ross, the Applecross Peninsula on north up the coast to the town of Ullapool was stunning. We stopped in to eat at the Badachro Inn while exploring this impressive expanse of water and moorland, and took a wonderful hike out along secluded beaches further south.
The Isle of Harris in the Hebrides blew us away with the stark landscape of its eastern coastline. As we drove along the Golden Road, we stopped by the gallery space and home of a talented black and white photographer named Beka Globe. Also on Harris was the Luskentyre Harris Tweed Company. I wish I had bought yards of red tweed to remake my bedraggled winter coat.
The history was remarkable on the west coast of the Isle of Lewis-- there's a wonderful guidebook that captures all there is to see from the Calanais standing stones to the restored blackhouses at Gearrannanand beyond.
And all of this beauty just left us hungry for more. There were so many nooks and crannies yet to be explored.
No number of trophies (and believe me, I think trophies count for a lot) could express our gratitude to my dad and Elena for the ground they covered with us-- the hair-raising miles driven on the wrong side of the road, the rounds of Settlers of Catan they played with us until I accidentally left the game on a ferry, the boggy hikes. I so value the shared curiosity that urged us all on to look around the next bend.
TURKEY I arrived at
midnight in Istanbul and woke to find that Ramadan was in full swing. Streets
and metro cars were packed with mostly Turkish visitors to the main attractions
in town, which left me wandering back alleys and holed up happily in the flat
I’d rented for the week.
Not speaking a lick
of Turkish and avoiding the crowds meant that I encountered a city in which
being understood meant writing numbers down and showing them to people, miming,
and relying on the goodwill and patience of strangers.
It also meant a lot
of time observing rather than engaging. I observed the copious cats for which
Istanbul is so famous, the fishermen with their lines cast off bridges over the
Bospherus, grape arbors and bistro lights strung high across narrow cobbled
streets giving a dappled shade, and ubiquitous smokers leaning against tables,
chairs and walls as they passed away the day in conversation.
With weekly markets
shuttered and the Chora Church under renovation, I got my tourist fix riding
ferries to Asia, visiting the Kilic Ali Pasha Hamani and the Istanbul Modern, and
watching Whirling Dervishes step off sheep fleeces to twirl on slippered feet.
I also caught the incredible performance of a French/Colombian/Turkish band playing at Nardis Jazz Club. I wish I could say I was lucky enough to attend a
concert at the Basilica Cistern as well, but no dice.
Like any metropolis,
Istanbul could instantly transport me across the world. Around the corner from
my flat was a small shop called Muz that was straight out of San Francisco—
issues of Kinfolk, air plants, artisanal hot chocolate, geometric jewelry, and
commons space along a worn wooden table that spanned the distance from the
front door to the register. Around another corner, the hole-in-the-wall
restaurant Datli Maya returned me to Turkey with a menu I couldn’t decipher and
fresh food they took obvious pride in sharing.
I have always loved
the photography of Ara Güler and from the narrow glimpse I got of life in the
city, I would say his work captures the best of the place and maybe the past of
the place as well. Lacking from his photos are the razorwire I encountered
along the shoreline, the massive cruise ships moored in the smog, the endless
selfies being snapped by younger generations, and the concrete sprawl.
But then again, any
insight I gained about Istanbul during the short time I was there was small to
nonexistent. There were lots of resources to guide my explorations of the city --from
an online events guide to a fifty-pound tome of a guidebook to an app for my
phone-- but more often than not I found myself browsing through them without
feeling any need to leave the living room couch, the cup of tea and open jar of
Nutella on the table in front of me, or the gentle breeze fluttering the
curtains.
INDONESIA
I knew nothing of
Indonesia. Sometimes that’s the best approach ever. It was in this case.
I fell head over
heels for the place and left hungry to learn more about the country.
It’s the fourth most
populous nation in the world and a large percentage of that population lives in villages. It
is made up of a gadzillion islands strung along the equator. And its
Declaration of Independence was two sentences long and included the use of "etc" to cover all of its bases. The people I met
there (roughly .00000000000000001% of Indonesia’s total population) were warm,
easygoing, ingenious, fun loving, and thoughtful.
Spoiler alert: I
spent the whole time I was there at a beach resort. So yeah, of course I loved
Indonesia.
I got to go barefoot
for two weeks for the first time in forever. I broke my toe running on the
beach and hitting a half-buried coconut, but it was still worth it. I slept on
stilts over the water for the first time ever. The surf crashing under my room kept
me up at night until a kind student of mine lent me some professional grade earplugs,
and it was still worth it.
Now I am scheming
how to get my family and friends to return there with me. Although a world away
in spirit, Sugi Island is only about 60 kilometers as the crow flies from
Singapore (that weird Disneyland of a city) so while I am not holding my
breath, I’ve gotta think there’s a chance.
UNITED STATES
New York City for a
hot second meant good food, walking the streets, waxing my legs, and picking up
some new clothes.
Upstate New York for
a hot second meant spending time with loved ones and their families at homes I
had never had the privilege or pleasure of visiting before. It meant an
introduction to Adirondack life and the concept of camps. It meant finally
visiting Essex Farm after years of admiring it from afar.
ITALY
On my bucket list
for ages, we met up with my brother and his wife to hike hut to hut in the
Dolomites. In Bolzano, we happily discovered there was a last minute addition to our party:
Rachel earned
several medals, multiple trophies and a whole mess of awards for hiking through
the notorious eighth week of pregnancy. Saving her tears for others (“They [the
people who died on the Titanic] must have been so cold!”), she gamely scaled
mountains, avoided Finnish saunas, and drank copious amounts of water (forsaking alcohol).
I don’t think there
was a route we could have taken that wasn’t a winner. The mountains are
gorgeous and they go on forever. German culture meant good beers. Italian
culture meant good wine and even better pasta.
Along the trails we
saw unicyclists, ultrarunners, mountain bicyclists, climbers, and hikers of all
ages. Europe is so unlike the United States in terms of staying active and growing
older. Everyone was out and about.
Our time in the
Dolomites ended too soon and left us plotting ways to return. Maybe some via ferrata next time? Maybe a side
trip to Slovenia?
Rachel flew out from
the quiet side of Venice, while Mike, Evan and I drove west to see our godmother
and her family— a time of fresh lemon verbena, spy novels, napping,
conversations about spiritual practice and local living, olive groves, peaceful
quiet, grilling under the stars, and laughter.
