Oaxaca City, Mexico

Last week I told a colleague, "I wanna work from home. I wanna work from the office.  I want all the options, all the time -- I want it all!" Four* consecutive sentences that begin with "I want" is my version of crazy. And right now, everyone is going c.r.a.z.y. Times are "unprecedented" they say, aka crazy. But the three and a half year old roommate I live with is the least craziest person I know -- and most of what he says begins with "I want". More often than not though, his wants are legitimate needs so someone always helps him.

I've always wanted to be an artist. And I don't mean an artist who makes pretty little paintings, I mean an Artist. Like O'Keefe because she was the only female artist I knew that had posters as big and wide and everywhere like Picasso and Van Gogh. For the usual woe is me reasons (i.e., family, culture, patriarchy, capitalism, earth, the big bang), I kept my want hidden and ended up making pretty little things on the side, even though what I really wanted was to be an Artist.

So this little roommate of mine makes me wonder: If I rephrased my wants into needs, would I help myself more? Would someone help me? Would it all work out?? Of all the places I've been drawn to in the world because of art, Oaxaca City is the only place that made me realize that some of our wants** are actually needs.

If I can find a costume made out of electrostatic non-woven polypropylene fiber, consider it paid.

Verona, Italy

One day, I'm going to invent this invention that maps out thoughts. It's going to be super cool. Like holographic and shit. The moment a word, phrase, image, or song suddenly appears in your mind, it's going to project a chain of memories linking the present thought to its origins. Imagine the possibilities. Finally, we'll be able to see the beginnings of our prejudices, biases, and fears! But, my intention for this invention is less noble. I just really want to know why I started to sing "My Sharona" when I found a dirt cheap flight to Verona.

Montréal, Canada

In the ways Los Angeles is better than New York City, Montréal is better than Paris. But don't take my word for it. No, really, don't. 'Cause I've never been to Paris. It's just what I tell myself to feel better. I don't think any New Yorker is going to tell you outright that Los Angeles is better, and I'm not entirely sure if it is. Yet, when you visit L.A. and see how they live: patios, good Mexican, colour -- you begin to question some things. Coming across the same (two) in Montréal and learning of an architect who designed apartments with a "garden for everyone", I'll continue to holler for the westside. Hey, it is west of Paris. 

Lisbon, Portugal

I feel bad for sales people. I am, what's known in sales, The Worst Customer.  I hem and haw, I analyze to death, I look around. They have no way of knowing this so I listen. Yesterday, a woman tried to sell me glass tiles with a ceramic tromp l'oeil effect which were wired to do some Back to the Future II shit. Tap once, a digital screen emerges to control the thermostat. Tap again, and it becomes a stop-watch. The perfect feature when you want to time how fast it takes for your living room to cool down. "We want to dissolve the need for electric fixtures in a room, giving it a seamless look." Yeah but, azulejos tiles also control temperature and are whole lot prettier.

Lady in red (and in azulejos tiles)

Santa Fe, NM

Having perpetually cold extremities forces you to think about the weather in a way the curiously glowing people don't. Kind of like how a gal with rose gold undertones might think of her perfect mate as her 35th birthday nears and finds any and every clock useless but her biological one:

My Perfect Weather: Four seasons with no season bolder than the other. Prefer semi-arid climate, but can tolerate humidity. Sunny winters earn brownie points; temperatures below 15 degrees, however -- a deal breaker.

Perfect Mate à la said gal: "You're bright, creative, out-of-the-box thinker who is driven, loyal, fun, well traveled, cultured, adventurous, loving and caring...most importantly you're not produced from a "cookie cutter". (I've also always had a thing for soccer players, but that's negotiable!)"*

There might be hope for our gal considering how in the bowels of winter I felt something I rarely feel, my toes. With my black jacket and the bright sun Georgia O'Keefe couldn't get enough of, it makes sense why I felt like a walking incubator the entire time I was in Santa Fe. And I loved it.

Seattle, WA

UPDATE: Since I wrote this post Seattle has out done itself not once, but twice. The fruition of an edible forest (pun definitely intended), and doing away with Columbus Day for Indigenous Peoples Day.  The latter alone had me cranking another anchor for a new total of eight. (Note to self: what the hell are you doing on the east coast?!)

Mention Seattle and people still ask about grunge in 2013. Frankly, I can't imagine it starting anywhere else when even the chicken-scratch graffiti had my gears windin' like C+C Music Factory. Sorry, Kurt :/ 

On a residential street

It says "Hush"...

Hakone, Japan

There I was again, cringing. There he went again, exchanging stories with the person who knew of a person who also lived on S block. Back in the day, Western Massachusetts was nowhere near as diverse as it is now, yet my grandfather had this internal radar which honed in on his peeps even in the thickest of snow. And always in places where I feared I'd run into a schoolmate who would overhear him speaking his native tongue rather than his impossibly cool James Bond British accent. 

"Why is your grandfather sneezing so much?" 

"He's not. It's a word that sounds like achoo but means okay..."

"Are you okay? You look lost...didn't you pass by here earlier?" He emerged from what looked to be a glorified tree house. The demeanor and sway of a surfer, though we were high in the mountains. Something about his furnishings tipped me in the right direction. Maybe a surfer, but definitely a hippie. 

"Yeah, I'm fine, thanks. I'm trying to find my camera, I lost it this morning..."

Hakone is much closer to Mt. Fuji than the view from my speeding train

Joshua Tree, CA

Though I didn't do it then, I'm doing it now. Listening to U2's The Joshua Tree while writing about Joshua Tree, CA. Oh, how typically predictable can I be? Then again, it never crossed my mind to listen to the album when I was there. On top of that, I chose not to set foot in Joshua Tree National Park. And you wonder if the town's name is a misnomer? It's not, the park is roughly 10 minutes away.

So what exactly happened? More on that later. For now, know that a mojo buried deep within me was somehow disinterred in this small desert enclave.

The Delta and Oxford, MS

Twice a year, for a number of years, an odd whimsy strikes me without fail. I want to become the next president. Every January 1st, when it dawns on me that nothing of merit will happen after 1am and it's time to head home, yet I loaf around because I am dreading the drive back in a sub-zero car, I think to myself, "If I were president, we'd celebrate New Year's like Persians -- on the first day of spring." True, I could celebrate New Year's in Key West, but it just makes more sense to celebrate new beginnings when Mother Nature herself celebrates new beginnings.

Half way into the new year, around July 4th, same thing, "If I were president, we wouldn't call Independence Day, Independence Day. Maybe Autonomy Day, or something like that." I think it's the least we could do if the government continues to balk at reparations and it took a British man to direct one of the most present (in the sense that when you're watching it, it doesn't feel like you're watching a movie) films about U.S. slavery. It'd be logical to write about Washington D.C. or Boston this week, but it made more sense (there's a difference, and I know you know it) to write about the Mississippi Delta instead.

Chefchaouen, Morocco

This post has been so difficult to write I've now resorted to stream of consciousness -- forgive me. It started numerous times in numerous different ways. Trying too hard? Probably. I mean, I am trying to dovetail paintings from Picasso's Blue Period to probably one of the prettiest cities in Morocco. No factual relation, except for the in my brain.

Wait, there is one connection. Picasso was Spanish and Chefchaouen was once part of Spanish Morocco, but that's not why I'm posting his paintings. It's because of the colour blue. It's my favourite colour, most likely it's your favourite colour, and it's Chefchaouen's favourite colour because the entire city is blue. Not in the figurative sense, literal. The entire city is blue. The buildings, the walkways, the wide sky above you. It's all blue, in every hue. (Apparently this stream has a melody. Pray it's not iambic pentameter.) But enough of this prattle, you say. Why no pictures of this ethereal blue city?

Kyoto, Japan

I have a gripe with Huffington Post. How many slideshows of random shit do we really need?? They're horrible, a time vortex towards a black hole. I looked up 'characteristics of the eldest child' and found this, five minutes later I was looking at this (some are pretty funny by the way). You may be wondering* what birth order has anything to do with Kyoto. Well, compared to Tokyo, Kyoto is very much like the eldest child. A conscientious overachiever displaying a high regard for its elders (i.e. past). Considering it was once the imperial capital of Japan for a thousand years, it makes sense. As does my seemingly unrelated introduction :)

Memphis, TN

A lucky lady I'll sure be if I could find me a fellow with a soul like Memphis. Brilliant, but doesn't take himself too seriously. How can a guy be a bore if he parades around in rhinestones and ties chiffon around his neck? I think there's something delightful about that, no? I read somewhere that ultimately we seek a lover with qualities we wish we had in ourselves. I know I can have a stick up my rear end at times, so until I find someone like Memphis, I'll take the city itself.

Istanbul, Turkey

Looks like San Francisco, doesn't it? Surprised? Admittedly, I was. And here is where I extoll the virtues of travelling. How it broadens your horizons, redefines your definitions blah, blah, blah. You know this. I know this as well. Nevertheless, I was still surprised. So is this why I fell in love with Istanbul? Because it humbled my perceptions? No, not really.

Kamakura, Japan

Jonesin' for some more lovin' in my life, I set off for Kamakura from Tokyo early in the morning. (Kamakura, Kama Sutra, clearly I haven't matured much since high school.) I had high hopes for my prospects after being pinned against a wall (on the subway during rush hour) and eating meat (the clerk gave me a pork steamed bun instead of vegetarian), and when I boarded my last train, I cried mercy -- but not in that way.

As much as I secretly fantasize of sitting next to a dashing gentleman on a flight, I have a knack for sitting next to chatty old ladies. Don't get me wrong, I love old ladies, there are days I dream of fast-forwarding time to become one, but sometimes you just want to be anonymous to the person two inches from you. Apparently my land travels assume the same pattern because my cab was full of chatty old Japanese women, adorable chatty old Japanese women. This time, I wanted to talk their ears off. Why were they travelling in such a big group? What's so funny? Why were they headed to Kamakura? I couldn't because I don't know Japanese, but I sat there listening to their rhythmic conversations. And in twenty minutes my inner state went from looking like Yama, the ruler of Hell's Ten Kings Ennoji Temple), to good 'ole Buddha (Kotokuin Temple).

Ennoji Temple

Kotokuin Temple

The perfect state to be in because Kamakura's rhythm is drastically slower than Tokyo's even though it's only an hour away. Could this be the reason why it was one of my favourite trips in Japan? Possibly, but my hippie strings were strummed when reggae sauntered into the street from a store. And perhaps the "One Love" vibe of the city could be the very reason why many temples here are showered with love.

My favourite temple in all of Japan is the Hasedera Temple. Upon entering the gate hundreds of statues greet you. It was such a delight because I hadn't read about the statues in my guide book, but an unsettling feeling soon took hold -- I knew they weren't for ornamentation. My pamphlet listed the reason: the Jizo statues were placed by parents who had lost their children to abortion, miscarriages, or stillbirth. I instinctively began to count...

Below the temple is Benten Kutsu cave, and again, thousands of statues. This time wishes for the sea goddess Benzaiten, the only female of the Seven Lucky Gods of Japanese mythology.

If I didn't end up walking around in circles (literally, in a bamboo forest, for hours) after the Hasedera Temple I could have made it to more sights or flashed a peace sign to a flower child downtown. But as time bellied in the late afternoon, I headed to the beach to watch surfers pay their respects to Benzaiten. It's really why I came to Kamakura in the first place. I was born on an island, and when you visit one, you have to have to pay your respects by the beach.

Length of Stay

One day

Docking Index

       

8 anchors. Besides my peace, love, and harmony bent, and a right (ha!) to live by the sea again, Kamakura is still fetching. Hundreds escape here from Tokyo for the day, yet it didn't feel overrun nor saccharine. When I caught the last train to Tokyo, I was kind of ashamed at myself for being one of the many day-trippers. Though I knew better, I wouldn't have left Kamakura until my last day in Japan after my first night.

Granada, Spain

It's scary to think how travelling is like dating. You try not to have expectations, but you do. So you set them a bit lower than usual because then you'll be pleasantly surprised by everything. You went with the flow but ended up in circles. You tried the opposite, some structure, but it left you feeling equally neurotic. In short, it's all a crapshoot. What to do? Lately, I'm learning that action and less thought paves direction: the more you date the easier it is to navigate through uncertainty. And the same goes for travelling. Eventually, you'll feel like a traveller and not a tourist.

I don't know when I'll feel like a traveller. By the time I landed in Granada however, I definitely didn't feel like a tourist. In two days I had dealt with two airline strikes, a missed connection, an echoing terminal (my flight was the last to arrive), and language barriers at a major international airport. I guess some things from high school, spanish, history, how to fall asleep at a cramped desk which has similar proportions to a coach seat, aren't a complete waste.

All of this could have nulled my expectations of Granada or romanticized it even more. Instead, something else happened during my bus ride from the airport to the city. I sighed. Then, I looked at my jacket and was grateful I had brought it because it was cooler than forecasted. That insignificant thought began a chain of thanks and my ride sappily turned into a trip down memory lane. When we arrived, I was simply grateful for being there. And maybe that's why it's exactly how I had imagined it to be at 15 when my high school Spanish teacher would retell her days in Granada.

National Parks, WA

Why do people continue to move and stay in WA when the rest of the country asks, "What about the rain?" Well, you can literally hike in a national park after 5pm on a weekday. Weather permitting of course. Then again, after a few years, you don't even consider it.

Here are some driving times from three national parks to the nearest boisterous town or city:

Olympic National Park to Port Angeles - 7 minutes (according to Google!)
North Cascades National Park to Bellingham - 1 hour and 42 mins (drive is shorter if you're headed to the mountains)
Rainier National Park to Seattle - 1 hour and 44 mins

See, this is why I love WA so much.

Mt. Shuksan of North Cascades

San Francisco, CA

Sometimes, actually most of the time, we learn the most about ourselves from our friendships. For years, I had wondered who molded my hippie bent. Certainly not from my family, nor my extended family, until one day a dear friend exclaimed, "So that's why you're a hippie -- your elementary school teachers!".

How could I have overlooked this when even as a wee one I mathematically figured that, excluding sleeping hours, I spent more time with my teachers than my parents? They're the ones who introduced me to salamanders and Carl Sandburg. My English teacher wasn't certain if his poem Fog was actually about San Francisco but her description of the city was heavenly. Subconsciously I must have wanted to keep it that way because I made no effort to visit it until it was absolutely necessary. Another friend told me I have to stop living inside my head so much. He's right, my fantasies were shattered into diamonds. San Francisco is achingly beautiful, the heavens have literally descended here.

Vancouver, Canada

Drive across our northern border and it doesn't feel much different from home. McDonald's is a given, but there's also Target, Wal-Mart, and I recently read that Nordstrom is planning to open a new store in Toronto. I'm sure they'll tack on a maple leaf somewhere on their logo like every other U.S. corporation, but they don't need to. It took me one visit to conclude that a Target in Canada will never be like a Target in America -- they sell British chocolate. Long live the Queen indeed.

Crunchie, Aero, Maltesers, my friends were everywhere (you better believe I smuggled each one south of the border). Forget Canada's untapped oil, in my eyes, a country that stocks Peanut M&Ms and Maltesers on their impulse counter displays is rich beyond comparison. And Vancouver, simply sumptuous. Imagine glass skyscrapers greeting you as you enter its harbour, only to be humbled by the mountains towering behind them... Even though we're in a different country, alas it's still the Pacific Northwest. Yes, that means fog and rain with the occasional parting of the heavens.

Bellingham, WA

Ahh Bellingham, undoubtedly I miss you. How can I not when this view is an hour's drive east from my apartment: