'One flew east, one flew west...'

"To free yourself from the pains and sorrows in life, learn to make them authentic... (Hey! Suck on my bloody knee!)..."

2009-11-09T02:17:00.000-08:00

Wow, my last night in Japan. And yes, I am spending it on the internet writing a blog, rather than partying down or taking part in some other incredibly interesting and impressive activity. What can I say? I've never been good at beginnings and ends, and this end is leaving me pretty lost and hazy. I don't really know what to do with myself, and I think the best possible option is to have it out with the keyboard for a little while, and hope it clears the fog a little! So, even though in a very short time, most of you who read this- I'll be able to hug you and hold your hands and pass these words through my mouth not my fingers... but there are a few who will still be over the seas, and I need to write something or I might not make it on/off the plane tomorrow!!!!

So... what did I get up to since I last dropped in? Ahhhh Japan...

Well, I travelled from Tokyo to Matsumoto. I thought I was going to Nagano, but I wasn't. Well, I was going to Nagano province (or something along those lines...) but not Nagano city as I had assumed. Anyway, it all turned out splendidly, and didn't really matter exactly where I was, I suppose! I wandered the city the first day I was there- saw Matsumoto Castle which was pretty speccy, and the Matsumoto Timepiece Museum which was another lovely badge on my lovely- incredible-ticking-wonders vest. I treated myself to a meal out on the town- and it was delish!

The next day I hopped on the bus and travelled up to Kamikochi- in the wonderous heart of the Japanese Alps. And what a day that was! So pristine, so perfect! The starting point of my four hour walk was Kappa-bashi bridge, which crossed the Azumi river, which was to be my constant companion throughout the trek. I stood on the bridge and watched as the river surged upwards, toward the horizon- confidently bisecting the landscape and leading up to the stark, snow capped mountains which looked down knowingly upon me.

Then I walked on raised, planked walkways which twisted and snaked their way between trees and over streams- eased me over swampy, marshy areas and taking my awe-inspired self onward into groves of flaming, golden pine trees which rained their precious bounty all over me.

It was breathtaking!

I almost choked on my stomach when I turned a corner and saw two Makaks casually sitting by the path. Little did I know that was only the beginning of my monkey sightings for that day- there were dozens of stem playing and screaming and fighting. One let me within a metre of him to take some photos, and when my foot slipped and I startled him, I found myself bowing and apologising profusely! And the funniest thing was, he didn't seem to find it strange, he looked at me as though "yes, you should bow and say sorry, you freaking annoying tourist".

In that setting, my mind could run free- which doesn't happen very often for me. It is only incredibly rarely that I am able to think without watching my thoughts from above like some kind of freakishly self-involved reality-show. It's like I am sitting outside of myself with a pen and a clip-board clicking my tongue and writing a disproportionate number of notes...

But anyway, the point is that for a few hours, I was free from myself! It was nice. Like a cool bath on a stinking hot day.

It was just so beautiful, the trees were raging gold, the river looked like liquid crystal, the mountains were so stoic and wise. When I completed my round trip and returned to the bridge, the sun was setting behind the tree-drenched mountains and lighting them from behind so they glowed like lanterns. I had such a special day out there in the Japanese Alps!

But... and there is one heck of a but.

The night was not to prove as special- well, not in a nice way anyway!

I returned to Matsumoto, and jumped on the bike to get back to my hostel. I sped along the road maybe a little too confidently- the lights whizzing by and the wind surging against me. I turned to jump up off the road and onto the sidewalk, and the wheel snagged on the curb. I was launched like a dowanward cannon into the cement. I lay startled and broken on the ground and just ten metres ahead of me the little walking man turned green, and dozens of feet clopped by my head- not a single one even hesitating. I tried to gather myself up as quickly as possible- I wanted to cast off as much as possible of that "stupid foreigner who can't even ride a bike" cape I had draped all over myself. I saw blood on the ground beneath me, and balancing on one leg- because the other was dead at the knee- me fingers found the gaping wound on my chin. I biked back to the hostel- the most painful experience I have had in a long time.

Now, it should be noted that I use the word 'hostel' lightly here, because it was infact the converted top half of a family's home in which I was, that night, the only guest. So I returned there to a cold and empty 'home', my body completely smashed to pieces and not a soul in the world to even cast my eyes to.

My knee was the size of a grapefruit, if not a freaking rockmelon. I spent the night going back and forth between my bed and the toilet holding myself up by the door frames. I had no idea how the heck I was going to catch the train to my next location in the morning, on a knee with absolutely zero weight baring capacity... and I was a little scared! But it all worked out ok! The hostel owner was an angel! He drove me first to a chemist and ordered my supplies for me, then he took me to the station and carried my bag to the platform for me. He was so kind, and SO helpful, and made up for the fact that Japan had really let itself down on the support front the night before. So I managed to get on the train- not without tearing and choking up a few hundred times, and definitely not without my fair share of stares as I hauled that stupid bag around atop my stumbling, limping, ridiculously slow moving body. Good times!

But OH how it all melted away when I got to my next destination! Traish- the girl who took me to the maid cafe in Tokyo- managed to wrangle me into her host-home for a few nights- as her host family really lived up to their label and opened their home and their hearts to me.

Traish met me at the train station, and off we trotted (or rather... off we slowly and painfully ambled...) to karaoke. Yes, Mad at karaoke! I love what this trip has done for me, I love it so much. A few months ago, I would have avoided karaoke like the plague. Now, Traish says "we're going to karaoke", I say "ok", and I have a damn good time!

The next morning we jumped in the car, and I got a guided tour of Traish's school from the head administrator- or some such guy. It was so interesting, so special, those few days to see Japan through a different set of eyes. I mean, I have had this experience of it as a traveller, as someone passing through- floating above it. But it is SO different when you are down there where the residents reside. It is a different world, and my time with Traish meant I got a brief glimpse into that corner of the country. I really appreciate that, and it has added a lot of substance to my experience here. Mariko- Traish's 'Mum' drove us around all day, we saw Nagoya Castle, had lunch, went shopping a little. Then we went to the 'man' and 'woman' shrines. The first is a grand testiment to the penis as the ultimate luck-bringer, with hundreds of phallic sculptures spread out all over the place for people to worship and pray to. The second is an ordinary shrine, with a couple of vaguely vaginal looking rocks and tree stumps literally shoved into a corner round the back. Oh dear...

That night after an INCREDIBLE dinner cooked expertly by Mariko, all four of us- Traish, Mum, Dad and I- played cards and I felt so very comfortable and happy and accepted as we laughed until we cried and had a lot of fun together. Even though the 'parents' and I could not comprehend a word eachother said, I still feel like we understood eachother, and they really did accept me with open arms. It was so lovely there with them!

Traish took me cycling around her home-town the next day, and it was really special for me to be in this place with someone I love so dearly, to have her show me this world that has held her and moved her for all these months.

That night, and people might need to brace themselves for this one, because the shock could prove too much to bear... that night we went to the onsen! I know... there aren't even words to describe just how monumental the changes must have been in me to see me go and strip down to the ultimate vulnerability in a public place crawling with other people... That moment when I actually had to pull off my clothes- it was like when you push an earring through an ear that has started to close over, that push and crack to open it up again... But once they were off... I felt amazingly free, and comfortable in a way I never have been before. I mean, I am not about to start cruising the streets in the nude, but it was an experience I was glad to have had, and that I really appreicated Traish for allowing for me.

We breathed some special mineral-air, and had doctor fish nibble away at our feet- which was seriously one of the coolest experiences of my life!

I had to say goodbye to Traish the next day, and it hurt!

I was off to Kyoto.

Now I have to list all the temples I went to... have fun reading it!

The first notable temple was Sanjusangen, in which there are enshrined one thousand statues of the thousand-armed Kannon along with one principle image of the same deity which just pulsated presence in the centre of this massive hall filled to the brim with row upon row of bronze statues. It was rather spectacular.

The next on my itinerary for my ridiculously rainy first day in Kyoto was Kiyomizudera which was nestled in the treetops in the side of a mountain like a nest filled with glistening treasures. The rain beat down and the water inched up the legs of my pants, but it somehow just made it all the more beautiful!

I saw Nijo Castle which was really very special. It was incredibly regal and stately, but also simple and humble and unassuming. As I walked around the halls I was accompanied by the gentle twitter of the 'nightingale floor' which squeaks softly whenever it is stepped upon.

I went to the food market which was a world unto itself, and then to Gion which was reall just like stepping back in time. I turned a corner from the dizzying, fast paced, neon lined city street into this ancient fuedal world where a samurai could have dashed out at any second. I didn't see a geisha, and I don't want to talk about it!

The next day I went to Chion-in Temple, Heien-Jingu shrine, Ginkakuji Temple, Eikan-do temple and Nanzen-ji temple. The last three of these were particular highlights as I walked through the most absolutely perfect autumnal gardens and woods and the buildings themselves were really, really beautiful. I followed 'the philosopher's path' between the temples which was pretty pretty I guess...

That evening I wandered an incredibly old lantern-lined street and marveled at it's beauty- and still didn't see a damn Geisha even though they should have been there. Sigh.

I travelled then to Nara- the old capital of Japan. It was a beautiful city- even if the deer that wander the streets are slightly less adorable than they are mangy. Todai-ji Temple is the main attraction of Nara, the largest wooden structure in the world, and housing a MASSIVE statue of Buddha which was awfully impressive.

On the main street of Nara was a little shop which made fresh cakes made from rice which is pounded until it is almost gelatinous and then filled with my new favourite thing on the planet- sweet red bean paste. They smashed the rice right there before my very eyes, and the paste went in and I ate to my heart's content!! Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm...

The next morning I went to Fushini Inari shrine- which I think is my favourite of the MANY I have seen here. I walked up the stairs to the beginning of the torri-gate paths and my heart just melted and spilled out all around me! Oh my god, it was SO perfect! I meandered through the glowing orange gated paths- the splendid wood flickering and flitting in luscious little cameos through the spaces between the poles. Birds were singing their songs and water was gently rapping itself against stone and roots and dirt. There weren't many people there in the morning, which only made the whole experience all the more wonderful! The paths led to little shrine clusters set in all concievable corners of the forest. It looked, in these corners and glens and pond banks as though some giant had been walking with a sack full of thousands of shrines and every once in a while would shake some loose and they sat where they had fallen.

The paths led quite deep into the forest and the further I went, the more the people melted away, until it was just me and the glory of the 'wilderness'. The gates were so beautiful, and the wood felt like another world- another planet. It was almost syruppy, like I was floating, but still held firm and strong...

That afternon I went to Arashiyama and walked through the beautiful bamboo forest there. I found myself at Jojakkoji temple which was tucked away in the corner of these woods, and I felt like I was wrapped up in a downy blanket. The building itself sat atop this beautiful mossy knoll, wrapped almost like a present by a ridiculous number of trees- which were either the deepest, lushest greens or those firey passionate autumn hues I have spoken about so much!

There were more temples, but does every one need a mention? I think not!

The next day I took the Shinkansen down to Hiroshima. I was going to spend the morning on Miyajima- a small island not far from Hiroshima- and then spend the afternoon in the city. What had started as a one day plan soon evolved into two when I arrived at Miyajima and realised that a few hours would never be enough! As I approached the island on the ferry, the beautiful floating torri-gate got closer and closer... it warmed my heart a little!

I climbed up one side of Mt Misen which was one of the great walks of my trip! At the top I was rewarded with a spectacular view of the water and the cities across the liquid expanse. The colours melted so comfortably and naturally into one another- it was like someone had worked for hours getting all the shades just right. I went down the other side of the mountain, and was amazed by how different the two environments were. I went from these stark stone valleys to paths through virtual rainforest- so moist and damp and green.

Then I went back to Hiroshima the next day. And it was one of the densest and most emotionally raw days of my entire journey. Honestly, the moment I stepped out of the train station and into the city, I felt it- something hit me. I was overcome with this incredibly tangible sense of what had happened there and was practically writhing with grief! I mean, it is not a sad city- it is an inspiration really, because it recovered so unbelieveably successfully and is a testament to the human spirit and courage and determination. But... I was just hit by an emotional tidal wave, as all those people all those years ago- they suddenly became all too real. They became everyone who walked past me on the street. I saw a little girl toddle across my path and I couldn't help but imagine her burnt and broken with her skin hanging off her. It sounds awfully morbid... I guess it was a little! It just broke my heart, that people suffered like that, in a way I cannot even begin to comprehend, and it was all at the hands of fellow human beings. Suffering that seems almost impossible to me, suffering that was handed from the minds, thoughts and actions of living, breathing human beings to the very core of other living, breathing human beings. I cannot even get my mind around it. It just balls up in my chest and in my throat, because in no part of me can I understand how that is possible, how that could ever occur. Anyway, it was increibly powerful. The memorials and the museums were moving and rich and increibly impressive. They were so sensitive and insightful and understanding. So human and intimate and honest. There was no bullshit, there was no beating around the bush. It was direct but it was incredibly aware. There was just an incredible amount of care and thought and reflection that went into all those monuments etc... and you knew that the people who worked on them had done so with every part of their mind, body and soul.

Next day I visited Traish one last time and was taken to dinner and karaoke again- good times! And then, on my last day, I visited a couple more temples, including the Golden Pavilion, or Kinkakuji, which was pretty amazing, and then I spent a few hours lying down in the International Manga Museum reading from their library. There are like... a freaking million manga books in there... and about 30 are in English! So, I guess I had something to choose from... ha ha ha... if only I read Japanese.

I didn't make it to the end of the blog last night... and now it is the morn of my last day, I will get on a train soon, to the airport, and then I will wait to step aboard the craft that will carry me home!

I am excited... I am sad and dissapointed and sorry to end this thing I have been doing, but I am relieved and very, very excited to get back home- to see the people I love so achingly and to start my new life there.

I will write one more blog when I am back home- to put a lighter to the ends of the threads so they don't fray... but until then... wish me luck as I wind up this chapter in my life and hope I don't balls it up too bad right at the last second!!!

"Would you really rush out, for me now..."

2009-10-25T04:15:00.000-07:00

Well, as my last night in Tokyo starts winding down... and my eyelids start their ceremonious evening drooping- I figure it's a pretty good time to start getting Japan on 'paper' before it has slipped through my fingers.

I arrived in this magical paradise four nights ago. It was not the most auspicious of beginnings in a country- although with me, it never really seems to be.

This leg of the journey is one I'm undertaking well and truly solo. Brooke has headed home. Her journey was complete enough. And ever since the decision was made it has seemed very right to me that I should explore this place alone. For so many years Japan has been the 'place of my dreams' that land of wonder that I let my mind scurry off to during moments when I needed to escape, or to be moved, or to be inspired. How long I have dreamed of this! And here I am... already five days into it and with only 15 to go!!

So, Brooke and I arrived in Tokyo airport, bleary eyed and weary from our epic commute from Toulouse in France to our destination. Here came the farewell, and I managed to balls it all up through my terrible aversion to goodbyes. After months of sharing pretty much everything two people can share (apart from their bodies!) our parting came down to an awkward and clumsy slurring of words and pretty much a pat on the back... oh dear. If she weren't my friend, I'd be worried about the impression I made!
Anyway, I ran away from Brooke and hustled onto the train. And then the fiasco began. I had booked my hostel and had the directions all written out nice and safe in my trusty little notebook. I followed the directions from the Japan Rail lady, changing trains a good three times until I arrived at the station I assumed was the one I needed. But no, it wasn't. I have a Japan Rail pass, so I can catch any Japan Rail line for free. But I'll be darned if all the lines are JR! Ofcourse they aren't! No, Japan has about seven hundred and fifty million train lines... and the station I needed was not on a JR line. So... first I wandered about aimlessly like a sheep that had lost its herd- with my ridiculous bag hanging off my back like a freaking corpse. I stared at the maps with my eyes glazed so thick I may as well have had them closed. I tried to figure out if I could walk the distance between wherever the heck I was and where I needed to be... but I didn't even know where I was, and I sure couldn't read the signs! The key factor here is that I had failed to get any money out, and so I couldn't actually but the ticket to get to the station I needed.
Then it was an Indiana Jones style quest for cash. I walked around for what felt like a lifetime looking for an ATM, and when I finally stumbled on one- glowing on the horizon like a mystical mirage of salvation- it rejected my card.
So, then came the desperate attempts to communicate with people when I had bothered to learn a big fat zero of their language. I pulled out my bank card, repeated "yen" over and over and shrugged a lot. When the woman replied with three fingers and a giant cross made with her arms accompianied by "Three o'clock NO MONEY!" I figured it was a lost cause.

Then the tears came. I choked and spluttered and avoided people's eye contact as I wandered ever more aimlessly trying to think of what I could do. Back down into the subway I went, and with the tears still glistening in my eyes, I sidled up to the conductor, told him the stop I needed, showed him the inside of my empty wallet, and he quickly hustled me through the gate with a makeshift ticket in my hand. What a hero.
And from that moment on, I knew I was home, and I knew I was safe. I walked up the stairs of the station, and staring down at me like a vision from god was my hero- my absolute, honest to god king of all heroes- Takeshi Kitano from the inside of an ad for... I don't know... something Japanese! Boy, any place that has Takeshi Kitano on the subway walls is my kind of place!

So, I was in Japan.

My first day was spent a little hap-dashedly. I didn't have a map, and was still pretty hung over from my jetlag and total lack of recupperation. I just kind of walked around... stopping occassionaly to stare wide eyed at one of the area maps by the side of the road to make sure I wasn't walking up to Hokkaido or something... I stumbled upon Tokyo Tower and up I went in the elevator- fully equipped with a disco-ball-esque light and many uniformed Japanese girls to smile and guide the way. I walked down to Ginza... I was on a mission to locate Kabuki. And I did, and as of that moment, my next day was planned!

My day watching Kabuki Theatre... pretty spectacular! I saw four shows, all of which showcased different kinds of Kabuki- comedy, drama, dance, a love suicide and an introductory sort of actor display...
I have seen some Kabuki before- on screen obviously rather than in flesh- and these renditions didn't make my soul quake and crack like I thought it would based on other experiences. But boy was it still rich! It was so achingly beautiful! The attention to detail, the deep and sombre reverence for tradition, the passion. But the passion isn't that wild passion that spirals out of control like a hurricane. I have found the Japanese to be the most incredibly emotional, deep, profound people. They are so very in touch with their deepest feelings- which has surprised me because I always thought them to be quite repressed. But they are anything but. It is my impression that they have these incredibly rich and textured experiences and feelings... but they also have these incredibly structured and concentrated and controlled manners in which they express this. They have these traditions- these incredibly powerful and all pervading traditions- which are present in society, art, culture, religion... and these traditions spell out how the people express what is in their incredibly open hearts. Some traditions are ancient, and some are modern... but they have their guidelines as to how to behave... and how to express themselves. Or so I have felt!
Anyway, what all this means, is that when you are viewing some art or culture like Kabuki, what you get is this incredibly concentrated bullet of power and emotion. These people take everything that is inside of them, and channel it into this medium which has been perfected within an inch of its life and it just explodes on the stage in this unbelievable, magical performance. It is so gutteral, so visceral, and everyone in that hall understands it. It is so human and so instinctual... yet so taloured and controlled and rigid.
Japan sometimes feels like a living, breathing contradiction... but I think that actually it is just to dense for me to really understand what is going on!
I loved it!
I had my little english earpeice diligently translating not only the words the actors were saying, but also these ancient stage symbols and conventions like a purple headband indicating an ill character, and what really astounded and inspired me about that, was that everyone watching knew that. They are so in touch with tradition and their history and past. In one play, a character was pretending to be a samurai, and the fact that he was not legitimate was communicated to the audience by the fact that he forgot to remove one of his swords before he sat down... seriously... how could they know that!
Anyway, the love and pain and rage and fear that I saw exploding off the stage yesterday blew me away... and I really felt like they meant every tonal-rollercoaster of it, from the depths of their hearts.

Then, after a pretty rich cultural experience of traditional Japanese theatre, it was off to meet Traish and sleaze the night away in a maid cafe! Traish has been on a Rotary exchange here in Japan since January, and she goes home this coming January. I have missed her like my left foot, and it was so special to see her here. Pretty amazing too, to just, you know, meet up with your friend from back in the Blue Mountains in Tokyo...
Her host family had brought her to Tokyo for the weekend, and we were allowed a few hours together! So she took me to a maid cafe. We went up the lift to the fourth floor- dedicated to this distinctly Japanese establishment. Decked out entirely in bright pink- the tables shaped like hearts- Japanese girls with their hair in high-topped pig tails wearing the shortest and frilliest maid outfits imaginable greet you with more enthusiasm than you would think possible in their tiny little frames. They do magic tricks for you as you order, they sing songs and dance on the pink heart-shaped stage. It is quite a spectacle. I was assured by Traish that the men who visit these cafes get a great deal sleazier than our companions, and I don't doubt it!
It was a pretty incredible experience. One I could only ever have in Japan, that is for sure!

I set out the next day to try and see Fuji-san- that epic mountain which has inspired so many. I went to a town in the five lakes district and started to climb a little mountain in the hope of getting a decent view. The moment I stepped up into the leaves and trees and fresh air, I was hit like a mallet my this incredible sensation of "Holy christ... I'm here". I was just so moved and so relieved and so deeply happy that I was here, in this amazing, beautiful, incredible place... and I may have cried a little... and as I walked up that mountain, I could see where myths and legends of forest spirits and tree gods had come from. It really felt alive, those woods. I felt as though I was walking amongst a living, breathing entity. I could feel it tingling along my skin, sometimes it felt like it was laughing or snickering... teasing me a little. When I did finally get to the top... Fuji was hiding from me. I guess even when you are worshipped and revered you can still have self-esteem issues! So I had to make do with my brief glimpse of the mountain out of the train window on my way into tow- before he retreated behind a veil of clouds... Oh well, next time we will get better acquainted.

And today I jumped on the train and off I went to Nikko. So stunning I thought my heart would explode. The autumn leaves were raging like little star shaped fires. Every which way you look there are mountains jutting up into the sky- encasing you with their tree covered facades, the different staged leaves making it look as though someone has spilled a set of autumnal paints down the slopes. Oh my god, it was so splendid! And then as you walk more, there are rivers and streams which carve out their paths through the mountains and the trees, sailing over glistening river stones- the crystal blue of the water set wonderfully against the rich green of the moss at its edge.
Nikko is famous for its shrines and temples. They are world heritage listed... which I think they are pretty proud of, because they take every opportunity to remind you of it.
But there is a reason they are. There are a large number of these shrines and temples, nestled in amongst the forest. The towering trees soar perfectly vertically up above, the moss creeps along the tangled roots, the japanese maples crackle and burn- all shades from dull and resigned orange to a brilliant heart-wrenching vermillion- and the temples/shrines pulse with presence and character.
Nikko was spectacular. It moved me so very much... It made me realise how little time I have left, and how hard I will now push to make sure I can soak up as much as possible.

Japan is my dreamworld it is a fairy land. I am so happy here!

I have been thinking about my trip in terms of someone's favourite song... Wyoming was that first riff, that first little trill that really grabs you and makes your hair stand on end. The rest of America was that part in the first verse, where the song is sort of still getting going. You've grown to love that section because you adore the song... but you always want it to hurry up and get to the good bit when you're playing it to a friend, because you're scared they'll quit before it really picks up and they'll never know how good it could have been. Holland was the chorus. You can sing it over and over and over and it will never lose its resonance. Not even for a second. And everytime you hear it, a little part of you lights up. Italy was your favourite verse, the one with the lyrics you like the best. France was that bit where it dies down for a second... nothing much happens, it goes quiet... because it is leading up to something. And Japan, Japan is that something. You know that moment in a song, that one where something snaps and everything just explodes in pure perfection. It is that part of the song you are secretly waiting for all along, where the singer bends their voice just right, or there is a spectacular piano trill, or the drums and trumpets start up. That part that makes your heart jump into your throat when it happens. That is Japan.

So, that is how I would describe my trip... and being so close to the end, I don't think I can say "so far" anymore... but you never know I guess...

That's all...

"Betty said she prayed today, for the sky to blow away, or maybe stay, she wasn't sure..."

2009-10-12T04:27:00.000-07:00

Sitting now in Avignon, France, writing on a ridiculous French keyboard, I realise how much I have to write, and how excrutiating it will be with all letters and punctuation in very much the 'wrong' place in front of me...

But, I need to cast my mind back to Florence now, where I left off last time. That was quite a while ago!!

The first night in Florence, after meeting up with Brooke again, we found the best pizza on the planet, which was extrodinarily cheap, and like Heaven in my mouth. A few days later we went in search of that illusive place for hours, wandering the streets like some kind of zombie type creature, but we never found it. It just appeared for us that one night, like a magical mirage that we could reach out and touvh only for a fleeting moment!

The hostel we stayed in in Florence deserves its own blog, dedicated simply to hashing out the bizzare, surreal details. I'll leave it hanging there, and maybe sometime soon that blog will come. Or maybe it is better to leave it to imaginations...

In Florence there was quite a lot to see. Unfortunately, these sites are all too aware that they are worth seeing, and no expense is spared. Money fell out of my pockets as though I didn't have any pockets... The spectacular cathedral in the centre of the city pulsated as if alive with its green, pink and white marble and melted and dripped with the most intricate and nuanced detail. We huffed our way up the 463 stairs to the peak of the Duomo where we looked out over terracotta rooves which flowed out towards the horizon and then slowly, delicately inched their way up and lightly dotted the hills in the distance. Florence was beautiful. It was stunning, but not like Venice or Chianti or the soon to come Cinque Terre. For me, it was pleasing and pretty and amazing, but not in the heart-wrenching way of other places I have seen. And I estimate the ratio of tourists to local inhabitants to be about 85:1. No kidding, I heard more American voices than Italian.
Sometimes Florence felt a little impersonal. It felt a little tired. Like it is always having to hold up this exterior to keep the masses satisfied, but the effort has drained it and it's stopped caring a little now. It's a bit half-hearted, everything a force of habit and routine rather than passion or commitment or investment. That is not to say I didn't love it to pieces! It just didn't touch me, which is a bit of a pity. I think the city holds so very, very much. It is so multi-faceted and rich, but all its layers are taken for granted from every possible direction and so its lost some of its impact and density.

Gallery day came. We lined up for just over an hour to see my pal David- Michelangelo's David that is... if you didn't get it!
And what an incredible experience that was. I've never seen anything like it in my life. So many of the other 'big' artworks I've seen, the ones drenched in hype and up-talking, they haven't manage to stand up to their name for me. I mean, I couldn't do it... but I hadn't been feeling it. But David is everything he's meant to be and more!!
There he stood; towering over us and he washuge already, but his presence fills every empty space in that room. The skill, the detail, the passion that must have gone into it... You could almost see the blood flowing through the veins which run so astonishingly under his marble skin. I wanted so badly to hold his hand, or give him a massive hug! He feels so alive, the tension fizzes all over his body and he looks like he'll step off the podium at any second! His face was so beautiful, his eyes holding so much fear, so much innocence.
It was perfect.

Then we lined up for pushing on two hours for the Uffizi gallery. It was pretty neat to see Botticelli's 'Birth of Venus' dominating its massive wall and his 'Spring' absolutely blew me away on such a massive, tangible scale.

Then, after a day of culture and art I was ready to plunge myself down into depravity... ha ha ha.
We made some wonderful new friends in the hostel, Rosie from England, Sarah from North Carolina, Aelfwyn from Oregon, Josie from Melbourne... some others came later. Anyway, cheap supermarket wine and drinking games led me down a path ending in embarrassment as I puked all over the place and spent the morning after cleaning up after myself. What a sorry sight. But it was fun, before vomit and raging shame came into the picture. We did meet some lovely people in Forence, and I realised that I have reached a place in my life now in which I can pull it off pretty well. I can handle it, I'm not a social invalid anymore! It's a fair bit more fun this way!

Recovery day followed, but Rosie, Josie, Brooke and I decided to cook and eat dinner together that night which was nice- we had our own little family going.

The next day we crossed the Ponte Vecchio and headed to the Palazzo Pitti, where we wandered the beautiful Bobli Gardens for hours.
I got very lost in the deserted corners of Florence, and felt better that I had gotten to those places, if only for a breath.
That evening we hiked up to Pizza Michelangelo, where we sat overlooking the city and watched the sun slowly inch towards the horizon and flare and blaze in its last hoorah before it ducked behind the hills for the night. We sat, surrounded by the mosy natiral, relaxed, soothing atmosphere, looking out at the entire city and the river, with casual guitar music wafting loosly in the air. It was pretty fab.

The next evening- my last in Florence- Brooke Rosie and I headed to the centre of the Ponte Vecchio to meet Sarah and off we trotted to the Florence Wine Event. 10 euros bought you a wine glass and a tasting card and for three consecutive days you could meandre through the various wine stalls and sample the hundreds of varities that lay under the white, domed mini-tents. We cruised along, with all the other wine tasters- some the full blown and incredibly wanky 'knowledgable' type, and others shameless cheap booze fiends- and chatted contentedly about our lives, the wine, the world, sipping our Italian wine, in Florence. Good times.
I did enjoy Florence immensly. There is a part of me that still feels like I wasn't really there, like I missed something. I didn't spend as much time absorbing the place as I have in the past, because I was busy with people. I guess Florence was just something different for me, and I experienced the city in a different way to the others. There would be no use in having the same experiences over and over again. Florence was different, and it was good!!

Then I was off on my own again. Brooke stayed in Florence for a while, and then her and Rosie went together back to Rome where Brooke met up fleetingly with her family, who are currently touring Europe. She then went back to Florence, and we met again on the bus to Nice.
I however, moved about differently.
I wanted to see Perugia, so I booked a hostel in Torricella, about 20 km from Perugia. It was such a gem of a hostel; Heaven by the lake!
It was a pain to get there on a Madonna-crazy Italian Sunday, but after being screwed over by the train timetable a few times, and shedding a few desperate tears (really only a few!), I got there and the pain of the journey melted away!
The hostel was on the edge of a massive, beautiful lake- Trasimeno. I had moved from Tuscany to Umbria. The people there were beyond lovely and so welcoming- inviting me to eat dinner with them not only on the nights all guests shared the free home-cooked meal with the employees, but even when they ate alone. I got free bike access, free breakfast, free dinner each night (beautiful, fresh, Italian home-cooked food), and if I stayed three nights, I could stay a fourth for free. What a place! So, obviously I changed my plans and stayed four nights instead of two.
My first full day by Lake Trasimeno, I jumped on the bike and cycled 65 km around the circumfrance of the lake. I'm never happier and lore content than when I'm on a bike!! The route took me through various medieval towns and villages which are still operating today. One of the villages was so perfect, so wonderful, going along, minding its own business, nestled in the heart of this medieval citadel on the top of a hill.
Round I went, through the beautiful rolling hills, the calm lake my constant companion to the side- the dull blue of the water almost indecsernable from that of the distant hills, and in turn, the hills from the open sky above me. It was heavenly.

The next day I jumped the train to Perugia. I spent an age climbing the massive hill to the peak, following the endless signs leading to the city centre in what felt like an epic, endless, vertical goose-chase. I finally found an escalator (yes, you could still go FURTHER up!) and up I went, finding myself then in an underground fortress from the middle ages. This is how you get to the city centre, by going up through an ancient underground city! These people who live and work there, every day they come up through the belly of the mountain, using ancient underground tunnel systems to reach the pizzerias, geleterias and supermarkets which perch above them. Holy Hell,what a world they inhabit! What lives they lead...
And boy was it beautiful! There I was, way up on the top of this massive mound of earth, with alleyways and steep staircases worming their way up from all directions. The layout of the city actually makes me think of a Pollock painting in 3d- buildings, streets, pathways all dripped down atop this mountain, some stacking up, some leaking and cascading down the slope.

My next stop was Cinque Terre, my final destination in a country I had grown to love very, very dearly. I definitely would not feel as fondly toward Italy had I not cracked open our basic itinerary and laced the gaps with some diversity.
My time in Cinque Terre had its pock-marks. I was greeted with a large dose of confusion and stress when the hostel I had booked into was everything I would hope to avoid in a place to stay and I had to look for alternatives. It was expensive, damn expensive, but it was worth it in the end. I stayed Rio,aggiore, the first of the five villages, and I think it turned out to be my favourite also. The buildings, the rainbow hued houses are perched up in the curves and folds of the cliff face and spill doan like candies toward the edge of the water. I had to trek half way up and effing mountain to get to my room, but once I got up there, heaving and sweating and weak at the knees, I was rewarded with a glorious view of the ocean.
I would eat dinner each night, perched out on the massive stones which dam the marina and relax, surrounded by the crystal blue waters as the sun sank into its wet bed.
The first day I hiked the trail which links the five villages, stopping in each to explore and recover. I walked along the cliff-face, the sea pulsing next to me doan below. Each town was equally as breathtaking, and quaint seems almost patronising, but it's what they were!

There were trillions of tourists, but I did get some brief glimpses of local life. Once, I walked past a church, and sitting on the step was a nonna in her apron, bouncing her baby grandson on her knee, singing passionately to him. Pretty special!
I only had two full days in Cinque Terra, the second was spent lazing at the beach, and hiking a little and eating my dinner again by the ocean as I watched the sea endlessy pound at the rocks, without a moments reprise. I felt so exhausted looking at the ocean that night, and I realised how important it is to rest a little, to let the blood pump slower for a while- ease the pressure so you don't burst.

So that was what Nice was for. I did nothing the entire time we were there. I lay by the beach, I lay in bed, I read and I ate baguettes.
Japan is coming up in a week now, and I have looked forward to it for too long to arrive there and realise I haven't the energy to make the damn most of it!
We met some FABULOUS people in Nice; The first night, Brooke, Erin from Wagga and Josie from Missouri and I sat huddled around Erin's mac watching American Warewolf in Paris and laughing our asses off. The next night we all went to 'Chez Wayne's' where the bartender was Aussie, and the only word in French was 'Sortie' (or Exit) so the locals know how to get the Hell out. But we had a lot of fun, and they were wonderful girls. We had gone in a futile search for mal-advertised bingo, which we were pretty epically dissapointed to find was not offered. What a rip.
Kyle from California came the next day after Josie left and settled pretty comfortably into our little Nice crew. We all got along incredibly well, and had a lot of fun together. But I really did very little there.
Now I'm in Avignon, and in about 8 days I fly to Japan, and I plan to do very little while I am here also. Take that society!

And I think that is about it...

Until next time...

"But I'm good at being uncomfortable so I can't stop changing all the time..."

2009-09-23T07:40:00.000-07:00

Ok, I've been a bit lame on the keep people updated front. I'm trying to balance myself for a little on that dang ball again, hopefully I can stay on it long enough to get something out. Well, I've been busy... yes I have been busy.
When last I wrote, I was still surrounded by the splendour that is Venice. I have moved around my fair share since then.

So, our transport of choice from Venice all the way through to Rome is Busabout. Set routes exist throughout Europe, and the bus comes through it's set stops on alternate days, and you are free to jump on and off whenever you please, and stay in each place for as long as your heart desires.
So, we trudged onto the bus in Venice at eight in the morning, ready for our day of travel.

The drive was breathtaking, as we wound along roads suspended as though they were floating amongst the dips and folds of the Tuscan hills. Everything would flash dark as we'd drive through the heart of a hill, held for a breath in the belly of these mounds of earth, like a baby growing in its mother.
When we arrived in Rome I was holding it together better than I have been known to on travel days. We stayed at another campsite, as we had in Venice, the recommended Busabout accomodation, where they drop you off and pick you up. Well, these places make me just a little bit sad. They are made up largely of Australians, who have travelled overseas seemingly with the sole intention of grouping with other Australians within the confines of the camping ground and getting very, very drunk, very, very often. They have made it over here, to these utterly incredible places, with so much wonder and beauty and magic, and they're missing it! All they see is the inside of the hostel and the bottom of their beer glass... and I can't help but think... what is the point?

The next day was our Rome Orientation Day. We wondered, ready to see what we would stumble across... We saw the Trevi Fountain, which was majestic and captivating. The tourists swarmed like ants with cameras, but it didn't feel as hollow and empty as other scenes have throughout my travels, I could feel a soul there. Maybe it is the rich history, the stories... Brooke said it was because these people were truly and honestly HAPPY to be there, and I saw a lot of truth in that.
We saw the Pantheon, and church upon church upon church. The sheer size of these buildings astonished me the most. I stepped inside and instantly felt myself shrink to the size of a freckle. And the space in there, in these places, it was like it was somehow larger than the open air outside it, like the Tardis of the ancient world.

And I really did feel soemthing in these spaces. My breaths felt deeper, like I needed to suck soemthing into the heart of me. So old, so massive, so textured amd intigruiging and simply incredible to walk on stones layed by human beings with lives and thoughts and ideas who lived so very very long ago- to run my fingers along walls they built up with their hands in another time, another world. It was kind of mind blowing.

The next day we were joined in our adventures by Maik, a German student who was sharing our cabin. It is very different, travelling with someone you don't know. Brooke and I were so used to the way we operate throughout the day, the way we manuveur things and make decisions, and it was really interesting to have someone else just thrown right in there, into the works. It makes you notice things you wouldn't have otherwise, brings certain things into the light when they used to sit in the shadows...

Woke up the next day, and off the the Coloseum we were. By this point in our trip, the jokes had started, as it really settled in how incredible this is, this thing we're doing. "Oh yeah, just off to the Coloseum today, whatever dude, totally normal...". This really is our lives. Holy Hell.
And boy was the Coloseum incredible. I could feel my stomach in my throat when we stepped into that epic piece of history. We walked around Palatine Hill and the Roman Forum, chatting about the silliest things in the most incredible locations. We saw Trajan's Column, the Arch of Titus, the Arch of Septimius Severus. The world that had been a part of suffocating me last year as I studied and studied and studied it... it had come to life around me, like pictures stepping out of a story book. It's much more beautiful this way. I prefer it alive rather than dead and cold.

As usual, I ballsed thinsg up a little the next day, and I thought it was my last in Rome before I went ahead to Tuscany for my little lone adventure. We saw the Spanish Steps, cruised around Duomo Aureaus. We saw Circo Massimo, and as Brooke took the Metro 'home', wound through some back streets, up hills and round sharp little corners, past Italian men chatting excitedly about something near their feet. Vines wept and dripped and spilled off buildings and cascaded like green hair from lamp posts above quaint little restaurants. I was pretty spectacular!
After I readied all my crap for my 'departure' on the bus in the morning, we ate dinner. Brooke handed me her leftover pizza and as I munched away at it, I glanced down at the date on the wrapper, and low and behold, I was a day ahead of myself. I just picture myself that next morning, up at the crack of dawn, waiting for a bus that never came... pizza saved me.
So I spent my read last day in Rome walking. Boy did I walk that day. I just walked, and watched where my feet would take me.

So, now we had my first travel day on my own. How would I hold up? Hmmm... I was getting the Busabout to Florence, and from there I would travel out of the city about an hour to Chianti, where I was staying four nights.
The bus had a bonus stopover in a little town called Orvieto, perched in the face of a cliff. The bus stopped, and we ventured into the pouring rain, took a little trolley train to the halway point of the mountain, and then a bus to the top. I got an ace to tuck up my sleeve when a woman from the bus couldn't enter the majestic cathedral because her skirt was too short, and her shirt to low, and she asked me to take photos with her. I used the magic card when I gave the camera back and latched onto the group. We had coffee, the best I have had in a LONG time in this charming little coffee shop, up there, nestled in the face of the cliff. I met Naoko from Sydney, whom I really really liked. She came from Japan, so we chatted endlessly about my trip there, as she piled on the advice like... peanut butter on warm toast. We wondered a little in this stunning village, disovered a market, and ran back down the mountain to make the bus on time.

When we arrived in Florence, it was 15.00, and I wasn't going to be picked up until 20.00 at the train station on 40 minutes out of Florence... sigh. But Naoko took me to her hotel, where the lovely Italian man who ran it let me leave my luggage, and she and I wondered the city for a few hours. Then I had to say goodbye, and I was off and running. Well, kind of. I was still awfully early when I arrived in Pistoia, and had to wait an hour and a half out the front of the train station for the shuttle to come and take me to the hostel. But it came, and it took me!
And there I was in Chianti, and I swear, it was Heaven on earth. The place I stayed was a villa perched on the peak of a hill flooded with olive groves and vineyards. My first morning I looked out at the view, and tears pricked my eyes, I was so incredibly happy. The silence felt like a cool shower washing over me. I just could no believe the place I was in. I still cannot. It was like a dream.
It was so perfect... so wonderful.
The ashy grey olive trees, the gentle rolling hills... the actual sound of birds! I stood there with this world rolling out around me, my heart beating faster just out of pure joy, and I could hear a man whistling off in the distance, somewhere further down the mountain. My heart could have burst.
I rode the bike down the twisting, winding road looking out over the side of this epic Tuscan hill as I delved further into its heart. Gosh it was so beautiful. I explored Vinci, where Leonardo was born, a stunning little village which broke my heart it was so pretty. Fig trees dotted the roadside, and I ate the beautiful fruit which were so sweet they actually dripped their liquid sugar. I wandered through the vinyards and olive groves and found myself at the top of a hill which overlooked the countryside and revealed all its glory. That night I sat with my dorm mates in the candlelit dining room of the hostel, the villa which has been in the family of the owners for over 700 years, and I ate ameal prepared in the kitchen, by the wife of the owner- a genuine Italian meal, prepared by an Italian matriarch in her very own kitchen. How perfect is too perfect I ask?
The next day I walked down the other side of the hill and back up again in the scorching heat and despite the intense difficulty of the 20km walk, half of it pretty much vertical, there was not one trace of negativity in me, not a sinewy strand, not a grizzly speck. I was SO happy.

When I went to cook my dinner that night, I discovered I had nothing to light the stove with, and as reception was closed until late evening, I decided to walk 3 kms into down the road to the tiny little town there to buy myself some fire! The thunder started warning me just as I stepped out the gate and I realised I didn't care in the slightest. A dog howled at the grumbling sky. Just as I was wondering when the rain would hit me, and realising how very much I didn't mind, the water started to speckle my shirt, and I felt inexplicably joyous. The road smelled deliciously rich, that wonderful odour it gets after singeing all day, when the liquid finally hits. It was so beautiful!
I bought my new lighter, and when I stepped out of the Tabacchi, I was sruck like a hammer to the face by this place I was in, and its beauty. I saw out over the valley as the rain fell and the houses and trees and roads steamed. The sun glowed behind the clouds like a muslin cloth had been draped over it. On the horizon, little pools of water, maybe lakes or lagoons were illuminated by stray beams of sunlight and it looked as though someone was melting gold in the sky, and some had dripped down to earth. I walked back in the rain, lighter now, and still making me incradibly happy.

I spent my last day in Chianti with Sarah, my newest dorm mate. We walked 25 km together, chatting, eating figs and grapes and hoarding chestnuts like squirrils (we couldn't eat the chestnuts... they were no good unfortunately). I had such a lovely time with her, cruising the Tuscan hills with this woman I had just met! I felt so wonderful in that hostel, so comfortable, so at home. It really was Heaven for me!
And then I came to Florence, met up with Brooke here, and we've been exploring these last 2 days.
But that is another story, for another day!

So, Ciao!!!

"When the moon hits your eyes, like a big pizza pie, that's amore".

2009-09-07T08:36:00.000-07:00

It's back! My passion is B-A-C-K!!

WOO HOO!

Well, last blog I wrote was maybe not the best choice of my life. I have been in better places emotionally and mentally in my time, and trying to force myself to feel inspired is never going to end in fireworks and parades. But, now something has switch-flicked inside me and I am running at full cpacity again. That, coupled with the fact that I have discovered a brilliant way to pull one over these con artists who charge me 3 euros an hour for the internet (I type all correspondances in Word Pad, and copy and paste it- using minimal internet minutes... gosh I am a genius), means that I am now going to write another blog, because I feel like I really need to do this corner of the globe justice. I need to express what it has meant to me, now that I am able to let it mean something real.

I was a little worn down when I arrived here. Not unhappy, I was just finding it hard to be inspired and moved by what I was doing and seeing. I'm not going to hover around that fact like a fly on a turd, because I'm through with it now, but that's how it was, and it's not anymore.
Today I went to Burano, a little island of Venice where they make a lot of lace. The buildings are coated with the brightest, most vibrant colours, pinks and yellows and torquoise blues. Walking around that perfect little island was like walking in a rainbow. It was like all my childhood plans to reach the rainbow, to touch it and ride it like a slippery-dip had become a reality.
I walked through the tiny little alley-ways between people's homes and for these brief breaths as I passed someone's door, or their window I sank into their lives. I could hear the most intimate sounds- the water beating the tiles in someone's shower, the tinkle of cuttlery being washed in the sink. People's washing draped the edges of my vision and cats slinked around the corners in copious numbers, some eating left-over pasta put out for them on a sheet of newspaper.
Sometimes the breeze would blow the curtain covering someone's gaping doorway and I would be offered a guilty little glimpse of the interior- an old woman eating lunch in the centre of her sparse living room, an ancient framed photo of a man from years ago- who knows who that man was, and what he meant to the people who placed his image there. Maybe it was all a bit voyueristic of me... and maybe it was a bit creepy... but it's such a central part of what I love about this trip, about travelling, seeing the reality of these different universes, the different shades of humanity. I love being able to drink it up a little, just for a moment, to take a sip of what it is like to be someone else, and to live this different life.
So, I had fun!

I really love Venice dearly. It's a very special place. I am so happy to be here, I am so happy to be doing this, and I am so happy that I am happy for it all.

"And so it is, just like you said it would be, we both forget the breeze, most of the time..."

2009-08-31T05:40:00.001-07:00

Hoooweee have I moved about a fair bit since last we met...

So, the first notable event in the chronology of my notable events was when Mum's friend Nicolet took me through a worm-hole, on the other side of which I could explore and breathe and touch and smell the world my Mum inhabited 'way back when', when she was a little Dutch girl, and not my mother.

Nicolet lived just around the corner from my Mum in Zevenaar for maybe about two years before Mum moved to Australia. They knew eachother for such a brief moment, a momentary sigh in a lifetime of breathing in and out, and still they are members of eachother's lives... I'm still incredibly impressed by that. So, first Nicolet picked me up in Doorwerth, and we drove to Zevenaar, where her parents still live in the same home. For a day my mother's world unfolded around me like a flower, and at the same time, it folded back up, tight around me, as I sat in the centre of this universe, safe and warm and cosy.

Nicolet took me to Mum's old house. We knocked on the door and were greeted by the very woman who bought the house from my family years ago. When Nicolet told her who I was, and what my relationship to the building was (and once the woman had done her secret spy business, sneakily sussing out if we were legit or not by quizzing us on the surname of the previous occupants), the doors were flung open, and I was invited through a window into the past. I stood in the loungeroom where my Mum, aunt, Opa and Oma would have sat and chatted, I stood in their kitchen where they would have made pea soup and prepared coffee, I stood in the back yard where maybe the sisters played, and where Opa and Oma would have sat to get every second of available sun.

Then I was invited upstairs where I breathed in Barbara's old bedroom, heard how the bathroom had been renovated, saw the master bedroom, where my grandparents slept, and finally, I stood there, totally awe-struck at the life I am living, where I can be there, in person, standing in my mother's bedroom that she inhabited so long ago when she lived such a different life. There I was, looking at the walls that surrounded her when she slept, and looking out the window at what was once a view of Nicolet's bedroom across the way... but what is now a view of a tree which has filled the frame over the years.

Pretty special.

I saw Zevenaar, Nicolet and I had fun watching the intensity with which people enjoyed the country music festival that was on there. We crossed the river on a barge, and drove through Bemmel to Nicolet's house. I was greeted there so openly and warm heartedly, and spent the afternoon and evening in the loveliest company, and very contented. It was special to me to share that day with Nicolet, where I could first inhale the world she shared with my Mum, and then move on to, for a brief moment, witness and be a part of the world she has made for herself since that time. I am a lucky, lucky girl!!

The next day I sat around on my butt and did a big fat nothing. Wait, I lie, I TOTALLY baked an apple pie. Photographic proof of that fact will come at a later date, but for now, you will have to construct your own images of me, Madeline Ellwood, baking. Good times. Mechtild helped me obviously. I'm pretty skilled, but not that skilled.

Then came my last day in Holland... it was over. The day after I would leave was Hadewig's birthday, so on the Monday we went out to dinner to celebrate. Indonesian food in Holland. Yummo. Our table was laden, it tasted so incredibly good- otherworldly good. If I had ignorantly looked into my own heart, I never would have guessed that I hadn't known these people my entire life, that I hadn't shared my life with them. I love them all so much.

As I left on the train the next day, I reflected a lot on Holland and what it had been to me, what it is to me and will be forever. I felt satisfied. I felt like I had achieved something by being there. I had taken in so very much, absorbed like a sponge to the point where it just drips- it cannot absorb any more! I still don't feel like I can articulate what it was for me to be there and to live the life I was living while I was there. But that is something I discovered, that a development, a growth, an achievement- it doesn't have to be labelled and clear and explainable to be a reality. It used to always be there, in the back of my mind, that something isn't real until you can define it. But that's not true. So, I can't write a list of things I know now that I didn't know before. I can't locate all the parts inside myself that have been altered and shifted and pushed forward or pushed aside or pushed right out. I can't tell you exactly what it is about me that is different, I just know that the life I will live now is going to be so vastly different to the one I would have experienced if I had not had my time there, with those people.

I left the country feeling so energised, so passionate, so excited about life and the world and all the things I was going to do. I have so many plans, so many ideas- ideas and plans I NEVER would have imagined myself to come up with, but which I am now so very and truly excited to initiate.

Holland did something to me. When I was there, everything was just right, and I didn't have to work for it. At some point during my time there, it was like all the problems I had struggled and grappled and wrestled with my entire life, those issues which had always seemed so imsurmountable, it was like I was cycling so hard against the wind one day, that they all just washed away! And I didn't have to 'decide' anything, I didm't even 'figure anything out'. I just reached a place, a space, a time, where those things were done with me and I was done with them. How wonderful, how incredibly special. I had this surreal moment in which I thought about all those things that had once plagued me, all those experiences that had consumed me, and I felt so strongly as though I was thinking about another person. That stuff was no longer a part of me.

Then I went to Paris. Paris was beautiful, stunning. I really enjoyed my time there. Even though it was so amazing, I still feel a distance between myself and the city. I for me, it lacked a certain humanity. One thing I loved to dearly about Holland was how unassuming and humble it was. It was always content enough in itself, knowing that it's good and true, and it never needed to prove itself or remind anyone how perfect it was. Paris I feel has all these incredible qualities. It's culturally rich and inspiring, it's so dense. It has so much character, so much personality. However, I also feel like Paris knows it, and Paris makes a large point of reminding everyone at every possible moment just how special it really is. It's hard to feel totally comfortable when you're being reminded every second that the place you're in is better than you!!
Don't get me wrong though, I loved it. I loved being there, I loved seeing the things I saw, I loved breathing in the spirit of a place that has moved the deepest parts of so many people. I felt the layers of paint being lathered onto my understanding of the world, and of people, and of art and passion and history. Paris was a wonderful experience!

We climbed the tower, first half with Brooke on foot, and the second half alone in the lift to the top. I wondered the cobble-stone streets which wove me through some of the most beautiful sites I've seen, buildings that made me ache they were so pretty, little french children dressed as alligators flitting about me in the park sounding even more perfect in their little french tongues than children do anyway. I saw stunning churches, St Germain and Madelaine were particular favourites- the latter becoming even more awesome that it was simply by bearing my name, by miraculously housing an art exhibition about creation which ended the day after I stumbled to its feet. What were the chances!?!?!

Brooke and I spent a day in the Lourve just wandering about... looking, watching, thinking, feeling. What a space. What an epic, epic space.

We went to the Chateau of Versailles, which was incredible. For a day I was walking around in a fairy tale, just a totally different world which was so far removed from anything I have experienced in my life, and so beautiful. The walls just dripped with decadence, but it was so beautiful, and really incredible to see inside the walls of a universe who's corners barely reach those of my own.

My last day in Paris, I was struck down again with the transition blues- that smack in the head I seem to get every time I move from one place to another. We were waiting all day for our train to Venice that night, and I spent the entire day wallowing about in my own special brew of woe... oh dear.
I was lonely and sad. I missed Holland and the life I had been living there. I missed loving people I thought I didn't know, but soon discovered that I knew them in a way which reached beyond anything I had experienced. I missed how that place felt like a kiss on the cheek or a hug that spreads out forever. I missed feeling accepted and loved and understood. I missed not feeling like I had to explain myself every 5 seconds. I missed being someone just by being me...
Most of all though, what made me so tired, made me feel like I had smacked nose-first into a brick wall, was that in Holland I was excited and moved and impassioned simply by being alive. Something in that place soothed me and told me everything was good, everything was alright. But now that I had left it- it wasn't so easy to remember those things. I had to rely on myself to tell myself... and sometimes I am not so reliable. It made me tired to have to drive the car and come up with the fuel as well. But, well, that's the way it is. I can't depend on outside sources to inspire me and give me purpose and motivation. I'm slowly working on taking what Holland gave me, and learning to apply those things to my life away from there. I'll get there soon.

We arrived in Venice early morning the next day, after sleeping one very rocky night in a train bed. Brooke had the bottom bunk, and slept the entire night with her body on a width-ways slope because of the hill our bags moulded by being crammed so tight underneath. I was so hot I thought I had died and been sent to Hades...

But, then we were in Venice. It is so beautiful here. I wrote postcards yesterday, and I think I set a world record for the number of uses of the world beautiful. But really, I don't know how else to say it! It's as though someone opened my chest, and with pincers, delicately extracted my definition of beauty from my heart, and with that, they moulded this city. Then they added about 100 million tourists, and removed all the easily accessible and FREE public toilets, and there you have Venice. But really, it's so wonderful it's not even funny.
All I do is wander about, letting the streets lead my where they think I should go. Mum sent me a quote from her Venitian cookbook "The number of times I went out in Venice was the number of times I got lost. But I was never really lost. You're always somewhere in Venice". it was followed by "go stick THAT in your blog", and I damn-well will! Because it is SO true. I mean, there's not so much, activity wise to do here, but I could not be more contented just letting my feet carry me around as the canals and tiny little alley-ways and balconies and washing lines and perfect cobbled roads just wash all around me and I drink them all up. It's really, really... wait for it... beautiful.

Yesterday I went to Verona, on Hadewig's advice, and was duly rewarded with an absolutely breathtaking little city. I loved exploring it. I saw Juliet's house, and wished I had a Romeo... sigh...

And now I pay WAY too much for the internet, so I will be done for now. I am taking a day's break today, so I'll go play more solitaire on my ipod...

Ciao!!!!

"in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or things i cannot touch because they are too near"

2009-08-21T08:42:00.000-07:00

Well, maybe now I am ready to write about my epic emotional martini-shaker experiences of the past couple of days...? The only way to find out, is to try!

I haven't wanted to talk to anyone about it all, or even to think about it too much- it has been a long processing period, but I think I have now reached the point in that process where I can, and in fact need to, write about it a little bit!

So... well, I guess I'll start at the beginning, which is in fact, the day before 'The Party'.
Mechtild, Nuky and I all had breakfast together, before we jumped on the bikes and cycled into Arnhem. Here I bought my train ticket to Paris on the 25th, and there it was, on paper and in ink- Madeline is leaving Holland. Right in front of my face in a form that I can see and touch (and taste if I really felt like it...), tangible proof that this isn't just my life, that it is actually a holiday, a small period of time which is now coming to an end- well, changing at least. I'm so excited to go to France and Italy and Japan after that. I'm SOOOOO happy to see Brooke again and continue exploring the world with another set of fresh eyes next to me. But I'm also incredibly sad to leave this part of my journey behind me. Incredibly, INCREDIBLY sad.

How terrible that I complain about going to Paris!! Just as well I'm not really complaining!!!

Anyway, then we went to the market, where Mechtild and Nuky bought fresh fish, which were individually picked out by them, and then gutted and scaled by the guys right there before my eyes. Might I mention, these 'fish men' did not wear gloves while they went about their work, and I have to say, I pity the women they go home to and greet with those hands...

We had coffee on a terrace next to the Rhine River which also runs through Holland, and really, I couldn't be in a place any further from where I was trapped only last week. I could not feel more at ease and comfortable with these people. I look at them, and what I see gleaming back at me is my FAMILY- people who love and accept and embrace and take care of me because I am me. What a feeling that is...

Mum told me I HAD to try loempia while in Holland, so we made a reservation at a Thai restaurant in Arnhem that my new foster parents had always wanted to explore. It was here that we headed back to that evening (the bikes got a rest that night, as we took the car this time...). We sat in a beautiful garden by a fountained pond, under a large umbrella which protected our delicate skulls from the heavenly barrage of pears that rained all over us from the tree overhead. We sat for hours as the sun slowly crept into bed and the lanterns were woken from their daylight redundancy, and we ate beautiful food, drank lovely wine, and spoke freely and openly and plenty... Once again, I could just breathe the beautiful evening and the even more beautiful company and not choke myself all night.

Then... it was Sunday! Before I woke that morning, my dreams were studded with family members who sourced and share my Dutch blood. Great Oma wondered about in my mind probably the entire night, and a slice of my dream was spiced with spoken Dutch. I'll never know if it was ACTUAL Dutch... but the intention was there, and Mum says she reckons it was!!

So, I woke up, and I got ready, and I ate breakfast, and I wasn't TOO nervous! Ursula (Oma's sister) Hein (her husband) and Xander (their son) all came to Mechtild and Nuky's beforehand.

It occurs to me now how easy it would become for these meetings to, with time and repetition, become just ticks on a list. How maybe I could even be forgiven for it being so. But it just has not been like this. Every single encounter I have had with any family member has been so special and so personal and so layered. Not every time has it changed the face of my world forever, carving canals and niches I never knew I could carry- but every single time it has genuinely meant so much to me, and coated my heart in another layer of velvet.

So, meeting these three in the home I was staying in, having Hein joke and laugh with me as though he had done so at every Christmas dinner since I was a baby, having Ursula smile so sweetly at me I thought I would melt, having Xander sit with me and talk with me with so much love and calm that I felt I could never be safer... it was wonderful!

Then we jumped in the car, and off we drove, Mechtild, Xander, Hein and I to Great Oma's home to pick her up for her 94th birthday party. There she sat, in the sitting room, already made up, around her neck the owl pendant my Oma had sent her as a present. We went to her room and Mechtild sorted through the pile of birthday cards that cascaded off the table- dozens of little folded pieces of paper from all over the world, filled with words of love and hope and affection. How incredible it must be for such a woman as my Great Oma, to sit and look at yourself and your life, and see beneath you such a wide-reaching, diverse root system branching out for miles and miles across so many years, so many countries, so many many lives. What it must feel like to look at this entity and know that you created it. I can't even begin to imagine.

I talked to Oma with Hein as a translator, she told me that she would go to France instead of me, and I would stay there in her place. Here I was with the matriarch of half my world, and she was joking with me. There aren't words, there really aren't!

We walked with Great Oma up the tree-lined path to the restaurant where her party would be. I keep feeling like maybe there's not so much to tell- there aren't that many 'stories' about the day, but that is directly due to the biggest 'story' of all, which is just how natural and right and proper it all felt. It felt right for me to be there, and that is something I have felt so little in my life. To feel right somewhere, to feel like I am in my place, to feel good about being who I am- because being that person makes me part of something beautiful, and nothing more is asked of me beyond that. There I was, walking up the road, pushing Great Oma's chair, and that was where I was meant to be, and there was nothing odd or wrong or out of place about it- nothing awkward or doutbful.

When we got to the end of the road, a woman stood there with two children, and I saw Mechtild look at Xander, and I saw them both look at the woman, and I saw the children stare at Great Oma, until they finally ran up and kissed her. With sighs and laughs and kisses all round everyone raved about not recognising one another, and having no idea who had been facing them across the road. So it wasn't just me who had trouble remembering all the members of such a ridiculously large family.

And so it began. I spent the next couple of hours giving my mouth and neck a good work-out giving seven trillion air-kisses. I met family member after family member, and each and every time, no matter who was in front of me, the same thing happened. Either I would introduce myself, or be introduced, or further explanation would be needed "Madeline, the daughter of Melanie, the grand-daughter of Monique", but as soon as my identity was established a light would come over the person's face "OH! Ofcourse! Welcome!!" and I could see it in their eyes, see it in their smiles, that they really meant it, every one of them. I am part of their family, and I am welcome with them. Really genuinely welcome, in a way I couldn't doubt even if I wanted to.
So, I met more and I met more, and I am not entirely sure who I met, because there are so very, very many. Dedmer chastised me for pouring myself a glass of wine at one o'clock in the afternoon, and I jokingly said I needed to relax. I use the word 'jokingly' in a way I don't think the dictionary writers would much approve of. I know I talked about how right it all felt, and how welcome I felt, but it was still overwhelming. Never in my life have I met so many new people at one time, and certainly never have every single one of those people inherently meant something to me. I've never been very good socially, and this was one massive social-soup. So, maybe I was a little nervous... but I powered through. And, I did pour myself that glass or two of wine- after all, it was a Strategier gathering!

Jonas made me miss my brother as I talked with a sensitive, intelligent, insightful young man who never-the-less was still very clearly a 16 year old boy. Michael was sure that everyone spoke in English when I was around, so I couldn't chicken out of the conversation, and he made me feel equal, respected, as though I was just as worthy as anyone else this world might contain. Ofcourse, he squeezed this in between leaping and bounding and grazing his arm as he laughed and played and satisfied the insatiable desires of the children. Something I have discovered, particularly about the men of the Strategier family- they all have the hearts of children- there is so much playfullness, so much energy and life and vibrancy and an absolute refusal to let go of the magic and joy of childhood. This is something I've always respected so much in a person, the ability to hold onto that genuine and wholeheartedly joyful way of looking at and feeling the world. It's pretty damn special I think.
I wanted SO badly to talk to Felix. Something inside of me was just screaming "you have to get just a few words in with this man, or you'll be walking around with a hole in you forever". I got a few spade-fulls of soil in the hole. It's still not covered over, but I managed to tie him down for about half a second and I speedily and desperately told him how badly I wanted to talk with him, and how impossible he was to peg down- like jelly through your fingers. So he hustled me along "come, come, come" and planted me next to his seat next to Great Oma and I got a few minutes before he sprinted off again to keep entertaining, to keep spinning magic between the tables and chairs and trees. I don't know quite what it was I felt toward him, but still, even now, when I think of him, something inside me snaps and starts oozing something which I can only describe as liquid inspiration. That feeling I get in my stomach and in my gut when I see a film that changes my life, or hear a song that is so perfect I want to cry, or see a painting which is everything a painting can be... that's the feeling I have about this man, and I don't really know where it comes from, and I certainly don't know where it will lead, but I got to meet him, and it was special.
There's also so much creativity in the family, as everyone has something to share and a different way to share it. So much art, so much music, so much expression. It's a special thing to see, and an even more special thing to be a part of.

So, yeah, there I was. I was at a family party. My whole life I've wished I could be at these gatherings. My whole life I've lamented the distance that excluded me from this world. But there I was, actually sitting there, right in the middle of it. Dad said on the phone the other day "you really are a family girl, aren't you?". I had never really thought about it, but boy am I ever! I love it SO much, to a degree beyond measurement, sitting there surrounded by life and movement and happiness and activity and seeing between all this, these ties which are linking each and every person to everyone else. And those ties are linked to you as well... and it's just this whole other world- family. There are different rules, different laws, different expectations. It's not like the rest of the world, it's not like 'normal' social situations. You're just on a totally different planet when you're with family. And it doesn't matter if you don't know them, because you know them and that's good enough in such a world, and with such rules. I just totally love it. I love families and I love families together, and I can't wait to have a million kids and spend a million hours with them and with everyone else who has even the longest of ties attached to my belt!

Another really special thing about this whole family business- something I am only just discovering because of the petite nature of the slice of family I have back in Australia- is the way spouses and partners, husbands and wives fit into the puzzle. Every partner of any blood member of the family is just as much a part of the family as anyone else. There isn't even a trace of a line between the two, not even a residual remnant of some kind of division or point of separation. So seamlessly they melt into the world and become 'one of the clan', and for someone with very little experience of family outside the nucleus, this was such a pleasant and special surprise, and an added dimension that hadn't really occured to me but which has made me so happy to see.

So anyway, there's not that much to say anymore about it really. I spent five hours there with these people, and it was incredible and very, very special for me. It is something I will carry in my heart for the rest of my life. It is something I will forever be thankful for having experienced. It is one of those times that come almost to define you- as you look over your life and see what is most important to you shining like little beacons spread out across your entire experience of the world, and you can see who you are and what you've become.
I was so lucky to be there, and I am so lucky to be a part of this.

I said goodbye to so many, many people. Even though most of them I will possibly never see again, there was a feeling that I wasn't really saying goodbye. Maybe my brain just couldn't handle so much in one day, and ignored the fact that I was saying goodbye, but it felt like I was saying "see you tomorrow" or "see you next week", not "see you possibly, maybe, if I come soon to your country again, and you're around, or maybe if you come to my country, and you know and think to contact me when you do...". So, what this means I'm not 100% sure, but that is how it felt!

Hadewig and Dedmer came back to Mechtild and Nuky's for a while before they drove home. Ok, at this point in the day, there was not much left in little old me. I was wiped. It had been an incredibly overwhelming day and I'd soaked up a lot... and I felt, well, over-cooked. I lay on the couch, nearly fell asleep, ran up the stairs to cry like a baby, and blubbered more when I had to say goodbye to Hadewig and Dedmer again. It was hard enough the first time! I love those guys so much! I can't even begin to comprehend the fact that when I am back home, they won't live on the same land-mass as me. To feel like someone is so much a part of your life, but to know that they are nowhere near you is such a bizzarre feeling... one that my brain can't quite grasp a hold of.

Anyway, I said that painful goodbye, and thinking about it now, it begins to hurt again, even though I know now that I will see them in a few days- but then I'll have to go through it all again!!! I said that goodbye, and it was made awfully clear that I hate goodbyes and wish they didn't exist... and then I sat around, and ate some food, and went to bed... yep, that was my day!

So, there you have it, the party... I don't think there's more to add there... I think I said most of it.

The next day I woke up VERY late, cycled to Arnhem again, ate too much licorice again, ran into Nuky on my way home and followed him his long way back, and it was during this journey that I experienced the single most frustrating moment of my entire trip. Holland is flat as a squashed frog, but I guess the area I'm in is the knee-bones or something, because the only hills in the country are here. So, I'd already cycled 10 kilometres to Arnhem, then about 6 back to Oosterbeek and a fair way of this was up hill, and I cycled hard... ok it may not sound so difficult, I get it, but whatever, I won't lie to create drama... but then as we rounded off the journey, and Nuky warned me that his special route would present quite a hilly-challenge for me, I was determined I would not be defeated! No, I would make it up that hill. I've never really been competitive, but I've discovered that I am very much so with myself. How desperately I HATE to give up on something half way through. But I couldn't make it up that effing hill. I had to walk the bike up and it hurt like hell, and now, four days later, it stings just as hard... stupid freaking hill... but don't worry, I made up for it.

Next day, back to Arnhem to spend the day in BEAUTIFUL Sonsbeek park as I watch the children laugh and skip and frolic in the waterfall and on the grass and by the pond. I sat for a few hours, and I cycled around the whole park which really is beautiful, and really makes it clear that no one does a park like the Europeans.
And then the next day we rose, we ate, we jumped on our cycles and we rode 20 kilometres to and through Hoge Veluwe National Park, to Kroller Muller museum which is in the middle of the park, we looked at the art, and I was moved by how beautiful their collection was, we ate fruit and home-made apple pie after ordering massive soup-bowl coffees, and we rode back home 20 kilometers. That's right. I rode 40 kilometers. I think I'm allowed to be impressed with myself.
That evening Mechtild and Nuky helped me tick yet ANOTHER pivotal Dutch experience off my to-do list as we went to a Pannenkoeken House and I had a DELISH pancake with cheese, mushrooms and onion, and topped it with stroop (syrup). That's right, they put syrup on their savoury pancakes, and boy do they know what they're doing there! LEKKER!

Now, my family exploration up to this point had been a little one-sided! I have an entire Opa who had still gone completely unrepresented in this journey, and not a single van Kessel had been encountered. This was about to change! Opa's sister Elly made a date with me, despite trouble with her eyes that meant she saw everything double, and she told me time and station to meet her- "What do you look like? I'm small, and I have white hair, so you should see me".

Now came a drama that could only be such a drama in this family... I got on the train which was to be a direct train to Schagen, where I would get off and meet Elly. I sat on the train as it hurtled through Holland for an hour and 45 minutes. I made epic breakthroughs on the cryptic crossword I was doing, and I waited for the 2 hour train ride to be over and done with. The train stopped. The speaker uttered Dutch words which blew past my ears like icing sugar in a tornado. Some people got out of the train. I waited for the train to leave. The light in the train turned off. I thought maybe I should see what's happening, got out, asked the train man... and I had to be in the carriages in front... I sprinted, I ran like a mad-man, I reached out for the train... but it was too late, off he sped into the distance, and instead of me, he carried all my chances of arriving when I had agreed to and drove off to throw them in Elly's poor, waiting face. And ofcourse I didn't have her mobile number, and ofcourse when I texted Nuky to tell at least someone they were on a train too, and ofcourse they rang Opa and Oma back in Australia to get the number, and ofcourse they panicked and worried and desperately searched, and ofcourse when I rang this number, it was Elly's home number which was little help for contacting someone waiting on an empty train platform... so I waited for the next train, and I got out in Schagen, and I walked past a small lady with white hair, and I wondered... and I went back, and I asked, and with a mighty hug and a kiss she apologised for not knowing me- and I had arrived with yet another branch from my tree. Her daughter Eveline, her partner Ruud and their two lovely children were also visiting for the day, which was such a special surprise, as people who had seemed so illusive were suddenly right here where I could touch and hear and see them. It was yet the same here again. Instantly I was at home, instantly I felt a part of their world, instantly I felt like I slotted in somewhere and didn't jutt out the side like a goiter.
As Eveline talked to me I saw our shared history, the links and ties and intricate little connecting lines laid out before my eyes like a tapestry. It was so lovely. In Elly I saw my Opa so pungently. It was as though they had both been sewn from exactly the same cloth in only slightly different patterns, and in both cases they made a blanket which wrapped around me perfectlym and makes me so so warm! We had lunch together, and then I went with them to the beach. I family outing to the beach, with my new family! And it felt so normal. It was like I was over every weekend, and was just another part of the scenery, and even though that might sound... not particularly nice... I cannot think of anything more perfect in such a situation, anything more wonderful and joyous. Elly spoke to me like she'd known me all my life, and she made me feel no different. It meant so much to me to be able to know people from this other half of this side of my coin. Eveline's children were remarkable, continuously starting conversations with me despite the fact I could not understand them, nor they me. They played with me and chatted with me and a rather dominating thought that day was "oh my god... I want my own children SOOOOOOOOOOOO bad". Sigh...
We had dinner together, and then I was driven all the way back to Hilversum in the pouring rain. I had to say goodbye to Elly already, but just like at the party, it didn't feel like a goodbye, it felt like a 'see you later' and I guess somethings just run deeper than seeing eachother regularly...

So, after I ate myself some bread in Hilversum, and Malou had dried her hair, and Astrid had sent an email... they took me on one last moonlight-tour of their little area. We drove through the streets with the moonlight trying its best to creep through the clouds after a pretty epic storm, and we looked at the beautiful, stately homes of the Dutch rich, with wooded gardens and thatched roofs and very VERY high fences. It was a beautiful area. We went to a ice-cream parlour which is apparantly the most famous in Holland and had some killer 'ijs'... mmmmmhmmmmm... mooi lekker. We went to the rich part of town, and sat on a terrace and drank dry white wine together. I felt high-class. It was lovely.

This morning we went to the airport, Astrid, Myrthe, Malou and I. Marc was landing in Amsterdam from London, dropping off some of his living supplies in London before flying to Qatar to find where he will live for the next two years as he works there. Myrthe was catching the train to do a university exam, before she went to her friends house and flies with him to London tomorrow. Malou got back from France the day before yesterday, and she and Astrid would drive me and my luggage back to Doorwerth after we finished at the airport... hooooweee! So, Marc had a little bit of time between flying in and flying out, so we all met for coffee and breakfast, and this was the last time I would spend with this family all together. This family who opened their home and their hearts to me without the blink of an eye, who provided for me, looked after me, took care of me like I was one of them and had been forever. They showed me nothing but unwavering love and kindness and support. Without them, my stay in Holland would have been a drastically different one! I was so lucky to meet them all, I learned so much from each of them, my life is more whole having known them and shared this small part of my life with them. They're all such strong, resilient, independent, insightful, wise, intelligent people, all four of them. They live their lives with so much passion and comittment and with such open, honest hearts. These are people who really know how to get the most out of everything, to squeeze every last drop of goodness out of something, and how to add the sugar where it needs to be made sweet... Really, my time in their home and in their lives has made me such a better person, I've been inspired and moved and educated in ways I didn't expect, and ways that have changed my life.
Astrid is so strong- a pillar of strength and fortitude. She is so wise, and her heart is just a pulsing centre of love, kindess and warmth. Marc is so generous and caring, so quick and sure to look after everyone and lend a helping hand. Myrthe is so intelligent and so unassuming in her insight and her knowledge of the world and of people. Malou is so vibrant and energetic and alive, she has so much joy and is so honest and genuine and real. Every moment I spent in that house was so refreshing, to see real people being themselves at every single moment. There is no bullshit in that house. There is never any call for anyone to pretend. Everyone is accepted, everyone is loved, no one is asked to change or to fill specific criteria. They have built a home where people are free to be people, and not expected to act in any way other than that which comes naturally to them. That's so beautiful.
I was so lucky to be there with them, so lucky to meet them, and I am so lucky to be able to call them my family. It hurt to say goodbye. How I hate goodbyes.

I was driven back to Doorwerth, and here I sit now, with no more 'news' to share.

"But every time the tide, come in to take me home, I get scared..."

2009-08-13T01:00:00.000-07:00

Oooooohhhhhh Holland, how I love you!

Every day here is so precious and wonderful. Each second however, is dragging me closer and closer to when I have to leave... and I am starting to get scared! I'm SO not ready to be done with this yet... I really love this country, I love the places, I love the people, I love the life that I live here. I love the way I think and feel and experience while I am here. I don't want to leave all that behind. But, such is life. I suppose I will just have to figure out how to carry all that with me, rather than feel as though I am turning my back and stepping away from it all.

Anyway, quite a lot has happened since I last wrote, I have been a busy girl! Let's begin the recount!

So, on Sunday, Hadewig (my Oma's sister's daughter), and her partner Dedmer picked me up from Marc and Astrid's in Hilversum. It was a packed schedule that day, as we drove to Den Haag and I speedily acquainted myself with my beautiful (and SPACIOUS) new home for the next couple of days, before we jumped back into the car and with the help of the oh-so-homely Australian accent of the Tom Tom made our way to the coast. The Dutch beach- so loved and desired by Hollanders... certainly not an Australian beach. But it was nice.

Now, I have to admit... I was nervous. STILL I hadn't been able to get over all my stupid fears and doubts and worries. Mum said to me at one point in the midst of my endless neurotic email-rants that I berrated her with day after day after day, like the never-ending air raid from Hell, she said "It must make you tired, worrying all the time what people think of you", and she could not have been more right... sooooooo tired. In fact, life becomes one giant yawn! Ha ha ha... But really, it is such a waste of energy and brain-power. It just drains all your battery life, and I end up flat and lifeless like a rag-doll.

However, as much as I know this... well, it didn't help to know it! Hadewig was so beautiful and vibrant and full of life and Dedmer was confident and energetic and strong... and all I could think was "oh my god, I will never be cool enough to pull it off with these people".

And their lives are so impressive. They're always moving, always doing something. We went to a BBQ which acted as a reunion for Hadewig's RopaRun team. A team of... I don't know, maybe 25 people- some were runners, some were cyclists, some were drivers, some were caterers and some were masseurs- they travelled from Paris to Rotterdam to raise money for people with cancer. This is such a small example of the incredible things they have moulded out of their lives, the amazing and inspiring little models they've cast from the clay of their being. So much committment and effort for such a wonderful cause. Hooooweee I wish I could say something like that about myself and my life... maybe one day. I plan to make it so.

Anyway, it made me slightly more scared, to see that this would be the first impression I carved out for the latest additions to the family album I'm compiling in my memory and in my heart. Being already quite socially awkward... the language barrier only magnifies the problem probably, oh, I don't know... a million-fold. I got pretty good at pretending I wasn't completely socially inept... but this was only when the people around me spoke my language. When people who have gathered to relax and have a good time, have to constantly think and analyse and grind their brains just to include me in a conversation that I won't have anything of value to contribute to anyway... well, it basically doesn't run all that smoothly, and I usually end up folded in the corner with an awkward, aching grin pasted above my chin. I try, I really try, but it's a skill I have yet to master.

Anyway, there was another tag-along, a South African lady who turned up and we both enjoyed feeling as though we were present there, and just being able to weild our native tongue guilt-free for a while.

It did make me happy that Hadewig felt like she could share that occassion with me, that I was something in her life that could be brought along to an event like that. I was someone, and I could be seen!

It also stroked my worried, quivering little soul (and if I'm being honest, I guess my self-esteem is a bit of a player in all this too), that Hadewig took the next two days off work to show me around. I was still quite worried that first day, I was still a while off settling into my own skin. We cycled to the market, then to the city centre of Den Haag, where we saw the Parliament buildings, beautiful cobbled squares and alleys, splendid light trickling through the trees that lines the streets. We cycled through beautiful gardens, past the Queen's palace, through the dunes to the beach where we sat and ate-surrounded by meandering naked bodies peppering the 'normal' beachogoers. We went to the Panorama Mesdag- the biggest panorama in Holland. It is a massive painting of the beach and neighbouring city that surrounds and engulfs you and comes to life all around you. It was as though the essence of this place, the Hague itself, the atmosphere, the life and work and play of this space and time, it had been captured and condensced and then lapped all over the walls, and there we were, breathing it all in. It was actually quite moving, aside from being technically spectacular and breathtaking. It made you dizzy to look at it too long- the sheer realism of it coupled with the fact that the sails and the waves and the sea-gulls don't actually move like something that lifelike should.

It was art not merely reflecting the world, but building it up around us- concentrating it and hitting us with a triple dose. It was beautiful.

Slowly I began to dissolve the film I'd wrapped myself in, and I started to be able to move my joints again. I was so happy to share this time and these moments with Hadewig.

Dedmer too was SO kind. I am inexpressibly shocked at the kindness these people have continually showed me. Especially these partners. It was the same with Pieter back in Amsterdam. The connection between Dedmer and I was pretty much a fraction of a hair on a fly's butt... but he put so much effort, so much thought, so much kindess and selfless generosity into ensuring I was happy and comfortable and safe. It was incredible, inspiring and deeply touching that someone could be so welcoming and kind and could embrace me so open-heartedly without any 'obligation' (in whatever sense of the word...). There are so many good people in the world, people who are good because it's good to be good. People who are kind and giving and open and loving, not because they have to be, and not because they get something for it, but just because their hearts are giant, pulsing centres of... goodness! It really does inspire me, and makes me desperate to achieve such a presence in the world and among people.

The next day we went to Delft. What a beautiful city! Already, my stresses were being thrown off behind me like Hansel and Gretel's breadcrumbs... slowly but surely I was leaving all that shit behind me. I felt so much more comfortable, and it meant so much to me to share these spaces, these moments with this woman whom I was really beginning to love like a sister. We went to the Prisenhof (?) museum, the Old Church which was beautiful and serene and dripping with history and culture. We had lunch at a cafe by a canal, and I could sit and suck in the Delft air, full of richness, density, history, culture, depth and beauty. The whole town smelt of rich, earthy yeast because of the yeast factory situated there and it only added to the pleasure, to the earthly humanity of the beautiful, layered city.

We saw the Vermeer Museum, had coffee and cake which tasted about 200 times better because it was freeeeeeeee! We went also to the New Church which was beautiful as well, and we climbed about ten million steps that wound and spiralled to the peak of the church where we stood and gazed out at the expanse of wonder around us.

One of my favourite things that I have found here in Holland/Europe, is the role that history plays, the form it takes. There is SO much history here, more than the child of such a remarkably young nation can even comprehend. Every crack and corner is lathered in it. But the people don´t place it all in a glass container and observe it with a yard-stick in their fingers. They walk around in it, they breathe it and touch it and taste it in the air. It´s a character in their lives, another person they interact with every day, not a distant, abstract idea. I think it´s very special, and I love it!

As we stood up there on the Church tower and our thoughts and words and memories drifted out and mixed with those of hundreds of years worth of hundreds of thousands of people, I felt this incredible sense of being part of something, of being present, of being alive in this world. Hadewig was my family, my kin, Holland was my country, my home, my past, my present- and I have no doubt in my mind, a significant player in my future. 'Twas lovely!

By that evening, as we ate a ridiculously late dinner which I had tried with all my might, but spectacularly failed to prepare on time, the walls were well and truly gone, and those stupid voices had choked and passed out in the corner. I was so comfortable, and so relaxed, and my experience there with these wonderful people was real and true and not marred by neuroses and worthless, wasteful paranoia.

The next day I went to Leiden which I was to witness through an almost inpenitrable wall solid rain. But despite the ridiculous amount of liquid all around me, I was very contented and very happy there. Leiden too was so very beautiful and rich and satisfying. I ate too much chocolate, too much ice-cream... and came home to a wonderful night of Wii action with Hadewig as Dedmer embarked on three hours of real-life sword combat training. What a lovely surprise to find that my inhibitions had moved elsewhere, and I could just have fun and laugh and be free. What a lovely surprise to find that here too, I had a home.

The next evening I was taken to Voorburg to meet another of my Oma's sisters, Virginie, and her husband, Martin. Before we arrived at their house we went on a desperate search for food, the finale of which saw us eating take-away Thai on a park bench with plastic bowls and spoons bought from the supermarket. I would recommend it to anyone stupid enough to ask for my recommendations...
It was lovely to sit in Virginie and Martin's home- to look around and see animals crafted by my Oma; to cast my eyes downward and see the exact same Ikea table that adorns Opa and Oma's living room, and then up to see the same little storage drawers (also from Ikea, which if I didn't know better, I would say is the only furniture shop in all of Holland...). It was lovely to sit and hear stories about my family, spoken by my family, with flecks of speech and turns of phrase and bends of voice that I am so used to from my family. It is so lovely to constantly experience these moments in which I feel part of something, part of a world and (an entity almost) that doesn't define me, but definitely adds something profoundly to my identity and to my sense of self.

That evening I had to say goodbye to Hadewig and Dedmer, as I would poke my head from the bedroom loooong after they had left for work the next morning. Oooooohhhh the emotion! I was SO sad to say goodbye. It is an odd dimension to this whole experience. I come here, and I find these people who fit so perfectly in the empty seats in my heart. They'll sit in these seats, and I'll carry them forever there. But in finding them, and in tying a string so tight from my heart to theirs, I then have to turn my back and leave again- and as special and as precious as it is to collect these strings, as I walk away they pull tight, and it stings. I wouldn't want to go through life without the strings, so I'll accept the sting as an inevitable and DEFINITELY worth it side-effect, but it does hurt when I have to leave people I've grown to love a lot.
So, it was sad to say goodbye. Even though it's only two nights now until I see them again... but the point is that this time that I could share my life with them is over, and it's sad... but as I said before... such is life. It's ok. The pain is worth the pleasure, and then some!!!
I was so happy, so comfortable, so contented and at home and warm in their house. What a special time...

I am now in Doorwerth, with Hadewig's parents, Mechtild and Nuky. Two wonderful people, who I have loved already for a long time now, and here I am also SO very happy. I think the bricks of my walls have been put into permanant storage now for a while, and hopefully won't see the light of day for a while. But I am so comfortable here. Not even once have I worried. I am just free to be myself, and I don't have to watch and worry and wonder. I can just exist with two incredibly kind and accepting people who show me only love. Tomorrow I can spend with them, and then Sunday is the big party- Great Oma's birthday where the family gather from all over the globe and hopefully I will hold my own alright, and represent for the Australian faction acceptably! I'm excited, also a little scared, but not in the same way as I have been. Not in a crippling, self-deprecating way, but in an... excited way!

Anyway, that will be a blog on it's own I reckon, that party, so stay alert!!

Thanks for reading...

"Two birds on a wire, one says c'mon and the other says I'm tired, the sky is overcast and I'm sorry..."

2009-08-06T06:43:00.000-07:00

Ok... what has been happening in my world since I last wrote...? Maybe that's not a question to be asking anyone else...

Well, when I left you I was still in Amsterdam. I spent a couple of days wandering about. I went to the flea-market, saw the Hermitage Museum which only opened about a month ago, explored the student hang-outs, perused some book-markets, got tired and sat around Anne-Marie and Pieter's house...

Anne-Marie took me to see Harry Potter at the Pathé Tuchinsky, which I believe is the oldest cinema in Amsterdam? If it's not THE oldest, it's pretty far up there, and I reckon it wins out overall in terms of grandeur. It was a fabulous theatre, so beautiful, so much attention to detail, so much love and care and thought into every curve and bulge. Like Anne-Marie said, it was too bad the movie had to show in the dark!

Every moment I shared with Anne-Marie was so special... these are encounters, moments, experiences I will carry in my heart forever.

The next day we went on a good old-fashioned family outing to the zoo! Anne-Marie, Pieter, Suze, Louise and I all trekked around Artis zoo watching the animals... I really felt like part of the family. It's so special to be in an environment that you can just totally relax into. These people welcomed me wholeheartedly; they carved out a comfy little basin for me to curl into and I could just settle there and didn't have to use all my energy trying hack out my own niche, or prove that I could.

The highlight of the zoo was the butterfly house (no no no, I should say vlinder huis!). It was beautiful and magical! Butterflies totally kick arse!

Then I got my hair cut by a very sweet Russian woman 30 seconds up the street, who charged practically nothing, and left me with about the same amount of hair!

Then it was back to Hilversum for me. It was very emotional to step onto that train and have it whiz me away from this woman who I really feel I shared something with. I had tears pricking away at my eyelids and a big chunky lump scratching up my throat.

It was a special experience to come into the home and the life of someone who has always been an almost spectre-like figure in my life- who has always been present, but has never been there. She knew my mother in a way and at a time that no one else on this planet has. She has known me in a way that is totally unique and special to our situation, and even though I can't find the words to express it, meeting her and knowing her and having her treat me with such unhindered kindness, generosity, honesty and openness... it was something I will never forget, and I will always treasure.

Back in Hilversum I pretty much slept like a log and sat around like a dead cat for a day and a half, and then it was off to the Efteling!!!

For those who don't know it, the Efteling is a theme park- Netherlands style! There are various rides and attractions... I'll explain more as I delve into the wonder and perfection that is THE EFTELING!

So, Myrthe and Malou were taking me to my new favourite destination IN THE WORLD for the day. We got up early, packed our bags full of sustinance, and trundled off to the train. In Holland time, it was a fair distance, maybe an hour and half?... (I know, I couldn't even get from home to Sydney in that time, but here that's like, a third of the way across the country...) and once we got there... boy-oh-boy was I in Heaven!

I've only ever been to one theme park in my life- Wonderland. My memory of that place is that it was sticky, dirty, smelly, uninviting, unfriendly, stark, austere and unpleasant. The Efteling is like a little oasis. It's like you've stepped through the looking glass into some kind of mythical fairy land! There's so much love and care there. They haven't just parked a whole lot of machines near eachother to throw people about in the air and hope they don't notice how hideous their surroundings are. They've built a world; a beautiful magical world that you can totally escape into. There are a few rollercoasters, and each one is heavily themed. It was an incredibly crowded day, so lines were long and ate up time like a well-seasoned sandwich, but even while you're waiting, you're being marinated in an experience. One roller-coaster-the Flying Dutchman- was based on old Dutch sailing ships... pirates and ale and all that jazz. The line wove and meandered through various different rooms throughout the belly of a ship. You crept down a long hall as 'fires' blazed above your head, plumes of smoke curled around you and sailors screamed instructions to eachother; you slowly inched your way through the dining room as beer glasses chinked and Dutch drinking songs drowned out any other noise. It wasn't just a ride, it really was an experience, and you are totally emersed in these worlds for however long you're waiting, and then the ride itself is made all the more... whole. And the coaster itself was totally freaking awesome. Who knew I was into that sort of thing? But adrenaline is a person's best friend I reckon... it grabs your lips and pulls them so hard you have to smile, and it pumps laughter through your chest until you ache with happiness.

But it's not all roller-coasters. What makes this park really wonderous, I think, are all the different worlds that have been constructed purely to explore. My absolute highlight is the 'dream flight'. We had to wait about 40 minutes in the line, but once we got to the end, the wait completely melted away, and we were well and truly in another universe! You sit in a little carriage, which carries you up and around a world filled with trees and flowers and vines, and from nearly every branch, and on nearly every stone is perched an intricate fairy puppet that waves, or flutters its wings, or plays a little flute- and you just float around, watching it happen. I felt like a little girl again- I felt that little hand tugging at my chest, that little person who hoped so hard it hurt, that if she stared long enough at those little plastic wonders- one would eventually move- it would smile at her or wink. A space has been created there in which you can forget all the things you've learned about the world, and about reality, and you can see the magic that has slowly faded away with time and age and disillusionment.
Fairytale Forest was another favourite as we walked through a stunning wood, and around each corner was another story, another world, as Little Red Riding Hood knocked on her grandmother's door, or Hansel and Gretel ducked behind a candy house and the witch screeched from the doorway.

We also bought a LOT of candy, and I made myself gloriously sick on licorice. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.....

I won't bore you with too many more details about the park, because I fear a lot of it will be lost in translation. Basically, it's beyond beautiful there, and if I could live there and just explore it every single day for the rest of my life, I would be SO happy and SO contented... I'd never... ummmm... I don't know, it would rock! It was so much fun... and I'm ready to go again!!!

Ahhhhhh... next day I was on my own, and I spent my time cooking, listening to my music (possibly a little too loud considering the ridiculously close vacinity of the neighbours on all sides), and getting myself locked out of the house through sheer inability to tackle the lock and having the elderly neighbour achieve with a single turn of the key what I couldn't with 15 minutes of desperate and concerted attempts.

Next day I was off to Utrecht. It's an odd thing to get used to, travelling on your own. It's a totally different experience. Sometimes it's actually a great deal harder not having to take anyone else's needs or wants into consideration. I'm stuck with only myself to form a decision, and sometimes that just spins me in circles like a top... and I end up just creeping back to where I started with my tail between my legs. I find myself to be excrutiatingly lazy, and unless I really try hard to push through the initial layers and curtains, then all to quickly I'll just settle and stagnate... take the easy option, which all too often means doing nothing, or doing too little. Anyway, I'm trying. I'll get there!

So, in Utretcht I first went to the 'Nationaal Museum van Speelklok tot Pierement' which in a trip so heavily sequined in museum trips shone like a little jewel sewn lovingly in the centre. It was about music boxes, and organs, and all types of automated instruments. I wandered about looking at the perfect little boxes with their lovingly crafted cases, and images, and their intrictate cylinders studded with twinkling teeth that would whiz and whir and make the most soul-dizzying melodies. I followed along on the tour which meant not only did I get to hear a lot of Dutch information... but I also got to hear a lot of the instruments play. Ooooohhhh... how I love such things. The little tinkling boxes, the giant booming street-organs, the ear-drum boxing carnival organ. There was an organ that also had three violins inside, so as the pumps sounded the organ melody, they also spun a wheel and pumped the violins forward and backward so that they too played their own tunes. They just don't make things like that any more...
So, I guess I never knew I was THAT into these things, but I've learnt it now, and I think my children will have a vast collection of music boxes to acquaint themselves with when they come into the world!

Utrecht was beautiful. I think it's far more beautiful than Amsterdam- and Amsterdam was stunning! These European cities are so vastly different from those back home, or in America. So much prettier, so much homier, so much more welcoming and human.

I went to the Dick Bruna Huis and hung out with Nijnte (Miffy) and her buddies for a while. That was pretty great.

I managed to convince Myrthe to spend the next day with me at her heels. We rode the bikes through the woods, to a castle where we sat in the beautiful gardens and had coffee. We then rode some more, through more woods up to a town about 6 kilometres away. I was so happy, just cycling through the trees. The air was so fresh and real, the scenery was so perfect and welcoming. We parked under some trees and sat for our lunch. I found some walnuts that had dropped from the branches, cracked them open and chowed down! Fresh walnuts, from the tree they grew on! Too cool. It really was lovely.
I still have some fear, that I'm not impressive enough or interesting enough. I am remarkably terrible at small-talk and chatting... and time with me usually means quite a lot of silence. I just hope, and hope and hope and hope that these people, my FAMILY, that they feel something a little bit like what a feel for them. That they feel a little piece of that inherent, automatic love... that it doesn't matter so much that I am really quite dull and a bit of a wet blanket sometimes... because there's something there that goes beyond all those things that seem to trickle away through my fingers. But, I'm also happy knowing that at least I feel that! That I can come here, and meet these people, and feel a thread running between my heart and their's. Maybe that's good enough, and I don't have to worry about anything else...

So, basically, I'm having a terribly wonderful time in the Motherland! It's a very unique part of the trip- it doesn't really feel like a 'trip' as such. I just feel like I'm here, in this place, living my life for a month or so. It feels so natural, so relaxed, so comfortable. I really feel at home no matter where I am or what I'm doing. Even when I'm walking the streets and cannot understand a word of the static surrounding me, or when I'm cycling and have no idea what the sign is telling me to do, or when I'm helping a lady in the supermarket pick up the stuff she spilled all over the floor and I'm just smiling and nodding at everything she says to me, hoping she doesn't notice my total ignorance as to what she's saying... nothing feels out of the ordinary. It all feels normal, it all feels right. Sometimes I forget I'm not from here, I forget that really I'm from an entirely different world. Really and truly, sometimes I just totally melt into this place, and I can't see anymore where I end and it begins.
You should see me on the bike when a car comes near me on the road, getting all self righteous and uppity because this stupid auto is all up in my space- what right does a car have on the road anyway!?!? And do you think I'm going to wait to let him by? Ha ha ha, no way bucko!

So... tomorrow I go to Den Hague. Maybe I'll see the Queen. We can have cheese and I'll recite all my Dutch words for her.

Thanks for reading.

"There will be lots of snails, and we will fill our pockets...

2009-07-28T12:41:00.000-07:00

Ok everyone. Take the old 'roller-coaster' cliche, and make a more creative one. Now, take this sentence: "Man have these last few days in Holland been one heck of a roller-coaster ride!" and substitute my tired, lazy attempt at illustrating a point, and substitute your own...

I hope you get the idea! Well, now it is up to me to try and convey why...

When last I wrote, we were staying in Hilversum, Brooke and I, and I was still feeling a... tension as I tried to feel as though I was completely part of this corner of my world, my life, my past. It is such a complex sort of experience that I've been having here. I feel as though I've come home, that this place is part of me, and me a part of it. I feel like I know Holland, like we've been friends for years, and even though I haven't been privy to every detail of it's life while we've been apart, because we were friends so long ago, I have an essential sense of it's essense that I have and will coninue to carry throughout my life. I feel really like Holland is another home for me, it is a place I know, and love and am welcome in.

However, while I feel all this, there is also a sense that I'll never REALLY be a part of it, that I am just too far removed to ever completely dissolve into the place- you'll always be able to see little granules of me floating around in the glass, and know that I haven't and cannot be totally incorporated. I feel like that last piece in a puzzel- that one where you can see exactly where it gos, because there's only one space yet, but the piece was cut just that slight bit too big, and even when you punch and push and sqeeze it, it never sits totally flush with the rest of the picture.

I've cried a lot. I've cried because I'm happy, I've cried because I'm lost, I've cried because I want someone to see me, but I feel like something inside of me is reaching out and pulling everyone's eyelids down. I've had such amazing, precious moments of pure, liquid contentment. I've had moments where happiness and joy have flooded over me and all I wanted was to bask in it forever. I've felt so welcome and loved and cared for in Marc, Astrid, Myrthe and Malou's home. I've really felt a part of something, part of a family, part of a world.

They took us to a Dutch market, where we watched men scuttle around cutting wedges of beautiful, BEAUTIFUL cheese, and we gasped at the twinkle of the oh-so-fresh fruit and vegetables, and sighed at the smell of warm stroopwaffles. They took us for coffee in the town centre, and we sat in the square with the sun on our backs and the tick-tack of shoppers' feet in our ears. They shared the most wonderful dinners with us, dinners that melted along, moving fluidly from the meal to conversation punctuated by good bread and amazing cheese. They've shared their home, their minds and their hearts, and I love them all very dearly.

At the retirement home where my Great Oma lives there is a small chapel. Here they hold church services, presumably every Sunday. However, last Sunday there was (for a reason I am actually unaware of) a special twist to the service. My Great Opa was a successful Dutch composer, so on the anniversary of his and Great Oma's wedding, their son and his church choir travelled up from Luxumbourg, and at this particular Sunday church service, they sang all the normal hymns, as well as a couple of Great Opa, Herman Strategier's compositions.

Myself, Marc, Myrthe, Malou and Brooke all travelled together to see this, and this adventure ofcourse carried with it the added experience of meeting the grand matriarch of that part of my family for the first time in conscious memory. I was scared... she had always been a somewhat of a 'larger than life' figure for me in my life. I hear about her, I hear of her, I very occassionaly hear from her- but she's always been a distant figure, more almost of an idea... It was very daunting, and very intimidating to meet someone who is so important in the lives of so many people who have so much to do with my life and how it has unfolded and who I have become.

Well, I probably could have handled it better, but what's done is done, and she has too many people to love and to think about to waste her time thinking I was stupid or dull or silly. I was so glad to have met her, and touched her hand, and kissed her cheek. As I sat near her, and listened to her speak, felt in my gut the same feeling I always felt for my grandfather (on my Dad's side), and I realised 'wow, she really is family'.

Sitting in that church, I understood not a single word of the Dutch sermon (I lie, I understood 'Amen'), but as I sat there, surrounded by my new-found family, listening to voices flitting about giving life to my Great Opa's music, I felt an incredible sense of contentment, and pride- pride particularly being something I didn't expect to feel.

Now everyone, put your metaphor hats on again. I want to say that now came a crossroad in our journey, but just how revoltingly uncreative is that!?!? So, once again, insert your own, and I will continue...

So, Brooke and I had reached a point where I in particular could no longer ignore my rather naive and embarrassing lack of judgement and foresight concerning this particular leg of the trip. How could I not have known that we could never share this place, because it could NEVER be, that we would have anywhere near the same experiences of it. She could never feel the things I was feeling- she has none of the links or connections or secret hidden ties that make this place and these people resonate so very deeply and so wonderfully strongly for me. She could love Holland, she could love it with all her heart and soul, but she was never going to feel it the way I did, because it will never hold her past. I also had no idea how personal and internal this experience was going to be for me, and I had no idea how intense either. It is so emotional for me- emotions I don't really understand completely, or rather, that I can't explain, rationalise and articulate. I didn't realise it would be so complicated and complex! Anyway, as these things slowly began to emerge from the darkness, and the light revealed the truth of them, Brooke and I started to realise that maybe plans needed to change! No matter how much fun she was having here, we could never reconcile the two experiences into one cohesive enough to share with eachother. Holland was not something for us to do with eachother, because we couldn´t hold it at the same time- I needed to hold it one way, and she another, and it was getting twisted and contorted as we tried to juggle the two approaches.

Basically, after a great deal of reflection, thought, and emotional upheaval, we decided it best to accept that some things are too personal to be able to share- some things need to be felt and moved through alone. Brooke would travel down to the south of France to stay with her neighbours from back home at their farm summer house, and then would tour around the UK, while I stayed back in Holland and completed my exploration of the motherland.

But before she left, we had Amsterdam to come to! Here in Amsterdam, we encountered yet more open houses and open hearts. My mother had a friend in primary school, back here in Holland. Mum left when she was twelve, but still to this day, she keeps in contact with that friend. The miles and miles of space, or time, of events and changes and growth that have occured over these years, and still they remain features in eachother´s lives. I think that is so special! And here I am now, in that friend´s home, sitting on her computer, writing about the wonderful thing she shares with my Mum! Anyway, as soon as we arrived here, I felt INSTANTLY at home. Anne-Marie is so open and honest and leaves no room for the bullshit and farting around that consumes us so much of the time. She is so genuine and real, and I felt my insecurities, those little nibbles at the back of my neck that tell me to regret something or hold something back, I felt them all being banished to the woods somewhere. There are so many wonderful people in the world.

Brooke and I went on a canal cruise. It was lovely, and it was good for me, to take the time to get into the groove of the city, to slowly adjust my breathe to move in time with that of the place I am in, rather than hitting the ground running and coming out the other end having taken on nothing of the essence. I really love Amsterdam. It is my favourite of any city have seen so far. Normally I find cities to be harsh, grating, raspy and they make me so, so tired and lonely. I can have fun, A LOT of fun in a city, but I always feel there is a marked lack of humanity and homliness that drains me. But Amsterdam to me feels like a city- it has all the perks and advantages and wonderful features of a city- but it also has a dense, aromatic, lucious humanity and soul. It doesn't feel dry and isolating, but rather it moisturises itself and opens its arms to you. It's a city with a heart, and I feel safe and secure and comfortable here.
We also saw the van Gogh museum, which was good to have seen, and I know I learned from it- but it wasn't the most inspiring experience of my life.

The next morning, I dropped Brooke at the train station, and said goodbye to my travel partner for about 27 days! It will be so odd to turn around and not have her there! It will be strange to want to say something, and not have her sitting around the corner to say it to. It will be interesting to see how different things feel when you are seeing them completely on your own, and don't have another person to share it with. I'd never travelled before I left on this trip, and I still have never travelled on my own. So, it's going to be yet another learning curve- something which there has been no shortage of this past month and a half!
After I said goodbye, I went to the Anne Frank Huis. I didn't expect to be moved as much as I was. It is an incredibly impressive museum. The space holds so much, so many memories, feelings, emotions, experiences, thoughts, fears, events, sadnesses. You really feel it- it hit me like a brick wall. To enter a space, and really, in your gut, feel the people who once occupied it, to feel their hearts and their thoughts... it was pretty special. Not only was I incredibly moved, but I was really inspired. To think that one person, one little girl's experiences, ideas, words could reach out of the masses, and touch the hearts of so many hundreds of thousands of people across the world and across time- that seems pretty inspiring to me! Just one girl, and she saw so much, and she shared it so successfully with so many. I love those moments, those occasions when I feel really and truly as though on some level, in some way, I have connected with another human being, with another life, with another world through whatever medium or process or event- I think those moments are what make life really special, and really worthwhile.
The pictures she pasted on her walls to brighten up her bedroom are still there, behind perspex. I looked at all the movie stars, and cartoons, and then I got to the end of one wall, and staring back at me was a big sulphur-crested cockatoo! A little wave from home... good times.

After that I wondered around Amsterdam, and saw some more lovely things. I went to many a park, and relaxed many a time. It really is SO beautiful here. Anne-Marie and Pieter invited me to have dinner with their friends. It was lovely, and I could continue to practice my Dutch by trying to deduce what they were saying to eachother! When we came home, Anne-Marie sat on the couch with me, and I regressed back to infancy. She couldn't babysit when I was a child, so she made up for it now, and went through some 'My First Word' books with me as we both committed me to a stern resolution that I WILL learn Dutch- to some degree at least. That was so nice, so special, to sit with someone who has shared my Mum's life for years, and learn with her, and laugh with her, and have her further my education, and connect me deeper to my roots and to my heritage! I sounded like a moron a lot, trying to pronounce these ridiculous sounds, and trying to unlearn the basic rules of English, because the Dutch ones are the exact opposite, but walls were not to be seen, and I enjoyed that time so much.

Now I am off to explore Amsterdam some more.

Thanks for reading...

"I don't need a number, I just want to dance with my shirt off..."

2009-07-21T06:42:00.000-07:00

Here I sit, my last morning in New York City, my last morning in the United States of America, my last morning on this continent.

It's raining quite hard outside, and as Brooke said earlier "New York doesn't want us to go- it's crying". All though, if I know New York, and I think I do by now, I think it has better things to think about than whether or not we're walking all over its face...

But that's getting ahead of myself, because I still have stories to tell from back in Pennsylvania... the first of which involves lobsters, muscles and cherry cobbler. So, we woke up on our second morning in Kate's home and we were put to work almost immediately! The label 'free-loader' had been shaken a little to excitedly in my face by my dear friend Kate, but we weren't going to submit to such pigeon-holing and even Bee got down and dirty sweeping grit from the porch and walking through muddy grass. We swept and squirted and wiped and rinsed until the Queen would be happy to shove her guts with sea critters. Then the guests arrived, and they were lovely people. It was great for me to meet yet more people, and to keep seeing first hand that human beings have so much to offer, so many stories, so many words, so many expressions and gestures and impressions. I learn so much from all these, I gain so much from it all, and I spent so long being too scared and too lazy to expose myself to it all, that I missed out on a lot. But not any more! I haven't had a single experience of another human being this entire trip that didn't offer me something, and I'm through with letting myself deny the opportunities.
Anyway, the clam-bake was a lot of fun, we laughed and chatted and drank mojitas. Then Bee and I went inside and gorged ourselves on about a tonne of garlic bread, which was deeply satisfying!

The next day, Kate drove us up to Amish country. We farted around for a few hours, trying to find a little farm-house she had been to a few years earlier that did tours and the like. When we finally asked directions, we discovered that the reason we hadn't seen it, the reason it had alluded us as we drove past was because a few years before, Target had turned up and bought off a huge wedge of the land and built a massive store, and an even bigger parking lot on it. So is the way of the world...

So we walked around the farm a little bit before our tour of the house started. Then we go to experience one of those beautiful little gifts from the universe, when a perfect little nugget of wonder drops down in front of you. We were walking along the gravel path, and Brooke's eyes cast themselves downward for whatever reason, and somehow, by some unimaginable force of... whatever, happened to land on a tiny little chip of wood, and she somehow had the presence of mind to recognise the symbols on this little piece of wood... she gasped, and we all looked as she held up this little notch that said "Brooke" followed by a smily face. What the HELL were the chances!?!?! OH MY GOD! It was incredible. It totally made my day, if not my week. It doesn't get better than that. That was beautiful!

We went on the tour, learnt a lot about the Amish, and I discovered that I really do love education for the sake of education. I've really been enjoying learning things and just knowing them, adding to my general knowledge about the world. I think it really adds to who I am as a whole, and makes me a stronger person in general.

After we drove around like rampant paparazzi as Kate tried to convince Brooke to snap as many passing Amish as possible, despite the fact that they believe it a sin to be photographed (Bee decided she could create a graven image of the old man on his cart, because he hadn't much longer anyway, but the little boy could not have his faith disturbed!!), we went to Longwood Gardens, a massive garden that used to be a private property of the Du pont family. It was SO beautiful, so full of meticulous thought and care and passion for beauty. You could feel the care and the love that was poured into each little cranny of the place, you could feel the warmth and the heart and the honesty. I loved it there!

The next day, Kate stuck us on the train to Philladelphia, and we were in for an intense day of American history! The Liberty Bell, Independence Hall, the National Constitution Centre, a performance of 'Freedom Rising'... we were marinated in America's past and soaked in their passion and ardour for it. It was interesting intellectually. I never really knew about it all, and it means SO much, to SO many people that it was kind of lazy of me not to. So, I felt better having learnt some of it. But there is a very strong and very present element to it all that one can simply never feel not being American. They experience something, they feel something at their very core that I don't think anyone of any other nationality can ever really comprehend. They feel something beyond pride, something more than identification... it's like, this IS them... this is who they are. It is kind of nice, because so much of the time, America seems to be this disperate, fractured country full of internal conflict and battles, but when you touch on this history, this shared past, it all falls away, and suddenly everyone is united and linked on this deeper layer. They become one people, and you can feel them linking arms under the surface. I won't ever feel anything like what they feel for their country, for their past, for the people who forged both of these. I won't ever understand how they can look at things I don't really agree with, and feel this almost otherworldy pride and admiration. I don't think patriotism exists like this anywhere else in the world, I really think it is idiosyncratic to the USA, and it was really very interesting.

Now I write to you from Holland! But we'll get to that later I think...

Anyway, the next day Kate whisked us off to Washington DC. We were going to give it a miss, I have to admit, but she wasn't going to have it, and she booked us a hotel, and shuffled us into the car at 9.30 at night while we were still in our pyjamas (!) so she could buy a book on DC... ha ha ha, I lie. Brooke desperately wanted to see a Walmart before we left the US, and Kate was kind enough to oblige, and ducked into the Barnes and Noble on the way. Brooke had far too much fun in that Walmart... sometimes I worry about her...
So, we woke at the crack of dawn, and trotted off in the car. It was maybe three hours to Washington, and once we were there, we spent the day wondering around, taking in all the expected sites really- Washington Monument, Lincoln Memorial, White House, Capitol Building etc etc etc... we all know that sites like this aren't really my thing. I do think that Americans who visit places like Washington would get a lot from it, but otherwise, it's a bit... hollow. But, it was interesting! It was incredibly hot though, and the sun was so harsh, I felt like hot pokers had been poked through my eyeballs, and sharpened needles through my cheeks from squinting. We ended up letting a bus drive us past all the final sites, before we went back to the hotel to crash. Actually, getting back to the hotel was quite an Odyssey- the gods did not want us to return to the oh-so-appetising prospect of Chinese takeout. We finally got there though, and man was that Chinese tasty...

We were going to spend two days in Washington, but I think we squeezed all we were going to out of it the first day, so we got up early, took advantage of the free breakfast on the way out of the hotel, and headed home.

I had not had a dose of nature for a long time now, so Kate dropped me at the foot of a trail that ran alongside the Brandywine River back in Downsingtown, Pennsylvania. I walked a few miles, and once again found that each step was a little recharge, each breath of 'real' air was another little boost to my system. It was terribly beautiful. A lot of people used this trail to run, or walk, or with their dogs, but the further along I got, the more the people dwindled, and the more I felt myself unfold and unwind. I guess I really do need this time to myself. Even when I am having a wonderful time, and every moment is happy and precious and good, I still need to have some time that belongs to me, that I own, a space where I can sit and there is only space around me... If I don't get it, then all the goodness I have felt before, it is like it is wasted... like my life and my experiences are sort of running out the bottom of a sieve, andmy time to myself, my time to reflect is when I can tip these things into a vase or a vessel of some sort. The longer it goes without these moments, the more I lose. But I am learning how to get this space without having to actually be alone... to construct a little world to temporarily retreat into... I think I am learning to be a lot less high maintenance. It is a skill I desired for so long... a characteristic I really felt I wanted to acquire to be more of the person I wanted to be. I think I am learning it very quickly on this trip- to just let go, and make the most of the things you are given, not to need things in such particular ways, and to be able to make it work, to get what you need simply with the ingredients in the pantry, instead of using all your energy trying to get every single ingredient on the recipe...

Anyway, I diverge. So, I was walking along the Brandywine, and it really was lovely. Pennsylvania is very beautiful, in an elvish, fairy-land sort of way. You just want to sprinkle some fairy dust, sprout some wings and dance on the tree tops. I stopped along the way back, and crept down through the trees to the river itself... and I got down to my underwear and swam in the water. It was very special for me, as people who have known me would know, to be able to let go like that, and to just embrace the moment and worry not what someone might think if they walked down past me. The water was so crisp and fresh, and it felt like the hug I had been needing for weeks. I crawled out of the water, and dried off up in a tree as I wrote in my journal. Someone did come down as I wrote up there in my underwear. They turned around and went back pretty quick, but the moral of the story is, that I barely looked up from my page, and I certainly didn't extend any thought to the moment beyond that.

That was our last day with Kate and Jorg. We chatted more that night, but then the next morning, it was time to go! I already miss them so much. They were such special people, people who I am richer for having met and having known. Kate read aloud to Jorg a thankyou letter I had written to them both. She got to the part in which I said "you opened your home to us despite the fact you didn't know usin the slightest"- she turned to me and said "There is no such thing as people we don't know". What a perfect way of looking at the world! What a wonderful thing to feel about people, and about yourself, and what a perfect way to sum up the overall lesson I gained from my time in their home.

Back in New York we were to finish the American leg of our trip. We went back to the Lower Easr Side, East Village, Greenwich Village- all my favourite areas in New York, all the parts that define and represent New York for me, and all the parts that make me feel really good about that place. We ate lunch in Washington Park, where the uni students come for lunch, and where little quartets or trios had scattered themselves like diamonds about the place, playing jazz or tap dancing or beating their drums. It was wonderful, in a totally non-wanky or pretentious way! just really honest and genuine and free. We walked around Union Square and I bought myself a little etching from one of the artists at his stall.
We went to the movies that night. Brooke saw My Sister's Keeper, and I had the ULTIMATE New York experience as I sat in a tiny little theatre in the stomach of massive 25 cinema complex and watched Larry David limp around streets I had just wondered, lamenting the frailty of life and the redundancy of living in Woody Allen's latest movie 'Whatever Works'. It was SO good, exactly what I wanted, exactly what I needed. The film talks about accepting the fact that life is hard, and people need to find whatever they can to make it through, and it is up to each person to accept and to embrace the choices made by the people in their lives, because we love them, and we want them to be happy and we need to love them for finding nuggets of joy and satisfaction in this world... well, that's what it spoke about for me, and it made me feel a lot better about myself and own choices, as I realised that I don't need to try to adhere to some kind of external measure of the 'right' way to be happy... and it also really helped me in terms of travelling with Brooke. We are so different, and have SUCH a drastically different approach to life and happiness and being comfortable and satisfied, and while I try my hardest to accept and embrace her choices and decisions and attitudes, it has been quite difficult for me grappling with the sheer immensity of difference that exists between our mindsets... and such a film sort of helped me come to better terms with it. I think. I hope!

The next day we went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. the board said it was $20 for a single admission, followed by 'recommended, access to all special exhibitions'. We weren't about to let such a mysterious message go unexplored, and when we asked about it, we found out that at this museum, you can pay whatever amount you like, as long as you pay something, but they ofcourse recommend that you each person pay $20. We paid $5 each.

The museum was wonderful. There was so much there. It was really special to share the art with Brooke, to talk about it with her, to discuss our ideas about it... this has always been something we avoided talking about, because we think so differently about it, but we shared it on this day, and it meant a lot to me to be able to. I learnt a lot also, my mind was opened up to new ideas and new approaches. It was great. And I got to see two Jackson Pollocks!!!! Jackson Pollock has always been one of my favourite, FAVOURITE artists, and seeing his work, right there, in all it's glory, I felt everything that made me love him in the first place, and more. When I look at a Pollock, I feel connected to him. I feel like there is someone out there in the world, or there was someone, who has reached out tentacles, right from their soul, that have wound and spiraled all through the world, and through time, and have reached me, and pierced my chest right through to my own soul, and there they have laced themselves and they'll link us forever. It's just a moment in time, when I feel like someone can really see me, and I can see them, and for one second, everything is perfect, and I am safe and warm and at home. So, that was pretty special for me.
That night I ate a whole tub of icecream, and it kicked arse.

The next day was kind of a dud. As much as I enjoyed America and New York and as much as I'd seen and learned and experienced... I was ready to move on! I was ready for Holland, for Europe, for another world. I think by that point, I had gotten all I could get from America at this point in my life.
We just kind of meandered about waiting for time to whittle itself away and carry us toward our new home.

We caught the subway the next day all the way to JFK airport. As we sat with our bags tucked between our legs watching America creep by our eyes for the last time, a man across the aisle sleepily dragged a lighter from his pocket and put a flame to the end of the previously unlit cigarette that had been drooping from his lips and filled the carriage with death-vapour along with a sea of outraged and disapproving faces. No one said anything, we all just looked at eachother, completely dumbfounded, as this man sat there, and started to fall asleep with this lit cigarette hanging from his mouth. ON A SUBWAY! I couldn't believe that no one in New York City told this man to snuff it... I so wished I was the kind of person who could do that... but I wasn't, and I'm not! Eventually a guard sorted it out, but it was bizarre... only in America.

American Airlines serves revolting food, and doesn't serve it well. Put that in your pocket-books to remember for the future!

Then, about two days ago, we arrived here in Holland! We arrived at about 10.30, and once we'd weaved our way through the various checkpoints, we emerged to see my lovely second cousin (or something along those lines...) beaming behind the bars, with a 'Welcome' balloon and two white shirts draped over the railing, one reading "Madeline Welcome in Holland", and the other "Brooke Welcome in Holland", and I knew I was home! Astrid, Malou's mother and my... great Aunt maybe!... she drove us to their home, which has now become our home also! Myrthe is Malou's older sister, about six months older than me. I was sleeping when she got home... clearly I'm making a wonderful impression on my new found family! Hopefully it is not an omen for what I will be in her life this whole time... a distant sleeping mirage of a person! But they are all so lovely and welcoming and kind. I have been a little bit stressed and scared... maybe terrified even fits during those moments when I was really sleep-deprived! I have been so terrified that they don't like me, and that they won't like me. I want SO badly to fit in here, to be a part of this world and these people who I love on a level that I can't really explain. They are my family, and it means a lot to me to have their approval, to have them think well of me. But me being stressed won't help the cause, that is for sure! So I am trying to let go a little bit, to airate my exterior a little, and let some fresh air in so I can breathe, and so I can relax and be myself. If I wind myself too tight... I'll end up flinging myself somewhere where I can't bring myself back down again. I was so comfortable with Kate and Jorg in their home because I was able to simply accept that I am who I am, and I don't need to 'perform' or fulfill certain criteria... but it's harder now, as I feel like I do need to achieve something specific... I'll work it out.

We slept all day yesterday, and today we rode the pushbikes through the rain to the Media Museum and had all sorts of wonderful fun recording news broadcasts in Dutch and taking photos with our faces replacing those of famous Dutch people I had never seen. It was a lot of fun fun fun... and then I rode through the streets for a little while, being pounded by the rain, feeling incredibly Dutch and comfortable...

So, that's where I'm at... I think I'll have a lot to tell soon about Holland and my time here... so I'll write when I can!!

Thanks for reading!

Mad.

"I saddled up my pony right, and rode into the ghostly night..."

2009-07-11T19:07:00.000-07:00

I wish it were easier to come up with good first lines for these things... it always throws me when I can't open well...

Anyway, here's what we've been up to since I wrote last- if I can remember it all.

We woke up the morning after my last post, and off we went to see the Statue of Liberty. Being our stingy back-packing selves, we opted out of the ferry ride to Liberty Island itself, in favour of a gratis trip past the statue over to Staten Island. I've never really been into this whole site-seeing thing... so it was enough for me to cruise on by and look at her, and not have to fork out my hard-earned cash to grovel at her feet. It was kind of cool really... to see this icon, this symbol of... well, I won't go on about the symbolism of it, as it really means little to me personally, but anyway, I was kind of chuffed to be seeing it with my own eyes, in the 'flesh'. So, we just floated past her, and then floated back- New York creeping off into the distance and then edging it's way back around us. Then we dawdled off to Ground Zero, which was somewhat of a non-event. There really isn't anything there except construction workers reconstructing, and a lot of detours and redirected traffic... Part of me was expecting there to be some sort of energy or overwhelming vibe there, because people are so SO passionate and emotional and opinionated about 9/11 over here, but, well, the fact of the matter is that there wasn't- not that I was feeling anyway. Then we were going to head off to the Empire State Building, but Brooke was distracted by Century 21, a MASSIVE department store that sells discounted name-brands... and there went those plans! She had a ball, picking and scraping through the logos and symbols and titles that represent quality, or status, or success, or whatever and handing over less money for them than would be asked for somewhere else. I have never been in a world quite like that place. Already we're in New York, where personal space is some kind of alien concept, a foreign language that they don't understand, but now we're also in a bargain hothouse, and I don't even know how to describe what they're like in there! I felt like I was packed in a sack of potatoes, that was then being vacuum sealed shut. I swear, people actually elbowed me and pushed me out of their way to get to their cheap Chanel sunglasses.
Needless to say, I waited for Brooke outside!
After that experience, I was ready to head back home for an early night... I think we got pizza that night actually- our first taste of New York pizza. Mum's is 20 million times nicer, and far more impressive.

Next day we were off to the Empire State Building. We've spent so much time waiting in lines, and waiting for buses, and waiting on planes, that I have no sense of the length of it anymore, but the lines at that place were epic, and it probably took about two hours to get to the top. Once we were up there, well, it was a little underwhelming in terms of impact, and pretty overwhelming in terms of sheer numbers of people, and the revolting lack of space to even breathe out. This tourist thing really doesn't work for me... I try to get into it, because I feel almost like I should be into it. I feel I should be impressed with these things, because there is so much hype, and so much talk surrounding them- surely there must be a reason for it, right? I mean, if I'm not feeling it, I must be missing something...? But, with the sites, I just feel like I've ticked something off a rather shallow list, and achieved little else aside from that. I suppose that is essentially what it is about, but I guess that's just not enough for me- it's not satisfying, and it's not why I'm travelling, and it certainly is not what travelling is about for me and for my life. I feel kind of gross and squirmy when I'm there in the tourist crowds... there's this little pretentious and condescending voice inside me just screaming and wailing "it's meant to be deeper than this!"
But, there is also a part of me, the part of me that is slowly whittling away at the pedestal which the snobby side of me lounges around on, that still does find it that little bit neat just to be able to say "yep, I've seen that", even if it didn't change my life.
That's one thing I'm learning- there doesn't always have to be lightning and fireworks and deep soul-wrenching upheaval for something to be worthwhile. Sometimes we just have fun because it's fun, and it makes us smile. Ofcourse I knew that before, but I have always had a tendency to get up on my high horse and look down on things for not being 'meaningful' enough... what a bore... yawn Madeline, yawn...

Anyway. So, after the Empire State Building, which despite everything I just said, was slightly lame, we trotted off to the Guggenheim Museum.
Well, we tried to go to MoMA first, but when we arrived, we were informed that it was Tuesday (days of the week become obsolete when you're travelling... I haven't known what day it is for the past two weeks I'd say...), and that the gallery closes on a Tuesday- so we moved on to my old pal Frank. I've waited to get to the Guggenheim for years now, I really love and admire Frank Lloyd Wright, and I've always been really inspired and moved by his ideas, and his work and his artistic vision. All his ideas about nature and the way humans relate and interact with it, and depend upon it for emotional and creative nourishment... blah blah blah, I just love him. And it was really special for me to be in that space. I felt all the things I expected to feel, there was a serenity, a peace and a symmetry in there- everything felt balanced, I felt balanced. And I felt inspired. And there just so happened to be a special commemorative exhibition about Frank Lloyd Wright, so I was flooded with him! It is a special place I think, a place that sort of filled up my tank a little, like now I had the fuel to get out and make something. I felt creatively recharged.

The next day we went down to Chinatown and Little Italy. By this time, I was totally and completely drained. We moved hostels that morning, further uptown, right in the very centre of Harlem... I hadn't been sleeping very well, and the fact is, that I was not made to go and go and go and go all day every day without any time to gather myself and rebuild the chipped and broken pieces... so, I was a bit of a zombie that day, and having people stepping on my toes, following me around their cramped and crowded stores pestering me in broken and shouted english to buy their crappy New York mugs didn't exactly bring me back to life. I was a pain in the butt, and Brooke is a hero to have put up with me.

Sometime around this day- it may have been the day before- I got a message from Mum about the full moon in Capricorn, and how she had told it to say hello to me when it reached New York. That night, I looked up into the sky, and there was no moon to be seen. I craned my neck, and I walked around blocks and I navigated my view around various skyscrapers... but I was suffering lunar deprevation... and the more I couldn't find it, the more the smog and light pollution of that city hid it from me, the more fragile I became until I was a sobbing heap in the middle of the street in Harlem, with my poor, dear friend desperately trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with me, as I spluttered and stuttered and carried on like a jerk. Anyway, that pretty much sums up my emotional state at that point in time... I was a little drained I guess!

So, that night, I was all ready to curl up in bed at our new hostel. A moment is needed now to describe this new hostel, which was shockingly cheap, as we paid a dollar less for two nights than we had for one in Wyoming... The bathroom was one health inspection away from having that building incinerated. We were in a 14 bed dorm, on a floor with 2 other 14 bed dorms, all sharing this one bathroom. Apparantly everyone who stays in that hostel is prematurely balding, because stepping into that bathroom, you were wading through an inch of hair-thickened, not unlikely disease ridden water that felt like it was seeping into your skin and rotting you from the inside... man was it filthy in there. I've never had a shower and felt like I would have been cleaner had I rolled around in the gutter- until I stayed there. Anyway, I'm raving, and exaggerating. It was pretty gross, but I guess it could have been worse!

The story I am trying to tell has nothing to do with bathrooms! So, I was pretty broken and tired, and ready to stay in bed for a month and never see New York again. But, as has happened a lot on this journey, just when I needed something, it up and offered itself. There was a woman in the bed at my feet who, as I've found an awful lot of Americans to be, was incredibly open and friendly and excited to share herself and her words with us, got to talking, and we had a whole night of conversation ahead of us. Another girl on top of our American friend joined in too, and turned out to be a fellow Australian, which was really nice. So, we talked with them for quite a few hours- well, listened mostly. Something I'm enjoying so very, very much is how open and truthful and honest people are. I love how readily people will open up their hearts and share them with other people, just for the sake of it, just for that feeling of satisfaction and completeness you get from connecting with another human being. I've always had so many walls, and I'm just loving meeting people who don't have any- or maybe they just don't put so much energy into holding their walls up, and they let them lower and bend when it's right and when it's good. I'm also really enjoying the discovery that my walls aren't as inpenetrable as I once thought, and that actually, I've smashed them pretty close to ground level, which is something I never thought I could achieve.
So, Steph and 'Queen Ebony' as she identified herself opened up a lot, and shared a lot, and I learned a lot, and I felt kind of 'saved'. I felt like this was what I set out to find, and to 'achieve', and that this was what travel was for me, seeing things and meeting people and hearing things and being exposed to ideas and experiences that wouldn't be open to me in my own little shell. I went to sleep that night feeling very satisfied and at peace with myself and what I was making of this adventure.

Next day we had a little time to ourselves. I cruised Greenwich Village, which was ultra cool, and was more of the New York I was expecting and looking for. Then we ate some ridiculously overpriced, but even more ridiculously good food. Then we went off to Grand Central Station to meet up with Mel and Ned- Mum's friend's niece and her boyfriend. Somewhat of a loose connection, that turned out so perfectly. I forgot to take my phone with me, and as this was a 'blind friend date', no one knew what anyone else looked like. Brooke borrowed a pen from a bearded man doing a crossword, and wrote 'Melanie' on a train schedule, and I stood for 15 minutes with our makeshift sign in front of my face hoping to heck they'd find us eventually and we wouldn't have to slink back home with our tails between our legs. We actually had one woman approach us, who was meeting a Melanie, and thought maybe her friend had sent us in her place... what were the chances? Anyway, they turned up, and found us, and then they took us out for a really wonderful night. They were awfully friendly, and all too happy to share their infinite knowledge about New York. They showed us the Lower East Side, which really is just my perfect definition of New York, and it convinced us that we had to rethink our plans, and come back to do New York properly before we leave the States. We went out to dinner in Little Italy, and then found the only bar in the area that would let us in without ID. It was called 'Lucy's', and what made my little heart sing was that 'Lucy' actually owned the place, served us our drinks, and as the evening progressed she came over to our table, bought us a pitcher of beer and as she handed it over told us we were to "drink it very slowly, don't you get too drunk".
Anyway, they were really lovely people, and I'm STILL amazed at just how accepting people are, and how readily they embrace you and make you feel at home. Ned's friend also joined us, and had many a story to tell...
We zipped up the road and bought New York pizza at 1 A.M, and I felt very cool... ha ha ha. Then we caught an epically expensive taxi home, and I slept terribly.

The next morning, it was time to head out of New York, and come on down to Pennsylvania. We packed our bags, and lugged them on three different subways down to Chinatown, where our bus was leaving from.
It was THE most bizzare setup I could have imagined for a bus station- straight out of a film. We had the address for where the bus was leaving from, and as we walked down Pike Street, past number 1, past number 2, looking for number 3, two Chinese women sitting on milk crates looked up at us and started yelling "Where you going!?!?!" We told them, showed them our tickets: "You come back 2 o'clock". So we did... and as we waited, more and more people came by, and the same thing... and as the people gathered with their bags and their tickets, the women asked everyone who walked by "Where you going!?!?" and sold tickets to those who needed them... then the bus came, and the women screamed out the destination for a while, opened up the luggage compartments for our bags, and we were off to Philidelphia... what the hell was that... man was it bizzare.

So, here in Pennsylvania, we are staying with the sister of Brooke's neighbour and her husband. I can't even begin to describe how happy I am here! It's so beautiful out here. I really needed to get out of the city, and to breathe a little bit. The trees are glorious, the air is so fresh and clean and real. The houses are so adorable, I could eat them up like little cookies... people are so friendly, they don't push you or knock you and don't always look at you like you're in their way or holding them back. I enjoyed New York a great deal, but it sort of sucks the life out of you to be somewhere that impersonal and that fast-paced too long. Kate and Jorge are so very, very lovely. They are characters, that is for sure. Both have had pretty full lives, and are more than willing to share their stories and their opinions. They've opened their home to us like I can't believe. It is so strange to be in a home, an actual home... and OH MY GOD we have OUR OWN BEDROOMS! I actually have my own space, where I can be BY MYSELF- something I was beginning to feel I would never experience again! Kate is quite the host, she's looking after us almost too well.
But we don't get off scott-free! Oh no. She's holding a party here tomorrow night- a New-England Clam Bake, and we have our duties for the party well set out. We've already carved a whale out of a watermelon to hold the vodka-soaked fruit salad. His name is Davo, and he's my pride and joy at the moment- that whale kicks some serious butt. Tomorrow we're making bibs for everyone to wear as they eat their lobster and whatever other seafood they're cooking...

Anyway, it's wonderful here. It's wonderful to have someone tell us where to go and what to see for just a little while- not to be expected to know it all on our own. You miss a lot that way.
They took us to the theatre today, and we watched a play, which was really a lot of fun, and a nice change of pace from aimlessly walking around city streets. We've had many a conversation now with many an 'aged' person, and I'm loving it.

What I love even more is how comfortable and at ease I feel. I feel like I'm sitting at home with my family, and I love that I've reached a point in my life where I am comfortable enough with myself and with who I am, that I can be comfortable around other people. It makes for a much more meaningful and satisfying experience, and I can just embrace anything. It really opens the world up to you, when you're not always worrying about what someone is, or might be thinking about you. I've had so much fun, and been so happy and so much of that would not have been possible for me only a few months ago, because I would have been so wrapped up in worrying about doing things 'right' or being 'right'... and it's just such a waste of time and energy. Maybe that doesn't make sense in words, but I know what I'm saying in my heart, and I know it's good!

So, that is where I'm at now... We're here for about 5 more days, and then, we've revised our plans so that instead of staying in Boston and New Jersey for the remainder of our U.S. leg, we are going back to New York. We feel like we didn't have the knowledge, or I guess, the hindsight to do it properly, and to finish it satisfactorily, so we're having a break, and going back with the right ammunition to really make the most of it, and do it right. Then we're off to Holland, which I am pretty ultra-psyched for.

As maybe you can tell, it's pretty late right now, and I am kind of tired, and I don't edit these things before I post them- I just write and click. So, it is what it is... there you go.

I'm working on getting some photos up while I'm here- wish me luck!!

Thanks for reading...

Mad.

"Fingertips and Mountaintops..."

2009-07-05T18:08:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been a while since my last post... and the past days have seen the mountains, hills and prairies of Wyoming morph into skyscrapers, fire-escapes and masses of street-side garbage in New York. Right now I am sitting in an all female hostel in Harlem, where the workers live and share their space and time with the people who come to stay.

After my last post, Brooke and I weren't yet done with our hiking, and we walked for five hours in amongst the forest and canyons and waterfalls and raging rivers of the Grand Teton National Park. It was pretty special, which remains true of all of Wyoming, which is a place I will carry in my heart forever.

The day we left, I was ready to move on and see new things, but felt as though I was leaving behind a dear friend, or part of my family- it's becoming a habit for me lately, leaving behind things I love maybe a little too much...

We were heading out of Wyoming half-way through Thursday. We forgot to tip the shuttle driver, and he wasn't very happy with us. This tipping thing is something I'll never get a handle on, or feel comfortable with. As a rule of thumb, I just avoid anything that relies on the service of another human being, and then tips can be forgotten!

The plane we flew out of Jackson on was small enough to fit in a kid's toy-chest and drove right through the heart of a storm. We were thrown around like we were in a washing machine, only we came out feeling like dirty laundry rather than clean...

We had to transfer at Denver, but the bad weather that had just beaten us up wasn't finished messing with our day, and our flight to New York was delayed by about two hours. So in Denver we sat... and waited... we met some nice folks who were heading home, and proved to be like pretty much all Americans we've encountered and all too happy and excited to share stories, advice, guidance and ideas about their country.

I dropped the ball quite severely on the plane ride over to New York. I suddenly felt the size of the world I was moving about it, and wished for somewhere safe and warm I could crawl down into and soothe my over-stimulated mind. I felt like I was thrown into the middle of an ocean, with nothing around me to hold onto and keep my head up... so my only option was to tread water... but damn were my arms and legs tired.

Anyway, Bee saved us, she stepped up to the plate in epic proportions, and if she hadn't been there, I don't know what would have happened. I was this meek little shell of a person, and when we arrived in New York, already ten minutes after check-out closed for the night in our hostel, I was absolutely NO help, in any regard. She organised us a shuttle, which we nearly missed because our bags were not coming through the claim area, and we made yet another enemy in the public service sphere by not tipping the driver again- it's awfully hard to train your brain to habitually do something that you've never done before, never even thought about before. We ran around to locate an ATM because we had to pay the hostel in cash... and then we had to haul those bags us 7 flights of stairs, because, obviously, our room was on the top floor of a building with a lift that just didn't come when you pressed the button. Our three nights in that hostel saw our legs walk MANY a stair...

I woke the next morning ready for New York. I was going to do it, going to get out there and feel this place... but Bee was not quite so ready, as I had pretty successfully sucked all the life out of her the night before and left her with little to work with. We decided it best to ease into it, not rush ourselves... let New York grow on us, and seep into our skin, rather than try to cram it down our throats. We cruised around Times Square, the energy of which was pretty interesting. It feels exciting in the middle of the city, there is a lot of energy and movement, and you feel almost like there is this hot poker up your butt pushing you forward and forward and forward... like you can't stop moving or something will come up behind you and REALLY make you wish you hadn't. But even though your consumed with this energy and this drive, it makes you tired, makes you feel like your cells are... drooping.

We also checked out Central Park which was really interesting in that it feels like this little bubble floating above the city. You step in through the liquid walls and you're in another dimension. It really was like as soon as you step over the threshold, people are letting themselves breathe out, and not holding it all in their lungs anymore. Suddenly they can stop running, and let their bodies sigh and heave a little bit... it's really very nice in there, I loved the atmosphere.

That afternoon I lost it a little again, and felt like I was wasting my trip, wasting this opportunity, like I wasn't making everything I could out of it and constantly saturating myself with AMAZING sights and sounds and thoughts and events. I felt like I was letting myself down, like I could never be the kind of person who grabs the world by the throat and shakes everything out of it until they're completely satisfied, and completely whole.
I met a German man (Dan) and an Austrian woman (Manuella) in our dorm, and agreed to go out 'on the town' with them. So, we went. I felt pretty chuffed with myself, to be honest. I felt better, to be out, hitting the pubs in NEW YORK CITY. We got knocked back from one place, as we are underage in this country, but got into the next, and then the next, in which we went down into the basement and saw a live punk band. It was pretty cool... there is a real gritty, dense feel in the pubs. It feels very textured, like you could take a bite out of the air and chew it like toffee. I might not ever be the kind of person who feels the need to go out and pour grog down my throat and scream till my lungs hurt if I want anyone to hear me, but I felt good to have felt what it feels like to do that. I realised that night that I am the person that I am, but that does not mean I have to close myself off to everything that is not normally a factor in who that person is. I can feel content in myself, and in who I am, as long as I am open to everything, try things, let myself feel things that I maybe wouldn't have thought I wanted to feel beforehand, or that I was too scared to let myself feel beforehand. I feel like every single thing I see, hear, feel, touch, it may not all fill me with this other-wordly inspiration and wonder and sense of achievement, but I can feel it all adding layers to me. I can feel extra coats being brushed out over myself, new carpets being laid down... That's what counts I think. I think I need to stop expecting everything to be INCREDIBLE to be good, or to be worthwhile. Not everything has to turn my world upsidedown and inside out to be something that 'counts'.

Yesterday we woke incredibly late as a result of the night beforehand, and the day was pretty much over by the time we got out. We went down to Coney Island, which was pretty much a non-event. There was a Fourth of July festival there, so basically there were just a LOT of people, making RIDICULOUS amounts of mess, and a lot of muggy beach sun and air.
Then we went back uptown, and settled in for the night- on a closed off highway with MILLIONS of people who lined the road, the gutters, the sidewalk waiting for the Macy's Fourth of July fireworks. We waited I think around the four hour mark, and by the time they actually went off, there really were just millions of people gathered along this deserted highway by the river watching the lights in the sky. I could feel them like cannons firing in my legs, and I felt like I little girl lost in wonder at the fairy-dust exploding in the air.

After they finished, countless people turned on their heels, their joint motivation shifting from waiting, to getting the hell out of there. It was a pretty cool experience actually, as all these people joined as one, and I felt like I was a part of it, this organism that was totally united, and melting out into the streets of New York. Buses and cars and bikes were all stopped in their tracks as this entity decided it wouldn't be restricted to the sidewalk, and would instead take control of the roads.

The subway held more people than physics should have accepted, and I spent however long with my face pressed against other people's armpits and faces.
I slept like a log last night, nothing could shake me.

This morning we moved to the hostel I mentioned at the start, and we zipped over to Jersey to try and find some cheaper shopping. New York is all well and good for shopping if you have the extra cash for designer clothes and boutique dresses... but we're not really in that boat!
We had a bit of a cruise in the Upper West Side, Bleecker Street... and as Bee pointed out, you can very much tell what kind of area your in by looking at the cars that line the sidewalk, and my eyes saw a lot of Mercedez, and whatever other cars are fancy... I don't know.

But I really liked it in that area. It felt like the New York I expected. It felt richer... more pungent than Times Square and the places near there. It felt deeper and mustier... the kind of place where people could be inspired and creative and expressive. It made me want a cappucino so bad... oh how I miss cappucinos. Here they just drink brewed black coffee... anything else is super expensive, and lord knows what you're actually drinking if you get it, because the dairy situation over here is something out of this world. I think I got one proper coffee the day we landed in LA, and it was terrible, so I don't bother trying anymore, and if I need one, I just get their crappy-arse plunger coffee... can you tell it's getting on in the evening over here?

Anyway, tomorrow we're off to see the sites, the statue, Empire State Building, World Trade Center memorial... maybe we'll see the UN and City Hall, depends how much time we have. Staying in Harlem, we do kind of have to get back before dark...

So, that is all I have to report. As you can see, we haven't been up to anything much 'New Yorky' during our time in New York, but we've still got about a week here before we (hopefully) head down to stay with a woman Brooke knows in Pennsylvania. So, there's plenty of time!
I wanted to put some photos up today, but we can't do it at this hostel... maybe the next... we'll see.

Hope I wasn't too boring, or too detailed!

I miss everyone SO much. I've cried quite a few times now...

Sending lots of love, and lots of thoughts.

Mad.

"Down The Rabbit Hole..."

2009-06-29T11:49:00.000-07:00

A week has just passed since I left Australia.
It feels like it went so fast, but I also feel like I've been gone forever... We've packed a fair bit in over the past week, so I'll do my best to touch on the most important experiences.

We landed in L.A on Sunday morning, after a 14 hour plane ride. As we stepped out of the subway onto Hollywood Boulevard, I felt myself, and Brooke next to me shrink to the size of ants. It was huge. Huge, loud and hollow.
The walking man on the traffic lights is white instead of our green, and that pretty much sums up the way I see L.A- all the nature and life sucked out of it, with only the outer, transient shell remaining. It sure was interesting, but not a place I want to return to any time soon.
L.A and I did not get on, out personalities do not gel!
So we saw the sites, the Chinese Theatre, the Walk of Fame... all that jazz. But it wasn't satisfying, and I was happy when we got on the bus on Monday night to head up to Wyoming.

What followed was an EPIC bus ride to Jackson. 23.45 Monday-4.30 Tuesday was the ride to Las Vegas, 7.30 Tuesday-17.10 Tuesday was the trip up to Salt Lake City, 18.15-22.45 we were heading over to Idaho Falls, and then 6.30 Wednesday we set off for Jackson, Wyoming, where we arrived at 8.30. On the bus we saw the Nevada desert which crackled out for an eternity; as we made our way into Utah, the desert mountains grew a soft green down on their tips and their crannies; and as we came through Idaho the landscape suddenly got cooler and deeper, like a dried out sponge that had been dipped in icy water.

When we stepped off the bus in Wyoming, I felt a physical sense of relief, and of belonging. It's SO beautiful here. The land is perfect and dazzling, and the air carries in it an acceptance and trust. I feel like I'm where I'm meant to be, like I'm looked after, safe and warm. Wyoming feels like a big bear hug (although, maybe I'm jinxing myself mentioning bear hugs in a place like this...).

So, we're staying in Teton Village, nearly half an hour from Jackson. It's lovely there, even if it is very touristy. The entire economy around here is pretty much based on tourism, because the land isn't all that agriculturally friendly. Teton Village is also a resort town, so we're surrounded pretty much by middle-aged rich people who've come out to get their photo in front of Old Faithful or the Grand Canyon of Yellowstone. I sound jaded, but I'm not. It's perfectly lovely, and everyone is very friendly.

Anyway, here are some of the things we've gotten up to:

We caught a lift to the top of one of the mountains behind our village. Brooke was petrified, but she trooped through like a champion. It was foggy and overcast that day, so for a portion of the 12 minute lift trip, we were completely surrounded by white, and for all we knew, we were just sitting there in a vibrating cabin. But then we came up over the clouds and into the sun- it was so beautiful. One of the children in the cabin said "It looks like a bowl of icecream!", and it did, a bowl of icecream with majestic mountains tucked into its folds. So, there we were, at the top of a mountain, snow and ice in summer, the world below us, moutains all around us. I can't quite describe how it made me feel, but it was perfect.
Then- we hiked down it. 12 kilometres, it took us three hours- but we sure did take our time.
As we came down, the landscape changed from rock, snow and ice to a lucious green, perfect and vibrant little flowers, mountain streams... what a place I'm in! It's pretty dang special!

We went on a little walk one afternoon. It was perfectly sunny, until a wind hissed up really, just out of nowhere, and it started pissing down hail stones the size of peas. We had to make it back to out hostel in this... the wind was like walking against a sheet of cast iron being pushed against us, and the hail was like a million needles being stabbed into my legs. I had bruises all over me!
It was pretty exciting. I got a little jazzed actually. I never would have gone out in that at home, and logically so I guess, but it made me feel... human... to have nature sucker-punch me a little.

The other night, we were off to the rodeo! I made Brooke wear matching 'cowboy' shirts with me, it was so damn cool! It certainly was an experience. Everything anyone ever said a rodeo was, it pretty much is. A whole lot of cowboys, doing cowboy-ey things. I was glad to have seen it. I have throw a bit of a wet blanket over the whole thing, and say I was a little upset about the animal side of things. Picking calves up and throwing them at the ground to tie their feet- kicking the horses and the bulls in the butts to rile them up so they'll buck harder, and all for the entertainment of what was ostensibly a bunch of tourists... it's not really ok. What was satisfying to me was that I could go there, and I could see that, and I could feel in my gut that I knew it was wrong... I have a strong opinion about something that is based on actual, practical experience of the world and the things that happen in it, and I'm not just spouting other people's words when I express an idea or an opinion.
Also, the cowboys were damn cool, and there was one particularly sexy one who rode that bull like... I don't even know like what, but I wanted him to build us a house to live in! Maybe he'd retire from bull-kicking if he had a woman to build a house for... sigh...

Yesterday, we went to Yellowstone National Park. We had wanted to explore it on our own, but America was just not designed in favour of people without their own car, and Wyoming even more so. Our only option to see the park, was to pay about $150 for a guided tour. I wasn't all that big on the idea of having this experience to a schedule based around getting a quick snap of yourself in front of as many sites as possible, which is what it essentially was. So, even though it was not idea, the fact is that without a car we would not have seen anything, and I got so very, very much out of my trip to Yellowtone, and the incredible things I saw there, even if I was being herded back onto a bus before I could totally melt into a place.
Wyoming is incredibly diverse in it's landscape. There are these massive, sweeping prairies, and sloping deep-green hills; there are huge and stark rocky mountains with snow and ice draped over them... and then there are places like those in Yellowstone. It's like another planet. Hot springs that shoot massive pillars of water and steam into the sky, pits of churning, boiling mud, pools of torquiose coloured water that lets of this sky-blue and baby-pink steam and are edged with this brilliant orange stone, waterfalls that rage with a strength I've never seen before and canyons made of stone that look like someone's spilled their pastel container all over the place. And then there are praries again, and still, crystal lakes, and pastures that are so green you feel like you've never seen green before.
Yesterday we saw moose, elk, a massive bull elk, deer, bison and at the end of the day, we totally saw a bear!! It was pretty special.
While I was in Yellowstone, and it's true too for the rest of the Wyoming landscape, I feel almost like I'm standing in my own heart, like all the things I've ever felt, they're here in this place, made into stone and grass and trees. It's like I've found this place where I can see, touch, smell and taste in the air my own soul. Ok... I'm sounding a little corny, but it really is AMAZING here.
I'll definately come back here one day, and that's what made me feel better about sitting on that tour bus, on which, as we pulled into Old Faithful Geyser, the tour guide actually SAID "the tallest part of the plume is in the first 25 seconds, so just get your photo of that and come right back over into the bus"... oh my... I also cannot BELIEVE just how many people there were there, in that park. Seriously, thousands upon thousands of tourists and their cameras. I felt a little dirt being one of them.
When I come back, I'll go out on the trails and camp where the people aren't, and it will be wonderful!

So I've been rambling a little about stuff that's maybe a little boring to people who aren't me! We've had a couple of funny little moments, but I don't know if any are worth relaying. People are friendly for the most part... they like us to mention that we're on a trip, so they can tell us all about their own trips, and all the places they've been! A guy in a bakery gave us a free sticky-bun, a guy in a supermarket gave us discounts on our food even though we didn't have the 'special discount card'... lots of people tell us how 'brave' we are and how 'lucky' we are, and the latter is something I am certainly feeling a lot. I'll never have a chance like this EVER again in my life, to do whatever I want within the world, with nothing holding me back except myself. And I'm going to make the most of it.

I miss home a lot. It is hard. There have been a couple of nights lying in the hostel room where ALL I've wanted was to be in my loungeroom with my family around me. It's lonely not having the people you love right there to hug you and talk to you. But it's for all of them that I have to make sure I have the best time I can! Because I don't want to waste it, I don't want to be away from them for a big fat nothing.

So, I've never written a blog before. There was my first attempt. I don't know how it went... but there you have it.

I miss everyone... so very much. I'm also having a ball, and I wish with all my might that I could share it with you all... because when you love someone, you want to share the special things with them!

Ok... I'm signing off now... I'll write again most likely from New York City, where we are headed in three days...

Goodbye, from Jackson Wyoming!!

Mad.