Bach

Today, I am exceptionally happy. There is a very specific kind of joy that occurs when one wakes up in hostel. Especially when it is the rising sun that wakes you. Despite the fact that today it was a migraine, not the sun, that woke me, my delight with finally being on my way could not be dampened. The fantastic introduction to Newcastle that I had yesterday carried it’s energy into the early morning hours. What a joy it was to debrief with myself on yesterday’s adventures while on my walk to this marvelously vintage cafe. The salt air purified my lungs as I joined the other early risers at this fantastic find of a coffee shop.

This is a prime writing setting for me. Rustic wooden tables, plush leather couches and chairs, the menu detailed in colorful chalk, set in antique wood frames, a busy espresso machine chattering away, and a perfectly eclectic mix of The Drifters, Marvin Gaye, Al Green, Ray Charles, and other geniuses coming through on the speakers. My favorite little accent of the place: an aged Bach composition inlaid within what looks like an old door (pictured above).

I take a moment to notice and be grateful for all of these things while I compose in my mind a summary of the latter half of yesterday…

I stepped off the train yesterday afternoon and found my hostel, just three blocks away, with incredible ease. The woman at reception was nothing but kind and inviting, and upon entering my room I met a bubbly American who - as I found out within minutes - is infatuated with Australia and doesn’t plan on ever returning to the States. She commented with relief that she was so glad to meet a “calm American” (it’s no wonder that she thought so, I couldn’t get a word in edge-wise). I welcomed the compliment, exchanged FB info with her and left for the beach. Within about 45 seconds I was at the water’s edge and began meandering in a southern direction. It was drizzling and I was cold in my denim shorts, but I zipped up my rain jacket and pushed on. Despite the cloud-cover, the water was still turquoise and gorgeous. I was enchanted.

Then I came across a sign that said “Bogey Hole”. I thought, “Well, that sounds gross.” Intrigued, I wandered over to the steel staircase that it pointed to and looked down. There was a large, natural cerulean blue swimming hole, nearly flush with sea level. Waves were crashing over the sides, spraying the two men who were braving the chilly waters. I went down to the edge and dipped my toes in. I debated… One of the two men asked me if I was going to get in. Well, I thought, I WAS wearing my swimsuit. Thinking, thinking… “YOLO!”

I climbed into the frigid liquid and am SO glad I did! I ended up befriending the two men (a Filipino and Colombian architecture students) while we stood at the edge of the Bogey Hole, grasping the rusted railing as the waves smashed against the walls sending a salty spray all over us. The dolphins that were jumping in the waves just a few hundred yards from us added to the magic of it all.

Just as we decided we couldn’t take any more of the cold, the sun came out. We got out and dried off and I ignored that little voice in my head that said, “Don’t get into a car with strangers.” Again, SO glad I did! They drove me around pretty much the entirety of Newcastle, we got pizza and beer at two different locations, both with excellent views. It was laid back and lovely. I ended the night at my hostel cozied up with a book, snuggled in my PJ’s, and no complaints.

Confessions of an Optimistic Masochist

Monday, February 17, 2014

I’m beginning to wonder if a love for traveling implies a certain degree of masochism. Between unreliable buses, being delayed by the love-confessions of fat, old Lebanese men, the platform you’ve alighted upon from your first train being a quarter of a mile from the platform you think you need for your second train, by the time you get to it, they announce on the intercom that your train is departing from a platform even deeper into the station - well, it’s a wonder we get anywhere at all. It’s even more of a wonder that when we arrive at our destination, we’re game to repeat the process all over again in a matter of days.

Especially when this process includes (more often than not) frantic searches for toilets with comically dissatisfying results. I believe the intercity trains in Australia were built before obesity was a diagnosis and when people had possessions so few in number that they required little more than a knapsack as their luggage. I consider myself a small individual, with a bag of a comparable size. Imagine, then, the size of the loo when you picture me and my pack squeezing between the door and the sink like a feral cat escaping between two fence posts. I felt like Harry Potter in his first experience with Floo Powder; collapsing into a dank environment, choking on the air and blinking in the darkness. It was all I could do to not bang my knees on the wall and smack my forehead on the sink as I desperately bent into a squat position to relieve my anxious bladder.

As I stood to pull - with difficulty - my leggings up my thighs, which were now covered with a sheen of sweat due to the uncanny temperature in this dungeon, I saw a sign on the sink. “Do NOT drink the water from the tap.” Well if I can’t drink it, then should I stick my hands in it, since those are the things I eat with? I looked at the wetness of the floor, considered why it might be as wet as it was, then thought about the fact that the clumsy hands who’s bad aim resulted in such dampness also had to touch the handle of the door in order to exit - most likely without washing first. One more glance at the sink and I decided: What’s the point? I wormed my way out of prison and stumbled into the open air with a gasp of relief.

Praise God for hand sanitizer.

One would think that all of the luggage-juggling, inconveniences, and unpleasant surprises would deter a person from even attempting such as feat as travel, but like I’ve said: masochism. Not any old masochist would get enjoyment out of these experiences. No, you must be an optimistic one; one with the ability to smile at potentially frustrating conundrums and say, “It’s all part of the adventure!”

An Irresistible Force

I mentioned the word “tapestry” in my previous post. This brought to mind something that my father wrote. Something that I believe, biased though I may be, is the one of the greatest descriptions of love and connection that I have ever read. He wrote this about my mother, his little hummingbird, and I want to share it with you:

“‘What are you doing?”, I asked. “Nothing. I’m just sitting here.” Just sitting there! When did she ever just sit there? A pile of laundry just sits there. You look at it, it occupies space, maybe pricks your conscience a bit, but it wields no more power over you than the damp wash rags buried deep within its musty mass. No, “just sitting here” is beyond the realm of possibility where she is concerned. Even in her deepest sleep she radiates an energy… a magnetic force that renders one incapable of merely observing her in passing. A casual, disinterested, glance in her direction is impossible. As she just sat there, I found myself a helpless victim of that immutable law. It is a law of nature, much like that of gravity. Except this law seems to have been written solely for her and me. I found myself playing the role of Sir Isaac Newton’s apple, inexorably drawn by an irresistible force.

As I helplessly yielded to this law, I began to notice that the force which drew me was not monolithic in nature. It was a tapestry. Each fibre of energy had its own color and texture. If unraveled from its weave, the fibre still stood, vibrant and beckoning. Calling for the observer’s eye, insisting on being absorbed.

I found I could shift my perspective within this magnetic tapestry. As I drew back, I would be struck by the full strength of the weave, each individual fibre bonding with its neighbor to produce that force against which I had no will. If I moved in close, I could focus on the individual fibres. From this perspective I was able to enjoy the uniqueness and beauty of each one, without being buffeted by the sheer power of the whole.

This discovery merely complicated my happy dilemma: Do I move in close and lull about in the individual fibres of energy, as they roll over me, or do I step back and exhilarate in the power of the force as it reaches toward me, all components woven together, drawing me to her, helpless in the irresistible grasp of its totality?

No, she is incapable of “just sitting here.” She is as powerless in controlling her irresistible force as I am in resisting it. She can no more save me from it than I can break free from its grasp.

And yet, if we could, I seriously doubt that we would.”

- Mike Lindemann

The woman who has mastered the secret will not wait for ideal surroundings; she will not wait until next year, next decade, until she gets rich, until she can travel abroad … but she will make the most out of life today, where she is. Paradise is here or nowhere. You must take your joy with you or you will never find it.

Orison Swett Marden

I challenge you...

I’m feeling a strange combination of comfortable and stir-crazy. I quite honestly don’t have the emotional energy to dissect that statement. It is what it is. And as such, that is, as it is something which IS, then it is something which one can draw lessons from. Every aspect of a situation, whether positive, negative, or even neutral, can contribute to the rich tapestry that makes up one’s experiences. Every nuance of a circumstance provides subject matter for the person doing the experiencing to reflect upon. I suppose this is a relative statement, because for it to be true it requires the person to be - at least to a small degree - introspective. Something that I would know nothing about. Ha…

I have no profound conclusion to this thought process, other than perhaps a gentle challenge to my readers: Wherever you are right now in your life, I encourage you to enter into the headspace of mindfulness at various moments of your daily routine. In other words, consciously consider the information that each of your five senses is receiving at any given moment. I promise you that you will begin to notice things that were previously overlooked. Hopefully the result will be a surprising amount of enjoyment in simplicity.

Dirty Feet, Books, & Snuggles

I have been very fortunate - very blessed - to have had the opportunity to stay with my family in a beautifully grand home where I am not in want for a single comfort. It has provided me the opportunity to save some money at the beginning of my trip, and has given me an altogether incredibly consistent routine. I go to bed at nearly the same time every day, and likewise rise around the same time every morning, always getting at least 8 hours of sleep. Sometimes ten. I only have to pay for my transportation - sometimes - and for my lunches. Also - sometimes. There is always someone who knows my whereabouts, what my plans are for the day, how I enjoyed my day at the end of it, and how I slept. I’ve watched many movies and not one time by myself. I have had an amazing amount of time to focus on taking care of my body via exercise and yoga, and have had time left over for writing and socializing with new-found friends. I wake up in a room to myself to a sunny view of Botany Bay every day, and go to sleep listening to the wind in trees and the bats that live in them. (Yes, bats. They’re everywhere! They love figs.) For all of these things, I am incredibly grateful.

However…

I’m ready to be in a place where I’m unsure of my surroundings, where perhaps the shower isn’t always hot, where I have to clean my clothes in the same place I clean my body, where I am an exciting, new stranger to everyone. I want to live out of my backpack for awhile, wearing the same five outfits week in and week out. I want to run out of shampoo and have to borrow someone else’s. I want to be unsure of where my next meal is coming from. I want to go to bed with dirty, tired feet that have traveled far and made amazing discoveries along the way. And I want this bed to be a bunk bed, sharing a room with other bunk beds; bunk beds that are full of other exciting, new strangers with dirty, tired feet. People with stories to tell, who’s stories make me feel like a novice traveller. People who are only sure of the importance of love and life experience, and are unsure of everything else, even their next step. It is these people whom I feel I belong with… They are people without belonging. People who are free of that desirous attachment that anchors so many of us in one place. People who, by letting go, have found that which they want to hold onto the most; that which they want to live for.

This is just what I want for my travels. For when I return to Portland… I want to have a varied schedule. One that is consistently unpredictable and keeps me on my toes. One where I have to be crafty to get my yoga sessions in. I want to work dayshift, so at least my sleep borders on normal… At this point I am eager for a lil studio apartment all to myself. A place of rest where I am surrounded by art and books and color and light. I desire nothing in excess; I long for simplicity. So much of what we need in life is not tangible, and those things that are, are fairly straightforward. Food, water, shelter - a warm place to lay your head. These are rights and also privileges, and anything else is an added blessing. With these basic things, and my loved ones close by, I cannot think of a single, extra thing that I would be in need of.