Archive for the ‘Bohemian’ Category

please stand behind the yellow line

October 7, 2011

I was walking around London the other night with my head in the clouds, thinking about a thousand things (what to make for dinner, an upcoming birthday, emails that need answering, a roll of film to pick up, why we get goosebumps* and all that jazz) when I realized that my feet had taken me to my destination all by their lonesome. There I was, at Fulham Broadway Station, without really knowing how I got there. And then it hit me — I have just entered my 4th month of living in London and it’s only now beginning to feel like home. Everybody told me that it takes about 6 months to get used to a new place but when you’re plagued with doubt in that first month of transition — why, oh why, did I ever leave home? — it’s hard to believe that you will ever get accustomed. But you do. You adapt and before you know it, you don’t have to pull out a map or check your GPS to know exactly where you are going.

I’ve been to four weddings and a funeral since I’ve arrived in London (true). I’ve seen several plays, attended discussions on topics ranging from millinery to the cosmos and the psyche. I’ve seen the mole man’s house and I’ve been to photo exhibits and dinner parties and picnics in the park. I’ve had more cider than I can count in just as many pubs. I’ve traveled up to Scotland and down to Cornwall, saw shooting stars while camping by the river Wye and watched hot air balloons float above Bristol by dawn. I swam in the ponds of Hamptead Heath and the fairy pools of Skye. And I went from being in a long distance relationship to learning how to be in a “real” relationship. It’s been a wild and amazing summer, no doubt about it.

But the biggest lesson I’ve learned this summer is that whatever seems impossible on the onset, all the little things you fear, those things that scare you stiff and stop you from moving forward and make you want to stay rooted where you are… they disappear with time. And it’s only when you look back on the past that you realize how much you’ve conquered. And the only way you can get to the other side is through. And the more often you go through, the easier it becomes and the more you trust at the next onset  that everything is going to be alright in the end. And so… you jump. Knowing that you have the safety net from all your previous jumps to catch you.

And that’s where goosebumps come from.

* Goose bumps are the bumps on a person’s skin at the base of body hairs which may involuntarily develop when a person is cold or experiences strong emotions such as fear, nostalgia, pleasure, awe or admiration. They are created when tiny muscles at the base of each hair, known as arrectores pilorum, contract and pull the hair erect. The reflex is started by the sympathetic nervous system,which is responsible for many fight-or-flight responses. Source: Wikipedia

Jeanine Caron is a regular contributor to Gypsy Girl’s Guide.

5 Comments | Add a Comment | 
Posted in Bohemian

Cue Theme Music

September 20, 2011

{Taken in front of the Pantheon in Rome, October 1990}

“Fortune favors the bold.” ~Pliny the Elder

I’m back on the topic of Italy again as I prepare for another flight across the Atlantic. Since this has been a more frequent topic of conversation lately, I’ve had the chance to share a few stories from the last time I was in Rome, which was on my first overseas journey in 1990 for a six-week backpacking adventure with my best friend. After exploring places like Paris, Munich, and Florence together, I decided to go further south in Italy, and ended up taking a few days in Rome on my own. And it was there that I had a transcendent experience with a can of Coca-Cola.

If you’ve never gone backpacking through Europe on a college student budget, here’s a quick snapshot:  You sleep in hostels, where you may or may not have your own room and your nearest bathroom is likely down the hall. Your diet consists of bread, pizza, and water. If you are in Munich for Oktoberfest, the only other addition to that diet will be beer. You get around on public transportation and on foot, and the majority of your entertainment is nothing more than people-watching. You wash your clothes in the sink, and you carry your own tissues to avoid having to pay for toilet paper in public restrooms.

In other words, it’s a blast.

By the time I reached Rome in the fall of 1990, I had been traveling for over a month. I made a new friend within an hour of arriving in the city – that’s another part of the backpacking experience, fellow backpackers are your instant friends – so had someone to pal around with for my first couple of days there, but after he left I was on my own for another day. I walked all over the city, stumbled upon the Coliseum by accident (such a thrill!), and finished the day enjoying a rather chatty few hours sitting on the Spanish Steps. (Tip for the introverts out there – if you’re looking for a place to sit in a quiet, meditative space for a spell, head somewhere else. It’s a friendly bunch over there!)

That day, sitting I don’t even remember where, I decided it was time to splurge – big time. It was a gorgeous, sunny day, I had the entire afternoon to myself, the crowds were happy, and I was thirsty. And there was only one beverage that would satisfy me:  Coca-Cola.

I’ve had plenty of cans of Coke since then, but my memories of consuming them vanished the instant I took the last sip. It is only this one – from a sunny day in Rome when I was 22 years old – that has stayed with me. It probably cost no more than two dollars – a mighty sum when trying to find places to sleep for only twenty – but it was an expense that made me feel downright regal. The bright red logo, the cold, metallic can, and the spectacularly sweet bubbly goodness that I savored from my very first sip to the last swoosh down my throat. Every gulp was confirmation that I had what it took to live a life of bold dreams and fierce independence. I decided to risk my budget and throw caution to the wind, and all it took to satisfy that longing was one can of Coca-Cola. Who knew such a simple purchase could inspire such bravado? Who knew it would end up being one of the most delicious moments on a journey jam-packed with what was new and exciting and exhausting and exhilarating?

But that is the joy of travel – the unexpected twists and the unanticipated gifts that lay waiting in the smallest of spaces – as small as a twelve ounce can, as brief as a swig of soda.

Christine Mason Miller is an artist, writer and explorer. Her next book – Desire to Inspire:  Using Creative Passion to Transform the World - is coming this November. She’s pondering a stop in India as part of her book tour.

6 Comments | Add a Comment | 
Posted in Bohemian, Delicious, Fearless, Fun, Nomad

Dear conflicted land

June 6, 2011

A Farewell Letter to Israel

Anemones blooming in the southern Negev desert

Dear conflicted land,

You are so small that one can drive through you listening to just one radio station. You have not been the homiest of homes to me, but here I am, having left you after 9 months, and listening to Galgalatz FM through the internet, hoping to still feel connected to you through the sound of familiar commercials.

Dear Be’er Sheva, in the south of the country, perched in the Negev desert. Your children break my heart. In the absence of toys in my old neighborhood, toddlers climb into the cages that hold the recycling and compete to free the bottles from captivity. That is, when they are not running up and down the stairs, mimicking the sound of sirens and playing “rocket attack.” Teenagers set the trash on fire. Little Ethiopian girls at the immigrant absorption center next door tie socks into a ball, attach a string to it, fasten the toy to a lamp post and kick it around all day. Do-it-yourself soccer on a leash. Meanwhile, their siblings giggle while pulling the tape out of old cassettes. My memories of my Be’er Sheva neighborhood will forever be entangled in sock balls and strings of tape.

Dear conflicted land, I did walk through you. Over barbed wire fences, through the wheat fields and olive groves, through Bedouin towns, Druze towns, Palestinian towns, Israeli kibbutzim. The adjectives matter here, and many of them carry connotations of displacement, dispossession, disillusionment.  Just as I am ready to opine and decide and empathize, you remind me that everyone has a story of loss here.  You have at times muted me with your contradictions, but what better reminder of empathy than the realization of shared and common suffering, shared and common dreams?

Dear conflicted land, you have desensitized me to the sight of weapons. I am used to drinking my coffee in the accompaniment of an armed guard or boarding a bus with the butt of a soldier’s gun pushing against my ribcage. I have fallen asleep to the sound of helicopters overhead and have woken up to the sound of sirens, only to land on my neighbor’s doorstep as I tumble down the stairs to the bomb shelter.

You have scared me and scarred me, but also nourished me. I dream about falafel now. I lust after it in ways I did not think were possible for what is essentially a deepfried ball of mushed chickpeas. I appreciate the hint of coconut in the iced coffee at Aroma cafe — it is just the kind of hint that makes a cafe one’s own, and a place a home. I already miss the Coca Cola ice pops that cost under a dollar. And, just before leaving, I finished my first bowl of hummus all on my own. You have taught me well.

Most of all, you have nourished me with beauty, kindness and love. I have chased anemones blooming in the desert and have witnessed a full, pink moon rising over the Dead Sea. I have touched three different seas in one day and have experienced the magic and spell of Jerusalem at sunset. If for no other reason, I will cherish my time there because for every time that my faith in humanity was shaken, the world created another opportunity to believe in the kindness of strangers and the power of love.

And so I leave you, conflicted land, in sadness, in love, in nostalgia.

Yours,

Roxanne

Roxanne Krystalli is a regular contributor to Gypsy Girls Guide.

10 Comments | Add a Comment | 
Posted in Bohemian, Nomad, Soulful