Archive for the ‘Bohemian’ Category

cinque terre: paradise on earth

March 17, 2011

My lovely baby sister is coming over for dinner tonight. Having just returned from Cinque Terre, she has the post-vacation blues so I’ve invited her to come regale me with tales of Italy over a glass of wine and a bowl of pasta. I can’t wait!  Naturally, I am reminded of my own visit to this stretch of colorful villages along the Mediteranean coast, which I share with you today.

Journal entry – March 23, 2009

Remember this moment.  This is a perfect moment.  Everything you ever wanted, you have, right here.  You are surrounded by beauty.  You haven’t a care in the world.  You are living one of your biggest dreams.  You are free to be who you want to be and do what you want to do.  The Mediterranean (the freaking Me-di-ter-ra-nean… te rends-tu compte?) is crashing far below, a warm salty wind blows, multicolored homes cling to the edge of Corniglia’s cliffs, and olive groves shield a carpet of yellow flowers behind you.  You are enjoying a picnic of buccellato bread from Taddeuci’s,  pepperoncini cheese from Cortona (the tangy flavor of aged cheese pairs so perfectly with the subtle sweetness of the bread) and of course, the ever present bottle of red.  You are in shorts and a tank top, your hair is in pigtails, an orange butterfly flutters by before being carried away by the ocean breeze.  These are the makings of paradise on earth.  You think of everyone you love, everyone who has guided you to this moment… you can’t even process all that has happened in the past 23 days.  You are living magic.  Pay close attention.  Soon, it will all be gone.  Are you present?

Within moments of arriving at the Manarola train station, I unload my bags at the hostel, lace my hiking shoes and hit Cinque Terre’s famous sentiero no. 2.  Cinque Terre is part of the UNESCO World Heritage List and comprises five small colorful coastal villages teetering on steep hillsides, surrounded by a national park.  From north to south the villages of Monterosso, Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola and Riomaggiore are connected by 12km of walking trails.

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It is an estimated 5-hour walk to Monterosso, with a total elevation difference of 500 meters between the highest and lowest points of the trail.  The climate is ocean-front arid.  Vegetation is stunted by wind and salt.  Geckos and lizards, brown and green, scurry under ground cover.  Cacti and giant aloe and flowers of every shape and color pepper the terraced hills.   At one point along the hike, a snake falls from a tree within inches of my foot.  It hisses at me, presumably for being in its way, then slithers into a rock crevice.

An old man in overalls gingerly works his small patch of lemon trees. When I stray from the narrow path, he points me in the right direction.  I continue walking, past vineyards and olive groves and fruit orchards and gated gardens, up steep hills and the 400 steps to Corniglia, down through sun warmed pine forests with rock walls and cool creeks then back into the open with spectacular seaside views.  And always, below, far below… is the glittering indigo.

In Vernazza, I grab a pana cotta gelato and nearly fall flat on my face when two men whistle at me and call out bella.  Of course I would trip, right there, in front of them, because apparently I not only put the ass in class back home, I bring it with me everywhere I go.  The ball of pana cotta precariously tips to the side of my cone and I save it from plummeting to the ground by scooping the entire thing in my mouth in one clean swoop….  as I’m falling, people.  This takes significant skill and dedication to the gelato cause (and it also gives me major brain freeze).  I may have nearly broken my face and lost my dignity on those steps but I sure as hell didn’t lose my gelato.

The sun starts to set as I approach Monterosso.  I arrive at the station around 6:30, just in time for my train.  In fact, I run to catch it and marvel at how lucky my timing is that I’m not stuck waiting an hour for the next train.  I plop myself down on the seat and realize moments after the door closes that I left my iPod at the ticket counter.   Porca vacca! Literal translation: pig cow.  Actual meaning: crap! As in crap!  I just lost my life line (I know it sounds silly but my tunes are part of my survival kit.)  I get off at the next station 5 minutes away, buy a ticket back to Monterosso and wait 10 minutes for the train.  The clock ticks very slooooooowly.  I finally get back to Monterosso and hear someone shout “Signora” as I race towards the ticket office.  The woman behind the counter is waving my iPod behind the window.  Grazie, grazie mille.  Sweet, sweet fortuna.

So here I am, at the station, in the dark, waiting for 7:24 to roll around.  Luckily, I still have bread, cheese, wine, a notebook and my tunes.  Oh well! I have to wait 40 minutes.  What am I going to do, stomp my feet in the land of la dolce vita? I think not.

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

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Posted in Bohemian, Places

Tiny Devotions + giveaway!

February 4, 2011


guest post by Diana Charabin of Tiny Devotions

I have for some time self described myself as “part gypsy and part CEO.”

Both of these characteristics I can proudly thank my parents for – my father a successful CEO of a thriving company and my mother an artist and self-proclaimed healer who dreams of angels and paintbrushes.

My parents always supported my sister and I in two major areas: education and travel. I remember in high school convincing them that my school’s science trip to Equador would help me improve my science grades (they totally bought in to my story).

My love for seeing the world has taken me on a myriad of adventures including surfing in Costa Rica, dogsledding in Norway, Backpacking in Thailand, Meditating in Bali and various other rich and self defining experiences.

After finishing my undergraduate degree I was given the opportunity to study law in Australia. I had never really wanted to be a lawyer but I had ALWAYS wanted to learn how to surf, live on the coast and visit Australia. Having the responsibilities of completing a law degree did not seem too daunting when paired with the idea of a three year of adventures in a foreign land.

My professional gypsy days began once setting my feet down under. Being so far away from home had the most surprising effect for me – I started deeply exploring who I really was. Every moment spent outside of the law school was spent in exploration. One day I was a painter, the next day a photographer. I could be a writer by day and a yogi by night. Living on the other side of the world helped me connect with myself and commit to being authentic with who I really am.

After finishing school in Australia – managing to bring home a law degree amongst my jam packed photo album of hikes, day trips, epiphanies, surf adventures, music festivals and memories – I made a two month pit stop in Indonesia where I began crafting mala beads. This was absolutely, positively never in “the plan” but as life goes – when we Gypsy Girls align with our heart the universe tends to throw amazing and otherwise unbelievable opportunities our way. When we live inspired lives, we are given only support to continue inspiring those around us.

Mala beads are meditation necklaces that have been worn for thousands of years in some form in nearly every tradition. However, for me mala beads are also about following your dreams and being a true Gypsy Girl, whether you are on the road or in the office, as long as you are living an intention based life.

Today Tiny Devotions is offering a special mala giveaway! “Like” Tiny Devotions on Facebook or “follow” @tinydevotions on Twitter, and comment under this post by Sunday 2/6 11pm PST, telling us which is your favorite mala, to be in the run to win a mala with the intention of your choice.

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Posted in Bohemian, Giveaways, Soulful

all aboard!

January 20, 2011

If you’ve read my blog, you likely know of my fondness for train tracks and rail yards. There’s just something about them. I don’t know what it is exactly. Something about walking towards that vanishing point where the rails seem to come together, where, if you stretch your imagination far enough, you can almost see Stazione di Roma Termini’s departures & arrivals board, flipping times and destinations like something from the past. It sounds like the shuffling of a deck of cards, a flapping of wings, a thousand footsteps echoing on the platforms, of travelers coming and going in all directions…  and I long to be one of them.

The mere thought of traveling by train sends me into a rêverie. Coasts and countries connected by rails, cutting across the landscape. Train travel feels like a Billie Holiday song and a black & white movie. Because not only does the train take you from point A to B, there is also that sense of being transported to another time. Everything about the train holds a certain romance for me. From the classic grand stations with giant clocks reminding you that you have somewhere to be, to the vaulted ceilings and arched glass paneled roofs bathing platforms in natural light, to the subtle smell of oil in the air and the voices over the intercom announcing delays in various languages. Or remote stations/halts in the country with tall grass poking out between wooden rails and the only sound being that of the crows in deep guttural conversation. Sad aurevoirs (I miss the days when one could wave a scarf out of an open window as the locomotive left the station) and passionate hellos. Newspaper & snack stands, ticket booths, waiting rooms. I love it all.

And all that happens before the journey has even begun. Simply stepping onto a platform at a railway station feels like you are about to embark on a grand adventure. The announcement says “The next service for Newton Abbott will leave from platform 3 at 12:22” and then the train departs with a whistle and everything slowly recedes as it chugs forward and the whoo whoo echoes the way you feel. A melancholy mélange, a strange yearning for what you left behind and little bursts of excitement for what is yet to come. The attendant punches your ticket confirming that you are indeed on a sentimental journey. And then, the next 2, 3 or 10 hours are yours to simply breathe and do as you please. You could be on an express train and still have the feeling that everything has slowed down. Maybe you go to the café in the next car over for coffee and a croissant, or perhaps you prefer to grab a bottle of wine and a notebook from your backpack. The prerogative is yours. While everyone else is plugged into iPhones and iPods and iPads and newspapers and magazines, I am personally quite content gazing out the window at the ever-changing landscape, which is different everywhere you go and with every season you travel: tall city buildings, suburban back yards, rolling hills flattening to farmers’ fields, cows & magpies, running rivers, quiet lakes, vineyards and old villas and cherry trees with pink blossoms blowing in the wind.  The train stops, people get off, new people get on. And the journey continues.

I think The Meeting Place, a bronze statue of a couple locked in a loving embrace under the clock at St. Pancras station in London, best evokes the romance of train travel; that feeling of arriving home after a long journey or the sense that you are about to embark on one.

And with enough imagination, you can almost hear the chooga-chooga-chooga sound of the locomotive taking off.

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

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Posted in Bohemian, Nomad