BananaFish Tails

Colombia does Carnaval [really well]

2011-03-15T12:15:00.000-07:00

Carnaval is quickly shaping up to be my favorite holiday. Four days of music, dance, parades, costumes and street parties in some foreign local? YES, thank you! While I've never experienced the states' version of the celebration of excess in New Orleans, I've had the pleasure of donning a colorful outfit or two and taking to the streets in Spain, Brazil and now Colombia to celebrate the festival of debauchery.

Carnaval is celebrated in most predominantly Catholic countries for four days (or over a week) before the start Lent, the 40 days of abstinence leading up to Easter.

In 2009, I enjoyed my first Carnaval a la Española in Cadiz. The Spanish are really good at dressing up in group-themed costumes. They fully play the part of their outfits, whether it's a herd of cows of a fleet of cop cars; they push shopping carts around full of booze and sing and play kazoos.

In 2010 I upped the anti a little heading to Rio's world famous Carnaval. Worthy of its mantle as the biggest party in the world, there's nothing quite like the hoards of revelers who come to play in Rio's spectacular setting. However, with the high price of tickets to see the impressive parades in the Sambadromo and the sheer magnitude of the party, it could be a little inaccessible at times.

Last week's Carnaval in Barranquilla - Colombia's biggest party and second in size only to Rio - did not disappoint.

I wrote this bit on Barranquilla's Carnaval for Colombia Reports. previous to heading out.

However, when we arrived to Barranquilla we were in for bit of a shock to find that the apartment that eight of us had rented out, complete with three large bedrooms, multiple bathrooms, a pool etc., simply did not exist. We were majorly scammed, as we had each put down about $80 USD as downpayment... and then we were eight gringos in a city during Carnaval with no hotel rooms available.

Plan B in full effect, a friend of a friend's parent had an office in Barranquilla. They bent over backwards to fix us up in their office, scrapping together fixings for eight beds to squeeze into the conference room. One room with AC, a kitchen and a bathroom, and we were back in business. Without any further hijinks the celebrating commenced.

Miss Molly, who had been working behind the bar of the Dreamer Hostel in Santa Marta (which is just an hour or so away from Barranquilla) was able to come and play before returning to the States. So good to play with an old friend in such a different time and space!

Barranquilla's parades were fabulous, a really impressive mix of the European, African and indigenous dances and traditions distinct to Colombia's Caribbean coast.

I got a press pass to attend the Bomba Estereo concert and wrote this article for a Medellin-based magazine La Arepa.

The thing that was so superbly special about Barranquilla's Carnaval (and this is what makes Colombia stand out from other countries as well) is the people. Barranquilleros, and Colombians in general are friendly, open and helpful. And despite the local or the decorations, its the people that make the party.

Where to next year?

Bogota b Bangin

2011-02-28T19:54:00.000-08:00

OK, so I have to admit I'm a little obsessed with Colombia's capitol after last weekend's wonderful albeit wet getaway. The mission was LCD Soundsystem and objective was accomplished on all accounts.

LCD does NOT disapoint live. Super-charged with energy, the whole concert was riveting from Dance yrself Clean to New York I Love You...

The Royal Center was as legit of an indoor concert venue as they come, not hindered by the fact that we got in the primo section via free press passes. Spent the majority down front left if yaddidimean and the last bit up in the balcony taking in the whole scene and feeling like Colombia is on the up and up and Bogota is kind of leading that cultural catalyst train.

We kept the momentum moving by hitting up this underground after hours club RadioBerlin after the show. Two floors, great DJ, chill spaces, friendly people and rum... pretty much the makings of an after party. That is, until the cops broke it up because it's illegal for anywhere to stay open after 3 a.m. in Bogota. (!?!?)

Here's one thing Medellin does have on Bogota: the weather. Bogota felt like Portland pretty much, flashbacks of how it feels to have perma-damp clothing and use a broken umbrella. It's not the first time I've used plastic bags for socks and it probably won't be the last.

Other highlights of the weekend include some sweet cultural schtuff... tons of free museums: art, gold and my favorite, a photography exhibit showing Colombia throughout the ages. I know I can jabber on but WoW sometimes a photo really does say 1000 words or however many words they say a photo says without saying a word.

I got my hair did at this hip lil place that where I went when I was last in Bogota about a year ago. "La Peluqueria" is this totally inspiring hair salon/cafe/bar/vintage boutique/art gallery and venue. It is owned and run by all women and there's only one mirror in the whole joint so getting your hair cut there is kinda like driving blind, except you're letting someone else who actually knows how to drive take the wheel. The whole hair-cutting experience is transformed into an all sensory enjoyment kinda deal, which is right up my ally. I also happen to know a gaggle of hip women in Portland that just might know a thing a two about hair, art, music venues, bars, clothes etc. etc.

Wheels turning...

Ajiaco is maybe my favorite typical Colombian dish, and this awesome restaurant in Bogota's lovely/funky Candelaria neighborhood serves it up RIGHT. It's a thick potato based soup served with half an ear of choclo (big-kerneled corn), a generous helping of shredded chicken, cream, half an avocado, capers, and spicy goodness. One big bowl of hot loving goodness? Yes, thank you.

What else? A flea market which produced this awesome leather backpack that set me back about $5 USD. A gondola ride to a mountaintop cathedral overlooking Bogota. Hackey sack in the park. Beating up and old computer keyboard and taking the 'power' key home with me. A hookah bar and yummy rummy coffee drinks to escape the rain. Wandering around graffiti-covered neighborhood like buildings tattooed with art and words.

Thanks Bogota, hope to see you soon!

some fotos creds: Oliver Moss and Tom Heyden

Clips n' Snippets

2011-02-20T03:17:00.000-08:00

I'd like to share a few bits n ' pieces of what I've been working on ...

The day to day continues to transform. From doing mostly translation work at first I've been able to take the time to dig a lil deeper on stories that interest me.

Over the past couple weeks I wrotten five stories that are of my own creation - either travel stories or human right issues - they are born from investigation, interviews or experience.

THIS was my first interview in Spanish: the "forgotten hostages."

A STORY that no one else is taking about is about this Peace Community who, in their attempt to remain out of the armed conflict, have provoked violence from all sides.

Read about the plight of journalists in this country HERE.

I have also written a couple travel stories, one on places to chill in Medellin and one about this ten-course gastronomic dinner experience.

Most of my time, attention and focus is directed at work and it makes me really happy. I don't think I've ever gotten such satisfaction from a job before.

That's not to say I haven't been enjoying Medellin's epic nightlife and Colombia's natural beauty. I've been discovering the coolest divey salsa bars and converted electro warehouses.

Miss Molly Mandelberg blessed me with her company for a week and we discovered this quaint lil town called Santa Fe near Medellin.

I took a weekend trip this amazing green river that cuts through a jungled granite canyon. Rio Claro was a natural playground: swimming, jumping, rope swings, zip lines, tubing, water slides, cave exploration etc.

I've got some pretty sweet upcoming trips and stories in the making so more to come!

Blessings.

The Dream of the '90's: the return of the fanny pack

2011-02-10T07:43:00.000-08:00

Not like we haven't been hip to the hands-free movement since Burning Man 2008, but apparently the movers and shakers in the mundo of fashion have come around and will be sending the so-called "belt bags" down runways during New York's fashion week.

"You either love them and a make them a part of your life or you fight them 'til the end," Isaac Mizrahi said in a Wall Street Journal article. He is making belted satchels again for the first time since 1992.

Yvan Mispelaere, the creative director for Diane von Furstenberg is "considering" putting his "hands-free bags" on the runway for his February 13th show in NYC. They will sell for $325.

Hermes has given the classic nylon fanny-pack a luxury lift with its $4675 "Kelly Bandeau" waist belt set to arrive in stores in spring 2011.

One thing I love about the modern fanny pack (besides them getting love in general) is that it is fastened around the natural waist as opposed to being slung around the hips, giving a sophisticated shape.

One I don't love about the designer bags is the price.

Luckily Colombians love fanny packs and awesome fanny packs made out of leather, canvas and nylon are for sale everywhere. I for one am planning on swooping up as many as I can fit in my back pack.

I was way ahead of the curve on this one.

Taking requests now for Summer 2011 Utili-fannies :)

At least its not a 9 to 5...

2011-01-18T20:34:00.001-08:00

Two weeks into life in the city of eternal spring and I really am loving this place more every day. I chilled in my lovely home tonight, moon bathing on the patio and just taking time. I watched the first episode of Portlandia on YouTube while cuddling with Tornillo-kitty who is attacking my typing hands right now. I'm listening to the newest LCD Soundsystem album, getting stoked to go see them in concert in Bogota next month. Life seems to take on normalcy no matter how much you shake it up. I'm enjoying settling into a routine without losing the awe of the moment and of this place.

I wanted to give a quick update on what I'm actually doing here on a daily basis. I work a legit 8-4 shift Monday through Friday for Colombia Reports, writing articles about Colombia in English for anyone who cares about the moving and shaking of this turbulent country but doesn't speak Spanish. The 'newsroom' is the living room of my apartment. I've only been late to work once.

When I begin the day it's usually just me and a researcher (a Colombian who scores over local media to flesh out what stories we want to write about). The two other reporters (an American and a British guy) and a couple people working on advertising come in by 9 and then we map out a plan to get the top stories done on time.

We try to have a new 'front page' which consists of the four biggest stories of the day by 8 am, 12 pm and 5 pm. My editor, Adriaan, does the morning stories and then he passes the baton after 8. I get coffee and get going on the first article. The researcher gives me a story (i.e. FARC hostages get released or Shakira breaks up with her boyfriend) and a source for it - usually a Colombian newspaper article. I then research the story, looking for additional sources to get more context and check the facts of the original article I'm drawing from.

For the most part there is NO other news in English about the goings on in this country. That means lots of translating. I've learned to trust myself over online translators and I'm coming to love playing around with both languages so the essence is the same, even if the words aren't.

Then I write the story in English, add some links and a photo and pass it on to my editor who will then 'publish' it. I get through about six stories a day.

And I'm loving it. I love learning about this country, I love learning Spanish and about words and about the different topics I am researching. I think my lil gemini self likes this whole journalism gig 'cause I am constantly changing my focus, learning about something new. I love the people I work with, the fast pace of a newsroom, arguing about grammar. I love that on my lunch break I can walk outside and I'm in the heart of this crazy living organism that is Medellin.

These small joys make me happy in a new way on a daily basis. I got to trek out to the mountains outside this weekend when I was invited to a birthday party at someone's country home. I've been exploring different neighborhoods, trying on the night life for size, discovering new restaurants, making new friends and smelling flowers the likes of which I've never...

It fits. Or I'm being molded. Either way it feels good.

THIS link goes to every story I've ever written for Colombia Reports.

Where am I?

2011-01-09T16:21:00.000-08:00

I just got back from a lovely Sunday evening performance in the park... a dowdy drag queen, beloved by her people, puts on a raunchy spectacle every week in the Plaza Bolivar just a few blocks from my place. The unlikely celebrity performed surrounded by a ring of fans including families, gay couples, and pot-smoking teenagers. The comedian told bawdy jokes and ranted on in political satire; this week her target was the church. All this in the shadow of the Catedral Metropolitana (the building which boasts more bricks than any other in the world), in a country where more than 95% of the population adheres to Christianity. This seemingly contradicting situation is typical as I endeavor to better understand the city I live in.

El centro, the downtown area where I live, is a cluster of sky scrapers in the middle of the expanse of Medellin. During the day it is this thumping thriving organism composed of colorful people in constant motion; selling, yelling, bustling and hustling. At night it largely clears out as most of the paisas working in the city live in the outlying wealthy suburbs, or in the poorer neighborhoods that climb up the mountains that border the city on the east and west. It's dirty and gritty and rife with poverty and desolates. My tour of the neighborhood included what streets to avoid after dark, where the prostitutes are, where the tranny prostitutes are, where people sell and buy drugs, where thieves lurk etc.

photo credit: Andres Alarcon

With that being a grim reality, there is also a shiny side to that dirty peso. Medellin boasts the only Metro system in Colombia, and probably the cheapest one I've ever been on (under 75c for a ride) which shadows the river and connects the city north to south. A few blocks from my apartment is the metro stop of Parque Berrio which hosts several large bronze statues by beloved Colombian artist Fernando Botero. The Museo de Antioquia, situated across from Parque Berrio displays a collection of contemporary Colombian art including many by Medellin-native Botero, which I enjoyed free of charge as a holiday treat from the governement. Another holiday treat put on by the city is the majestic festival of lights which lasts until January. Along the river the festival is a sort of combination between a light show and a carnival. I enjoyed micheladas (iced beer with lime, rock salt and hot chile sauce) and fried potatoes on a stick while watching the trippy laser light show on a impressive fountain, set to the music of Shakira.

Take the metro north and you will find yourself in the upper-class neighborhood of El Poblado, with fancy restaurants clustered around plazas, boutiques lining shaded streets and trendy bars and nightclubs thumping the night away. I went there at night to meet up with a couple Canadian girls I had met and ended up taking on the night with a raucous crew of Colombians and Brazilians. The Colombians proudly led us to a fancy shopping mall, which housed a club inside. Complete with velvet ropes, the bouncer informed us it was full, that you had to have a reservation, until someone called someone inside who came outside and eventually we were ushered into a large, dark, thumping discoteca. Fog machines, lasers, big screen TVs, bottle service and a typically South American mix of American Top 40, reaggaton and salsa. Not exactly my ideal venue but I'm not going to lie, I was stoked when Jay Z's ''New York'' came on and danced 'til 4 in the morning.

Take the metro south and you can get off and use your same metro ticket to ride a gondola (called a metrocable) up staggering heights into the barrios that perch above the city, like the favelas of Rio. Historically the poorest neighborhoods in Medellin, the metrocable was constructed in 2004 to help connect the isolated communities to the city center. The metrocable is part of a larger plan implemented by the government to bring opportunity to the lower classes after the wake of destruction caused by the drug wars of the late '90. Since drug lord Pablo Escobar's death in 1993, the crime rate has dropped dramatically and Medellin has sought to reinvent itself through a building boom of parks, housing, schools, libraries and new public transportation.

An impressive reminder of this effort is the Biblioteca Espana, a looming set of three black buildings that stand in stark contrast to the dilapidated stack of homes made of stucco or brick that make up the historically poor and dangerous barrio of Santo Domingo, high above the center of Medellin. Constructed in 2005, the library and community center is more than just a much needed public facility in a densely populated area, it is a point of pride for the impoverished neighborhood and a symbol of change for the entire city.

Access to the city center, the Biblioteca Espana, and influx of tourists that arrive on the metrocable for the breathtaking views of the city and the Aburra valley, have helped transform the barrio into a thriving community. I spent my Sunday afternoon there, watching children playing, women gossiping, old men playing chess, and young couples flirting. I leafed through books at the library, ate arepas (a typical colombian fried cornmeal patty) and sipped coca cola out of a glass bottle while taking in the expanse of the city I now call home.

Unyielding Desire

2011-01-07T10:01:00.000-08:00

"...encourage women to dress up in their everyday lives..."

Now that's a motto I can get behind.

I was introduced to the work of Alexandra Grecco through my friend Laura, whose sister knows the 26 year old designer.

She pays tribute to luxurious ladies of the past... channeling silent film stars of the '20's, burlesque dancers and pin-up girls of the '50's. The shapes and materials flatter the female physique and the attention to detail and sweet accentuations are enough to make any girl feel like a star.

Check out her website HERE and be sure not to miss her video which draws from her ballet roots (and in my opinion pays tribute to Feist) to further show off her exquisite designs.

I especially love the delicately feminine underthings and flattering onesies that epitomize the balance of function and whimsy of her designs.

Alexandra Grecco's BLOG is as aesthetically pleasing as her sumptuous line, drawing inspiration from her travels and natural beauty.

Check out her line at The Magic Hour, an independent boutique in Portland, OR on 2730 E Burnside Street. (The only place in the US outside of NY that carries her designs!)

The shop has a pretty nifty fashion blog of their own: Magic Hour

Here's to beauty, sensuality, form and function and the discovery of inspiration to dress up everyday for the sake of loving the look you live in!

BESOS

''A Ribbon Around a Bomb..."

2011-01-06T21:25:00.000-08:00

So describes Frida Kahlo... the passionate and pained Mexican painter whose works of art bring to light the tragedy and beauty of her life.

I stumbled across the above image online recently. I believe it is an advertisement for a wedding dress but I was immediately inspired by the color, the bold style, the sensuality of rosebuds tucked into her hair.

I have spent the past few weeks revisiting her work and her fascinating life. (I highly reccomment the movie Frida in which Salma Hayek expertly portrays the artist.) She was a woman struck by the gamut of blows and benevolence that life deals out... Frida fought polio at the age of six, was in a bus accident as a teenager that made her incapable of having children, fell in lifelong love with notorious philanderer muralist Diego River, smoked too much, drank too much, told bawdy joked, carried on affairs with men and women... and by all accounts lived life on her own accord.

Her art largely depicts this double edged sword of pleasure and pain as she saw it within herself.

While her art is often self portraits, she has a way of capturing not only the female, but the human experience. The bounty and beauty that exists in this life, yet the solitude and pain we often can feel trapped within.

These images have been delighting my eyes and pulling at my senses and some deep-rooted emotions.

May they continue to inspire and provoke.

"I love you more than my own skin" ~ Frida Kahlo

First Impressions

2011-01-06T13:41:00.000-08:00

January 4th found me packing up my life once again... heading south to the land I've lusted after since we parted... hasta Colombia.

24 hours in transit and I'm lost in a head cold and pressurized cabins and then finally, we touch down in Medellín and the fog in my head clears like the plane descending from the clouds. Here I am, arrived to what will be my new home for the next three months.

Medellín, the city of eternal spring (aptly named for its near perfect weather all year long) greets me with a cool breeze on a warm night while a taxi driver whisks me from the airport to the centro, where I'l be living in the center of the downtown area.

Now, Medellín is Colombia's second largest city with about 3 million inhabitants in the greater metropolitan area. While it doesn't have the rich cultural appeal of the capitol city of Bogota or the romantic beauty of Cartegena on the Caribbean coast, there is something special about Medellín which I haven't quite put my finger on. Probably the friendliness of the paisas (locals of Medellín) or the ideal weather... but I'll get back to you on what exactly it is that makes this city tick.

Medellín is set the Abbura valley, divided by a river running north to south. Coming from the airport, as the taxi crested a mountain and we descended into the valley, I was awed by the splendor of millions of lights stretching across the valley and creeping up the mountains on either side. During the holidays, from early December to mid January, Medellín is transformed into the city of lights. The entire city, from roadways to store displays to apartment windows and parks, all are alit with Christmas lights. A glorious welcome to light up 2011.

The apartment I am living in is this spacious five bedroom apartment in a building whose penthouse used to be owned by infamous drug kingpin Pablo Escobar. A doorman greets you upon entering and the building opens up to a large fountained courtyard populated by statues and large leafy plants where the noise and bustle of the city are immediately quieted. The apartment, located on the third floor, also serves as the headquarters for the online newspaper I will be working for: colombiareports.com

colombiareports.com is Colombia's leading english news source, with about 200,000 readers monthly and about 7,000 per day. When I was in Colombia last year that figure was 6,000 so it seems it is gaining steady momentum in the three years of its existence. It is the brainchild of Adriaan Alsema, who is my editor and landlord and who immediately made me feel at home.

The apartment boasts five bedrooms, a massive living room which serves as the newsroom, a kitchen, two bathrooms, a balcony and a large courtyard with blooming flowers, creeping vines and cozy places to sit and chill. My bedroom is large enough, with a painted tableau of historic Venice covering one wall. I have been provided with a wardrobe, a massive desk, a bedside table and a thin mattress on the ground. I unpacked my few belongings into the room to claim it as my own.

About five minutes before I arrived, I was preceded by a tiny tail-less kitten by the name of Tornillo, which means ''screw''. He is a manx kitty, which is this special breed from the Isle of Man that have only a short, stubby tail, extra long hind legs which gives him the appearance of a rabbit and superb hunting skills. I immediately felt a kindred spirit with this new kitty and took his presence as a sign of good luck.

The apartment is usually bustling and full of people working or hanging out. Colombians, Dutch and Canadians speaking Spanish and English interchangeably and easily. So far I have not felt lonely due to the constant presence of others and yet can recede to my comfortable bedroom for quiet if I need it.

Work will start up on Monday, although I still haven't a clear idea of what that will be like, so until then I'm getting grounded and writing exceptionally detailed blog posts. Stay tuned...

Wingspiration

2010-12-24T23:05:00.000-08:00

A lot of winged things have been blipping across my radar lately and I'm feeling the feathers from tips to toes.

I recently splurged and went out to the movies to catch a viewing of the impeccable thriller Black Swan, directed by Darren Aronofsky. Natalie Portman portrays the dancer who must embody both the dark and sensual black swan as well as the innocent and virginal white swan in the famous ballet and loses herself in the process. As she falls deeper and deeper into a hallucination of becoming the black swan, feather burst forth from her skin and she dances a final flawless performance in winged glory. Hot. Damn. The ballet aesthetic really does it for me as well.

For the recent Just People Masquerade Ball, Kerri Jonquil created a mask that transformed her into a bird of paradise for the evening. Kudos for such creative feathering.

New Creations from Furleatherfeather inspired by flight:

The New Years Eve 2011 Collection of hair clips were made from pheasant and hackle feathers, bits of recycled rabbit and fox fir and some special stones and trinkets collected over the past few years.

Also on the winged radar are some FLY adidas:

And a belated nod to these killer heels from Alexander McQueen's Spring 2010 Collection:

A true visionary and artist.

The following piece of work, entitled 'Desire' by Christopher Stoked is a mechanical wing structure made of over 1,400 individually heat-tempered scalpel blades.

Desire Indeed

Butternut is the New Pumpkin

2010-11-22T22:26:00.000-08:00

'Tis the Season.

Oregon does cold,wet weather really, really well. And what better way to heat up this holiday season than steamy concoctions coming from the kitchen, and in true PNW fashion, from the garden.

Long after the last tomatoes and peppers are pulled from the garden and stashed in the form of salsas and sauces, the squash stands alone outside amidst plant skeletons. In my corner of the woods where I've been residing this fall butternut has burst its way into my home, and in turn, my heart. With its tawny golden color, smooth texture and sweet flavor, it quickly has surpassed pumpkin as the winner this season for hot 'n tasty treats.

*Both of these recipes use a hand blender, which makes otherwise effort-heavy kitchen

maneuvers way too much fun. Miss Ali calls this contraption a ''wand'' because - duh - it makes magic happen. Cuisinart and KitchenAid both make quality and affordable models that would make a great gift for anyone who spends time in the kitchen.

Super Simple Butter[Pea]nut Soup

1 butternut squash

1 onion

4 cloves of garlic

2 T crunchy peanut butter

In a large soup pan sauté onions and garlic in butter until golden.

Peel the butternut squash, remove the seeds (save for roasting) and cube into small chunks.

Add butternut into the soup pan and cover the squash with water.

Bring water to a boil and then let simmer until the squash is soft.

Remove from heat and puree with a hand blender until it has reached a uniform smooth consistency.

Add soy sauce (to taste) and peanut butter. Blend again.

BOOM. Super delicious creamy peanutbutterynut soup.

Variations on Toppings:

1. Clean off the saved seeds from the squash and coat with olive oil and soy sauce. Roast in the oven or in a frying pan and top the soup with them before serving.

2. Chop up peanuts finely and roast in a pan on the stove quickly before sprinkling on soup.

(walnuts or pine nuts would be pretty delicious too)

3. Lightly steam green beans. Finish in a frying pan with olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Add to soup before devouring.

And now for dessert...

Pie is one of my all-time loves. It is how I celebrate, show affection and my ultimate form of cooking self-expression. The labor going into it is the process of making love edible and a pie is intrinsically shareable - no pie stands alone. It nearly always screams family and friends and warmth and being well-fed and loved... I actually broke up with someone once for dissing my pie crust. True story.

This pie is a brand new creation borne from my two newfound taste bud loves: butternut squash and bacon. Thats right, somehow I missed that bacon is the food of the gods until this fall. But no worries - I've more than been making up for lost time.

Butternut Bacon Pie

Pie Crust

(this recipe makes one pie crust)

1 cup flour

1/2 cup butter

1/4 cup ice water

1/2 teaspoon sugar

1 /2 teaspoon salt

Mix dry ingredients into a large mixing bowl. Cut butter (still chilled from fridge) into the flour mixture until there is a uniform meal-like consistency. Add water slowly while working the dough (with clean hands) until it forms a ball. Chill in the fridge until filling is ready.

Butternut Pie Filling

2 cups butternut squash puree

1 cup half and half

1/2 cup cream cheese

2/3 cup brown sugar

1/3 cup maple syrup

2 eggs

1 tablespoon finely gated fresh ginger

1 tablespoon cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon nutmeg

12 slices of bacon (or however many come in a package)

Halve the butternut and cook facedown on a baking sheet at 350 degrees until easily pierced with a fork. Scrape out the pulp with a spoon and puree using a hand blender. Add two cups to a mixing bowl. (I cooked the whole thing and used the rest to make another dish).

Add cream cheese, half and half, maple syrup and sugar, then mix.

Whisk eggs in a separate bowl, then add to mixture.

Add spices and mix.

Now, fry up one package of bacon and after it has slightly cooled crumble it into bacon bits. Set aside four strips' worth to garnish the top add the rest to the filling.

Remove the dough from the fridge and roll out on a floured surface using a floured rolling pin. Place the pie crust into a pie pan by draping it over the rolling pin and then cut off excess dough around the edges using a paring knife. Pour the filling into the pie shell. To crimp the edges of the pie crust place your thumb and forefinger on the outside of the shell, and the pointer finger of your other hand on the inside, pressing it into the middle of your other fingers to make an indentation. Repeat all the way around the edge.

Bake for 10 minutes at 450 degrees.

Lower oven to 375 degrees and bake pie for 30 minutes or until an inserted knife comes out clean.

Chill completely before serving with fresh whipped cream.

A sweet and savory delight. Enjoy by sharing.

Does this make my Butt look Big?

2010-10-05T23:14:00.000-07:00

My newest costume infatuation is the bustle, baby. No offense to my beloved top hats and aprons, but pretty much every item in my costume bin just had to scoot over for bustly layers of lace and tulle...

The obsession butted itself back into my life along with a pair of lacy skirts from girlhood. When was about six my dad dated this wonderful woman named Melanie who gave a couple of very inspired gifts that really stand out in my memory. The first was this painting she had made of, along with a hand-written story about, the mysterious and lovely Bananafish. As I have kept every report card, seashell and ribbon from childhood, I'm sure this is crammed in some bin with other such treasures and I can't wait to stumble upon it in the future. For now, I'm enjoying these two amazing skirts she made for my sister and I back in the day which have recently resurfaced.

The first skirt is made of tiers of white lace accented with small colorful bows on each tier and a big red bow in the back. 18 years ago the skirt probably brushed the ground but now it brushes just below my knees. Thanks to forgiving elastic waistbands (and a bit of fairy dust?) these skirts still fit! The key feature of this piece is that the back was made with a generous extra helping of lace and falls into a long, bride-like train, that can then be fastened up to that big red ribbon on the back to create... voila! A Bustle.

The second skirt, originally made for my sister Emily, is constructed of black lace and two wire hoops. The hoop farther down is larger and thus creates that lovely voluminous hoop-skirt effect. At the Country Fair this past summer Miss Katie Malloy and I fashioned a bustle for her by pinning this skirt onto a fabulous fringed scarf of hers which she proceeded to tie around her waste. Thus the bustle-belt was born.

Why all this fuss about a bustle anyway? What's so hot about a booty accentuated with lace and tulle, that swishes and sways when she walks and jives... Wait, what ISN'T hot about that? I guess the Victorians knew a thing or two about posterior plumping when they used massive cages and horsehair bags under their skirts to highlight the derriere. When I was up late one night making fanny-packs I caught an infomercial selling falsies to wear under your jeans to give you that round booty shape you've been dreaming of... While falsies are not my style, bustles are, so I'm taking it back to the mid 1800's to get back some shape in the back. Besides, stuffing your bra is sooo Middle School.

My favorite online source for bustle inspiration is the fabulous Lovechild Boudoir. They have gorgeous bustles; dreamy concoctions of ribbons, lace and taffeta that I gazed at long enough to gather some clues about their construction.

Now, I sew kind of like how I sing: with more enthusiasm than talent but usually enough wherewithall to get the job done. By googling ''How to Make a Bustle'' I came across THIS step-by-step description. I loosely based my bustle on the pattern provided using the tablecloths, curtains, a baby girls' dress and mysterious waistband I had scored at The Bins (the Goodwill Outlet store which sells its goods by the pound) for under ten bucks. The only additional material I bought was lace to trim the edges of each layer. Then under the patient and watchful eye of Erica, who actually knows how to sow and therefore refuses to do it, I cut and pasted and put together ever more layers of lace, tulle and other sheer fabrics and connected them to a waistband with a couple hidden pockets for practicality.

The debut was the MartyParty/MIMOSA/EOTO concert that marked my last day in Portland for a while. The booty-shaking has never been better.

She's Looking for Something...

2010-09-14T00:59:00.000-07:00

FOUND! In the mystical musical styling of Lynx and Janover and a little help from some friends like Beats Antique. The BRAND NEW album from Lynx and Janover ''between worlds'' is rocking my world right now.

Last winter before I picked up my backpack and little life and shipped it down to South America, I uploaded a bunch of new music onto my ipod from my best friend who happens to have fantastic taste in music. Over the course of the next several months I had the pleasure of picking through mystery artists and opening my ears and consciousness to new sounds. Thank you, Chelsea.

On a flight from Santiago, Chile on my way to reconnect with my sister in Paraguay, I stumbled upon ''Lynx'' in my artist catalog and dove in to her solo CD ''Grain of Sand'' while gazing out over Andean peaks. Her music is just the right mix of her melodious voice, hip-hop influences, sweet electronic beats and conscious lyrics. Kinda my style...

Upon return to Oregon, I was stoked to see her perform at the Oregon Country Fair, alongside Jamie Janover, musical magician who while rocking any and all sorts of percussion instruments is most noted for his progressive style with the hammered dulcimer. Their collaboration has combined the timeless sound of ancient instruments with hip-hop and electronica creating a completely unique sound.

The duo stole my heart when they performed at the Hookah Dome on the playa Saturday night after the Man burned. After a week of pure break beats Lynx's melodious voice was auditory gold. They created such an amazing soundscape and energy during their performance, everyone in the crowd seemed euphoric, effervescent, grateful. Smiles all around, strangers becoming connected through their appreciation of this amazing music, moment.

''between worlds'' is now available to download on lynxandjanover.bandcamp.com

My favorite track ''She's Looking for Something'' was made in collaboration with Beats Antique and has been made available for FREE download HERE.

Thank you.

Making Dreams Come True Since 1986

2010-09-12T22:31:00.000-07:00

Burning Man, that is... although my birth year does very cutely coincide with the birth of the burning of The Man.

As I sit in the quiet that follows the explosive beats of Burning Man I settle in to a slower pace of life. Naps and home cooking and lots of dusting off of costume pieces and a little time for reflection packed in along with sequins and hand mirrors.

The week in the desert always rushes by, or beams by in a blur of lazers and enough booty shaking to leave my body reverberating long after. I've always felt like Burning Man is a year of your life condensed into a week. An intensive lesson in Living Life to the Fullest when you usually discover or come to a greater understanding of your role and perhaps yourself somewhere in a sunrise or a dust storm, when you least expected it.

It was a huge blessing to be able to share this experience with so many wonderful people this year. So many dear friends, some of who I only get to see in the desert due to our far-flung lifestyles. If Metropolis was the theme of 2010's Burning Man, Community is my reason for doing what I do.

What's yours?

Burning Man pushes you to answer these questions that we often don't have the time, energy, patience, faith, strength or courage to. Why do you do what you do? How do you do it? How can you do in a way that pushes you and lifts others up around you?

How can you make dreams come true?

Somehow... through the magic of a playa dust and maybe belief in the powers of manifestation, dreams come true in the desert every minute of every day. That's right, that is a completely mathematically proven statistic. I've experienced and witnessed an astounding amount of miracles, dreams and transformations in this desert art and music oasis.

This year I flew into the sky with wings, suspended under a bundle of huge balloons.

I got into a helicopter simply by ASKING and saw the playa and the earth in a way I never have before, zooming high above.

I was offered bacon THREE TIMES in one hour by three different people. Is this not the stuff that dreams are made of?

A couple years ago (when I borrowed Doogie's top hat Burning Man 2008) I began a kind of fascination (bordering on obsession) with Top Hats. When in London I procured a really sweet one and love to rock it on special occasions or in my basement. This past year I began dreaming about miniature top hats. Perfect in style and proportion, pint-sized versions of my favorite kind of hat. These adorable creations kept popping up in my dreams and so I've been longing for one but there has never been one just right. This is one elusive item to acquire.

And then... Saturday night after The Man burns and the energy of the entire week reaches its roaring peak, I was romping around the desert playing with and admiring incredible art installations that light up and burn and make music. My friend points out a beautiful woman half lit by flames from a fire, wearing a perfect miniature top hat. I gush over the beauty of her and the delightful little hat and she thanks me - she made it herself - and she unpins it from her hair and puts it on my head.

A dream... literally... come true.

Thank You.

Believe and it will happen. Manifestation is Possible. This can occur everyday, anywhere, Burning Man just helps remind you.

If you haven't been and are interested, begin HERE!!!

Summertime

2010-08-18T01:34:00.000-07:00

Slipping through my fingers
Like sunshine through the blinds

But I wouldn't change a second or the pace
Heart it Races

Thanks to my Country Fair Family for an incredible reunion under the trees... a true occasion to rejoice. More people than ever showed up for sunrise bubbles at Main Stage. This mimosa goes to you...

Thanks to my blood family for the joy of simplicity and history and a shared thread that connects me to something bigger than myself.

Thanks to the Oregon coast, rivers, forests and campfires, late night drives, meteor showers, music, music, MUSIC, bicycles, weddings, babies, sisters and friends.

... Tentacles eXploding like jellyfish tendrils ...

Sometimes I feel so full of gratitude I glow

...we are what we do, especially what we do to change who we are...

2010-07-14T14:51:00.000-07:00

Back in my northern territory. Digging my toes into rich Oregon soil and exulting in everything I love about my land. Green leaves and a sweet breeze, a land of rivers and waterfalls, smiling faces of humans know and love and have watched grow and change and break through old skins to rejoice in glorious new colors.

I feel myself in a very complete way. Like a screw which is always a screw but functions better when attaching a wheel to a bike frame. I am only an auxiliary piece, made complete by my attachments to my family, my friends and this land I love.

However, the land mass to the south, this massive continent in the shape of a bleeding heart has captured mine. I left parts of me there and took parts of it home. We have shared laughter and tears, hardships and joy and my history and future will fill forever be intertwined with it.

I leave you like a parting lover with a promise to return. Blowing kisses on a southern breeze.

''One writes out of a need to communicate and to commune with others, to denounce that which gives pain and to share that which gives happiness.''
~Eduardo Galeano

Thanks for sharing in this journey.

While Reality and Mangos Go Up In Smoke...

2010-06-08T18:35:00.000-07:00

Huacachina. Even the name sounds exotic like some sort of spicy saucy seedy underworld accessible by manholes made of palm fronds and tunnels coated in silken scarves. While that's a bit of a stretch it is no less an exotic unexpected land and one in which you should dive deep in til it's ten feet over head. I digress...

Huacachina is a small cluster of homes and restaurants surrounding a palm-fringed lagoon that sits at the edge of a Sahara-like desert in southwest Peru. The oasis was formed when an ancient Incan Princess was caught bathing and fled from her onlookers. Her bathtub became the lagoon and her mantle, the surrounding sand dunes. So it goes.

After Machu Picchu this was an ultimate chill-out spot, with no real activities to speak of besides sand-boarding down the massive dunes, lazing by the pool and chatting up the smattering of international artisans who came, and stayed, and lazily peddle their wares. (This is me getting an ornate hair wrap and buying up more feather earrings than I'd care to admit.)

But there were other plans. On our dune buggy tour to go sand-boarding we discovered another mini-oasis nestled in between massive sand dunes, hidden from the outside world and devoid of humans. We were eager to fill that void. We hired the dune buggy driver as our personal desert taxi and after scrounging for some sleeping bags, bottles of water and simple foodstuffs we were dropped of at the little oasis just before sundown with plans to be picked up at 9 am.

A night alone under the stars in the silence of the desert seemed the perfect place to experience San Pedro, the hallucinogenic cactus native to Peru.

San Pedro grows all over Peru, Ecuador, Argentina and Chile and is cultivated all over the world as an ornamental or medicinal plant. Green and phallic it grows in a clump of several stems, covered in spines warding off those who don't understand it. The active ingredient, so to speak, is mescaline although the mescaline which is illegal in the states has gone through a process of being extracted and processed. San Pedro has been used in traditional Andean medicine for over two thousand years and today to treat nervous conditions, drug addictions, joint problems, cardiac disease etc. It also is a powerful medicine of the mind.

We had picked up small bags filled with the green powder for about $5 a bag in Cusco from a local ''shaman,'' although I think he was more a knowledgeable hippie ex-pat than shaman. The bags contained the cactus which had been cut, sun-dried and powdered. San Pedro is a mild hallucinogen, on par with mushrooms, which is safe to take on your own, as opposed to stronger psychotropic drugs such as ayuahasca which requires the presence and guidance of a shaman.

As the sun lowered itself behind the dunes we drank the powder in a glass of water and a bit of juice to cut the bitterness. The taste wasn't horrible - kind of earthy - but the clumpy consistency was hard to swallow. In the pink fading light we explored our little oasis. A smattering of palm trees and mango trees offered us protecting from the expanse of the desert. Juicy ripe mangoes weighed down the branches and I was happy enough to take some of the weight off. Fruit - a perfect little package of food gifted to us from trees - is one of the greatest joys of South America.

We scavenged for dry wood and built up a beautiful fire. The effects of San Pedro came over me after a bit of a delay in a rush of energy that came in bursts through my body and exploded into giggles. I was very task oriented and gleefully prepared a meal since surprisingly we were all very hungry. Baked beans and bagels cooked over an open fire with tomatos and mangos for desert.

At first I was very intersted in the people who were sharing this experience. I wanted to share and communicate and sing along with the guitar and busy myself stoking the fire and collecting more mangos. I whittled a stick to make a spit and roast mangos to devour hot and sticky sweet. I made stick strucures in the fire which burned to reveal all sorts of firey imagery. But eventually I felt pulled to step back and Just Be.

My body buzzed in a very tranquil way and I lied down and became very aware of the physical world around me. The sand under my sleeping bag, the trees that are able to grow from some unseen water source, their dry branches that crackled away in the fire, delighting my ears with the sound. The wind as it played with the leaves of the trees and gently touched my cheeks, the stars as they became more pronounced in the darkened night sky. The rise of the moon and its slow and steady path as it moved across the sky. In this moment I felt like I understood my place in this massive crazy mash-up world. Not in any 'I know what I want to do with my life' kind of way but a reassurance that I was exactly where I belonged and just as the moon makes it journey I am on my own. I felt connected to the elements around me, as if I could almost see a thread that spreads from my fingertips, to the leaves of the tips of branches, that connect the the rays of light from the stars and on and on. I felt comforted to be a part of this web and I let it that comfort rock me into the darkness and lightness of sleep.

What Would An Inca Do

2010-05-30T19:10:00.000-07:00

Dodging falling rocks? Hiking railroad tracks in the rain? Cooking boots on an open fire? When in doubt (on the way to Machu Picchu) just ask yourself: ''What would an Inca do?''

Machu Picchu was the ultimate destination in this trip. While most of my itinerary I've kind of made up as I go along, I knew I'd be making the classic pilgrimage to this preserved Incan city at some point. When my friend Jenny (who taught English at the same school as me in Spain last year) decided to fly down and join me on this journey we chose Cusco, the jumping off city to Machu Picchu, as our rendesvous point.

But mother nature is fickle and the rainy season brought unprecedented destruction to the Sacred Valley. Flooding and landslides destroyed homes, roads, train tracks and took lives after intense rains during the months of January and February. Cusco declared a state of emergency and the citadel of Machu Pichu was closed after a group of tourists got stranded in Aguas Calientes (the small town at the base of Machu Picchu) and had to be helicoptered out.

I was hearing about all this while in Bolivia - getting contradicting and misinformation from backpackers and websites regarding when Machu Picchu would be reopened. Jenny came to meet me in La Paz, Bolivia and we explored Lake Titicaca while waiting for the time when we could make this epic trek we had so been looking forward to. Honestly, I thought more about how the flooding was effecting my trip, instead of it's effect on the local people. This, of course, changed as soon as I got there.

We arrived to Cusco in late March in anticipation for Machu Picchu reopening on April 1st and found a tour operator and haggled (thanks in part to the large numbers of Jews in our crew) until we settled on a four night all-inclusive trek to Machu Picchu for 130 USD per person. After enjoying the lovely colonial city that is Cusco we eagerly set off on our mission.

Rainy season. Really. No joke, a lot of rain. We were the first group that had been taken through this alternative trek (not the ''Inca Trail'' which is extremely expensive) in two months and immediately we saw first hand the destruction that had ravaged the Sacred Valley. The road we drove on had been recently cut into the mountain sides after the previous road had washed away along with the river banks and homes. After a white-knuckle ascent, we mountain-biked down a winding road that had engorged streams crossing various sections of the pavement, creating small rivers to ford. We arrived soaking wet and freezing to the small town of Santa Teresa where we dried our clothes over an open fire and sipped rum to ward of the cold. What Would An Inca Do?

Day Two began rainier than the last. We grumbled and acquired slick plastic rain ponchos of varying colors - imitating the rainbow Inca Pride flag. We began our day long trek, following the gorge of the River Urubamba. The rain was pouring down and we were running underneath rock slides, dodging the boulders that crashed down around us. Our faith in our guide, Neyser, and constantly reminded ourselves of Incan strength is what got us through. The footbridge crossing the raging Rio Urubamba had been washed away and in its place there was a recently constructed cable and small platform underneath used transported humans, two at a time across the swollen and rushing Urubamba. This is crazy!!

When we reached the entrance to the official Inca Trail we found out that the guards (who had big guns) weren't letting anyone in who didn't have a train ticket out from Aguas Calientes. What? Our guide, Neyser, who seemingly channels Incas and doesn't take ''NO'' for an answer, waited for his other guide buddies until we had enough numbers and about 30 of us rushed the gates and the small number of guards couldn't do anything about it! Viva la revolucion, this feels good! We continued on as the sky cleared and hiked all day through the stunning gorge of the Rio Urubamba, gazing up at massive mountains covered in lush jungle. We reached the base town of Aguas Calientes by nightfall.

Machu Picchu. We arrived at day break when the whole Incan city built on a towering ridge that is Machu Picchu was shrouded in clouds. After two months of closure, we arrived on it's first day open and everyone there was so happy and appreciative to be back at work, or able to enjoy this wonder of the world. And wonder it is. Wonderful, like jaw-dropping open in awe of the majesty of this location on earth, and then in the human feat that is constructing a sacred city in such a setting. Wonder in why it was deserted by the Incas and how it remained undiscovered until it was stumbled upon in 1911 by the gringo, Hiram Bingham.

Machu Picchu was a royal city and religious retreat built high above a canyon at about 8,000 feet in a cloud forest. It was built between 1460 and 1470 A.D. by the Incan ruler Pachacuti and is comprised of about 200 structures including several temples, residences, storage structures and other public buildings. The constructions seems to blend seamlessly into the landscape, as structures and sculptures follow the patterns in nature, water flows through cisterns and stone channels and temples hang on to steep precipices. They terraced the steep hillsides around the citadel to plant corn and potatoes to support their small population.

As the day progressed the clouds parted and we were able to witness more and more of this marvelous ridge and ruins. The crowds of people (which were significantly smaller than usual due to it being the first day open) left in the afternoon and the second half of the day was spent practically alone to explore the space. I don't believe I have ever in my life witnessed something so grand. Machu Picchu is a backpacker's mecca, the destination for exploration and discovery.

Something about how difficult it is to reach it, particularly when I went due to recent flooding, makes the final ascent so much more satisfying. Something about being shrouded in mist in the morning and then the clouds parting to reveal more and more of this amazing place. Something that left me feeling satisfied and complete and aware of my place on this planet, at this particular moment and somehow making issues I had been working on to understand a little bit clearer.

The day we hiked out was a 30 kilometer hike down railroad tracks, following the gorge farther up. We lucked upon a train car with railroad workers who generously lifted us 10 K of the way, allowing us to catch a bus and arrive to Cusco before nightfall. The most grueling yet ultimately satisfying pilgrimage I have ever done. The most awe-inspiring place I have ever been fortunate enough to witness. This is my mission for you.... Find your way there.

Closer to the Sun

2010-05-09T17:07:00.000-07:00

The only thing that could've pulled me away from La Paz, Bolivia was the lure of Lake Titicaca and the Isla del Sol. Lake Titicaca is one of the highest navigatable lakes in the world nestled in between Bolivia and Peru. At 3,800 meters (or 14,400 ft -- higher than Mt. Hood to give a little comparison), Lake Titicaca's altitude means thin air, sun burns and according to Incan mythology, proximity to the gods.

The entire lake was a sacred site to the Incans. Their world was created when God Viracocha emerged from the lake to create the sun, the moon, the stars, and the Incans. Isla del Sol, the largest island on the lake, is the birthplace of the sun. I took a boat from Copacabana, Bolivia to Isla del Sol, to pay my dues to the sun for solstice. Let there be light.

There are no cars or paved roads, just a couple of small communities made up of about 800 families who fish and farm, and supply food and beds for tourists to augment their income. We stayed on the north end, where a small sandy beach offered a perfect location for admiring the sun, and by night, the stars.

The preserved Incan ruins on the northern side of the island from 2,000 BC are remnants of a convent for chosen women, stone walls to guard their prized virgins. A path cuts down the center of the island to the south whichmakes for a great day's hike. The views are sweet but the altitude takes a toll... rest stops necisary.

Upon returning to the mainland from Isla del Sol, I was delighted to learn my good friend Becky Brown just gave birth to her son, whom she aptly named Yapsa, which means the light of the sun, moon and stars. Loving life so filled with light.

Crossing the border into Peru, I explored a couple more islands on the western side of the lake. Taquila is a small island with a smattering of inhabitants who practice their traditional trade of weaving and maintain their indigenous way of life, with a bit of Christianity thrown in.

The last islands we visited are not really islands but rather floating masses of tutoro reeds upon which the Uros people have lives since pre-Incan times. When the Incans threatened the Uros' laidback fishing lifestyle they began to constuct their homes on large rafts made from the reeds that grow in the shallows of Lake Titicaca. The rafts are lashed into the ground, but are movable, and therefore able to flaot from their aggressors. The peaceful Uros live on and off the reeds. The tuturo reed is used to build their islands, their boats for fishing, the wood for their cooking fires and small nicknacks made for the tourists who come to marvel at their uniquely simple and peaceful way of life.

Interesting to note how much tourism has changed this isolated place on the earth. While feeling blessed that I am able to witness and expierience this unique place and peoples, I'm uncertain of how I feel hearing that tourism has now overtaken fishing as the Uro's mainstay, for example. I wonder how much longer we have until you can take a taxi from the north side of Isla del Sol to the south side. Oh the joys and sorrows of globalization...

Salar de Uyuni, Bolivia

2010-05-01T20:43:00.000-07:00

I never really focused on Bolivia as a destination before I came down to South America, more like a country I had to go through to reach Peru from Argentina. But as soon as I starting chatting up fellow travelers it became clear that, Bolivia, and in particular the unique and alien landscapes of the Salar de Uyuni where an experience not to be missed. In Salta (NW Argentina) I connected with some like-minded travelers who as well were drawn by tales of dazzling white expanses, pink flamingos and endless stars. We did a 4 day tour (for barely over 100 USD!) from Tupiza to Uyuni, traversing expanses of mountains, deserts and miles and miles of salt.

At almost 12,000 feet above sea level the perfectly flat and brilliantly white salt flats cover about 4,000 square miles of southwestern Bolivia and the dramatic surrounding area around the salt flats is equally as intriguing. We aquired a Jeep, a guide and a cook to accompany us on our journey.
On the first day setting out from Tupiza (a small town which boasts being the setting for the demise of Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid) we drove through stunning canyons and and watched as trees and shrubs gave way to giant cacti and fields of grasses where herding families live in small, spead out compounds and tend to their llamas and alpacas.

After spending a freezing night in one such compound we left behind inhabitable land and continued onto more stark terrain - passing ranges of harsh grey mountains and expanses of deserts that are puncuated with geysers, hot spring and lakes of varying degrees of color. From white, to green, to red and yellow, these lakes take on their hue based on the different amoebas that make their home in the lakes.

The lakes are home to flocks and flocks of pink flamingos with blacktipped wings, whose bright colors pop against the surreal landscape.

Massive rocks of ochre, yellow, coffee, beige and orange rise up from the windswept desert, formed over time by the elements into statuesque shapes, including the famous Stone Tree formation.

And then you arrive at the Salt Flats. About 40,000 years area the area was part of Lake Minchin, a giant prehistoric lake. When the lake dried, it left two modern lakes and two major salt deserts- which contain about 10 billion tons of salt. I was there during rainy season so much of the salt was covered in a thin layer of water which made for wet, salty feet and a world of reflections and mirror images.

Just outside of Uyuni lies a train cemetary. Tracks that go nowhere and the huge bodies of ancient steam locomotives lie stationary. The setting makes for a fantastic photo shoot.

The hallucenogenic landscapes of Southwestern Bolivia and the salt flats are unlike anything else in the world. Shocking and awe-inspiring at once, Bolivia does not dissapoint. Get there!

Cross-Continent Musings

2010-04-17T13:51:00.001-07:00

The heaviest rain I've seen in months is pounding against the bus, streaming against the large windows, smearing the green and red/brown landscape of Argentina. The rush of water makes me want to cry a little. Lonely in this empty bus, cocooned in cold air, aware of the space, this ship carrying me to unknown places.

Dripping pine forests and that brick red dirt has given way to a more sweeping plain, puncuated with stubby stands of trees. The colors of the land have mellowed, into tans and light greens, all cast in a rosy glow that blends everything together. This view offered, as if in a parting gift, from the setting sun.

I catch glimpses of it out my left window. I marvel at how perfect and round and glowing orange. I feel as if my sun is so often ubstructed by things. I forgot about its perfect and overwhelming fullness. It strikes me like the finally full moon after a month of being incomplete. Now, it is a half-orb settling into the horizon, looking like a post card of some African Savannah. Now, it is gone.

How quickly the sun offers its most oppulent gift - the magic light that only occurs in the blessedly brief moments when it enters and exits our world. And then, like the last passionate kiss of a parting lover, it leaves us in a stunned twilight - in a still-rosy glow that fades as quickly as it came, while the kiss of the sun leaves to warm another. It hurts? Yes, but we forget about that night alone, that darkness, come dawn.

The bus now chases where the sun used to be. We will never be fast enough. This inevitable truth makes me ache a little with a desperation that rises from some other source, wrongly directed at the sun's ceaseless parting. Or, maybe visca versa. Maybe all my feelings of loss, of darkness, of chasing some light that fills me with blasts of warmth and then leaves so fleeting, stems from this very basic earthly pattern. I am just one more homosapien, suffering from what we know as the human condition. Still, I chase West.

- an excerpt from my journal 2-22-2010 en route to Salta, Argentina.

Iguazu

2010-03-29T18:11:00.000-07:00

Where there are more butterflies than people to count them...

And the roar that fills your ear is not of traffic and human sounds
but of water crashing all around
Thundering from canopy heights, pounding to the ground
Where green surpasses the grey
And sunlight keeps the couds at bay
Where light kisses waterdrops resulting in
a spectacualr array of rainbows stretching amidst
This waterfalling wonderland
Heartbeats match the pace of a butterfly's wingspan

''She felt her love of the world as it appeared brimming inside her again, and marveled, where have I been?'' - Jean Hegland, from ''Windfalls''

People can't help but smile here. Something about the negative ions produces by crashing water that makes humans happier. Or maybe its these sights and sounds we so rarely are in touch with. As humans move ever more into dense urban centers into cardboard boxes and card houses illuminated by flourescent lights instead of rainbows. Thankful for this moment of wonder...

''Colours are where my brain finds glue.'' - Hot Chip

Fo Río

2010-02-28T14:11:00.000-08:00

Rio de Janeiro is electric. One of the most stunning settings I've ever seen. Rainforested mountains jut up against white sand beaches framed by the clear, blue Atlantic ocean. The thriving, bustling city that is Rio nestles itself in between the mountains and the sea with high rise towers stretching along the coasts and densely packed favelas (or shanty towns) rising up into the hills. Rio doesn't cease to amaze and entertain, especially during the week of Carnaval when it becomes a true playground for big kids. And play we did.

Our home base was a one-bedroom apartment on Copacabana which we rented out for ten days and cozily shared between seven of us. The saving grace was the rooftop terrace which boasted a pool, pool table, grill and full kitchen and was the site of our delicious daily feast that usually occurred at say, 11:30 pm. Our days started with the freshest of freshy fruits and juices. Every kind of tropical fruit blended up with ice. The amazing acai berry which is the most potent and powerful little berry which they blend up and serve with granola and bananas was fuel for the day. We drank the refreshing water from green coconuts and then split them open to feast on the meat.

Then to the beach. Copacabana and Ipanema beaches are one of a kind. Impressive expanses of white sand and even more impressive amounts of skin. I have never seen more beautiful people in one place than I did in Rio. Every skin tone from peach to golden to chocolate and everywhere in between. Brazilians are exotic and tan, toned and flaunting it in the ittiest bittiest baby excuses for bikinis or swimming trunks. A feast for the eyes for sure. The beaches are absolutely packed, which usually would annoy me but everyone is so much fun to look at it makes it OK. Vendors come by selling everything you might crave on a beach: shade, sunscreen, beers, shrimp, bathing suits, sodas, watermelon etc... all delivered to your own little oasis in the sand.

We filled our afternoons with outtings - or with timely naps as the case may be. We explored the huge national park that streches out behind Rio to play in a tropical rainforest paradise. The two best viewpoints of Rio - the massive Jesús Christo statue that stands watch over the city, and Sugarloaf mountain give equally stunning and completely opposite views of Rio. It is necesary to get higher to truly understand the dramatic landscape and the way the city nestles in between the mountains and the sea. Speaking of getting higher... I flew for the first time. I ran and jumped of a mountain top and soared under a hang-glider, over the tops of trees in the national park and then over that clear clear blue ocean before landing on the beach. It was one of the more incredible experiences of my life. Now I'm longing to jump of higher things and fall and fly farther...

In the evenings we usually grilled or cooked up increasingly amazing meals as the week progressed on our rooftop. Our dinners were lovingly labourous endeavours which lasting well into the night. For Valentines Day we rolled sushi and made a dessert platter of exotic fruit dipped in hazelut chocalate and almonds. Mmmmmade with Love.
However, all this is just what Rio has to offer every day of the year. Then there is Carnaval. Brazilians know how to party and the city has a massive influx of people that come to be apart of the biggest party in the world. From Friday to Fat Tuesday of Carnaval at any moment of the day or night in any corner of the city there is an array of parties you can choose to be apart of. Blocos are popular street parties where a parade, a band or a DJ entertain and people frolic in the streets where roving bars set up shop offering cold beers or caiparinhas. Costumes are the name of the game although I wasn't very impressed with the quality of costumes... I guess I have kinda high standards. In the bohemian neighborhood of Lapa, you can find any kind of dance party you want all night long. There is a huge half dome which has large amplified bands and then the streets and bars of the neighborhood all have their own spice and feel. From a Reggae dance party in the street to a salsa club to a techno rave - you can wander and sample and stay were you're drawn.

Carnaval was a raging party. But really it wasn't anything very special to me - just alot of people milling and drinking and dancing. I've been more impressed with the quality of other parties and festivals I've been to - although the sheer quantity of revelers is enough to make anyones jaw drop. What really took my breath away is the sheer setting, an amazing backdrop for whatever activity you choose to endeavour. The experience of a lifetime. I would recomment it to anyone looking to feel alive. And glowing and joyful and real... I mean Rio.

Mmm...Food

2010-02-05T13:56:00.000-08:00

Thinking about the notion of eating sensibly, seasonally, and close to home. Inspired by Emily's lifestyle and ''Animal, Vegetable, Mineral'' by Barbara Kingsolver, I am looking over my eating patterns and questioning what, from where, and when?

In Arroyo Morroti, the small intersection that is the town where Emily lives, there isn't a whole lot of choice - you cook what you have around you. Obviously no Whole Foods or vegetarian restuarants have crept in to rural Paraguay but neither have such luxeries as whole coffee beans or more than one kind of cheese. While we feasted on eggplant and lettuce our first night, hauled in from the grander farmer's market in the ''big city,'' since then we have been eating ultimately from the hills around us.

The equatorial sun plays a fierce role in determining what survives in the garden, sending many plants to their death with its powerful rays before they get a chance to fruit. The same rays that keep us slathering on sun screen and hiding in the shade mid-day allows only the hardiest of crops to survive. Yerba máte, stevia, clocho (a thick kerneled corn), mandi-o (the potato-like tubor that paraguayans use as the starch for most meals) dominate the fields that stretch over red-dirt hills. Some exceptions exist, Emily's bamboo-fenced garden behind her simple one-room home has lima beans, sweet potatoes, beans, cucumbers, squash, peanuts and two basil plants hiding under shade structures. In the harvest heavy months of summer and fall, one can eat well from the product of your effort, sweat and the answering bounty of your garden, or from that of your neighbours.

Mostly the locals eat simply, from I've seen from the meals I've been honored to share. Meat such as pork or chicken, mandi-o, eggs, and variations on cornbread: chipa, which is made from corn meal and shaped like a donut, and chipa guazu which is made from whole clocho kernels, cheese, onions and oil, baked in a brick oven and enjoyed hot.

In addition to these staples we dine on home-made bread slathered in butter and honey, which Emily harvested from the bees herself. We make soup from beans, clocho and an unreasonably long phallic squash from the garden, seasoned with basil, freshly ground pepper and the other Paraguayan staple - salt. Chicken noodle soup with home-made egg noddles, squash, onions and garlic. Ravioli ala Paraguaya served with tomato sauce - all made from scratch. We drink juice made from cantalope, asian pear, or the mouth-gasm that is passion fruit. Snack on gauvas and grapes from the yard or freshly roasted and salted peanuts with honey. Yes, one can eat well here, even when limited to the local cornucopia.

But that's not to say that eating well doesn't require ALOT of work. A gift of a bag of dried beans isn't taken so lightly when you know the work that went into it - from saving the seed, to planting, weeding, watering, protecting it from the sun, harvesting, drying, shelling...
To my delight, when I arrived to Arroyo Morroti, Emily already had peanuts drying she had recently dug up from her garden. Peanuts grow like little clusters of potatoes on vines underneath the earth. Who knew? With visions of salty roasted peanuts in my head, I labored for an hour shelling little purple peanuts - enough to fill a small dish. In a moment of relapse from my newly acquired ''working with the land, in its own time'' mentality, I remarked to her, ''I don't think this is very efficient.'' To which she replied, '' Maybe you're not efficient.''

Ooo-kay. Maybe this lifestyle of eating locally and seasonally takes a little practice and effort. It's hard to maintain that ideal when you, say, live in a city, work a full-time job, or maybe most difficult to overcome, have the freakish ability to consume whatever you wish, whenever you like, for a price. But what is that price? Aside from the high price of peaches in winter, what about the fossil fuels used to ship it from Chile? Or the disconnection that humans have from the land that feeds them, or the lost art of family meal times?

In Barbara Kingsolver's book, ''Animal, Vegetable, Miracle'' her family vows to eat solely locally-produced food for a year, and in the process, gets back to the land, becomes closer with their neighbours and with each other. I can attest for these results as well - in three weeks of eating from the land, I have witnessed how it it brings communities and families together. Emily and her neighbours are in a constant flux of passing around dishes laden with freshly baked bread, chipa guazu, just-shelled beans or whole milk straight from the udder. Each time a plate passes hands it seems to strengthen the bond between them. Sitting around a big pot with a few other women, gossiping and sharing the task of peeling and removing worms from guava to be turned into dulce de guayaba, it seems a deeper connection is being shared, one that has linked women throughout history. And I couldn't think of a better way to spend an afternoon than involved in the process of creating, cooking and delighting in freshly made ravioli with my sister.

Eating locally and savoring the process of preparing food as well as eating it is easy in the summertime. Farmers markets bring the bounty of the countryside to the city, and even a small garden patch can enliven any dinner table with sun warmed tomatoes and basil. But what about those cold winter months where no tomato in its right mind would be seen in Portland? For some unnatural reason, we have become accustomed to eating fresh produce even in winter, shipped in from faraway places, to satiate our need to be pleased, RIGHT NOW. Instant gratification is so good but so... ultimately unsatisfying.

Ms. Kingsolver describes the two qualities lacking in an American local-food culture as patience and restraint. ''Waiting for the quality experience seems to be the constitutional article that has slipped from the American Food custom. That is the sublime paradox of a food culture: restraint equals indulgence.''

But, here in Paraguay it is summer, and in summer we indulge.

RAVIOLI A LA PARAGUAYA

Combine two cups of flour with salt, two generous tablespoons of oil and then add water until it forms a dough. Roll out until it makes a thin sheet and then cut it into two inch squares.

For the filling sautee squash, greens onions (diced finely), parsley and basil in butter. Remove it from heat and mix with a soft cheese.

Place the filling on the ravioli square with a tabkespoon, and cover with another square, wetting the edges of the dough so the two sides adhere to one another.

For fresh and simple tomatoe sauce sautee onions, garlic, peppers and finally, tomatoes. Cook the mixture down until it is less watery, add basil and salt.

Boil the ravioli and top with tomato sauce. Enjoy in the shade.

Valparaíso v. Granada

2010-01-29T08:52:00.000-08:00

From Argentina I had the pleasure of crossing the epic Andes into Chile to visit a friend, Daniel Perez, who is livng and working in Santiago. We made our way to the Pacific and the sweet little city that is Valparaiso. I was immediately enchanted with its rainbow array of tin homes clustered on the hills rising from up the coast, rickety old trams that precariously carry you up the steep hillsides, and art painted all over the canvas that is Valpariaso. I am not the only one who was so enchanted - the famous Chilean poet Pablo Neruda made one of his homes, La Sebastiana, there to better soak up the inspiration.

Walking around Valpariaso I couldn't help but be reminded of another city, very dear to my heart, which was a well of inspiration for the Spanish Poet, Federico Garcia Lorca. While Granada, Spain is nestled in a valley as opposed to lining the sea and the moorish-style homes are white-washed with red tiled roofs as opposed to bright splashes of color, both cities have an energy and soul. A sense of passion, and a legacy of inspiration and artistic expression. And they both have my heart.

VALPARAÌSO

If You Forget Me

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine

-Pablo Neruda

GRANADA

The distant hills appear with their smooth reptilian undulations.

The infinitely crystalline transparencies reveal themselves in dim splendor. The shadows hold night in their tangles, and the city begins to shed its idle veils, rendering visible its cupolas and its ancient towers illuminated by a soft golden light.

The houses reveal faces with empty eyes among the verdure, and the grasses, poppies and vines dance entertainingly to the sound of the breeze from the sun.

The shadows are lifting and vanishing languidly, while in the air there is a piping of ocarinas and reed-flutes produced by the birds.

In the distance there are confusions of mist and heliotrope among the poplar groves, and now and then, in the dawn freshness, is heard a distant bleating in the key of F.

Along the valley of the Darro, anointed with blue and dark-green, fly pigeons from the countryside, whiter or darker, according to whether they come to rest beneath the poplars or beneath masses of yellow flowers.

The sober bell-towers are still asleep, except for some small bell on the Albaizín ingenuously quivering from its cypress tree.

The rushes, reeds and fragrant grasses are bent down to the water so as to kiss the sunlight whenever it should be reflected there…

The sun appears, almost without brightness….and in that moment the shadows lift and vanish, the city is tinted pale purple, the mountains turn to solid gold, and the trees acquire the brilliance of an Italian ascension.

And all the softness and paleness of indecisive blues changes to splendid luminosity, and the ancient towers of the Alhambra are illuminated with roseate light…the houses with their whiteness, and the shadows, exchanging brilliant greens.

The sun of Andalucia begins to sing its song of fire which all things listen to with fear.

The light is so marvellous and unique that the birds crossing the air are rare metals, solid rainbows and red opals….

- Federico García Lorca, from ''Impresiones y paisajes 1918''

Here's to Inspiration.

Liner Notes on Buenos Aires

2010-01-12T19:40:00.000-08:00

I sailed on over from Montevideo to Buenos Aires post New Years in what was probably the easiest country hoppin' I've ever pulled off. A couple hours on a luxury boat and you're smack dab in the middle of the city? Yes, thank you. I had my ears appropriately all filled up with the nuevo tango group, Gotan Project, to get in the mood. Though based in France now, Eduardo Makaroff is an Argentine and their music is ultimately tango with lots of fun stuff like samples, beats, and breaks. Check it out.

This city complete took me up in its wonderfully chaotic whirlwind and although I managed to move on, I think I left my heart and my appetite there. Buenos Aires rocks. A few highlights and thought bubbles follow:

- On a recommendation from my wonderful friend Vanessa Paster I sought out a gem of a restaurant in the Palermo neighborhood, La Cabrera, and enjoyed the best steak dinner of my life. Hands down, amazing. Four of us splurged on two bottles of a fantastic malbec wine, delicious ceasar salad, fries and two huge steaks that only set us back $90. The tenderloin I ordered was served sizzling on a wooden platter, accompanied by a variety of little dishes filled with different delicious things to accompany the steak. Creamy mustard sauce, pears in wine, horseradish, applesauce, bleu cheese, salsa, sauteed onions, mushrooms etc. I wouldn't ramble on so if this wasn't the BEST steak of my life. It even beats this kobe steak that previously held that title. Thanks for the recommendation, Nessa. Not to be missed.

- I had the joy of meeting up with a friend from college, Kailani Swenson, while she was in Buenos Aires visiting her sister. Her sister, Tiffany Joy, is an amazing bilingual singer/songwriter whose powerhouse vocals front a local band, and whom I had the pleasure of seeing while I was there. Currently recording a new album titled, ''Real Joy,'' Tiffany Joy was a pleasure to see and hear, especially after nothing but constant reggaeton action in Uruguay.

- La Bomba del Tiempo. Is the bomb. This purcussion orchestra puts on an amazing show every monday in the Konex Cultural Center, a huge warehouse with outdoor and indoor spaces and bars selling liter beers. For the show, I met up with Julia Eisen-Meyers and Justin Ford, old friends from Portland who are midway through their 10 month stint in Latin America and were conveniently in Buenos Aires at the same time. Check out their travel blog by clicking here. La Bomba is an amazingly organized drum circle, with a variety of perucussion instruments and a conductor leading the group, as to emphasize ciertain sounds, patterns, cresendos etc. At one point a foxy singer channeling the Pink Ladies of Grease came out and added her wailing vocals to the mix. Badass.
This is short video of La Bomba. Sorry for the poor video quality aka Im drunk.

- Plaza Dorrego, which is located the sketchy-by-night, captivating-by-day barrio of San Telmo, is home to the most extensive and quality antique market I've ever had the pleasure meandering through. And by meandering I mean spending all afternoon oggling, touching, trying on and falling in love with precious items from different eras. Oh the joys of travelling solo, it's hard pressed to find someone who would spend that kind of quality time in outdoor market during midday and midsummer heat. I was limited only by the fact that I had brought a small amount of cash, which ultimately was a blessing, since I spent every peso I had on me. Booths crammed with vintage clothes and lace, gramophines, jewelry, antique glass bottles in every color and size, pocket watches, cigarette tins, compact mirrirs, perfume bottles, fur coats, and trinkets and treasures for every taste, especially mine. I ended up purchasing super practical travel wear: An shimmery asymmetrical one-piece olive green bathing suit with Italian lace crocheted on the side and this divine cocktail hat from the 1940s covered in leaves made of crushed velvet, with a short black veil that covers the eyes and absolutely channels Evita. Super, super practical.

- I always have been slightly (and now am absolutely) obsessed with the aforementioned Evita aka Eva Peròn. Evita served as the beloved First Lady of Argentina from 1946 until her death in 1952. She had a classic rag to riches story; born poor and out of wedlock, she moved to the Big Apple of Buenos Aires at the age of 15 and gradually rose to stardom as an actress. She met and married the Labor Minister Juan Peròn and they scandalized the aristocracy by mixing politics with popular culture - and the people loved it. Evita played a powerful role in winning the hearts of the descamisados, the great working poor of the nation of which she had once been, and getting him elected to presidency. She championed for womens rights, spoke out on behalf of labor rights and won the heart of the greater Argentine population - which apparently she retains today. Her grave in the elite Recoleta Cemetary is still covered in fresh flowers, a museum in her honor is a bustling place, and her beautiful face with its perfectly coifed hair peers down from the walls of shops and restaurants, alongside the Virgen Mary. Evita is called the ''Cinderella of tango and the Sleeping Beauty of Latin America'' and her passion, beauty and humanitarianism continues to live on in the hearts of many an Argentine. And in mine.

- Porteños, or people from Buenos Aires, are famously lovers of the night, of passion, tango, music, dance and theater. This city is so vibrant it is actually buzzing - through all hours of the night. But there also seems to be a deep melancholy here, an acknowledgement of unfulfilled potential as they struggle economically, and outside of the tourist areas of this so-called ''Paris of South America'' you can see the rough realities of a third world country. A taxi driver explained his perpective to me on the way to a tango performance. He used to own a textile factory but lost it in the economic crisis that hit right before the millenium. Ten years later, he is still driving a cab, but he showed deep insight into the physche of his people as he explained that porteños have a deep inner pain from experiencing varying degrees of struggle. However, this pain turns them out into the night, to release it in the somewhat fantasy worlds of dance, theater, and drink. The passion of Buenos Aires as a byproduct of the struggle. Just watch the face of a tango dancer and see how pleasure and pain are two sides of a very sharp knife.

Airplane Playlist

2010-01-11T10:07:00.000-08:00

I started this playlist on the plane leaving Oregon and it has become the running soundtrack for my trip. A few are linked up for your listening enjoyment...

Apparat - Hailing from the Edge
Hold on
Bassnectar - Where is my mind?
Beats Antique - Beauty Beats
Blank and Jones - Consequences
Bellatronic - Red Tape
Chromeo - Fancy Footwork
CSS - Music is my HOT, HOT sex
Dead Disco - Automatic (Raufrast Dark Disco Remix)
Ellen Alien & Apparat - Way Out
The Faint - Agenda Suicide
Federico Aubele - Postales
Hercules and Love Affair - Iris
Hot Chip - Over and Over
Arrest Yourself
Jakwob - Starry Eyed (Ellie Goulding Remix)
The Knife - Forest Families
Ladytron - Seventeen
La Roux - In for the Kill (Skream´s Lets Get Ravey Remix)
Pretty Lights - Finally Moving
Random Rab - The Refection
School of Seven Bells - Iamundernodigsuise
Simian Mobile Disco - I Believe
The Sounds - Queen of Apology
Thievery Corporation - Dance on Vaseline
The Ting Tings - Thats not my name

El Diablo Tranquilo

2010-01-04T10:41:00.000-08:00

Uruguay was... amazing. But mostly I was just extremely stoked to see my sister after 16 month apart, so we could've been anywhere and it would have been sublime. With that said, Uruguay was not a bad setting for our reunion, to celebrate Christmas and ring in the New Years!

I got into Montevideo, Uruguay after a 36 hour travel day that included four planes and 15 accumulated hours of layovers (I found that Lima, Peru is a great place to spend an eight hour layover, San Salvador, El Salvador is not). Landing in time to see a rosy fingered dawn creeping over the Atlantic ocean's horizon, I bee-lined to the hostel where Emily was staying and convinced the guy working the front desk to let me wake her up. After peering in almost every bed in a twelve-person dorm room, I finally found her and promptly pounced on her and we erupted in a fit of hugs and giggles. The feeling akin to this that comes to mind is when Stephani and I discoved blowing bubbles into the sunrise and looking at them through rainbow glasses. Pure joy.

Within an hour we were on a bus heading North up the coast to Punto del Diablo, a picturesque little fishing villiage where we had rented cabañas along with 14 of my sis' friend from Peace Corps Paraguay. This sleepy little town is like the antithesis of the popular resort-town-on-steroids that is Punto del Este. It is small and humble, filled mostly with Uruguayans who have vacation homes or actually live there. Colorful houses with thatched roofs, an array of even more colorful people, and as much fresh seafood as we could cook up greeted us upon our arrival. To give a quick idea, our first dinner was comprised of grilled fish, shrimp, vegetables, an oyster cream sauce, ribs, rice and this amazing fish stew with grilled veggies that was made out of a failed attempt at a bloody mary - with delicious results.

The most amazing thing about this town are the people. The first night we immediatley befriended Uruguayans who work in Punto seasonally during their summer (still wrapping my head around the concept of December being a summer month south of the equator). They went out of their way to make a feel welcome and we had a sweet crew for the remainder of our stay there. Uruguay is composed of 90% (or so...) people of European descent with almost no indigenous ethnicity or culture, granted they all have killer tans. This surprised me for some reason, I guess I was expecting something that appeared more indegenous but the people and architecture all are reminiscant of their European roots. Our friend Martín, who has a darker color tone due to his Italian heritage is called 'el negro' by his friends, to give an example of how common people of color are...

We spent our days swimming and lounging in hammocks, eating fabulous meals and strolling through this sweet little town. And drinking massive, massive amounts of maté and tereré. I mean, I sort of knew about this whole maté way of life down here but I didn't really KNOW. Uruguayans drink maté throughout the day, carrying their hot water in thermoses and their guampas (the gourd, wooden, or metal cup) and bombillas (the metal straw) everywhere with them. Tereré (maté drunk with ice cold water) is unheard of outside of Paraguay but since I was rolling with a ultimately Paraguayan crew, we drank tereré throught the hot hours of the afternoon. And I'm totally smitten, I think it's a fantastic way to live life, constantly pausing to join together with your friends and enjoy the slightly bitter but restorative herbal drink multiple times a day.

We celebrated Christmas with as much gusto as is possible in a subtropical climate. The day was greeted with matè and candy canes on the doorsteps of our cabañas. We collaborated to make this incredible Christmas breakfast complete with banana pancakes, french toast, potatoes, eggs, chorizo and, of course, mimosas. After leaving the appropriate amount of time for digestion (thanks, Ma) we played ultimate frisbee on the beach, went swimming and siesta'd before warming up for dinner. Chrsitmas dinner was a paella-off between the cabañas (ours won of course, thank you, Spain) and we feasted yet again, following dinner with a reading of ''Where the Wild Things Are.''

Exactly.

We departed from our beloved beach town with a final bonfire under a moonlit and star-studded sky. You can still see Orion fixed in the Milky Way down here but he's positioned differently in the sky. And my beloved Flo constellation was no where to be seen. Not yet at least, I'll be keeping my eye to the sky. I'm still fuzzy on how star-gazing is applied all over the world, I want someone to explain it to me with a grapefruit and some string or something. The universe can be a mind-boggling place.

In our little corner of the universe, we returned to Montevideo and stayed at this awesome hostel called 'El Viajero.' With a beautiful inner courtyard with a ceiling made of grapes, spacious kitchen, cozy living area and rooftop terrace, it felt like a mansion we were allowed to play in, except for the dorm bedrooms, that is. The 'ciudad viejo' of Montevideo is beautiful, with cobble-stone streets, colonial architecture, leafy plazas and aritsans selling their wares on tables and blankets. It's a great city to explore by bicycle due to its relatively small size and a vehicle-free paseo that lines the peninsula that is Montevideo, ultimately leading to the beach. We spent New Years Eve day touring by bike, dodging water balloons and confetti-like shredded paper receipts and calandar pages that Montevideanos toss from rooftops. Here's to the New Year and letting go...

New Years Eve was rung in on the rooftop. The night was illuminated by the rare full blue moon and huge fireworks that were let off all over the city. The American in me was concerned about fire safety but another glass of champagne and I got over it. Kisses from my sister and a lone star balloon that was let fly free and floated in my vision all over my corner of the sky were the higlights of this moment, this changing of the decade.

We celebrated the night away at 'W loung' THE premier night club in Montevideo, a sprawling place right on the beach with huge open air balconies and an open bar after paying a cover (about $15). The sun sent us to bed and we finally slept, waking up to a new day, a new year, a new decade and endless, endless possibilities.

Happy New Year!

Things and Stuff, Stuff and Things

2009-12-21T02:01:00.000-08:00

The things we carry can tell a lot about a person, especially when traveling and what you can tote on your back becomes a turtle shell, housing all that us important to your survival. While I yearn to travel lightly (sort of), and practice detachment from my material possessions (good luck), I am also really into preparedness. During this kind of prep period I become slightly obsessed with organization. I put myself mentally through extreme situations - will I have the right gear?

For me, getting geared up is half the fun. And what is the right gear without the right container to put it in? What is Burning Man without baskets of costumes pieces, or rafting the Deschutes without a soft cooler filled with beer and sandwich fixings and a watertight container for dry goodies? Honestly, I'm completely obsessed with containers. Pairing the correct container with the perfect item gives me a sense of satisfaction akin to that of a matchmaker. Tupperware bins, glass latch-lid jars, Altoids tins, wooden boxes, Crown Royal Pouches, picnic baskets and satchels of all sizes... you name it I've put something in it that fits it just so.

A Brief Nod to Bags--

I am in love with my backpack. It's nothing fancy, an Eagle Creek mid-size backpack I picked up at REI a couple years ago, but we are a team. I carry it everywhere I go, and it carries all my things and stuff. Just my size, top loading but with a zipper to access the belly of the bag, the right amount and sizes of small pockets; ours is a relationship that lasts. We stick together like glue and go together like peanut butter and jelly... MFEO.

OK, OK, I've barely gotten through one post without discussing: fanny packs.

That's right. For those of you who haven't been spending time with me these past months and somehow escaped noticing: fanny packs are the wave of the future.
It's all about being hands-free. Whether walking, dancing, moving or grooving, fanny packs give you complete freedom while keeping all your things and stuff just an arm's reach away. And the best part is - they don't have to be ugly! Originally inspired by Miss. Chelsea Dixon's fanny pack costume piece she made for Burning Man '08, we have created a line of custom-made fanny packs, disguised and transformed into utilitarian devices and works of art. Kind of in love with my new fanny pack I made for my trip.

And now as to what things and stuff go in the bag? Obviously there are the necessities, like clothes and toiletries but I wanted to skip the basics but take time to mention a few items I wouldn't leave without:

- an ipod (duh) with tons of new music to explore while sitting on buses, trains, planes, boats and in automobiles. (Thanks Travis and Chelsea for new tunes!)
- a microfiber towel. I was a little late to discover this and after drying off with my sweatshirt or paying for towel fees at hostels, I am in love with my new fast-drying towel that folds into its own teeny bag. Perfect!
- a sarong is great for bringing to the beach so you can keep your towel sand and salt free. Also doubles as a blanket or fashion forward beach wear.
- alarm clock. After traveling through Europe for a month with no alarm clock or phone to speak of, I will never make that mistake again. Time is everything when you are catching some form of transport on the daily.
- a flat drain plug that will fit over any tub or sink drain lets you hand wash your clothes or enjoy a hot bath.
- a Swiss army knife. From opening bottle of wine, to getting out a splinter, to making a picnic a piece of cake, Swiss army knives are the ultimate tool.
- a small notebook that can be easily carried in a pocket, purse, or fanny pack. Keeping schedules, flights, destinations, contact information and inspiration all jotted down in one location makes for easy maneuvering and a satisfying stash of info. My favorites are Moleskines and Paperblanks.

For Portlanders seeking good places to shop for supplies:

REI is great, obviously, it has everything by way of high quality camping and travel gear. But my favorite is the US Outdoor Store on SW Broadway, outfitters for any type of outdoor activity, that has a great discount room for clothes and shoes. I had the pleasure of going bikini shopping in mid-winter, and got 50% off a still ample selection of summer wear. The prices were a pleasure, trying on a bikini in mid-winter was not...
I also have a soft spot in my heart for Andy & Bax on Grand, the quirky army supply and camping store. They carry a great selection of headlamps, and a full array of Swiss army knives. I bought my second knife there after forgetting my orginal, Swiss-bought knife in the aforementioned soft cooler when I was rafting the Deschutes.

Happy Packing!

Where is my Mind?

2009-12-18T16:43:00.001-08:00

The elusive Bassnectar. The endless chase. For those of you who haven't witnessed my infatuation with the sonic master Bassnectar aka Lorin Ashton, here's a sample...

"This tune is an anthem for living life at a dizzying pace, but refusing to slow down."

Amen.

Download the remixed version of The Pixies' classic, "Where is my Mind " fo free!

If I wasn't leaving the country I would be spending New Years in San Fransisco at the SEA OF DREAMS enjoying the delicious whompiness of Bassnectar, not to mention The Glitch Mob, Ghostland Observatory, Ozomatli, Lynx etc. etc.

For those of you who are going... enjoy! And get down a lil harder for me :)

Preparations

2009-12-14T02:01:00.000-08:00

Preparing for take-off has nothing to do with fastening your seat-belt. It is a whirlwind week of compiling the contents of and organizing the backpack that will become your entire material world. It is a mad dash to squeeze in the people and activities that you will miss in the upcoming absence. It is going through all the necessary motions, to set yourself in motion. I want to cross oceans.

Sometimes sitting in one place gives me motion sickness.

It's like I can feel the earth turning, shifting in its universe, and my inertness means I'm falling behind.
Some butterflies make me sick to my stomach.
But mostly they remind my heart that fluttering now and then is good for the soul.

I BOUGHT A ONE-WAY TICKET TO SOUTH AMERICA. Uruguay, specifically, where I will rendevous with my sister Emily in Punto del Diablo and enjoy my first midsummer Christmas on the beach. Emily has been working as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Paraguay for over a year and this will be our first opportunity to reconnect and explore another country together. I've been intrigued by South America for a long time, ever since learning about its tumultuous history, epic civilizations, dramatic natural landscapes, array of food, paradisaical beaches, hot music, and hotter dance (what's not to like?), but her being there is an additional pull to this already magnetic continent.

Check out Emily's awesome blog detailing her work in the PC : paraguaypeace.blogspot.com

I've never taken off on my own before without a job, itinerary or travel partner to guide my footsteps. It's exhilirating and nerve-racking and I havn't even left yet.

Preparing for take-off...