Saturday, July 11, 2009
this journey's reading
"She was awakened one morning by the whinnying of her horse with the full light of dawn in her face, surrounded by tall sequoias that, like centenary guards, had watched over her sleep, by gentle hills, and far in the distance, purple mountaintops; at that moment she was filled with an atavistic happiness that was entirely new....Her fears had dissipated in the awesome grandeur of this landscape."
-- Isabel Allende, Daughter of Fortune
"They [winds] blow across the world without a birthplace and with no place to die."
-- Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist
-- Isabel Allende, Daughter of Fortune
"They [winds] blow across the world without a birthplace and with no place to die."
-- Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Ten Days of DtiDti
* this entry dedicated to a dear friend -- someone who digs in trashcans to find food for a mangy pup; someone who doesn't mind getting lost; someone who somersaults with the tumbling of waves; someone who loves her daughter, her dogs, her family; someone who resonates with the warmth of home. *
a few moments with DtiDti:
sunrise
* this entry from 6/9 *
The Joining of Clouds, Concha de Perla, Isla Isabela
Today, we plan to not plan. Carpe diem. We walk the dirt road to the pier, snorkels and flippers in hand.
A walk down a wooden plank, through a mangrove swamp, its roots twisted and woven, submerged in the water below. The walkway leads to a sparkling pool of ocean.
The lulling crashing of waves against a crest of lavarock. Warm currents sweep through the clear water. Striped fish poke at fuzzy rocks. A sealion swirls in the water. Below the surface everything is calm; there is a peaceful quiet in the underwater world.
In the distance, a figure approaches. A marine iguana? A sea turtle? The obscure shape grows and soon reveals itself to be a leaf.
"Unplanned," Stella says. She's smiling. "You walk out not expecting anything and you come back with a whole lot of amazing. I mean, five stingrays, sea lions, a leaf.."
We laugh.
Blue patches of sky. Clouds come together, stretch over the horizon like an opalescent rainbow.
* this entry from 6/12 *
Treasure-hunters, Tortuga Bay, Santa Cruz
Dtidti is stretched out on the sand, a book spread open before her. She's reading about the Mexican Revolution of 1910. She talks about how leather shoes were boiled to provide flavor for "soup", talks about how the displaced walked through arid desert, northward, hundreds of miles.
Conversation continues and we think about the Individuals in the mid-1900's who ventured over sea and land towards the California coast -- in the direction of gold -- travelling through the vast expanse of unknown, guided by their hopes to find the treasure they sought.
* this entry from 6/15 *
The Last Supper, Quito
"Sometimes God comes to us in different forms -- as a stranger, as a good friend," DtiDti says.
We cheer glasses of wine and mojitos, pick forkfuls of fish from one another's plate.
"The fact that we wake up to the sun -- that's good enough for me," she says. She tells her daughter to pray and be thankful for another day.
Stella is in the moment, her altruistic nature -- the lists she makes of things to include in a care package, the gifts she buys for everyone else first. She would take her flipflops off, donate them, and walk barefooted.
Earlier today, while enroute to Otavallo, a town a few hours outside Quito, we appreciated a scene: a small girl gave her ice cream cone to an elderly man digging in a trash can.
Thank You, Stella.
a few moments with DtiDti:
sunrise
* this entry from 6/9 *
The Joining of Clouds, Concha de Perla, Isla Isabela
Today, we plan to not plan. Carpe diem. We walk the dirt road to the pier, snorkels and flippers in hand.
A walk down a wooden plank, through a mangrove swamp, its roots twisted and woven, submerged in the water below. The walkway leads to a sparkling pool of ocean.
The lulling crashing of waves against a crest of lavarock. Warm currents sweep through the clear water. Striped fish poke at fuzzy rocks. A sealion swirls in the water. Below the surface everything is calm; there is a peaceful quiet in the underwater world.
In the distance, a figure approaches. A marine iguana? A sea turtle? The obscure shape grows and soon reveals itself to be a leaf.
"Unplanned," Stella says. She's smiling. "You walk out not expecting anything and you come back with a whole lot of amazing. I mean, five stingrays, sea lions, a leaf.."
We laugh.
Blue patches of sky. Clouds come together, stretch over the horizon like an opalescent rainbow.
* this entry from 6/12 *
Treasure-hunters, Tortuga Bay, Santa Cruz
Dtidti is stretched out on the sand, a book spread open before her. She's reading about the Mexican Revolution of 1910. She talks about how leather shoes were boiled to provide flavor for "soup", talks about how the displaced walked through arid desert, northward, hundreds of miles.
Conversation continues and we think about the Individuals in the mid-1900's who ventured over sea and land towards the California coast -- in the direction of gold -- travelling through the vast expanse of unknown, guided by their hopes to find the treasure they sought.
* this entry from 6/15 *
The Last Supper, Quito
"Sometimes God comes to us in different forms -- as a stranger, as a good friend," DtiDti says.
We cheer glasses of wine and mojitos, pick forkfuls of fish from one another's plate.
"The fact that we wake up to the sun -- that's good enough for me," she says. She tells her daughter to pray and be thankful for another day.
Stella is in the moment, her altruistic nature -- the lists she makes of things to include in a care package, the gifts she buys for everyone else first. She would take her flipflops off, donate them, and walk barefooted.
Earlier today, while enroute to Otavallo, a town a few hours outside Quito, we appreciated a scene: a small girl gave her ice cream cone to an elderly man digging in a trash can.
Thank You, Stella.
it's a pleasure to meet You
* this entry from 5/28 *
it's a pleasure to meet You, Isla Isabela, Galapagos
It was as though Mr. Hermit Crab transformed overnight. This human form walks up the low stairs into the shaded patio of the local restaurant. A flash of white t-shirt and gold; golden hair and golden skin. I’ve not seen this image on the island.
White t-shirt and gold hair reappears and sits alongside our small group; his rice and bananas joining our rice and bananas.
The cadence of his voice is calm. He smiles after sentences.
It's learnt that he’s an English professor on another island (San Cristobal), that he's a photographer, that he likes chocolate and lime ice cream.
He lends me a book and in the evening, I see him again.
Two bottles of beer, our conversation travels and soon we are away from the group, from the wood stools, from the conch shells of the beach bar. Salsa music fades as we walk barefooted towards the ocean. Water laps over feet, wets the edge of jeans. He talks about Lost Words and asking questions, helps me over rocky ledges and sinking sand. Clouds blot the sky. Stars twinkle. We label a set of shiny dots the big dipper and throw accuracy to the wind.
A thin slice of moon faintly illuminates the night. The sea enveloped in darkness appears mysterious; a vast expanse of unknown. Standing on that cusp of land and water, it is asked.
“What would happen if we just continued walking into the ocean?”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
Our hands hug and with a firm grip, we walk forward to find the answer. The evening’s darkness blurs the edges of the horizon, a mass of rolling water washes over legs, splashes onto chests. The deeper we go, the tighter the grip; soon our clothes are wet, our hands release, he swims into the black water, another wave crashes, I topple over and surrender to the sea.
The slopping sound of wet jeans against the ground as we walk back to town. He takes me to the door of my hostel and bids a goodnight.
Thank You, Robin.
(photo courtesy of S.G.)
it's a pleasure to meet You, Isla Isabela, Galapagos
It was as though Mr. Hermit Crab transformed overnight. This human form walks up the low stairs into the shaded patio of the local restaurant. A flash of white t-shirt and gold; golden hair and golden skin. I’ve not seen this image on the island.
White t-shirt and gold hair reappears and sits alongside our small group; his rice and bananas joining our rice and bananas.
The cadence of his voice is calm. He smiles after sentences.
It's learnt that he’s an English professor on another island (San Cristobal), that he's a photographer, that he likes chocolate and lime ice cream.
He lends me a book and in the evening, I see him again.
Two bottles of beer, our conversation travels and soon we are away from the group, from the wood stools, from the conch shells of the beach bar. Salsa music fades as we walk barefooted towards the ocean. Water laps over feet, wets the edge of jeans. He talks about Lost Words and asking questions, helps me over rocky ledges and sinking sand. Clouds blot the sky. Stars twinkle. We label a set of shiny dots the big dipper and throw accuracy to the wind.
A thin slice of moon faintly illuminates the night. The sea enveloped in darkness appears mysterious; a vast expanse of unknown. Standing on that cusp of land and water, it is asked.
“What would happen if we just continued walking into the ocean?”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
Our hands hug and with a firm grip, we walk forward to find the answer. The evening’s darkness blurs the edges of the horizon, a mass of rolling water washes over legs, splashes onto chests. The deeper we go, the tighter the grip; soon our clothes are wet, our hands release, he swims into the black water, another wave crashes, I topple over and surrender to the sea.
The slopping sound of wet jeans against the ground as we walk back to town. He takes me to the door of my hostel and bids a goodnight.
Thank You, Robin.
(photo courtesy of S.G.)
the date
* this entry from 5/27/09 *
The Date, Isla Isabella, Galapagos
He catches my eye from a distance -- interrupting my evening jog.
My pace fades and I start walking up towards him. He looks pensive, his gaze captured elsewhere. His big brown eyes are pointed towards the sky behind me. The clouds look like a brush stroke of water color rose. A sheen covers the shore, captures his reflection. The sea is calm, a soothing lapping of waves.
“Hola.”
I sit next to him and wrap my arms around my knees.
We watch the scenery in silence, comfortable, as though longtime friends. The tide rises, cool water wraps around my toes. A long stretch of sand with two sets of footprints extends before us.
Time passes unnoticed. I like sitting next to him, our gazes crossing.
Water slides up the shore, its white foamy crest draws sand back with it. He stretches upward, his posture erect, and as the next wave laps onto shore, he joins its rhythm, and starts somersaulting in sand towards the water’s edge.
Laughter penetrates. Our eyes meet again.
“So…I have a random question.”
He looks at me with a patient, easygoing attentiveness that calms nerves. His body is moist, it glistens like the glassy shore. I want to touch it.
A breeze lifts mist from the sea’s surface. Under the descended sun’s glow, the scenery is hazy like an oil painting.
“What’s your advice?”
I don’t feel the need to explain myself -- to tell him that I enjoy collecting advice; to tell him about the gambler from Argentina whose advice was “move away from more and more and closer to enough”, to tell him about the Irish fellow who spoke no Spanish and said “the best translation is a smile”. I don’t tell him this. It feels like he already knows, like he just gets me.
“Roll with it.”
We don’t speak the same language, but I understood. His answer elicits a smile.
In one another’s company, we continue watching the ocean, its ebb and flow, until night’s darkness rides in with the tide.
He looks into my eyes, deeply, then gets up, stretches his claws out his shell and crawls across the sand leaving a lingering trail of his presence.
“Farewell Hermit Crab. You’re the neatest date I’ve ever had.”
(Didn't have a camera on me, but here's a flic of a handsome fella; photo source: myanimalblog.files.wordpress.com)
The Date, Isla Isabella, Galapagos
He catches my eye from a distance -- interrupting my evening jog.
My pace fades and I start walking up towards him. He looks pensive, his gaze captured elsewhere. His big brown eyes are pointed towards the sky behind me. The clouds look like a brush stroke of water color rose. A sheen covers the shore, captures his reflection. The sea is calm, a soothing lapping of waves.
“Hola.”
I sit next to him and wrap my arms around my knees.
We watch the scenery in silence, comfortable, as though longtime friends. The tide rises, cool water wraps around my toes. A long stretch of sand with two sets of footprints extends before us.
Time passes unnoticed. I like sitting next to him, our gazes crossing.
Water slides up the shore, its white foamy crest draws sand back with it. He stretches upward, his posture erect, and as the next wave laps onto shore, he joins its rhythm, and starts somersaulting in sand towards the water’s edge.
Laughter penetrates. Our eyes meet again.
“So…I have a random question.”
He looks at me with a patient, easygoing attentiveness that calms nerves. His body is moist, it glistens like the glassy shore. I want to touch it.
A breeze lifts mist from the sea’s surface. Under the descended sun’s glow, the scenery is hazy like an oil painting.
“What’s your advice?”
I don’t feel the need to explain myself -- to tell him that I enjoy collecting advice; to tell him about the gambler from Argentina whose advice was “move away from more and more and closer to enough”, to tell him about the Irish fellow who spoke no Spanish and said “the best translation is a smile”. I don’t tell him this. It feels like he already knows, like he just gets me.
“Roll with it.”
We don’t speak the same language, but I understood. His answer elicits a smile.
In one another’s company, we continue watching the ocean, its ebb and flow, until night’s darkness rides in with the tide.
He looks into my eyes, deeply, then gets up, stretches his claws out his shell and crawls across the sand leaving a lingering trail of his presence.
“Farewell Hermit Crab. You’re the neatest date I’ve ever had.”
(Didn't have a camera on me, but here's a flic of a handsome fella; photo source: myanimalblog.files.wordpress.com)
the changing of the seasons
* this entry from 5/26 *
The Changing of the Seasons, Isla Isabela
The changing of seasons, the changing of tides, overcast skies, light rains and music. Everyday -- a jog along the coast with solitude, sunsets, and sea. Today -- a flock of flamingos in flight, a streak of pink against the overcast gray sky.
The tide changes by the hour. In the evening the water is high; yesterday's footsteps erased. By nightfall the water has retreated, revealing rippled sand that glistens under the star specked sky. It feels almost alien, and walking feels a bit disorienting as though some gravitational pull is beckoning me to come out to sea.
sunset jogs
The Changing of the Seasons, Isla Isabela
The changing of seasons, the changing of tides, overcast skies, light rains and music. Everyday -- a jog along the coast with solitude, sunsets, and sea. Today -- a flock of flamingos in flight, a streak of pink against the overcast gray sky.
The tide changes by the hour. In the evening the water is high; yesterday's footsteps erased. By nightfall the water has retreated, revealing rippled sand that glistens under the star specked sky. It feels almost alien, and walking feels a bit disorienting as though some gravitational pull is beckoning me to come out to sea.
sunset jogs
$10 Buckos of Dessert
* this entry from 5/24 * $10 Buckos of Dessert, Isla Isabela, Galapagos
(This entry dedicated to a generous $10 jar donation. The benefactor requested that the moneys be used on dessert.)
Attempt Uno: The Fererro Rocher World Record Eating Challenge
Among the famous competitive eating world record holders: Donald Lerman holds the world record for butter; 7 quarter pound sticks in 5 minutes. Richard LeFevre holds the SPAM world record; 6 pounds in 12 minutes. And someone holds the Ferrero Rocher world record; 7 balls of chocolate in 60seconds. The latter is the record we intended to beat.
(insert video..somehow?)
Cast: Officiator - Ms. Carolyn, inhabitant of a place of outstanding natural beauty
Contestant#1 - Amy, inquisitor of French tourists & NYC squirrels
Contestant#2 - Jaz, eater of things containing sugar
the results.. a (large) swallow away from matching the current world record.
Attempt Dos: Crème Crackers World Record Eating Challenge
Apparently, the world record for number of crème crackers eaten in a minute is 6. I laughed at the figure and with much bravado claimed the record could be easily beat. After attempting to eat seven crackers, the results were a face full of crumbs and approximately 5 crackers bulging in mouth, chewed but not swallowed.
Attempt Très: Stodge-Blob World Record Eating Challenge
Stodge-blobs (an invented name) are a mass of unknown sweetness found (so far) only on Isabela Island. An eating challenge in this arena would guarantee a World Champion as well as make the odds of beating the record very difficult. Therefore, with a 50% chance of holding the title, it was only reasonable to accept the challenge.
(pictures courtesy of C.Y.)
The results.. ate a hell-of-a-lot of food with no title-holding credentials. Congratulations to Rob, official Stodge-blob World Record Holder.
(This entry dedicated to a generous $10 jar donation. The benefactor requested that the moneys be used on dessert.)
Attempt Uno: The Fererro Rocher World Record Eating Challenge
Among the famous competitive eating world record holders: Donald Lerman holds the world record for butter; 7 quarter pound sticks in 5 minutes. Richard LeFevre holds the SPAM world record; 6 pounds in 12 minutes. And someone holds the Ferrero Rocher world record; 7 balls of chocolate in 60seconds. The latter is the record we intended to beat.
(insert video..somehow?)
Cast: Officiator - Ms. Carolyn, inhabitant of a place of outstanding natural beauty
Contestant#1 - Amy, inquisitor of French tourists & NYC squirrels
Contestant#2 - Jaz, eater of things containing sugar
the results.. a (large) swallow away from matching the current world record.
Attempt Dos: Crème Crackers World Record Eating Challenge
Apparently, the world record for number of crème crackers eaten in a minute is 6. I laughed at the figure and with much bravado claimed the record could be easily beat. After attempting to eat seven crackers, the results were a face full of crumbs and approximately 5 crackers bulging in mouth, chewed but not swallowed.
Attempt Très: Stodge-Blob World Record Eating Challenge
Stodge-blobs (an invented name) are a mass of unknown sweetness found (so far) only on Isabela Island. An eating challenge in this arena would guarantee a World Champion as well as make the odds of beating the record very difficult. Therefore, with a 50% chance of holding the title, it was only reasonable to accept the challenge.
(pictures courtesy of C.Y.)
The results.. ate a hell-of-a-lot of food with no title-holding credentials. Congratulations to Rob, official Stodge-blob World Record Holder.
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