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July 13th, 2008
09:16 pm
I'm at home tonight, in Delta. It's just what I needed.
The air is silent and clean, instead of dusty and loud. And there is a bag of cherries on the counter, and a small box of peas from the garden, that my mom has already shelled by hand.
I like it here in the summer; the grass is always wet from the sprinklers.
And I like that there are bookshelves to pick through, and forgotten photographs.
And the smell of home that makes me let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding.
I'm so tired of living in the city.
one month until takeoff--- One month until hands in soil and ears at rest and eyes to the sky.
One month.
Current Location: delta, bc.
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July 10th, 2008
06:17 am
God we are so in control, aren't we?
So many options for decisions, and making things grow or making things die. I'm convinced it's why none of us believe in anything higher than ourselves anymore. In the past, our lives were so much more governed by external forces, whether it be dedication to family, strict social restrictions, not being able to choose so easily when you wanted to start a family, or having it be far more common to lose your family, your children, at a young age.
People had less control, but wanted to believe that the source governing their lives was not random. So they called it God's will. Maybe by having faith, they meant faith in the decisions that were made for them. Riding on a current that they had faith would lead them where they wanted to go in the end.
So much pressure transfered to ourselves now, taking on divine roles. Unfortunately when something goes wrong in our lives we don't think of 'our will' in the same trusting way we would 'God's will'. Mostly we just say we fucked up.
And sometimes it is our fault. But othertimes we can realize there are still things out of our control. We may all each have our own row boats to paddle, but we are all still riding with the current too.
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May 4th, 2008
08:07 pm - people are kind of like space
I was thinking today how people are kind of like space.
For a few reasons, but mostly because space doesn't end. We can never see the line between it and the beyond, just how it's hard to grasp a person's outline, even our own, completely...ever.
It is impossible to reach the end of space because it is forever expanding, just as it is impossible to perfectly define people, since they are constantly changing.
Which makes it funny that people, especially young people, are so concerned with finding themselves. I feel like the minute you're able to pinpoint yourself exactly you're halfway dead, because somehow you've managed to STOP continuously expanding, changing, growing. I do believe that there is a core within each person that remains the same, but this can never be found ever, because it can never be lost.
I don't like the mentality of "finding yourself". And this mentality is paralleled in other aspects of our world view. Like our rush to get a life. A rush to gather things, and people, and conclusions of decisions, with the belief that we will be able to rest in our nests when we've gathered all the pieces.
A rush to the plateau.
How can we believe that we are only truly ourselves when we have remained static, have stopped growing, for a long enough period of time to be able to grasp it? How can we believe that our lives have not begun until we are doing this or that, or have this or that?
I believe that life is change. Life is cycles like gardens through seasons. An apple tree is an apple tree whether bare or bountiful!
wwwweeeee aaaarrrrreeeee oooouuutttteeerrrr ssssppppppaaacccceeeeee bbbiiiizzzzzaaaaaooooowwwwww
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January 24th, 2008
01:03 am
This morning at the bus stop I met two men who asked me to explain bus transfers to them. My explanation turned into laughs and they admitted that there were no transfers for the horse and carts that used to tour vancouver. They've lived here since 1919!
They lived here back before South Vancouver was part of Vancouver, it was just forests and Lloyd's house. They lived here back when you could ride a bobsled down kingsway, or skate on lost lagoon.
We ended up spending the day together.
We walked and they commented on the old buildings, and on the new buildings, and on all the holes in the ground because it seems that's how they do things now. Jack saw that the broadway theatre had been torn down and told me how Lloyd had won the prize there once on amateur night for playing the harmonica.
Jack said, "Lloyd's pretty good at harmonica."
And Lloyd said, "Bull."
Jack saw that a church had been turned into condominiums. He said it was strange that people were now watching television in the same spot that his sister was crissened.
Lloyd said, "Everywhere you go the world is changing. Cities are being turned over, and built on top of the old ones. But change is good...That's what they say anyway."
We went to the hat store because Lloyd wanted to look like Frank Sinatra in the 1940's. Jack stuck with his cap though, because he likes to be able to fold it into his pocket, and anyway it's too expensive to buy a new one. Lloyd's hat was a hundred dollars and Jack said he remembered when a monthly wage was seventy five dollars.
Lloyd said, "this modern life's not all it's cracked up to be, I'll tell you that much."
They took me out for lunch at the whitespot, because they like the hot turkey sandwiches and mashed potatoes there, and Jack talked about how the meals can sometimes be twelve dollars, but at least there's cranberry sauce which is supposed to be good for you.
Lloyd said, "Don't believe everything the newspapers tell you."
And Jack talked about how he lives with his kitty cat, and how there were never too many girls after him because he's a bit on the small side.
And Lloyd talked about his 18 acres and five horses, about his wife who is a real modern kind of a woman, about his active involvement in the improvement of the romanian orphanage situation, about being a journalist.
They told me that we'll have to make this a regular thing.
They told me everything in life is an education.
They told me not to get confused in greed; that the biggest irony in human life is that less is gained with selfishness than with generosity.
They told me that there's nothing like being young.
And Jack kept saying with a smile, "Turn back, turn back the hands of time".
But I think they're doing alright.
.
People are always talking about youth being wasted on the young, but just as often the fulfillment of wisdom and experience is wasted on the elderly! Really, everyone is just forgetful of the present I think.
.
But they're beautiful people, and me and Jack have decided to visit Lloyd's place on Vancouver Island. It will be nice to meet his wife and share more stories and spend time with the fields and his horses.
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December 25th, 2007
08:03 pm - merry christmas
I came home a week early and surprised my family for Christmas. A pack on my back and a knock on their front door! So exciting! It's been joyful to see them and celebrate and feast, even though being so quickly in one place and then in another can leave you with the feeling that neither worlds exists after all.
Or maybe it's the lack of sleep giving the surreal twinge to my this year's Christmas.
Oh but it's good. I've been going for walks in the winter pre-sunrise and visible breaths, early when my jet lag wakes me from a bed I finally recognize.
I've been eating purple jam, snatched from luxury gift baskets,
and turkey with sweet cranberries in the morning!
I've been wearing my coat inside, and plugging in the Christmas tree lights before others in the house awake.
I've been watching my grandpa snooze in and out of sleep with his fist full of scotch, and then putting myself to bed with warm wine and the smell of cloves too.
I've been taking the skin from each segment of my mandarin orange so to just get the miniature balloons of juice. I've been smelling the peels.
I've been glad to be back.
I've been looking forward to seeing you when you come back from your celebrations and used-to-be homes.
Merry Christmas, Friends
Love
Laura
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November 27th, 2007
12:47 pm
I took the bus from Savannakhet, Laos to Hue, Vietnam yesterday. Beside me sat a woman with a straw and flower hat and lined lips. She carried a live duck in a plastic bag on her lap for the eight hours, and from time to time she would take a tiny glass bottle, filled with liquid scented with tiger balm, and would dab her temples and neck with it. I breathed it in with my forehead against the glass, and watched as the houses turned into mountains and the roads turned into thick, dry river beds. I felt so at home. The duck and the smell and the mountains, everything. I felt so at home.
I don't usually feel like I'm where I'm supposed to be. I often feel like my body took a wrong turn somewhere along the way. And so I've often explored with the belief in mind that home was a material place that could be discovered, like France or Afghanistan. That I would finally feel a sense of being where I was supposed to be, by stumbling upon it physically.
Then I started to think that the world didn't come equipped with a place for everyone. That a sense of home was something that I needed to take the time to carve out for myself.
But this past week I've felt so at home that I've had to toss that theory too.
I'm starting to think that the feeling of home is nothing more than a connection the present, a rejection of both nostalgia and desire. My feet have never felt so firm, and I'm convinced it's because I'm planting them on today's soil.
What's that quote from Fight Club that you love, Natalie J.?
Something like, "Without just one nest, a bird can call the world home"
I've been wanting to feel that constant grounding for so long. I'm so grateful that I feel it now.
xoxoxox
lovelovelove
Laura
PS. I did a spell check on this and it didn't register Savannakhet as word so it suggested Sphincter (yes, capital 'S')
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November 22nd, 2007
11:32 am
The beauty of Laos can be, at times, potent and loud and all encompassing, such as with the rivers and the mountain chains. But most of the time it is filled with stark contrasts, and for me this is where the charm lies. There is dust and peeling paint and ripped seams and dire dogs, but they are pinned to red lanterns and silk and fresh fruit. The beauty is magnified because of this. I have never felt such constant passion and appreciation for colors and smells and softness.
I change rooms quite often of course, but my budget gives them similarities: Yellowed walls bruised with dirt and water damage; sandy wood floors lined with ripped plastic, thin as cellophane; blankets coarse as upholstery. And so I have adjusted with the adoption of the Laotian way, and decorate each room on my first day. A red wool shall from China gets draped across my bed, a few pictures I've painted or collected along the way get pinned to the walls. And these things bring a so much comfort and happiness to me, that I have to wonder why these same things would hold nowhere near the same immense beauty at homes as they do for me here, now.
At home it is often more difficult for me to process beauty. Sometimes I feel like I should be grateful ("I know I should be happy BUT") but then find this result stunted. A wall between what I know should be the proper response to something I've gained, against the near indifference I actually feel afterward.
Human beings have the delusional flaw of not measuring things by actual size, but by contrast. But we ignore this logic in our constant search for fulfillment, our constant strive for improvement.
It can be seen in the way we have created a preventative society. We give medicine to those who aren't sick in the form of vaccines, we give life jackets to canoers in still waters. And so our standard of living is incredible- but because we do our best to eliminate the dirtier side of life, our world has become so controlled and constant that we find it hard to process its greatness.
This is sad of course...I also think it's dangerous.
When we can no longer tell what makes us happy, we rely on other sources to. People say that North Americans are the most materialistic, but I don't think this could be more false. Material things have lost almost all meaning to us in their abundance. We are not exorbitant consumers out of honest desire and appreciation, we consume compulsively, desperate to listen to the voices and pictures that have been telling us what we want ever since we lost the ability to tell ourselves.
It's a shame. We are so hardwired to search for happiness, but are unable to admit that happiness comes from appreciation, and appreciation comes from contrast, and contrast comes from allowing all sides of life to exist. Where, along our lost way, did we decide that dirt was less valid, less valuable, than bleach?
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November 14th, 2007
12:27 pm - Elephants and bamboo and the faulty promise of America
It is strange, but few things have ever felt as natural to me as sitting on the coarse skin of an elephant's neck. With a leg tucked behind each of her ears I steered her through the jungle and the dense mist of the Laotian dawn.
And we passed leaves so large that they thundered like footsteps when they fell;
and we passed spiders that rested their huge bodies within webs that seemed modeled after the nation's complex embroidery and weaving;
and we brushed branches until the sun had finally climbed the peaks, spilling its warmth into the river.
And it was then that I would wash her in this river, with splashes and rubs of my feet and hands before continuing on.
When she got hungry she would stop to pull and strip the bamboo, bringing it to her triangular, pliable mouth with her trunk, and I would take this opportunity to run my hands along her bristled and thick muscled head;
along her damp, cool, veined ears;
along her back, with skin just as dense but looser and folded.
Pok is the man who taught me to ride the elephants and bathe them and feed them. His skin is like the elephants but the color of olives and red jungle dirt. He wears a worn, straw hat and an open plaid shirt, and treks the jungle in flip flop and a wooden walking stick. His smile is full of gaps, but still full.
I call him the elephant whisperer. I wish you could meet him.
I wish that I could live the rest of my life with the elephants. But I can't and so I've been bamboo rafting down the river with some people I've met, stopping every once in a while to swim in a waterfall or visit a small village.
Oh these villages!
Tiny piglets squeal through the paths, and children are so sweet and matte from the dry dust, and old women sit crouched in front of their homes, and shamans with red eyes and thin arms invite you into their modest homes. And among all this coal is the fire, the temple that burns with painted gold and red and orange!
There are small patches in the paths, fenced off by clear, plastic mesh, holding a small amount of rice that has yet to be shaken for use; or peanuts with skin still red and nuts still full of juice, yet to be dried to take away their toxicity.
...And huge satellites on the top of their thatched houses!
Honestly, it is the strangest thing to ever see.
And I can't imagine what the experience of television must be to the people of these villages.
In these villages, nearly everyone who dies there was born there.
The variance in beliefs, way of life, physical appearance, etc. is close to nothing.
Impractical education is minimal.
Imagine how drastically television has changed their view of the world!
And it is different than Westerners seeing a television show about a Laotian village. For them, America is such a far away place, practically untouchable. Air travel as foreign to them as space travel to us.
...
A young man on the bamboo raft said to me, "I am going to work six more years and then go to America. I heard that in America you can get a divorce and not go to jail. I love America! ... Where is America? Is it close to England?"
Current Location: Laos
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November 3rd, 2007
12:58 pm - China and Laos - the past month and a bit
To sum up China, my Goodness!
All these previously unloaded words and concepts are now unendingly blooming with meaning and images for me. It reminds me of those flat cardboard pieces with dotted lines that suggest where to fold to create boxes; and only with touching and taking the cardboard with eyes and hands can it be folded to be presented as what it really is.
Exploring new places folds so many boxes and creates such a better understanding of so many things.
These boxes have been gathering everyday and I'm starting to feel them behind my eyes, heavy. But the weight is not at all a burden, but an anchor. It is so gorgeous. The thought of China is suddenly so potent and 3-dimensional.
How can I explain the people? It is the small things.
It is the business men who take off their shoes in the afternoon and wade in the river water while they talk with their colleagues. It is Lilly, who packs a lunch of bread and bagged milk, and gets excited that she can buy herself a treat of crackers, and shares with me her candied duck, and drinks medicine each day to make her hair grow thick and strong so that she does not go bald like her father. It is the way so many sing while they walk down the street, while they shop, while they sit in the park. It is the smiles, big smiles, with silver teeth and honest, full laughs.
China has charmed Gill even more than me, so that now she is exploring the hills and hilltribes up near the Tibetan border. I have gone south to Laos and am staying in a town that is surrounded by lush green palms, and water buffaloes, and the Mekong river, and dirt roads, and waterfalls. All food is bought from people who have grown or made it. The papayas are a foot long and the bananas are the best thing I've ever tasted.
The people are so pure. There are no walls here, emotional or physical, leaving all beauty of honest life visible at all times.
The people move more in currents with unfiltered expressions, so that it is common to see excitement, and anger, and nostalgia, and love in several flashes on a single walk down a street.
There are missing walls on houses too, so that bedrooms and kitchens are visible from walks on the dusty roads. The lack of devotion to privacy is exhilarating for me. So refreshing and honest to see bathing, and cooking, and sleeping, and playing every minute. The reality of life so much in your face that it would be impossible not to be humbled.
It makes me wonder about our obsession with privacy. Is it to fuel our narcissism? Is it easier for us to walk with pretension, with a mask of attempted perfection...and easier for us to compare ourselves and think more highly of those with this or that (or anything that we don't have) when we are not forced to view ourselves and others as so incredibly similar in our humanity and daily routines?
I really feel that excessive privacy comes with a lack of humility. And it is so visible in the difference of Western step. Westerners stand out as they walk constantly trying to impress, while the locals walk in a honest current.
But Laos is gorgeous with its thatched houses and lush trees and palms. I played with a young girl by the Mekong yesterday afternoon and walked and walked and walked. The huge waterfalls make me think of the simple communities who bathe in the tossed water, roast small bananas in the evening, and wear vibrant, draped fabrics they have made with their own hands, and walk sheltered from the warm rain beneath giant leaves as they carry their children on their chests.
I love it here.
I hope you are all well.
I do miss you.
Love,
Laura
Current Location: Laos
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March 6th, 2007
01:10 am - my trip to NYC
I will post pictures soon. maybe write more later.
But for now I'll tell you, my favourite part of my trip was the last day.
The Oscars were on and all of the hostel workers and a few of the guests had migrated to the top floor lounge where the television was. I rarely watch the Oscars, or even remember their existence, but for some reason it was exciting this time. The staff prepared a big dinner that they shared with me and we sat around eating while we watched the stars on the red carpet. Between mouthfuls, people would shout comments of admiration. They would say, “Oh she is so beautiful”, or “She seems so intelligent, doesn’t she?” They meant these things honestly too, and it was nice to sit and watch the TV, looking up with admiration at the celebrities. I felt like the admiration united everyone in the room. It united Gale, the 47 year old hostel worker and second mother to the other staff; with the middle aged woman from Toronto who got her heart broken thirteen years ago and will never risk herself again; with the woman from Argentina who did not speak English but shared with me half of her banana that morning; with Nate, the hostel worker from Delaware who was missing his front tooth and had been drinking Budweiser constantly since stepping on a nail three days before; with Bryan who moved to New York from Mississippi looking for a job as a graphic designer; with me.
I like being with a group of people who are so completely different from one another, because we’re so different it’s impossible for us to judge each other. Instead, we come together on the humble level that we can relate on.
When the Oscars finished, most people stumbled back to their rooms to dream of themselves in gowns and suits, but a few other guests and I stayed up for a little while longer. The lounge was attached by a sliding door to the roof of the building so we saw when it began to snow a few minutes later. It snowed really hard. We ran out onto the roof and as it grew in inches all around, we kicked it at each other playfully and looked up and let it fall on our faces. This brought us together too, the fact that we were all under the same layer of snow.
There were four of us playing and when we tired we leaned against the wall that edged the roof and looked out onto New York City, breathing heavily through. It was gorgeous. I started whistling and then one by one the other three started whistling too and we laughed.
Soon it was three in the morning and I had to leave for the airport. We laughed and then hesitated…then hugged and laughed some more. I grabbed my things and headed downstairs. The shuttle that was supposed to pick me up never came, so the guy from Mississippi told me he’d show me where the Subway line that I needed to take was.
He ended up staying with me for the whole two hour Subway ride and this gave us a lot of time to talk with our four in the morning minds. He told me about how he moved to New York alone, thinking that coming to the big city would allow him to use his degree in graphic design. Really though, he would like to be an actor or a singer. He told me about how he has no motivation in New York because he’s alone, so he hasn’t gone to try and be a graphic designer or an actor or a singer. He said that he feels it is not his purpose in the world to find things to do, but rather to do the things he’s supposed to do well.
I wrote in his notebook a pledge to go to a band audition before the first day of spring and he signed it. He meant it too because he made a cut in his cuticle and put a dot of blood beside. Kind of a weird guy.
He sang Faith Hill and Garth Brooks songs for the rest of the ride as the older night shift workers slept on their way home. I got to thinking about how it’s so hard to live life successfully. Everything else that our minds deal with has a beginning and an end and this makes sense to us. With life though, the beginning is birth and the end is death, and most of the things we do in between are not done to reach the conclusion. It’s not as if working hard and accomplishing a lot in life will bring us to the end destination any faster. And anyway, we don’t really want the conclusion because it’s death.
And so we get lost and we make imaginary ends within our lifetime to create a point that we can reach by working hard. Then we stop. We stop learning and imagining and creating and dreaming and just float in front of the television until the real conclusion comes.
It’s tiring at times to live life without these imaginary destinations. It turns life into an amount of time that we have to do as much as possible, despite the fact that these things will never lead us to an end. But it’s worth it I think.
Current Location: Home
Current Music: CHAD VANGAALEN
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February 10th, 2007
10:53 pm - oh, you know
It's important to me to be capable of disabling literal understanding of english. Interpreting the words only as sounds and audio emotions to reveal more than the meanings of the words chosen. There are so many important, hidden messages lost in the translation from thoughts to spoken words. I hate that about talking.
Sometimes I feel I understand answers to certain universal questions right up until the moment I try to transfer my conclusions to the front of my mind and into words. At this moment, my answers confuse and fade.
Really, this is an ode to the subconscious.
I applied this to music last night, in between my sleep. Usually I learn lyrics instantly so that I can sing along. Last night though, I turned the volume to body temperature and listened less consciously. It vibrated up and down and seeped between all the cracks in between all my molecules and I felt I took part in it in a different way. It brought me to the present for a moment.
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January 25th, 2007
12:53 am
I pray I'm not the only one who feels dimmed when in a romantic relationship. Lovers are always dissecting, always inquiring, always desperately pressing for answers they will regret and remember for too long.
I do this.
Putting the moon in a telescope. That is what Leonard Cohen compares it to. I find this similarity gorgeous and sad and true. I feel close and connected to the moon, but this is due mostly to its distance.
Truthfulness then. I wonder if that really is the fundamental trait to a functioning romance; searching out and dusting every corner of your lover. I do believe in this to a certain extent, because I find it easier to love someone when I can understand the root and reason for even the most awful things that they do...but do we not all feel more excitement and adoration and devotion for the two dimensional, glowing, distant moon than the three dimensional, grey, cratered moon from third grade science slides? Maybe we owe it to our lovers to be only two dimensional then. Maybe they owe this to us. To glow, I mean.
Many will argue fiercely against this, myself included. We will get red faced and say that this is false and that it is impossible to truly connect and love someone without knowing them completely. But then we'll wonder why we consider the beautiful, beaming moon less honest and true than the dim, grey version. Then we'll think about how many things we can see more closely from far away and how even when you're standing directly on the moon, you can never really touch it anyway. There's always that big, heavy suit in the way.
I guess we'll just have to see.
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January 14th, 2007
08:42 pm - Absurd answer for an absurd question
Though a common benefit and appeal of having a passion is being able to escape, my passion is escape itself; most often, through glowing rectangles. Swimming pools, cinema screens, book pages, blank pages. All of these things act as portals into escape.
The transition period from the real world to the world of escape is elusive. The key strategy is straying from conscious thought, since the conscious world and the world of escape cannot fully exist harmoniously without disastrous effects. This in itself is appealing to me. All animate matter quickly blurs and then fades. Conceptions of time are lost. In it’s place is a world with infinite, yet malleable possibilities, within which one can choose to be as emotionally involved as one pleases.
My preferred transition environment is swimming pools. When using a swimming pool as a portal into the world of escape, the escapist has an advantage during the transition period; the material world is familiar yet altered. Already, animate objects are blurred and sounds are muted. Completely dissolving into the world of escape requires more creativity, however, since one is being inspired only by a blank slate of translucent turquoise.
Despite the endless, convoluted intricacies that a person’s creativity seems to be able to spin, there are certain unavoidable duties of the material world that cannot be perpetually ignored. Examples of such duties include making money, eating, ensuring that one has shelter, etc. One must realize that though the world of escape cannot exist simultaneously with the tangible world, it cannot exist without it either.
Thankfully, there is often an afterimage; a residual feeling left with the escapist for some time after returning from the world of escape. This allows a person to complete the callings of survival in a more manageable way, before once again returning to the preferred world of escape.
To the outsider’s eye, it may seem as if I’m passionate about swimming, but in fact it is not the process of this act that bring me bliss, but rather the promise of escape that brings me to this act. It’s the promise of experiencing everything, without the emotional frailties nor the effort naturally involved. Despite it’s safety, there is something terribly unsettling about being passionate about everything that is not real. The more I become addicted to escape, the easier it becomes to blur all lines, whatever they may be.
Current Mood: ![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/classic/wink.gif) silly
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November 5th, 2006
03:02 am
It's funny how I feel a bit lost now, just as I was lost then, but it was okay then because being lost is practically the point and joy of traveling. Not that being lost now isn't okay I suppose... There's a reason why people buy books full of mazes to figure out for fun.
Maybe lost isn't even the right word.
Whatever it should be called though, I'm starting to appreciate it's gorgeousness. Like a fishing hook fifty feet into the water or Hansel and Gretel roaming the forest...but without the breadcrumbs because I have no interest in backtracking...and without the witch because I have no interest in being put in an oven.
Things are going well though. I have found a couple of friends to illustrate my children's book and have shared some blissful moments with incredible people lately.
Last week Nicholas and I went and yelled up to Martin's window
"Martin! Mardin! Mardin! Martin!"
Until he came to the sill and let us in and up through the tiny, pigeon filled attic to the roof. It was still light out but not so light that the city's lights were off and so we saw the all the buildings in lightbright form. The mountains were clear too in the backround and the sky was red
["Red sky at night, sailor's delight; red sky in the morning, sailor's take warning"]
Our cheeks turned a bit red too.
I looked across at Nicholas and Martin from the other side of the roof as they looked across at each other through Martin's wire sculpture of a wave that he's making. From that far away and in the near dark, the wire was almost impossible to see and transformed into what looked like magic. It looked like they had come across a ball of magic as tall as them but far more mysterious and powerful.
It's too bad that I had to miss the final daylight unveiling of it. I imagine the clouds moved quickly and the sun was exposed for a moment brief, but long enough to light up the wire wave in a moment of shining perfection that will never be seen again.
But I suppose I'm always glorifying things, which is most likely why I never seem to find what I'm looking for. But like I said, I am starting to see the beauty in the non-destination. After all, the wire wave magic mass in the near dark is hardly less intriguing than it shining in perfection.
Current Location: Vancouver, Canada
Current Music: shotgun and jaybird
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August 24th, 2006
11:52 am
The traces of sprays of WWII bullets that rest on the outside wall of my hostel; the apparent lack of zoning that confuses each block with abandonned fur shops and artificial leg stores; the truly multi-wayofliving and obsession with freedom that seems to be so much a part of the culture here; and the feeling of being part of history in the making, are all responsible for why I have not been able to leave Berlin.
It's strange though because my experiences here have been both the best and the worst of my trip. But maybe that's appropriate because high ups and low downs seem to represent Berlin perfectly.
A friend and I went into this second hand shop the other day. It was crowded with the usual things like smurf figurines and grandmother-knit placemats...but in the corner we noticed an instrument that we'd never seen before. We asked the owner what it was and, due mostly to the language barrier, suddenly found ourselves having chairs pulled out and put behind us, and strong coffee placed in front of us. Within what couldn't have been more than thirty seconds we became an audience for this man playing his mystery instrument with closed eyes and obvious devotion.
After a few songs, we were given instruments as well and ended up playing melodies and shaking beans and pounding deep beats with a man we would have considered an eccentric stranger five minutes before.
This is a good representation of the people of Berlin who I have met. Very friendly, but in a way that is vastly different than the Italians, for example. It is less of an affectionate and loud acceptance, and more of an openness and an encouragement to show them who you are. Since the people make the place, Berlin has been one of my favourite cities yet.
I am flying to London tomorrow night. Then it's only a few days before I can jump on your bed and wake you up to go on an adventure.
Get your rest while you can, my beautiful friends, because I will not be able to get enough of you for a long time.
so much love,
Laura
Current Location: Berlin, Germany
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August 13th, 2006
01:29 pm
There is something about Switzerland that makes me feel like I have simultaneously jumped into the "mountainous region" showcase at miniature world and the 2-dimensional illustrated world in grim fairy tale books.
Bern especially.
There are small bridges crossing every interrupted path that the river makes. The water is the colour of oceans in childrens drawings; pale teal and opaque...looks like jello, really.
And if you turn your eyes up, there are perfect hills spotted with churches and castles that appear as if they were stolen from Disneyland...if Disneyland were just a little less contrived.
The best part, though, is that lining half the streets in this city are cellar doors. Some's steps lead to refurbished concrete rooms that have been transformed into candy shops, tattoo parlours, Indian restaurants...But many remain sealed to inspire imaginations to stretch and to invent a different land and fantastical history to go with the underkeepings of each door.
I was lucky enough to be in this city during the busker's festival. I needed an umbrella and it was terribly cold, but there were torches and musicians and steaming food being cooked in large pots. My favourite performers were Australian and played instruments I'd never seen before. We all crowded around, our umbrellas forming walls and keeping warmth and sound in. The children were lined together in the front forming their own wall. A wall of gum boots and awkward ponytails and truthful captivation and concentration on the music being played. The wonderful thing about being in a crowd while music is being played is that all the other walls between people, built by independant conversations or problems or languages, all crumble and we are left standing together, encompassed in the performance.
Im in Berlin now and so far it seems like a strange city...but perhaps in a good way. I will let you know how it turns out. I'm not sure where I'm going after this but it's just recently occurred to me that I only have two weeks left of traveling...which is a really bizarre feeling because it both has and hasnt gone by incredibly quickly. But I do look so forward to seeing your faces again on the 28.
Love,
Laura
Current Location: Berlin, Germany
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August 7th, 2006
07:18 pm - Even the soda has got dairy in it
Hello everyone!
Ive been in Switerland for the past few days and it is GORGEOUS. Unfortunately, it uses its good looks for evil by charming travellers into spending outrageous amounts of money on small amounts of internet time. Thus, this will be the end of this post. Until next time...
Love,
Laura
PS. I apologize for the stunted growth of this "update" as well as my lack of/limited responses to emails. Please do not take my sorry excuses for emails the wrong way. You have no idea how happy all of your emails have made me.
Current Location: Bern, Switzerland
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August 1st, 2006
08:13 pm
I adore Budapest.
Yesterday I had a traditional Hungarian bath experience. There must have been more than ten pools with more than ten different temperatures. The ice cold one was my favourite.
Today I made my way to this huge market. So much food and fruit and artisan crafts an breads. I bought half a watermelon and sat in the park and ate the whole thing. A man passed me and said something in Hungarian. I told him I only speak english and he said, "the watermelon matches your red shorts" and moved on.
When I got home there was another rain storm. Thunder and lightning and buckets of water. I sat in my spot in the window and watched it come down. Then I watched the people across the street watching it come down. Everyone was drawn out of their apartments and onto their tiny balconies. There were a couple of elderly woman who came out in tshirts and underwear. And a teenage girl came out talking on the phone. On the balcony beside me there was a man in a white tank top and white underwear letting the rain come down on him. He ran his hands through his hair, then put them on the railing. Took one last look and then, drenched, returned inside.
I love these storms.
Im off to Switzerland on Thursday. I hope the storms follow me.
Drenched,
Laura
Current Location: Budapest, Hungary
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July 21st, 2006
09:01 pm
Yesterday I looked out the window and listened to "Out on the Weekend" by Neil Young on repeat. I swear these corn fields stretch out further than the orange light that trims the hills. Today we rode the rusting, ricketing, basketed bikes past these same corn fields and towards this same sun. I watched the girls ride in front of me. The low light was caught in their tangles and their smiles, and the puppies from the farm chased and traced their thin wheel tracks in the dirt left behind them. It made me smile just so wide that the warm air and taste of damp corn could seep in.
Everything seemed to have an apricot glaze.
No, everything WAS apricot glazed. I swear.
This land is shared by the family Im staying with. Twin brothers married two sisters. Their children are Moira, Roberto, Christian and Nicola.
Moira is my favourite. She is the oldest at 19 and likes to do the dishes after every meal. She has the seriousness and maternal reactions of a 40 year old, but still we wend up talking about boys when we sit together at the kitchen table, dictionaries in both our hands. She just wants a man who will love her. That is all she asks. She hates school so she is going to start as a secretary in September. This is also all she asks.
My second favourite is Nicola. He is 9 but has a very deep voice and no toys...nor any apparent desire to acquire any. He plays mostly outside by himself. He sees me too and yells "ciao!" with wide waves of his tiny little brown arms. I yell back, " ciao faccio accuto!" (spelling?...it means hello cute face) and I hear him giggle.
The rest of the family communicated through hilarious actions and the childrens minimal english. I learn Italian phrases to repeat during lunch with a Godfather-like voice and hand gesture. They laugh and tell me Im funny and strong and full of force.
I love it here.
I will miss broken conversations with Moira, and breakfast with Roberto, and pinching Christian and Nicolas cheeks.
CLICK.
REPEAT.
"Think Ill pack it in and, buy a pick-up, Take it down to L.A.
Find a place to call my own and try to fix up,
Start a brand new day"
Current Location: Treviso, Italy
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July 17th, 2006
12:16 pm
I feel so tired.
Yesterday and the day before I stayed in bed all day and night. I have not been that sick in a while, and not felt that alone in a while either. There is something completely awful about lying in a windowless room with air circulation as prominent as the amazon in miday; feeling hot and alone inside out and sweating out the expensive bottled water onto unwashed sheets, as old TLC songs play muffled through the broken door.
This morning I felt well enough to get up early to try and beat the line for the catacombs. My hostel is in the ghetto and so I walked quickly to the metro station, but still a man came to me and yelled and then tried to mug me. I ran and jumped the metro gate. I got away and anyway I have nothing. But I felt bad for forcing the ladies next to me on the metro to pretend they couldnt see my tears; and felt even worse that the catacombs turned out to be closed on Mondays. I feel so tired.
Im tired of stangers, vendors, men on the street constantly trying to get something from me. MarlboroughMarlboroughMarlborough 3pour10euros
But I have been told that after a month, people often go through a period of fatigue like this so I'm not afraid. I still don't feel ready to come home and I'm still excited for tomorrow. I'm going to be staying with a friend and her family in a small town in Italy which will be a comforting change I hope. They have bicycles to ride around the village. And even the rest of today should be good because Im going to explore Montmartre. I also got a wonderful email from an elephant friend that cheered me up a lot. All is well and all will be better, but I truly miss you all very much.
So much love,
Laura
Current Location: Paris, France
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