Sunday was my first day of teaching Ashtanga Mysore style here in Palo Alto. I am enjoying my new life greatly. Early morning wake ups with a practice that leads to teaching a class. Some other classes through the day, like the class of the young mommy’s, lots of cooking, reading and studying further in the realm of yoga, nutrition and blissful living.
I just returned from a long walk around the neighborhood. Private homes with many different styles, some look more Mexican influenced, some Euro country, some modern and others the classic American. In common they have well maintained gardens. Whatever style, the clean front lawn or the more hidden garden with paths and trees, the slightly Asian with Japanese maples or a little fountain, I am blessed to enjoy all of these as I stroll in the mostly empty streets with only the occasional father jogging after his little daughter riding a pink bicycle.
My home is a back house of another old house, simple, with beautiful wooden floors, a large kitchen, my own bedroom and living room. I feel rich having all this for myself. No roommate, no neighbors bellow or above, what more could I ask for?
Sometimes I wonder how people end up anywhere but NY or SF, or maybe Paris…and I smile when I think of the sequence of events that led me here. A brother in a random place like Menlo Park helps, a yoga practice, some residency...
I am grateful for Heleen and Adarsh that allowed me this opportunity, for the Yoga students that allow me to teach, and for the sun that is one more cause for all this blossom around.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
St Patrick's day in its homeland - Ireland
After a fabulous French dinner for Fiona, Tony and their Dad Anthony, celebrating their Birthdays from year round on one chosen communal day, we head up for another drink at the upstairs bar. Beers were following the dinner wine. Many unknown beers are offered and of course I go for new experiences. The Bar is a converted home (or two), the mood - a bit dark, an huge outer space for smokers, and lots of sexy dresses, their bottom seem very far from the high heals, exposing lots of untanned legs.
Sunday was a recovery day with a late start, and a bicycle ride to the nearby Dublin Bay. Took Betty’s (Ton’s partner) Bike that had only one brake and headed down the left side of the road. On many of the crossings the road had big letters painted “look right” or “look left”, knowing that a silly tourist like myself might just jump into the street assuming no car is arriving – which is probably true, since not many cars drive the wrong side… It was splendid to see the water so close to town, and the windswept mini sand dunes. Took a walk to the big statue of Maria situated on a very tall poll overseeing all the boats arriving. As I walk I pass a few little concrete bathing shelters dedicated for women or men. Reminded me of the one religious beach we have in Israel. Seems like Israel is more open and liberal than I remember.
On Monday Fiona Tony and I rented a car and drove up to Newgrange, a UNESCO World Heritage site older than the pyramids (Built around 3200BC). This megalithic passage tomb is pretty dramatic mound, especially from the outside as it covers around an acre and surrounded by 97 Curbstones. I especially loved all the megalithic art that included many spirals, my favorite symbol. The passage and chamber are designed to light up for the summer and winter solstice, but you’ll have to get in line to nab a place. In 2007, almost 28,106 people applied onsite with only 50 places available!
Tuesday was a visit to Glendalough (Glen of the two lakes). Yes, Tuesday was ST. Patrick’s day and we decided to escape the Dublin craziness and head out to nature. I sure had enough to drink by now. As we started our walk we realized we were not the only ones with this great idea. Luckily enough we went on the big route hike that included a real steep climb up he mountain with rewarding streams and a waterfall along the way, a splendid view from the peaks, and a marvelous climb down that included lots of running water and grand rocks to fulfill my projection of Irish land.
Wednesday I got to see the famous Race Stallions, and some Japanese gardens, but the best was seeing where Fiona grew up. It lights up Fiona in a whole new dimension. It is fascinating to me to know someone in one environment (like California), and then realize the whole history that comes along, which normally would be hidden from my sight. We both shared the Bay area experience and even some Boulder experience, yet I schlep the whole Jewish tradition on my shoulders (heavy, let me tell you), and she has the Irish one)
Thursday was museum day, which we started with a cappuccino at the Museum of Modern art. The special show on display was of Hughie O'Donoghue, which got me a bit jealous and some inspired. He uses photo prints on canvas and combines them with painting in a fantastic manner. It is almost seamless, and when not, it seems to serve a purpose. Grand large pieces and big brush strokes covering many layers. Had to drag the Walsh’s for a second viewing.
Friday afternoon, Gil picked me up at SF airport. There is nothing sweeter that someone close waiting for me at the airport, a feeling of being welcomed, a knowing there is someone that will always be there – unconditionally – Thank You Gil.
Sunday was a recovery day with a late start, and a bicycle ride to the nearby Dublin Bay. Took Betty’s (Ton’s partner) Bike that had only one brake and headed down the left side of the road. On many of the crossings the road had big letters painted “look right” or “look left”, knowing that a silly tourist like myself might just jump into the street assuming no car is arriving – which is probably true, since not many cars drive the wrong side… It was splendid to see the water so close to town, and the windswept mini sand dunes. Took a walk to the big statue of Maria situated on a very tall poll overseeing all the boats arriving. As I walk I pass a few little concrete bathing shelters dedicated for women or men. Reminded me of the one religious beach we have in Israel. Seems like Israel is more open and liberal than I remember.
On Monday Fiona Tony and I rented a car and drove up to Newgrange, a UNESCO World Heritage site older than the pyramids (Built around 3200BC). This megalithic passage tomb is pretty dramatic mound, especially from the outside as it covers around an acre and surrounded by 97 Curbstones. I especially loved all the megalithic art that included many spirals, my favorite symbol. The passage and chamber are designed to light up for the summer and winter solstice, but you’ll have to get in line to nab a place. In 2007, almost 28,106 people applied onsite with only 50 places available!
Tuesday was a visit to Glendalough (Glen of the two lakes). Yes, Tuesday was ST. Patrick’s day and we decided to escape the Dublin craziness and head out to nature. I sure had enough to drink by now. As we started our walk we realized we were not the only ones with this great idea. Luckily enough we went on the big route hike that included a real steep climb up he mountain with rewarding streams and a waterfall along the way, a splendid view from the peaks, and a marvelous climb down that included lots of running water and grand rocks to fulfill my projection of Irish land.
Wednesday I got to see the famous Race Stallions, and some Japanese gardens, but the best was seeing where Fiona grew up. It lights up Fiona in a whole new dimension. It is fascinating to me to know someone in one environment (like California), and then realize the whole history that comes along, which normally would be hidden from my sight. We both shared the Bay area experience and even some Boulder experience, yet I schlep the whole Jewish tradition on my shoulders (heavy, let me tell you), and she has the Irish one)
Thursday was museum day, which we started with a cappuccino at the Museum of Modern art. The special show on display was of Hughie O'Donoghue, which got me a bit jealous and some inspired. He uses photo prints on canvas and combines them with painting in a fantastic manner. It is almost seamless, and when not, it seems to serve a purpose. Grand large pieces and big brush strokes covering many layers. Had to drag the Walsh’s for a second viewing.
Friday afternoon, Gil picked me up at SF airport. There is nothing sweeter that someone close waiting for me at the airport, a feeling of being welcomed, a knowing there is someone that will always be there – unconditionally – Thank You Gil.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Loyalty
A friend recently asked me: “Loyalty" What does this word mean to you?
How can a man who loves women be loyal?
How can one be with a woman if he does not like women in the first place? was my first reaction. Then I wondered, what is loyalty, why do I want anyone to be loyal to me? Is this fear based? Am I afraid of being betrayed, or afraid of getting hurt, afraid that my ego will suffer or afraid to be abandoned? If I love someone, wouldn’t the real love include freedom and trust? If I trust them, then there is an expectation that they would be loyal…hmmm. I can also trust and expect that they do the best they can, really be honest with what their needs are, and with that be able to accept whatever happens.
Indeed, when there is an agreement, one would hope that both sides would keep to it, yet isn’t the agreement a base for limiting, for not setting the loved one to be free? It seems to me that only from the space of freedom comes the true will to be together to share, and to respect the others feelings, not because I have to, but because I choose to.
I can love women, appreciate them for all that they are, and not need to have every one of them, be my own. I remember when a friend that was studying with me Tibetan Buddhism asked me “how can you shoot fashion? I would go crazy seeing all these beautiful women all the time. Just walking down the streets of NY is torture”. I looked into his sweet blue eyes and replied, “Seeing such beauty walk the street in front of me, I look and enjoy. I feel gratitude that I can experience such beauty, see it and absorb, would it be better not to see them?”
I think of cultures where the woman is completely covered and wonder if this could tame my love for women, my appreciation for their beauty. Of course there is stimulation by seeing women dressed sexier, but it does not mean that I cannot control my feelings. It does not mean that the beauty I see, and love for women I have, has to come into action with every glance. A friend once said that if that were the case, (that men cannot control themselves while seeing a woman), it would be like assuming that all men are rapists to begin with, and of course this is the dramatic viewpoint.
Loyalty for me is the knowing that I would do my best to respect my partner, consider her feelings and be honest with anything that I do or need. Sharing my experience and what I go through and hope that both sides can first and foremost remember that our Love is a the basis to healthy communication, that the trust we share in the will to take care of each other, allows for more freedom and living life to its fullest.
How can a man who loves women be loyal?
How can one be with a woman if he does not like women in the first place? was my first reaction. Then I wondered, what is loyalty, why do I want anyone to be loyal to me? Is this fear based? Am I afraid of being betrayed, or afraid of getting hurt, afraid that my ego will suffer or afraid to be abandoned? If I love someone, wouldn’t the real love include freedom and trust? If I trust them, then there is an expectation that they would be loyal…hmmm. I can also trust and expect that they do the best they can, really be honest with what their needs are, and with that be able to accept whatever happens.
Indeed, when there is an agreement, one would hope that both sides would keep to it, yet isn’t the agreement a base for limiting, for not setting the loved one to be free? It seems to me that only from the space of freedom comes the true will to be together to share, and to respect the others feelings, not because I have to, but because I choose to.
I can love women, appreciate them for all that they are, and not need to have every one of them, be my own. I remember when a friend that was studying with me Tibetan Buddhism asked me “how can you shoot fashion? I would go crazy seeing all these beautiful women all the time. Just walking down the streets of NY is torture”. I looked into his sweet blue eyes and replied, “Seeing such beauty walk the street in front of me, I look and enjoy. I feel gratitude that I can experience such beauty, see it and absorb, would it be better not to see them?”
I think of cultures where the woman is completely covered and wonder if this could tame my love for women, my appreciation for their beauty. Of course there is stimulation by seeing women dressed sexier, but it does not mean that I cannot control my feelings. It does not mean that the beauty I see, and love for women I have, has to come into action with every glance. A friend once said that if that were the case, (that men cannot control themselves while seeing a woman), it would be like assuming that all men are rapists to begin with, and of course this is the dramatic viewpoint.
Loyalty for me is the knowing that I would do my best to respect my partner, consider her feelings and be honest with anything that I do or need. Sharing my experience and what I go through and hope that both sides can first and foremost remember that our Love is a the basis to healthy communication, that the trust we share in the will to take care of each other, allows for more freedom and living life to its fullest.
Dublin, Ireland
As the bus rides into town from the airport, my view out the window seems like Brooklyn to me. The same type of brownstones with a front garden and metal fence, the same size sidewalk, the local Irish pub (really local here…), and a bit of rubbish around. As we get closer to the center I feel like entering Manhattan, with wider sidewalks, some older buildings mixed in with newer architecture, lots of people on the streets, and the sense that its alive. I cannot see up through the bus windows, so I skip the fact that the buildings are not trying to reach God.
My first few days are filled with street roaming, between shops and some parks, soaking the holiday feel coming up. St Patrick’s day is Tuesday, and Dublin knows that this is a big day. I felt a big day already Saturday as it was a double celebration of Birthdays, triple really, for Tony, Fiona and their Dad all celebrated in a big gathering a t a French restaurant. Tony and Fiona are my hosts to their native land, friends I met in the US thanks to Yoga. Tis such a small world, the Ashtanga community. Tony and I got to practice Ashtanga with Luke in Temple Bar (down town Dublin), and even though the first moment Luke asks me if I’ve practiced Mysore style before, a bit later he comes and asks me if I am the photographer. We both were practicing in Mysore, India at the same time, and it is not long till faces meat again on or off the mat.
I notice how spoiled I am with the abundance of organic produce in California when shopping for dinner. Last night I cooked dinner for Fiona, Betty and Tony, a grand veggie feast. It was lovely. Rich roasted parsnip and carrot soup with scallions, butter head salad with blue cheese in balsamic / lemon vinaigrette, whole wheat baguette, zucchini mushroom lasagna in red wine tomato sauce, and for desert, drunken plum in wine and whiskey over vanilla ice cream. I am always happy when people scrape their plates and ask for more, even when the lasagna has no meat or béchamel sauce. Bon Appétit!
My first few days are filled with street roaming, between shops and some parks, soaking the holiday feel coming up. St Patrick’s day is Tuesday, and Dublin knows that this is a big day. I felt a big day already Saturday as it was a double celebration of Birthdays, triple really, for Tony, Fiona and their Dad all celebrated in a big gathering a t a French restaurant. Tony and Fiona are my hosts to their native land, friends I met in the US thanks to Yoga. Tis such a small world, the Ashtanga community. Tony and I got to practice Ashtanga with Luke in Temple Bar (down town Dublin), and even though the first moment Luke asks me if I’ve practiced Mysore style before, a bit later he comes and asks me if I am the photographer. We both were practicing in Mysore, India at the same time, and it is not long till faces meat again on or off the mat.
I notice how spoiled I am with the abundance of organic produce in California when shopping for dinner. Last night I cooked dinner for Fiona, Betty and Tony, a grand veggie feast. It was lovely. Rich roasted parsnip and carrot soup with scallions, butter head salad with blue cheese in balsamic / lemon vinaigrette, whole wheat baguette, zucchini mushroom lasagna in red wine tomato sauce, and for desert, drunken plum in wine and whiskey over vanilla ice cream. I am always happy when people scrape their plates and ask for more, even when the lasagna has no meat or béchamel sauce. Bon Appétit!
Amsterdam, a reflection
The crowd stands in front of Van Gogh’s “Starry Night” and in front of Vermer's “Kitchen Maid”. These are the most famous art pieces, so we all want to see them. I have to admit that Van Goghs’ less famous Pink Peach blossom, painted for the birth of his nephew is one of my favorites. The Japanese feel of the pink and white blossom on the pastel blue background is very soothing to me.
The Rijks museum was friendly enough with Lots of Rembrandt, a few Vermer's including the special Kitchen Maid (maid pouring the milk), and woman with Balance. So distinct is the mood, the lighting and the background of his work. I got to reflect on the difference between this and the work of Richard Avedon, the fashion and portraits, the clean backgrounds and the placement of the figure in the space.
Van Gogh museum is pretty big with a whole new modern building hosting a special show of his work by night. Reading about him and seeing his work closely I feel like I know Van Gogh personally and realize that he died at my current age…I reflect on the art work that I created over the years, the styles and periods I went through, creating a little retrospective in my mind, and to my surprise I could fill up all of the walls here and more.
After spending the day at museums, I return home for a snack and head out with a camera. I no longer have an urge to document Amsterdam or any of its sites. I enjoy the freedom of walking with no backpack. Now as the time is getting close to sunset, I wonder the streets with the Canon camera strap hanging over my neck, many layers of thin shirts on, my green jacket with the large and cool looking collar, and a feeling of being an artist again. As I look into the canal I see the reflections of the canal houses dancing, shifting shape and form. Am I seeing the canal houses, the water or a new reality of the houses?
It is like the Big Sur Ocean that I viewed every day at Esalen. Once it was completely crisp, dark and rich blue, with clear definitions, another time it was dark grey and misty with strong waves and lots of movement. Still again it appeared calm with a greener tone, lighter and by night of course it appeared more like a black canvas, like a mirror offering the reflection of the moon or a star, mostly Venus. At sunrise or in the summer it was like a new Ocean all together. Was I changing or was it the ocean. Was it the same ocean, or was it just at the same place. Knowing that I was not changing glasses daily, I accepted that what I might think I know, what I can easily place in a box called the pacific, is relative and in flux, and day by day I delight in its new face.
At home I am happy to find the story of Amsterdam revealed to me in the abstractions of the shapes of homes and windows dancing on the canal waters as I captured them in my camera.
On my last day here I went to visit the Anna Frank House. A different kind of museum, a place where it is mostly my imagination and astonishment at human kind that makes the visit worthwhile. Really there is not much about the museum, but so much more of where my mind goes when triggered by human history. When standing in a seemingly normal room, a film of what happened in this very spot runs now in faded colors, with almost no sound through my imagination super imposed on the walls and space I stand in, merging times into one, knowing that these walls witnessed it all. Could this wall be the same for me as it were for Anna Frank? Do the walls care about the stories they hold? Do the floors notice the feet of the millions of tourists standing on the same wood that German soldiers did? I walk out to a drizzle, go home and pack my stuff. Catch a tram to the central station, on my way to Dublin.
The Rijks museum was friendly enough with Lots of Rembrandt, a few Vermer's including the special Kitchen Maid (maid pouring the milk), and woman with Balance. So distinct is the mood, the lighting and the background of his work. I got to reflect on the difference between this and the work of Richard Avedon, the fashion and portraits, the clean backgrounds and the placement of the figure in the space.
Van Gogh museum is pretty big with a whole new modern building hosting a special show of his work by night. Reading about him and seeing his work closely I feel like I know Van Gogh personally and realize that he died at my current age…I reflect on the art work that I created over the years, the styles and periods I went through, creating a little retrospective in my mind, and to my surprise I could fill up all of the walls here and more.
After spending the day at museums, I return home for a snack and head out with a camera. I no longer have an urge to document Amsterdam or any of its sites. I enjoy the freedom of walking with no backpack. Now as the time is getting close to sunset, I wonder the streets with the Canon camera strap hanging over my neck, many layers of thin shirts on, my green jacket with the large and cool looking collar, and a feeling of being an artist again. As I look into the canal I see the reflections of the canal houses dancing, shifting shape and form. Am I seeing the canal houses, the water or a new reality of the houses?
It is like the Big Sur Ocean that I viewed every day at Esalen. Once it was completely crisp, dark and rich blue, with clear definitions, another time it was dark grey and misty with strong waves and lots of movement. Still again it appeared calm with a greener tone, lighter and by night of course it appeared more like a black canvas, like a mirror offering the reflection of the moon or a star, mostly Venus. At sunrise or in the summer it was like a new Ocean all together. Was I changing or was it the ocean. Was it the same ocean, or was it just at the same place. Knowing that I was not changing glasses daily, I accepted that what I might think I know, what I can easily place in a box called the pacific, is relative and in flux, and day by day I delight in its new face.
At home I am happy to find the story of Amsterdam revealed to me in the abstractions of the shapes of homes and windows dancing on the canal waters as I captured them in my camera.
On my last day here I went to visit the Anna Frank House. A different kind of museum, a place where it is mostly my imagination and astonishment at human kind that makes the visit worthwhile. Really there is not much about the museum, but so much more of where my mind goes when triggered by human history. When standing in a seemingly normal room, a film of what happened in this very spot runs now in faded colors, with almost no sound through my imagination super imposed on the walls and space I stand in, merging times into one, knowing that these walls witnessed it all. Could this wall be the same for me as it were for Anna Frank? Do the walls care about the stories they hold? Do the floors notice the feet of the millions of tourists standing on the same wood that German soldiers did? I walk out to a drizzle, go home and pack my stuff. Catch a tram to the central station, on my way to Dublin.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Yoga as Grace
Practicing Yoga is a path to help us become more aware, to discover bliss at all times and realize. Realize who we really are.
Embracing our selves now, for who we are with no expectations of achievement, we can practice a graceful and joyful Yoga; a union with our mind and body in a clam state and an even flow of breath and movement.
Along the path we have many opportunities to practice and express our awareness. It starts with out behavior and attitude. “How was your practice?” the ultimate question after one leaves the shala in Mysore, India. Standing out side, sipping on a coconut I heard one yogini tell the other: “Every morning the girl next to me rolls over to my mat in Dhanurasana B and it really disrupts my flow.”
Sharing mat space, the class is surely over crowded, and extra awareness is needed, to be not only in ones own practice but also to see the surroundings. Of course a just argument can be held for each practitioner; “no room, what else to do?” Or “well I don’t know, but don’t put your sweat on my mat”. In any case, practicing for the sake of practice, for the sake of cultivating awareness and a sensation of bliss, one learns to cultivate compassion and receives great benefits and joy from seeing others be happy.
As I sit and let the class get ready here at Esalen, I hear a loud sound of a mat hitting the floor. It is not uncommon to see one toss their mat down, or kick it to roll it open. Whatever method one chooses, it is of great practice to do it consciously and with respect. Finding respect and care to all things, from the mat to the clothes we wear, from the food to the toilet, all have an important roll in our life, help us and are at our service. Practicing gratitude to all things helps bring a state of bliss on a daily basis.
We can practice this awareness as we do our Asana as well.
Through our breath, our Dristi (yogic gaze) and the grace of our movement.
Once our movement becomes too harsh, out of rhythm and either rapid or sluggish, we need to stop and refocus. While in a pose we can breathe and have a sense of joy even in difficult physical positions. Moving gracefully, like in a dance, steady, smooth movement without jerking, and a flow of energy that sips out of the lips as they stretch towards the ears.
Our intention in Yoga, in creating a union for our bodies and mind, allowing a merge, surrender to what is, however it is, creates space, space where the splendid unknown can appear and bring with it bliss, the bliss of unity. When there is no two, when there is no one, there is grace, a flow, a completeness, nothing lacking.
Yoga as grace is he ultimate practice of awareness and compassion, a surrender to the forces around us that are a part of the energy within us.
May we practice with gratitude and delight.
Embracing our selves now, for who we are with no expectations of achievement, we can practice a graceful and joyful Yoga; a union with our mind and body in a clam state and an even flow of breath and movement.
Along the path we have many opportunities to practice and express our awareness. It starts with out behavior and attitude. “How was your practice?” the ultimate question after one leaves the shala in Mysore, India. Standing out side, sipping on a coconut I heard one yogini tell the other: “Every morning the girl next to me rolls over to my mat in Dhanurasana B and it really disrupts my flow.”
Sharing mat space, the class is surely over crowded, and extra awareness is needed, to be not only in ones own practice but also to see the surroundings. Of course a just argument can be held for each practitioner; “no room, what else to do?” Or “well I don’t know, but don’t put your sweat on my mat”. In any case, practicing for the sake of practice, for the sake of cultivating awareness and a sensation of bliss, one learns to cultivate compassion and receives great benefits and joy from seeing others be happy.
As I sit and let the class get ready here at Esalen, I hear a loud sound of a mat hitting the floor. It is not uncommon to see one toss their mat down, or kick it to roll it open. Whatever method one chooses, it is of great practice to do it consciously and with respect. Finding respect and care to all things, from the mat to the clothes we wear, from the food to the toilet, all have an important roll in our life, help us and are at our service. Practicing gratitude to all things helps bring a state of bliss on a daily basis.
We can practice this awareness as we do our Asana as well.
Through our breath, our Dristi (yogic gaze) and the grace of our movement.
Once our movement becomes too harsh, out of rhythm and either rapid or sluggish, we need to stop and refocus. While in a pose we can breathe and have a sense of joy even in difficult physical positions. Moving gracefully, like in a dance, steady, smooth movement without jerking, and a flow of energy that sips out of the lips as they stretch towards the ears.
Our intention in Yoga, in creating a union for our bodies and mind, allowing a merge, surrender to what is, however it is, creates space, space where the splendid unknown can appear and bring with it bliss, the bliss of unity. When there is no two, when there is no one, there is grace, a flow, a completeness, nothing lacking.
Yoga as grace is he ultimate practice of awareness and compassion, a surrender to the forces around us that are a part of the energy within us.
May we practice with gratitude and delight.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Amsterdam in March
Sitting on a perforated, silver, metal curvy chair at the airport I look out the huge windows as people rush to the airplane stairs. Nicely designed little hand luggage in their hands, some are dressed like they are going to a fancy restaurant, skipping on heals and some got their sweatpants on ready to sleep on this long flight ahead of them.
Like so many of my trips, I am sitting alone. I notice it most while in the airport.
The man in front of me stands inline as his woman fills out immigration forms, or the woman is watching the bags while the man goes to get some drinks or use the restroom.
Like so many of my trips, as I am leaving I wonder why I am doing this. My life is great and I like what I do. I feel no need to escape or even see new things. I feel like I have done and seen enough, been in movement and enjoy some stillness now.
I take a breath to find the stillness within. I pull out my book from the bag, and go into other people’s stories. The Namesake was my gamble this time. A good book is a precious companion on flights, and taking a new book holds lots of possibilities…
The first chunk of the book tells a story of Indian immigrants to the states, and how they settle in. The man has his university job and is living his dreams while his wife is still virtually living in India, her mind and longings, waiting to go back home.
That sense of home, of family strikes me and pinches in the belly as I sit in the airport. The airport is the true land of possibilities. I look at the monitors and see letters, making up words, representing huge stories, names of cities, that immediately bring up whole cultures to mind, smells, weather, food, faces, dress code…
When arriving to Amsterdam I can’t help but notice the women. Tall women were always my weakness, and women in boots even more. Just to be clear, we are talking about stylish boots, some heal, nice black tights, and maybe a skirt. Some wearing tight jeans nicely tucked in the boots with shapely tops, a nice coat, not too long, still reveling the healthy slender body. Almost no comfy Uggs boots around, not the perfect breathe through, wind proof or other super new sporty stuff. Seems like those are tucked in the closet somewhere for their next trip away…Functional elegance is what it seems, with a strong feminine sense, of a capable woman. And the fact that most of them were riding a bicycle was even more charming. Again, no one had ultra sporty new 67 gear bikes, but mostly casual, regular old fashioned looking bicycle. Not even the Santa Cruz bike cruisers, just plain old bicycles, some still with backspin breaks.
When on Sunday night we went to he comedy club, we rode our bikes. Wearing nice outfits and sexy shoes, we pedaled through the rain, tied our bikes to one of the endless bike posts around town and entered the club to warm ourselves with a Gin Tonic.
Since my arrival here in Amsterdam, Hannif was a fantastic host, better than any guide to hosting can offer. Well, my diet and drinking habits have shifted a bit, but being a flexitarian helps, obeying the rules of being a good guest, or: in Amsterdam, be a Britt (Hannif is from England). Passport control was smooth and quick, very different than my Irish experience a few hours earlier in Dublin. Dublin airport reminded me of what the Tel Aviv airport used to be like 10 years ago before it was renovated. Well, guess Israel is not doing so badly after all.
Hannif waited just where all the families come to greet their returning loved ones. He was a bit hidden to the side with no big sign or flowers, just Hannif, being his sweet self, ready to go. It has been a while since I last saw him, and yet it felt like yesterday. Observing the beautiful airport, the design and space were first. Then came the girls. Hannif was with me on the same track. I was warned that the girls are not as friendly as I think they are. I noticed that most the Dutch people I met so far were travelers or living in a foreign country, where they naturally spoke English and were welcoming other foreigners, as they were aliens as well.
Last night Hannif hosted some friends over for Champagne tasting. That of course came along with some delicious mango covered chocolates and orange filled chocolates from a specialty little store down the road. I am so happy to see so many moms and pap’s shops, so few big chains, so many charming houses and so few big over the top buildings. Amsterdam appears to me as a quaint town that expands around its canals. The canals that add such a sweet touch. From the window of the living room where I sleep I stand and see only the water of the canal. Some ducks come by to say hello. Hannif and I practice Frisbee bread tossing to the canal to feed them.
The canals in the red light district had beautiful swans floating in them. Hannif was surprised that they choose to live in those canals. The red light district walk that we took was a show on its own. With all different woman posing at the window, teasing us to go in, some truly beautiful standing in big windows, with a bed peeking behind, like a mini hotel room, perfectly functional for a 15-minute gig. When looking into one of the girl’s eyes, seeing through, to what felt an intimate and real person, I had the Zoro need to go in and rescue her, to take her away, and be with her, to offer her something else. I know that this is probably a classic male respond, and I also am aware that what she is doing might be what she wants to do. Who am I to be a savior? Hey at time, I even thought that there was something alluring in being a kind of performer and having unlimited sex. Yes… I know that reality is different…Thank you…we finished with a nightcap at the Rembrandt square, seeing the trendy nightlife of Amsterdam.
Like so many of my trips, I am sitting alone. I notice it most while in the airport.
The man in front of me stands inline as his woman fills out immigration forms, or the woman is watching the bags while the man goes to get some drinks or use the restroom.
Like so many of my trips, as I am leaving I wonder why I am doing this. My life is great and I like what I do. I feel no need to escape or even see new things. I feel like I have done and seen enough, been in movement and enjoy some stillness now.
I take a breath to find the stillness within. I pull out my book from the bag, and go into other people’s stories. The Namesake was my gamble this time. A good book is a precious companion on flights, and taking a new book holds lots of possibilities…
The first chunk of the book tells a story of Indian immigrants to the states, and how they settle in. The man has his university job and is living his dreams while his wife is still virtually living in India, her mind and longings, waiting to go back home.
That sense of home, of family strikes me and pinches in the belly as I sit in the airport. The airport is the true land of possibilities. I look at the monitors and see letters, making up words, representing huge stories, names of cities, that immediately bring up whole cultures to mind, smells, weather, food, faces, dress code…
When arriving to Amsterdam I can’t help but notice the women. Tall women were always my weakness, and women in boots even more. Just to be clear, we are talking about stylish boots, some heal, nice black tights, and maybe a skirt. Some wearing tight jeans nicely tucked in the boots with shapely tops, a nice coat, not too long, still reveling the healthy slender body. Almost no comfy Uggs boots around, not the perfect breathe through, wind proof or other super new sporty stuff. Seems like those are tucked in the closet somewhere for their next trip away…Functional elegance is what it seems, with a strong feminine sense, of a capable woman. And the fact that most of them were riding a bicycle was even more charming. Again, no one had ultra sporty new 67 gear bikes, but mostly casual, regular old fashioned looking bicycle. Not even the Santa Cruz bike cruisers, just plain old bicycles, some still with backspin breaks.
When on Sunday night we went to he comedy club, we rode our bikes. Wearing nice outfits and sexy shoes, we pedaled through the rain, tied our bikes to one of the endless bike posts around town and entered the club to warm ourselves with a Gin Tonic.
Since my arrival here in Amsterdam, Hannif was a fantastic host, better than any guide to hosting can offer. Well, my diet and drinking habits have shifted a bit, but being a flexitarian helps, obeying the rules of being a good guest, or: in Amsterdam, be a Britt (Hannif is from England). Passport control was smooth and quick, very different than my Irish experience a few hours earlier in Dublin. Dublin airport reminded me of what the Tel Aviv airport used to be like 10 years ago before it was renovated. Well, guess Israel is not doing so badly after all.
Hannif waited just where all the families come to greet their returning loved ones. He was a bit hidden to the side with no big sign or flowers, just Hannif, being his sweet self, ready to go. It has been a while since I last saw him, and yet it felt like yesterday. Observing the beautiful airport, the design and space were first. Then came the girls. Hannif was with me on the same track. I was warned that the girls are not as friendly as I think they are. I noticed that most the Dutch people I met so far were travelers or living in a foreign country, where they naturally spoke English and were welcoming other foreigners, as they were aliens as well.
Last night Hannif hosted some friends over for Champagne tasting. That of course came along with some delicious mango covered chocolates and orange filled chocolates from a specialty little store down the road. I am so happy to see so many moms and pap’s shops, so few big chains, so many charming houses and so few big over the top buildings. Amsterdam appears to me as a quaint town that expands around its canals. The canals that add such a sweet touch. From the window of the living room where I sleep I stand and see only the water of the canal. Some ducks come by to say hello. Hannif and I practice Frisbee bread tossing to the canal to feed them.
The canals in the red light district had beautiful swans floating in them. Hannif was surprised that they choose to live in those canals. The red light district walk that we took was a show on its own. With all different woman posing at the window, teasing us to go in, some truly beautiful standing in big windows, with a bed peeking behind, like a mini hotel room, perfectly functional for a 15-minute gig. When looking into one of the girl’s eyes, seeing through, to what felt an intimate and real person, I had the Zoro need to go in and rescue her, to take her away, and be with her, to offer her something else. I know that this is probably a classic male respond, and I also am aware that what she is doing might be what she wants to do. Who am I to be a savior? Hey at time, I even thought that there was something alluring in being a kind of performer and having unlimited sex. Yes… I know that reality is different…Thank you…we finished with a nightcap at the Rembrandt square, seeing the trendy nightlife of Amsterdam.
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