Choir for Peace

I saw a male Muslim with a head covering pass by me on the street today and I subconsciously noted his backpack. I had just been reading an article on BBC where a professor had been tasked with listening and describing the cassette tapes found on the premises of the Taliban headquarters after Osama Bin Laden had fled. It sort of creeped me out, you can’t hear the cassettes but a quick scroll by a photo of his infamous face and lots of memories, videos, articles and fear flashed through my mind. 

So I’ll blame my recent reading of this article and not racism for my judgment of this backpack wearing man and my visions of suicide bombers as I watched him walk in the building and wondered what he might do. It's a whole other level to note that exploding the Quik Mart in Orange California most likely isn't a high priority target, but I don't know, it's where my mind was. Then I thought about my thought, it was prejudice, but it happened and even though the thought might be normal, it’s not ok, it's a blanket bias and it does nothing in the fight for peace.

When I was in Jerusalem we had the privilege of meeting with the teaching Imam at Al-Aqsa Mosque, which is located next to the dome of the rock and is the third holiest site in Islam.  He was gracious enough to speak with us and take all of our questions. He had just returned from a trip to Belgium with his wife and he mentioned the eyes that he felt followed him down the street as he passed by.  It was as if the people were expecting him to detonate a bomb under his shirt, and he was just trying to enjoy a vacation with his wife.  It was a little jolting to hear him talk about the prejudice and assumptions that I myself unknowingly held and the way it felt to be on the other side of them.  This was right during the time of the Kosher Market attack in France in January so everything was very fresh and tense and I’m sure being a traditionally dressed Muslim in Europe was uncomfortable.

In the telling of the Arabic perspective of the history of the Holy Land he mentioned the crusaders in Europe.  He made a point to pause and say that these crusaders were not really Christians, they were doing violence to gain power in the name of a religion.  In that moment he had a perfect opportunity to take a shot at Christianity and say, “See! You were violent too, the name of your religion and your God was used to slaughter thousands of people, don’t forget you have blood on your hands too”, but instead, he side-stepped that opportunity and saw our faith beyond our past and gave a dignity to our history and to our people that we’ve never given to him. He said to kill one man is to kill them all, and that they do not condone violence, just as the crusaders were not Christians so these extremists are not Muslims (Obama and I know this is a sticky comparison, but the only point I'm making is that we both have violence connected to and done in the name of our religion).

The Islamic State is terrifying and that’s real and fear is a normal and appropriate response to their actions, but extremisms is the threat not Islam, so is there a way to respond with kindness and grace to our peaceful Muslim neighbors? I'm talking to myself here because even though I had this peaceful interaction with a gracious man of faith, I still saw a man with a head covering and noticed his backpack.  Maybe I can’t immediatley fix the knee jerk response, but I can work on remembering that the loudest is not the voice of them all.   

Not everyone has the opportunity to directly hear a peaceful voice of a Muslim but I would encourage you to do so.  Because in my interaction with a man of faith who gave his Christian brothers and sisters a chance to drop our stained history and claim the peace that together we aim for, he reminded me to see the faces among the crowd.  So, maybe we can extend the same grace to him that he extended to us and release him from the baggage of a small but terrifying section of his religious community and join him in the quiet but growing choir for peace.

Latin America in Los Angeles

I live in Orange County, but we southerners often find ourselves crossing the Orange Curtain for a good night of food and entertainment in the big city, but we know LA people look down us, we can see it in their eyes. 

It's like we’re just not cool enough, we’re not quite at the leading edge of culture like they are, they’re like…'that was so last week'. Granted we are known for pleasantville neighborhoods with identical homes and way too much money(I'm looking at you Irvine)…but we’re not all that way, I swear it. I sort of get the obsession though, I think people in LA like the seedy characteristics of the city, they like living in a place that’s part terrifying, part totally awesome.  The grunge adds to the thrill, the intrigue of irony, as they pop from one hip restaurant to another. 

But there we were with fabulous friends, starting at a wine bar with shelves of wine from floor to ceiling and a mescal tasting in a back room.  Smoky Tequila is gross, except that I loved it. It might ruin a margarita but when sipped alone, the subtle details become extravagant. Then on a busy street in Beverly Hills we opted for valet the price of a bottle of wine to avoid the dreaded wondering around the street affair, afraid to hit the Maserati directly in front or the homeless guys directly behind while parallel parking.  The crowd outside the Mexican restaurant was huge, which we later came to find out was a night of prayer, music and gratitude for mother earth, complete with a rainbow display of votive candles to light in a vigil to the gods that be and a performance by Peter, Paul & Mary. Inside the restaurant the beautiful servers who undoubtedly doubled as working actors whirred about the room expertly weaving in between tables, trays full of cocktails and red wine.  While we ate I engaged my skills of peripheral people staring – no watching- and I wanted desperately to be a hippie.  Women were wandering barefoot with braids down their backs, one with a rainbow knit smock that could only have been handmade.  Babies were strapped to backs, which brought along friendly conversation and congratulations “you have a baby…in a bar”. Then there were the modern day hipster hippies, who weren’t quite sold enough.  They did a bad performance of hippie reenactment while they flirted at the bar with chiseled cheekbones and a hat I’m sure I had seen at Urban Outfitters last week. 

We left and ran across town and parked in such a precarious area I would have bet my cats that our car would get stolen.  Unknown streets can be very exaggerated at night, like a scene from some rapist movie that I can’t quite remember but has lodged itself somewhere in the back of my mind to torture me with its fear. Pass the graffiti, pass the overflowing trashcan, pass a man sleeping in a tent, pass a man in a tailored suit - wait, no that’s us.  He leads us upstairs and through a closet (insert Angelinos eye roll) and into a Rum bar with a live Cuban band and a dance floor full of beautiful people and perfectly timed hips and feet. If I’m not careful in a place like this, I might let the mojito tell me I can probably dance like that…I cannot dance like that, NEVER let me try!  

It was a evening of experiences stringed along like beads that made the night like something out of Latin America with a side of 70's, and I was in love with it.  I was grateful for a city close by that may not have it’s own distinct culture, but in a country of immigrants our culture is international and it is definitely alive. Who wants one thing, when you can have pieces of it all.  So LA I’ll give you an A+ for the night, don’t make me fall for you! 

What I would have said

The other day I was visiting my sister and her new baby in the hospital.  I was excited to meet her new nurse who just so happens to be from Cape Town, South Africa.  I figured we would have a lot to talk about seeing as how I had just returned days earlier.  A few minutes into our conversation I gave her a brief overview of the work we were doing in the region, and the ways we were trying to help NGO’s and churches understand and know how to work with those who have been traumatized in townships.  I’ll do my best not to miss-quote her, but her response was something like – “could they even receive the help you were trying to offer them? The people in the townships have a totally different value system.  They’re like animals, not that I’m comparing them to animals, but they can’t really change.  They just have such a different value system.”

I just looked at her and said nothing.  I think I was trying to interpret what she was saying, I was hoping desperately that I was misunderstanding her, hoping that it was just a hot button for me since I just returned and she wasn’t saying what I thought she was saying. I was trying to formulate a response and be aware of that fact that my role in that moment was to smile, silently disagree and remember that my priority was my sister enjoying her time in the hospital with her new baby girl. 

But, if I was back in that moment in a different context and clarity of mind, I think might have responded differently.  I might have asked her to clarify what it is about them that makes them incapable of receiving help. I think I might have told her about Abbie, a black woman who lives in an immaculately clean 200 square foot pinned up home in a township and spends her time with children teaching them, basically for free. I might have told her about Sylvia who lost everyone she loved which drove her to prostitution but she found healing, made different choices and now helps at risk youth avoid her terrible fate. I would have told her several other stories of people who were brought into unthinkable situations in townships, with nothing but what was given to them, and who chose to grow and change and become people helpers against all odds. I would have asked her how she thinks she might have turned out had she been born in a township, but I guess only God knows that. 

Animals? Unable to learn and change? No. Fellow human beings born into and placed into terrible situations from the brokenness of this world and the brokenness of one another with all the capacity to become great? Yes. Their blackness is not what fundamentally makes them disadvantaged. Racism, unequal socioeconomic opportunity, lack of education, cycles of violence, poverty, that’s what breaks people. 

Differences drives fear, fear drives separation, separation reinforces the cycle and it becomes easy to accept that the other wants the impoverished lives they’re living, that we are fundamentally different with unequal capacity for goodness. 

I believe that we can see one another’s humanness only when we interact with the other, and when we do, when there is a shred of good in us we humans at our best will treat the other with kindness.  Maybe if this nurse knew Abbie or Sylvia, her value system and unchanging mindset might just do the thing she believes to be impossible…and change.

Would it have made a difference if I said all this to her…probably not. But in a different context I would have said it anyways, just to be a small voice in a small moment for the oppressed.  I hope after this hypothetical conversation I would realize that yes, I did misunderstand her and that she too believes that no matter our skin color we are all worthy of the same human rights and capable of good, if but only by the grace of God. 

Sage Blossoms

Yesterday was my first day volunteering at Wind Rose Farm. I woke up so grateful for the sun because I had a cold and sleepless night.  I don’t know that I’ve ever been consciously grateful for the sun, but there I lay watching the world go from grey and black to gold and green and found myself a little weepy over the grace of morning.  

Bill and Barbara Spencer are the organic farmers here and they know so much about the earth I feel like such robot.  Like I’m this piece of machine that lives in between concrete walls and am never human enough to touch the earth.  When I was wrapping bundles of rose scented geranium - which will be used to make rose ice cream at a restaurant in Santa Monica - Barbara asked me what I was looking for in my time at the farm.  I didn’t really have an answer except I knew I wanted to experience something new and develop an appreciation for nature and thus God. Her response, “well, a little dirt should help you get there”.  Dirt. Yes of Course.

Together Barbara and I bounced around from one greenhouse to another and then on to other gardens.  We were bundling lettuce, thyme, rosemary, sage blossoms, Sicilian oregano, arugula blossoms, chocolate geranium, Portuguese kale, apple mint and so much more. I’ve never been so aware of scent and how many rich smells can come from the earth. I’ve never been so aware of my ears and the silence or the sound of wind in the trees and infinity birds. I’ve also never been so aware of how much my body could hurt, it feels good to work hard and sleep hard, but also I should probably do a little yoga in the morning.

What must it be like to be such a genius like God, making things that smell like arugula - and little bushes that taste like thyme - and red ladybugs that protect lettuce leaves?  This whole system relies on the system and it works when we let it. Concrete and gushers are such a sad imitation.

Barbara talks to her plants sometimes and I’m obsessed.  “So these arugula blossoms can be used in a salad with the leaves and – oh hello there mustard, we need to have a talk you are much to big.” I’m into it. If I lived, worked with and loved plants every day I probably would too.

I was invited into their home for a spinach and egg frittata in which all the items were sourced from the farm or from surrounding farms that they had direct relationship with. Butter, eggs, flower, roasted garlic, feta cheese, spinach all from a couple mile radius.  Bill made a comment about the farming industry and politicians chief concern being cheap food “but with the disease and health risks that go with this industrial farming we really have the most expensive food in the world” - word.

In other news I bottle fed a little lamb. And if your question is, could I possibly get more hippie than this post, it’s too soon to tell…but probably, yes. 

Tips for backpacking Europe

When I was in college I went backpacking through Europe with my sister and two of our friends.  None of us had a lot of international travel experience at the time, so I’m just going to say we made some good choices, and others not so great. For example we ran the numbers halfway through our trip and realized that we had a euro a day to spend on food for the remainder of the trip. Picture four girls a little too skinny and probably a little dirty sitting on the ground outside a Laundromat in Rome when we pressed equals - the number was one. Just one little baby one. It was a weird combination of laughter and serious crying mixed together with how did we get ourselves here and then cheersing with some gelato we couldn’t afford. With that, here are some tips I learned the hard way.

Tip # 1 – you don’t actually need a backpack for travelling Europe.  I wish I had brought a small rolling suitcase. My dad carried by bag for me to the airpot and by time I was actually carrying it on my own I was in the airport in London and couldn't lift it up, it was like a joke, it wasn't budging. I had to squat so I could activate my legs muscles and I was still shaking. Once on my back I was good to go as long as no one touched me and I maintained a perfect balance to even out the weight ratio, this meant leaning forward 30 degrees resembling a disproportionate humpback. It's cool though, I had very sculpted back muscles by the end of the trip, so if you’re into that - ya know, go for it.

Tip #2 – Listen to all those bothersome people when they tell you to be careful with your purse because it could get stolen, and you’re like ya I know I’m not five. It could really get stolen. 

Tip #3 – Bring enough money.  Be better at math than me.

Tip #4 – Strike a fine balance between planning and leaving room for flexibility just in case you fall in love with a place and don’t want to leave, i.e. Vernazza in Cinque Terra. We stayed mostly in hostels that we pre-booked, but apartments could be a great option as well. 

London (stay in Notting Hill) :: Paris (stay in the 4th, 5th or 6th) :: Barcelona (watch your purse on Las Ramblas st.) :: Geneva (The cleanest city) :: Interlaken (don't skip this and go white water rafting, all the adventure sports start at $100) :: Florence :: Cinque Terra (all five cities are perfect and a rail runs between them all for easy travel) :: Rome (stay in Trasteverde) :: Venice (pay a little more to stay close to the canals) :: Vienna (don't buy any music tickets on the street, do research on whats good) :: Munich (Beer Gardens) :: Berlin :: Amsterdam (don't skip the Van Gogh museum of art) :: Bruges (it's better than Brussels) 

Tip #5 - Get a Eurail and book your sleeper trains before you leave.  It costs a little more but it saves on hostels and allows you get travel time over with while you sleep. If you don't want to pay the extra money you can try and sleep in a train chair but if you book a room it locks and has 4 really tiny beds. 

Tip #6  – Don’t over pack.  Find Laundromats, bring items that can be switched around.  Don’t bring really heavy books, for example the entire collection of C.S. Lewis is going to be a little annoying. Below is my packing list:

Striped T :: Trench Coat :: Black Dress :: Oatmeal Sweater :: Black Pants :: White Shirt :: Jean Shorts :: Blush Dress :: Bikini :: Turkish Towel :: Converse :: Sandals 

2500 Miles as the Crow Flies

So just to set the stage a little, I was in a cave on a hilltop in Palestine that is so beautiful that these pesky little words could never do justice to it. Caves were a common use for housing in this region because they are cool in summer, warm in the winter and many times naturally occurring.  During the Roman occupation they sliced flat land into the curve of the hills for farming, giving the illusion of being surrounded by huge mounds of swirling stairs.  People in the Middle East are very hospitable so they made us a traditional Arabic lunch that was so warm and comforting it made the cold wind seem less cold. The air there is clean, the views expansive and the land full of the type of people that make you think.  They jolt you into the reality of the depravity of this world and simultaneously the remarkable grace we’ve been extended to play a part in making it better.  The type of people who unabashedly proclaim, “we refuse to be enemies” not just as plaque to pay homage to the phrases of the ‘shoulds’, but because it’s actually their only response to the individuals who remain devoted to being enemies. Whatever it is we think of when we think of the great heroes of peace, these are those people.

So back to the cave - a woman stepped in to join us and tell us a little about herself.  She is from Scotland and believes in taking care of this earth we live on…so do I, I recycle, take re-usable bags to the grocery store and I don’t use plastic water bottles.

We’re the same.  

She believes in sustainable farming and stopping the pollutants we pump into the air, same here, I drive a Subaru and it's partial green emission and I shop at the farmer’s market sometimes. We are women of conviction her and I, although I recently heard about the plastic wasted in the keurig coffee pods & its affect on the environment, but I really don’t think I can give that up.  It’s a little extreme to start filling up the little reusable coffee pod with fresh grounds, too far green peace, too far.

She understands that airplanes are a big source of pollutants in our eco-system so she chose to ride her bike from Scotland to Palestine. I’m just going to say that again, she road her bike from Scotland to Palestine because she believes in taking care of our planet. 

We are not the same.

She believes in organic sustainable farming so she came to a hilltop outside of Bethlehem to live and work for a year. She believes in peace amongst the Christian Churches so she carried with her a candle from her home church to light and pray for the peace of the world.  Then she lived in one of the most war torn areas to participate with a group of people that are committed to making a difference in a conflict the rest of the world has seemingly given up on.  There is a density to someone like that, someone whose ribbon of conviction runs all the way from speech to heart to action.

I learned from this woman so much about belief and choices, about deciding what I think and believing it so earnestly that I let it seep into my bones, change me and inconvenience me.  The scariest thing we can do is let life just pass us by without ever figuring out what we think about religion, this life, what we’re doing here, and then making choices in light of that.  In my darkest hour where I’m hanging on by my fingernails to the faith I’ve chosen to believe, I’m never afraid that I’ll get it wrong, I’m only afraid that I’ll just stop trying and I’ll never let it change me.  Whatever I believe, I want to believe in it so completely that it makes me different, even when the difference is hard, even when it means riding a bike 2,500 miles as the crow flies.

Paris Street Fashion

Paris is obviously the best city on earth…don’t even start to argue with me, it is! You already know I have a love affair with the Isle De La Cite and the surrounding areas including the St. Germain, Le Marais and the Isle St. Louise.  The City of a Thousand Greys, Life in Pink, The City of Lights, it actually is that magical.   

When we were there in May I made a point of paying attention to the fashion on the street.  Why are the French known for their fashion? Here’s what I discovered, it’s not mind bending so don’t go getting all excited…buuut I basically discovered the secret to good fashion.  Simplicity.  Yes that’s it, write it down and remember it every time you go shopping. As Leonardo Da Vinci says, “Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication”…that’s a nice quote, I should put it on a plaque.

The French wear a lot of basics (yes I know I already gabbed about this, but it's true).  You may not look at them at think, wow that’s a fashionista, but that’s just it.  They don’t ride the rollercoaster of trendy fashion, they keep it classic, and high end. Even among the wealthiest, it might look like a basic tan handbag, but with a closer inspection it’s an Hermes satchel.  The point is, it’s the right basic tan handbag. Now that doesn’t mean they don’t lead the fashion trends for the world, but they do it with subtlety and close attention to details, nothing is overstated.

Clothes are in neutrals and not overly fitted, there are less bright colors and patterns, and both men and women are dressed fairly formal on a daily basis. Women’s Makeup is light and natural and their hair is less done- it isn’t overly curled or ironed, they let it wave with its natural shape and color and maybe twist it into a bun on a sunny day.

To contrast that, they are also never undone although they may give the air of breezy carelessness.  Grubby clothes and old sneakers aren’t the norm, but pristine flats and a nice blouse with a scarf around the neck for good measure. 

So I changed the way I shop. I buy less, I buy better, I buy understated, I buy elegent. It keeps me from the utter exhaustion of trying to keep up with every new bold and trendy fad floating in and out of Urban Outfitters…omg I love Urban Outfitters.

So - detailed well fashioned basics.  Simplicity. Write it down. 

If you do it right, you'll look exactly like this girl…right?

Photos by Trever Hoehne for Darling Magazine

Lessons from the border of Gaza

I'm just gonna say, today's post might feel like whip lash, seeing as how I was just gabbing about things to do in Paris and fashion week.  I started this blog to talk about things that interest me.  Gaza interests me, fashion interests me, health, art, travel, reading & hiking interest me.  So I'm just going to talk about all of it, ok?

I have been to Israel and Palestine twice and it's a place I just can't get enough of. I love the culture, the food, the land, the history, and I have become completely compelled by the conflict in the region.  While we were there we went to the southern part of the country to a village on the border of the Gaza strip to meet with an Israeli woman called Ronni. She showed us the pock-marks on her daughters home from a rocket landing in their garden this summer.  She told us how all the woman and children left the village during the war for their safety.  She explained the fear of hearing the drilling underneath them as militants were digging tunnels, and the loud noises at night from the Hamas army training on the beach.  She told us about her good friend she is consistently in contact with in Gaza and how she is advocating for their freedom. Wait what?

Of all the people with the right to be polarized it would be her.  Of all the people who shouldn’t want peace it should be her.  If anyone should believe in the wall, it should really be her.  Yet somehow she believes in and fights for the freedom of the Palestinians living in the Gaza strip.  It was one of those deep breath moments, “I’m pretty sure I’m in the presence of greatness”.

The most powerful type of peacemaking comes from those, from whom it is least expected.  How is it possible to be Ronni? Maybe she has grace because she knows them. Ronni knows her Palestinian friends name, and maybe this friend likes warm tea on cold days just like us.  I bet she enjoys the beach and reading to her kids at night.  She probably has guilty pleasure food and some quirky hobbies.  She’s got some pet peeves and hidden talents. I bet she cries every night over the loss of her loved ones in this wretched war.

She’s not Hamas, she’s human.   

Although that doesn’t solve the political conflict, it actually does. Ronni said people call her a dreamer for believing in peace.  I think she’s a war-time hero.

Now, I know I’m at risk of sounding simple minded, so let me just say this – I understand Israel’s right and duty to protect its borders. I’m aware of the war this summer and the 450 rockets that were launched into Israeli land and I know that Hamas is considered a terrorist organization by the international community. I'm also aware of the human rights violations in Gaza and the terrible situation they're in, a place which to some is considered the world's largest open air prison. These are all very real concerns that don’t have easy fixes, and I’m well aware it is beyond my scope of knowledge to discuss the political nuances of the region.

So, maybe we can’t partake in government to government negotiations, but human beings to human beings finding peace amongst themselves…it’s impact cannot be overstated. That is where peace starts and ends. It is, I believe, the best way forward.

I couldn’t help but think - if only the religious, who are meant to live and die by the command to love, if they could be the dreamers, if they could be the peacemakers, if WE were marked by loving our enemy – our war-time threatening our lives enemy…I think the world would be a different place. I just don’t think it could stay the same. 

Photo by: Kevin Rogers. Also, everything I know and love about the Holy Land I learned from Greg Khalil.

Hiking & Van Gogh

I have a challenge for you: Go outside and climb a mountain. 

For those of us that live in urban or suburban settings I think that one of the most therapeutic and life giving things we can do is get outside and enjoy nature.  Find some trails local to your area, convince a friend that is interesting and not a complainer to join, grab a small backpack with water and sunscreen and get out there.  Take deep breathes.  Look around.  Let your body do what it was designed to do, work hard. 

I have some friends I’m in a unofficial hiking club with (it used to be a cooking club, now it’s the antithesis of a cooking club) and it basically consists of hiking together as often as we can.  Sometimes I like to do sunset hikes and the mountains I'm so used to seeing suddenly become soaked in yellow, and they seem new again. I think it matters that we embrace this beautiful world around us.  I think we’re made to enjoy it.   

I'm reading a book about the life of Van Gogh...I promise this will connect.  Van Gogh was a huge fan of Rembrandt who, as you might know, did a lot of realistic religious paintings of the future in heaven.  Van Gogh was extremely religious himself, and though you wouldn't know it, his paintings had a lot of religious significance to him. There was a popular preacher at the time who would do these sermons about the divineness of nature and Christ as inseparable from it's beauty.  They proposed nature was one of the best ways of knowing God.  So in that way, Van Gogh's art was religious, not because they were realist images of heaven, but because he was painting nature and God was a very real part of that.  Van Gogh was a pretty crazy guy, but I think it's a good point.  To me there is something religious about being outside,  something that reminds me I am such a small piece in view of the vastness of nature.  It's humbling, and energizing, and sort of a relief.  

Ok so enough of the rant, here are my recommendations for hiking if you live in the LA or Orange County areas:

Mustard Road in Foothill Ranch.  Park at this Ralphs and you’ll see the trail start. Take Borrego > Mustard Road > Vista Lookout Road (you’re gonna want to die for a minute, but then you’ll love it, I swear!)

Peter’s Canyon in Orange.  My favorite is the East Ridge loop

El Moro Canyon in Laguna Beach. No Dogs > Poles > E. Cut Across > Moro Ridge. The view will make you want to weep. Save this one for a clear day.

Valido in Laguna Beach. Take Valido to this lookout point then to this one. 

Quigley Canyon in Santa Clarita. Take the Coyote loop that brings you to the top of the falls.  It's harder but better.

Solstice Canyon in Malibu.  At the end of the loop there is a burned down mansion from the 20's. Take Rising Sun trail to Solstice Canyon Trail.  

Runyon Canyon in LA is pretty easy and has really beautiful views on a smog-free day. 

Griffith's Observatory in LA. Lots of trails, I've only done a few of them but loved them all. 

PS: if your husband's idea of exercise is walking around a mall, don't take him on a really big hike for the first time out, otherwise he'll fall asleep at 6pm and struggle to walk the next day.  err...whoops. 

Musee de l'Orangerie

Trever and I have been to Paris four times and we’ve never been to the Louvre.  I don’t even feel bad about it, the amount of humanity in such a small space gives me anxiety just thinking about it.  The world gets so mad when you tell them you don’t want to go to the Louvre…get over it world!

However, there is a museum on the opposite side of the Tuileries gardens from the Louvre called the Orangerie.  It’s mostly impressionist artists and much smaller and more manageable.  If you like to move quickly through museums you can go from 5:00 until it closes at 6:00 and pay close to half the price, or you can go free on the first sunday of every month.  On the top floor of the Orangerie there are several Water Lilies studies by Monet.  The gallery rooms are huge white ovals and the ceiling is white and translucent, somehow.  When the clouds move over the sun and back off it, the light in the room completely changes and it changes the look of the paintings constantly.  So skip the Louvre, go to the Orangerie, jog through the other galleries and sit in the Water Lilies gallery until they kick you out.  Watch the colors change.  Take it in. You won’t regret it.  

Thoughts on Shabbat

A few months back I was in Jerusalem on a peace making pilgrimage.  We met with Palestinians, Jews, Christians, Muslims, the non-Religious and people all across the political spectrum.  The trip was such a paradox for me as it was both heart breaking and hopeful, full of peacemakers and the violent, we fell in love and grieved deeply all in two weeks…but more on that later. 

A week into the trip we were dropped off in a neighborhood of Jerusalem within walking distance of the Western Wall.  We quickly learned and participated in the rules of Shabbat -no cell phones, no driving, no turning on electricity, no freedom…wait, not that last part. We walked to the home of an Orthodox Rabbi and were welcomed inside for a dinner with his family.  The first thing I noticed was a styrofoam head in their bathroom, I’m assuming to hold the wig his wife was wearing.  Observant Jewish women cover their heads and dress modestly, very modestly.

We were seated and the Rabbi prayed in Hebrew and gave us the English translations of what he was saying. He sang songs and blessed the food, the amazing food, the AMAZING food. Then, we got to ask him any questions we wanted.

Talk about a real life cultural experience.  In another life I would be a religious studies major so I sort of geek out on this type of thing.   Shabbat is the Hebrew word for Sabbath, and the essence of it is to rest. The observant implement God's same rhythm of work and rest, and they implement it religiously (pun?). 

My initial reaction was to rear my little liberal American ego and find the rules to be confining and legalistic.  I wanted to stand up for this woman who was wearing a wig and covered head to toe in thick fabric.  I’m suddenly the hulk of women’s rights...but really I’m not. I think she has the right to believe in modesty and it doesn’t make her weak or oppressed, it makes her equally as strong.  So I had to adjust my perspective and embrace the heart behind the rules.  When I did, I learned something, as I find I often do when I put down my bias and listen to learn.

On Shabbat they completely unplug. What at first glance seemed like a list of rules to follow suddenly sounded like freedom.  I know that I’m not forced to look at my phone constantly but somehow I end up staring at it…way to often. NPR is currently doing an experiment in which they are exploring the beauty of boredom, of good old-fashioned zoning out.  It’s good for us.  Maybe checking our phones every minute we have a free second causes us to miss out on something else.  Maybe our imaginations are hushed by this incessant input of information.  Maybe our thought life is inch deep because we never allow our minds the time to explore. What if I unplugged? Took a day every week to silence the noisy chaos that is our ever connected and artificially communicative lives. The Rabbi told us of how he reads, studies, prays, talks, thinks, breathes and slows down.  So, I’ll take a note from an Orthodox Rabbi on the other side of the world.  Maybe they’ve figured something out that we haven’t.  Maybe God gave them good advice. I guess I’ll give it a shot.

Photo by: Kevin Rogers

Trasteverde in every city

Last spring Trever and I were in Rome for a Holiday.  I had been to Rome before when I was backpacking in college, but it doesn’t really count because it was tainted by the fact that we were pretty much out of money.  We would be buy a loaf of bread at the grocery story and eat the bread 3 meals a day until we ran out. Yes, I’m serious, I’ll show you pictures one day.

When we went back I decided to do some research on the best places to stay and areas to visit in the city.  My goal in travel is always to experience a city as close to the way a local does as possible - sooo douchy, I know.  So I had a recommendation to look into an area of the city called Trasteverde.  It’s on the south west (Kanye's kid?) part of the city, away from all of the tourist attractions that bring the masses to Rome in the first place.  The first thing I read about this area is that it was “seedy”, that felt like a good sign to me.  I like a place with a little grit (I guess thats why I like LA, sometimes).  It is also known to be an area with lots of young people, ancient and colorful buildings, fabulous food and a great night life.  HELLO! I’m there!

Within the first nano-second of arrival I knew it was the right choice.  The building we stayed in was sherbet pink with white shutters open to a narrow street carved out between a myriad of pastel colored buildings. Ivy was draping across laundry lines – like, it just started crawling across this functional laundry line and the owner just let it keep going.  Why fix something that exquisite? They just left it there draping leafy charm across the street and forcing me to fall in love.  The area is so old that the cobblestone streets spaghetti and swirl with the grace and elegance of a dance – whoever said straight lines are better than curvy ones?  I have this very specific memory of having marinara pizza (it’s bomb, get it) and drinking a vat of wine, because that’s how they serve it, in big huge jugs.  Every café was filled with locals laughing and eating and drinking, all the while being serenaded by street musicians - it was the stuff of Norah Ephron movies.

After a really long and drawn out dinner full of the conversation that prolonged time together brings out, we walked down the street to grab some pistachio ricotta gelato  and wandered slowly back to our flat.  I remember that night specifically because one of our neighbors was playing classic Italian music and we could still hear the vibrato of spirited conversation in the cafes below.  The cool air was blowing our curtains around the room like ballerinas, and I could hardly stand all the goodness.  I didn’t feel like a tourist, I felt like an Italian - wouldn’t that be nice?

So that’s a concept I take with me in all my travels.  Stay in an apartment if you can, look for the seedy parts of town, find the bits of the city away from tourist attractions and get local recommendations for the restaurants you choose, like this place.  Be Italian for a week.