A Visit to La Chascona

Today, I had coffee with Neruda

We sat facing each other

under the sun dripping lemon tree

His arms, the balcony, stretched

towards me, generous and round

like the stern on a ship

His eyes, were portholes

revealing an inky sea

His skin was the sea glass

softened by the waves, and he drank

me in, till I felt like wine must taste

from cerulean glass

I forgot his eyes were bulging

his chin triple, I forgot he left

each wife for a new one

And began imagining our lives together

two poets living under one decked roof

where the garden grows into a mountain

An American On The Road

What does it mean to be an American traveling the world in the early days of 2009? I can tell you in one word, freedom. It’s as if I can watch the world change around me, but not really to me. The economic crisis has hit many different types of people around the world, in all forms of industry, academics, and business. The perhaps overlooked affected are recent college graduates. These are times when someone with an honors degree in Literature gets a job at a an independent bookstore getting paid minimum wage, and then gets her hours cut. These are days when a double Magna Cum Laude history and politics graduate from UCLA works at his university for almost two years with no raise and is then told his hours will be cut and to expect no raises in the coming two years. These are the days when my boyfriend and I (the proprietors of the stories above) decided to quit our jobs (and America) and jump into one of the world’s lifeboats-travel.
Despite the massive repercussions of the economic crisis in America, and its reaches to almost all the corners of the world, there is one advantage for people in our shoes, the dollar. Amazingly the dollar is stronger than it has been in years, making international travel easier and more attractive. My boyfriend has an avid interest in Latin American history and has been telling me we should go to South America together since we met three years ago. We both come from families where travel is advocated. My parents are English but traveled around North Africa on a motorcycle in the late 60s, started a vintage clothing store in New Zealand in the 70s, eloped in Samoa in ‘78, then decided, because a friend mentioned they might like it, to pack up and move to Los Angeles. My upbringing was a series of family “adventure” trips. When my friends’ families were going camping, my family was loading up the ancient green suburban to drive 400 miles into the gringo deserted areas of Baja Mexico. My boyfriend comes from a similarly nonconformist family. He was raised by a single mother from a traditional Jewish home in Pittsburgh, but she lived in Norway and in Germany’s Black Forest in her 20s to learn about homeopathy before becoming a naturopathic doctor (with many celebrity patients) in California. Ryan’s childhood also included a few not-your-average-vacation traveling, like a trip to Indonesia when he was 14 that spurred his current fascination with Buddhism. In short, we were made to make this kind of escape. When we told our parents we were quitting our jobs and planned to travel without a return date in mind, neither batted an eye (well mine didn’t, I can’t say the stereotype for overly protective Jewish mothers isn’t a little bit true).
Traveling as an American in 2009 is already different than it was last year. Saying you were American abroad wasn’t always a wise thing to do. I made that mistake in Morocco, not long after the Dutch cartoon depicting Mohammed was making uproar in Muslim countries. Some Moroccans were feeling hostile towards the West, particularly America, even though we had nothing to do with the cartoons directly. Travel during the Bush era was a good time to say you were Canadian or for me to pull out my British passport. America has not been favored recently, and for good reasons. No one I know is proud of what has been done in the last 8 years, no one I know wanted the war in Iraq, or Afganistan. That is why we were all so excited for Barack Obama. Finally, we can travel and be proud of where we are from. Ryan and I specifically bought Obama shirts to wear while traveling, eager to show off our new President. I can’t imagine ever wearing a Bush shirt. Things have changed, and it’s very exciting for the American that wants to travel globally without having to lie about where they come from or make excuses for a president that is not representative of the America we love.
With this in mind, it made perfect sense that Ryan and I should start our journey in Washington DC for Obama’s inauguration. We arrived a few days before the historic event without a place to stay or tickets for anything. We spent our time schlepping our backpacks back and forth between the thin connections we had in DC, wary not wear out our welcome. We slept on floors, couches, even an apartment lobby one cold night. Sharing one sleeping bag is surprisingly cozy, but it wasn’t a romantic start to our holiday. Ryan learned that a previous employer, Arianna Huffington, was throwing an inaugural ball the night before Obama was to be sworn in. He began pulling strings and hours before the ball we got a phone call saying Ryan could come with one guest. With nothing to wear and not expecting balls along our travels, we spent a few crazy hours and too much money in a shopping mall putting together some semblance of appropriate outfits. We got dressed in 15 minutes in our friend’s bathroom, and rushed to the ball. It was star-studded, in ways that make even a Los Angeles local uneasy. Herbie Hancock, Terri Hatcher, the Jonas Brothers, Ashton Kutcher…with performances by Sheryl Crow, The Black Eyed Peas, and Sting. We were in way over our heads and spent the night pretending we belonged.
It was a fabulous party, ending only a few hours before we had to wake up to join the masses trying to get to the inauguration. The 6am Metro ride with a few other million was a memorable experience. Squished way beyond capacity the metro trains inched towards their destinations, with a stop and start method that would make anyone nauseous, even if you hadn’t been drinking tequila from the bottle the night before. When we finally made it out of the train and into fresh air the energy was incredible. People were shouting and singing, “Obama! Obama!” As we got on the overcrowded escalator it broke from the sheer weight of people. We climbed the broken stairs chanting, “Yes We Can!” On the streets it was freezing. We stood outside for about 8 hours that day, though standing in tight crowds of people is a lot warmer than standing alone. The ceremony, or what we could see of it over millions of heads and through a few trees, was beautiful. I cried frosty tears when Obama spoke. To have such an eloquent intelligent president seems astonishing to someone of my generation. His words were honest about the dire situation we find ourselves in, but also deeply encouraging. When it was over we tried to find lunch and walked off in a direction where we thought we could lose the hungry crowds. We were wrong. The lines were still out the door and even the café we chose with smaller lines ran out of bread before we could order our sandwiches. The city was in upheaval with so many extra guests. It was miraculous to watch. We ate soup instead.
Now I’m in London, putting away my winter clothes at my grandmother’s house and packing my backpack with only the necessary items for South America. Tomorrow I fly to Rio de Janeiro where I will meet up with Ryan again. The flight will be long and tedious, and because I booked the cheapest one, I’ll have to change planes three times. But on the other side of this journey is an open book of adventure (no doubt filled with its own challenges). This weekend marks the beginning of Carnival in Rio, a festival full of music, celebration and of course, debauchery. Traditionally Carnival is a farewell to certain pleasures that must be abstained from and repented during the following season of Lent. I can’t help but wonder if a festival so intent on excess and indulgence will have different meaning during one the biggest global economic crisis in history. I wonder if Lent will be symbolic for the days of prudence and abstention that are sure to come with the current economic situation. No doubt it will be a party to remember.

An American On The Road (in Czech)

http://www.outsidermedia.cz/American-na-ceste-1.aspx

Somewhere you have never been

the land stretches far and flat

it's a dry yellow full of potential

for spring, flattened by a heavy 

blanket of snow, now melted

Apples soggy and full of holes

rot in the damp ditches

smelling sickly sweet

The sky is a gentle blue

and the sun weak

Here, in the unlikeliness of places

her heart sang, a song full of longing

and the pleasure of an unknown fortitude

The flattened fields are nourished by 

her tears and her heart blooms with satisfaction

Babovka in the bath

The cake is sweet and dry
the outside, creating a crust
and when you place it
in your mouth, it's quickly moist

My body should be haggard from
last night's activities, but
it only feels sleepy, as if
those were the most innocent of touches

When I came home I dreamed I had
never left you, and we kissed
while we slept and you stirred beside me

Until I realized that was Lydia,
and you and I had already said goodbye

Tattooed

All pleasures take this road
those who indulge they goad
then, the bees that swarm
having yielding honey’s charm
they flee but on the heart
a lasting sting impart -Boethius

Last night I kept you, caught
in my dreams, I held onto you
all the hours of the night

I would wake, alone, remember
and drift back into the delight of you

I held you on my tongue
like a sugar cube and let you
slowly melt, lubricating me
with pleasure

Boethius warns of the sting
that comes
with the honey’s charm
and I wonder
what’s the lesson in pain, when you
would be happy to do it again?

You are like the honey and the comb
sought after and sucked upon
I have never known one so cocky
so full of charm…so young
to stick my hand in a hive
of a thousand bees would be
to free me, gleefully

For though the bite is sharp and strong
the pleasure that comes before it, seeps
into me, like sweet poison

Last week on the forearm of a stranger,
I saw a bee so large and faint
nestled beneath a thin layer of skin,
she ran her fat fingers over
the dyed yellow and said, I love it,
its new

And I knew exactly what she must
be going through