Ladies, we all know that guy. The one you are supposed to avoid at all costs but cannot seem to keep yourself away from? The one your dad prays you will never date. The one that stirs up emotions you never knew you have, that causes you to do things you'd never thought you do, that makes you obsessive, neurotic, all around pazzo (crazy). The one that you can hate with your whole being one minute and cannot live without the next...
Well, for me, that man is Italy.
Now let me be clear that I am not talking about Italian men, in fact most of the Italian men I know are not much like their reputations portray. I think Italian men have earned a lot of their reputations simply because they live in Italy. Because it's Italy, not the men, that can leave your heart racing, dumbfounded, on the verge of tears and completely elated all at the same time.
Italy is untamed, spontaneous, and romantic. He's everything you look for in romance-novel man. He's also often unreliable, unfair, and relentless. He can be brash and dirty, yet for some reason you keep coming back for more. Just as you would with that guy. You can't figure him out and it becomes an addiction. Are you trying to change him, fix him, better him, like we females so often do? Are you obsessed with the unexpected? If that's the case, you're in trouble because Italy is the master of the unexpected for stranieri (foreigners), and you'll never be able to really figure him out. Each time you think you're close, he'll catch you completely off guard and send your head spinning all over again. Everything you do in Italy, even the mundane, becomes an adventure. An average trip to the grocery store will likely evoke immensely strong emotions and make you wonder why you continue this torrid affair...
You drive to the store with 4 things on your list. You are prepared, you have a purpose and you are determined to get in and out of the store as quickly as possible. (In my experience, this is how an American mind generally works). You pull up to find that the 7 parking spots around the store are taken up by 17 cars, who have not only managed to somehow squeeze into unimaginably tight spaces, but many of whom are parked perpendicularly (the Smart cars length is about the same as an average car's width), and a few are half on the sidewalk. So you proceed to drive around for 10 minutes and squeeze into a spot that is closer to home than the store, all the while wishing you had just walked. And it never fails, when you approach the store the parking area has magically cleared and you think to yourself for the first time that day "I hate Italy."
You are on the verge of spewing all of the Italian obscenities you know as you walk into the store when you are greeted at the cheese counter with a familiar, friendly smile and an offer to sample the fresh mozzarella, the olives that they just got that day, and a couple hunks of salumi piccante (pepperoni). In an instant, you demeanor changes as you are comforted by the warmth of the commessa (shop worker) and you think to yourself "I love Italy."
You proceed to look for the four things on your list to discover they only have one of the four. It's close to one o'clock, which means the stores will be closing for the next 3 hours and you will not be able to go to another shop to find what you wanted for lunch that day. You quickly concoct something new to prepare with what the tiny mercado (market) has to offer and you sulk up to the counter to pay, all the while thinking "This country drives me crazy." And, because you had to change your menu on the fly you come up two euro short. This is when the checkout lady tells you "No ti preoccupare" (don't worry) and waves you away with a smile and a "ci vediamo domani!" (see you tomorrow). And you think to yourself, "I love this country."
This is the emotional rollercoaster that I call Italian living. Each day offers something new that send your emotions reeling from one end of the spectrum to the other instantaniously. You can be walking the coast, completely in love with your surroundings--breathing in each step--the flowers, the sea, the rocks...the trash, the graffiti. And the love quickly turns to disdain for a country that has more natural beauty than one can imagine but it never seems like much is done to enforce the preservation of it. As an American you think "why don't they have higher fines for littering...and why aren't they enforced??" And you want to march straight to the municipal building and tell them what they need to do, and how to do it. How we do it.
As an American you might never be satisfied with Italy and how it works. But, also like with that guy, Italy is not asking for your approval. He is who he is; and that's a major part of his appeal. He marches to the beat of his own drum and he makes no aplogies. He's been doing it for so long that there is no changing him now despite the most valiant of efforts.
All you can do is learn to love him for him. It's the only way to truly receive all that he has to offer.
Showing posts with label favorites. Show all posts
Showing posts with label favorites. Show all posts
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Thursday, April 17, 2008
The Me's
Authors Note: I wrote this post over almost 2 months and published it, to find out later that day that it really wasn't yet public knowledge. Although the news had a major effect on me, I did not feel like it was my news to share. So I removed the post and waited for a more appropriate time to post it. I've since talked to Leslie and he told me that he was planning on telling me the news himself, but did not want to do it through email. So I've made some additional edits, and looking back now, I think this news has helped me to continue closing the door of my past and opening more and more to the life that is in front of me. Which certainly isn't half bad! I am also posting this because I truly do not have time to write about my parent's visit, my mugging, and the beautiful town of Alberobello that I am planning because I have two finals due by April 24th. So I thought in the meantime, I could use this post which was one of my hardest to write, and meant so much to me...
Last Thursday I got some shocking news. My ex-husband is going to be a father. Upon hearing this, my hands started shaking and I kept thinking "what do I do? what do I do??" Lucky for me Jenn was online and I told her what I had just found out. Her calmer head prevailed and she said "Don't react right now Maggie, just sit with it for a bit." And really, what could I do anyway? She knows me well enough to know that my mind had already reacted in a thousand different ways in a matter of a few seconds and she was warning me about acting on any of those initial reactions. She was right of course. Nothing good would come of acting on any of my feelings. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get a hold of them. Here's a breakdown of my mental functioning at that time and over the course of that week:
Shocked Me was thinking: "What? This can't be right. Did I understand him correctly? (And by him, I do not mean Leslie). I found out by accident from a friend of a friend over instant messenger. This friend assumed I already knew. I didn't.
Sad Me was thinking: "Why her? Why now? We were together for almost 6 year. Married for 4. Why not me?"
Angry Me was thinking: "Jesus man, couldn't you at least let the f*cking ink dry on the divorce papers?"
Indifferent Me was thinking: "Not my problem anymore."
Ex-wife Me was thinking: "How is he going to support a child? Is he going to marry her? What about soccer?"
Mature Me was thinking: "I wish him all the best. He's great with kids."
And for the following few days the different "Me's" fought with each other about which feeling was the "right" one--the justified one. Sad Me would replay our times together and think about how we had our favorite name picked out for a girl. We did for a boy too, but our friends had a baby first and got to it before us. So we were still thinking about a boy. At the beginning of our marriage he used to joke that we had to start soon because he wanted 11 kids so he could have his very own soccer team. I'd remind him that it might not be the greatest team seeing that there would be a pretty big age disparity between the oldest and youngest. He said he could work around it. Sad Me would then envision him with a new family, new little soccer players, and a life where I am nothing but a distant memory.
Then out of the blue Angry Me would come in, slap Sad Me silly and start thinking "He couldn't even tell you himself? You had to hear it from someone twice removed? Has nothing changed?? (this was before Leslie and I spoke. He has since told me that he wanted to tell me over the phone or in person...which would be difficult, considering we haven't seen each other in a year and a half). But, I know the thought of telling me was really hard for him. Angry Me was also ranting: "The baby is due in June. Our divorce was final in December. I can do the math..." (this shouldn't have bothered me seeing that I had clearly moved on too, but it did). Leslie and I have not talked about "us" or what happened between us for a long time. He's told me that he doesn't think about the breakdown of our marriage much because it's too hard. Sometimes I wish could do that more; have the ability to compartmentalize. But I guess at some point you have to deal with it. Otherwise I suspect it will keep coming back in one form or another until you do, as though your life is on 'repeat.' When Angry Me would get fired up she would start to drudge up all of the unpleasant memories of the past, namely the last 2 years of our marriage and get pissed about history all over again. Angry Me can be pretty vocal. But I've been careful not to air anything but the laundry "blowing-in-the-Italian-wind-on-a-clothespin" on this blog. I've done my best to keep it about me and what I am experiencing. But, for the record, Angry Me could be a super-mega bitch. I needed that from her, or else Sad Me would have been a soppy mess all too often.
When Angry Me was about to explode was usually when Indifferent Me would come strolling in. "Hey Angry Me, relax. That is your past. None of this is your concern anymore. It's no longer something you have to worry about. Focus on today instead. No point in killing yourself over something you have absolutely no control. Plus, are you being fair? You've certainly moved on too..."
And over Indifferent Me's shoulder Ex-Wife Me would be chirping "How is this possible? Where are they going to live? What if he makes a team in the US? Is he still going to keep trying with soccer? Doesn't she have another child? Is he going to be a dad to TWO kids? Maybe I know someone who could help him to....I hope he's ready for this.... "
Indifferent Me would look at Ex-Wife me with a mixture of sympathy and annoyance and say "Can't you hear me? This is no longer your problem. He is not your husband, and it's not your responsibility to make sure he is ok. In fact, back when you were Wife Me, instead of Ex-Wife Me maybe that was part of your problem. You can't fix everything. Other people have to figure things out for themselves. Just like you have."
And then just for a second Mature Me would grace everyone with her presence. "Me's, listen to ME. Remember, despite all you've been through you love this man. You don't want to see him struggle, you want to see him happy. But Indifferent Me is right, if he is to struggle, his struggles are now his own. All you can do is pray that he is learning as much as you are by going through this."
Usually about this time is when Shocked Me would come rolling in loud and unexpected "WHAT? He's having a BABY???" And the cycle begins all over again.
This is all part of the beauty of divorce--you find yourself with temporary Multiple Personality Disorder. You question all you feel. You aren't sure if your feelings are justified anymore. You don't know what you are "allowed" to say. Your feelings change at such a rapid fire pace that sometimes you think "Am I happy? I know I was a second ago..."
And, to be completely honest, I'm not totally shocked by the news. I can recall a conversation that Leslie and I had about a year ago, shortly after we split. He was in the airport having just arrived back in the US after being on a tryout in China. I could tell he was in a rough place emotionally by the dullness in his voice. He said something along these lines: "I felt so alone when I was in China. It was the first time I realized that I really want a child. A child loves you no matter what. You never have to worry about them not being in your life, because they will be in your life forever. The relationship never ends, no matter what." I was shocked, and for once, had very little to say. I could have pulled out the "that would have been nice for you to decide WHEN WE WERE TOGETHER." But it wasn't the time for sarcasm. He was serious. And it was at that moment that I first thought to myself, "He's going to have a baby soon." I also had a dream a few months ago that he was pregnant (yeah, like he, himself had a baby growing in him). The feelings were so real that I asked his sister if it was true (not him being pregnant...you know what I mean). At that time it wasn't. But, I knew it was coming. (It's not the first time I've had a 'real' dream, right Amy?) But despite being a little bit prepared, it still knocked the wind out of me. It's like knowing your dog is eventually going to die, but when it happens that knowledge doesn't make it any easier.
What I've learned from this situation is: 1) Maybe I wasn't as far along as I thought. I felt like I was moving forward pretty well and... WHAM! this hit like a Mack truck. 2) I'd been holding on to Leslie. Not in a way in which I want to be with him. I don't. At all. Let me give an example to hopefully explain better. I'd been really hesitant about writing this blog out of fear it might upset him (I know, I KNOW). I had to ask myself why I cared so much if he was upset. He's no longer a part of my everyday life; I don't have to worry about coming home to him being pissed at me. It's as though this way of thinking has been so programmed in me-- trying NOT to upset him (in fear of losing him) that I still function in that way, forgetting that it's no longer possible for me to lose him. The relationship still had a hold on part of me, and by extension, part of my life. After being with someone for so long, I would imagine it is pretty normal to still feel a connection. But, for my own sake, I had to work on letting go of that because somehow, subconsciously, I've allowed that hold to continue. 3) There is no way I would want to trade places with Leslie or the mother of his child. 4) Paolo is most understanding man I've ever met. The day after I found out, I was about ready to crawl out of my skin. I needed to be alone, to sort out "The Me's." My brain was functioning on all circuits and nothing was making sense. Trying to think about the current relationship in front of me was damn near impossible. Instead of that hurting him and him taking it personally, he asks me if I needed to take a weekend away, if I needed some space from him and some time to myself. He gets it. I don't know how, but he does.
That day I went for a long walk on the beach by myself. I climbed up a large sand dune and sat down. I leaned back on my elbows and tried to force myself to think. "Ok, you are alone now, think. THINK! Figure this out. Land on a feeling. Make sense of it." But my mind was blank. All I could see was the vast turquoise sea and the never ending sky.
It was then I began to realize it was all ok. All I felt. All of it was ok, justified. My feelings were my feelings. I don't have to apologize for them, I don't have to stifle or hide them, and I don't have to act on them. I just have to accept them, and keep plugging away at my new life. It's all any of us can do. As I sat there in the setting Italian sun I realized there was really nothing left for me to figure out.
Last Thursday I got some shocking news. My ex-husband is going to be a father. Upon hearing this, my hands started shaking and I kept thinking "what do I do? what do I do??" Lucky for me Jenn was online and I told her what I had just found out. Her calmer head prevailed and she said "Don't react right now Maggie, just sit with it for a bit." And really, what could I do anyway? She knows me well enough to know that my mind had already reacted in a thousand different ways in a matter of a few seconds and she was warning me about acting on any of those initial reactions. She was right of course. Nothing good would come of acting on any of my feelings. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get a hold of them. Here's a breakdown of my mental functioning at that time and over the course of that week:
Shocked Me was thinking: "What? This can't be right. Did I understand him correctly? (And by him, I do not mean Leslie). I found out by accident from a friend of a friend over instant messenger. This friend assumed I already knew. I didn't.
Sad Me was thinking: "Why her? Why now? We were together for almost 6 year. Married for 4. Why not me?"
Angry Me was thinking: "Jesus man, couldn't you at least let the f*cking ink dry on the divorce papers?"
Indifferent Me was thinking: "Not my problem anymore."
Ex-wife Me was thinking: "How is he going to support a child? Is he going to marry her? What about soccer?"
Mature Me was thinking: "I wish him all the best. He's great with kids."
And for the following few days the different "Me's" fought with each other about which feeling was the "right" one--the justified one. Sad Me would replay our times together and think about how we had our favorite name picked out for a girl. We did for a boy too, but our friends had a baby first and got to it before us. So we were still thinking about a boy. At the beginning of our marriage he used to joke that we had to start soon because he wanted 11 kids so he could have his very own soccer team. I'd remind him that it might not be the greatest team seeing that there would be a pretty big age disparity between the oldest and youngest. He said he could work around it. Sad Me would then envision him with a new family, new little soccer players, and a life where I am nothing but a distant memory.
Then out of the blue Angry Me would come in, slap Sad Me silly and start thinking "He couldn't even tell you himself? You had to hear it from someone twice removed? Has nothing changed?? (this was before Leslie and I spoke. He has since told me that he wanted to tell me over the phone or in person...which would be difficult, considering we haven't seen each other in a year and a half). But, I know the thought of telling me was really hard for him. Angry Me was also ranting: "The baby is due in June. Our divorce was final in December. I can do the math..." (this shouldn't have bothered me seeing that I had clearly moved on too, but it did). Leslie and I have not talked about "us" or what happened between us for a long time. He's told me that he doesn't think about the breakdown of our marriage much because it's too hard. Sometimes I wish could do that more; have the ability to compartmentalize. But I guess at some point you have to deal with it. Otherwise I suspect it will keep coming back in one form or another until you do, as though your life is on 'repeat.' When Angry Me would get fired up she would start to drudge up all of the unpleasant memories of the past, namely the last 2 years of our marriage and get pissed about history all over again. Angry Me can be pretty vocal. But I've been careful not to air anything but the laundry "blowing-in-the-Italian-wind-on-a-clothespin" on this blog. I've done my best to keep it about me and what I am experiencing. But, for the record, Angry Me could be a super-mega bitch. I needed that from her, or else Sad Me would have been a soppy mess all too often.
When Angry Me was about to explode was usually when Indifferent Me would come strolling in. "Hey Angry Me, relax. That is your past. None of this is your concern anymore. It's no longer something you have to worry about. Focus on today instead. No point in killing yourself over something you have absolutely no control. Plus, are you being fair? You've certainly moved on too..."
And over Indifferent Me's shoulder Ex-Wife Me would be chirping "How is this possible? Where are they going to live? What if he makes a team in the US? Is he still going to keep trying with soccer? Doesn't she have another child? Is he going to be a dad to TWO kids? Maybe I know someone who could help him to....I hope he's ready for this.... "
Indifferent Me would look at Ex-Wife me with a mixture of sympathy and annoyance and say "Can't you hear me? This is no longer your problem. He is not your husband, and it's not your responsibility to make sure he is ok. In fact, back when you were Wife Me, instead of Ex-Wife Me maybe that was part of your problem. You can't fix everything. Other people have to figure things out for themselves. Just like you have."
And then just for a second Mature Me would grace everyone with her presence. "Me's, listen to ME. Remember, despite all you've been through you love this man. You don't want to see him struggle, you want to see him happy. But Indifferent Me is right, if he is to struggle, his struggles are now his own. All you can do is pray that he is learning as much as you are by going through this."
Usually about this time is when Shocked Me would come rolling in loud and unexpected "WHAT? He's having a BABY???" And the cycle begins all over again.
This is all part of the beauty of divorce--you find yourself with temporary Multiple Personality Disorder. You question all you feel. You aren't sure if your feelings are justified anymore. You don't know what you are "allowed" to say. Your feelings change at such a rapid fire pace that sometimes you think "Am I happy? I know I was a second ago..."
And, to be completely honest, I'm not totally shocked by the news. I can recall a conversation that Leslie and I had about a year ago, shortly after we split. He was in the airport having just arrived back in the US after being on a tryout in China. I could tell he was in a rough place emotionally by the dullness in his voice. He said something along these lines: "I felt so alone when I was in China. It was the first time I realized that I really want a child. A child loves you no matter what. You never have to worry about them not being in your life, because they will be in your life forever. The relationship never ends, no matter what." I was shocked, and for once, had very little to say. I could have pulled out the "that would have been nice for you to decide WHEN WE WERE TOGETHER." But it wasn't the time for sarcasm. He was serious. And it was at that moment that I first thought to myself, "He's going to have a baby soon." I also had a dream a few months ago that he was pregnant (yeah, like he, himself had a baby growing in him). The feelings were so real that I asked his sister if it was true (not him being pregnant...you know what I mean). At that time it wasn't. But, I knew it was coming. (It's not the first time I've had a 'real' dream, right Amy?) But despite being a little bit prepared, it still knocked the wind out of me. It's like knowing your dog is eventually going to die, but when it happens that knowledge doesn't make it any easier.
What I've learned from this situation is: 1) Maybe I wasn't as far along as I thought. I felt like I was moving forward pretty well and... WHAM! this hit like a Mack truck. 2) I'd been holding on to Leslie. Not in a way in which I want to be with him. I don't. At all. Let me give an example to hopefully explain better. I'd been really hesitant about writing this blog out of fear it might upset him (I know, I KNOW). I had to ask myself why I cared so much if he was upset. He's no longer a part of my everyday life; I don't have to worry about coming home to him being pissed at me. It's as though this way of thinking has been so programmed in me-- trying NOT to upset him (in fear of losing him) that I still function in that way, forgetting that it's no longer possible for me to lose him. The relationship still had a hold on part of me, and by extension, part of my life. After being with someone for so long, I would imagine it is pretty normal to still feel a connection. But, for my own sake, I had to work on letting go of that because somehow, subconsciously, I've allowed that hold to continue. 3) There is no way I would want to trade places with Leslie or the mother of his child. 4) Paolo is most understanding man I've ever met. The day after I found out, I was about ready to crawl out of my skin. I needed to be alone, to sort out "The Me's." My brain was functioning on all circuits and nothing was making sense. Trying to think about the current relationship in front of me was damn near impossible. Instead of that hurting him and him taking it personally, he asks me if I needed to take a weekend away, if I needed some space from him and some time to myself. He gets it. I don't know how, but he does.
That day I went for a long walk on the beach by myself. I climbed up a large sand dune and sat down. I leaned back on my elbows and tried to force myself to think. "Ok, you are alone now, think. THINK! Figure this out. Land on a feeling. Make sense of it." But my mind was blank. All I could see was the vast turquoise sea and the never ending sky.
It was then I began to realize it was all ok. All I felt. All of it was ok, justified. My feelings were my feelings. I don't have to apologize for them, I don't have to stifle or hide them, and I don't have to act on them. I just have to accept them, and keep plugging away at my new life. It's all any of us can do. As I sat there in the setting Italian sun I realized there was really nothing left for me to figure out.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Paldo J. Fox
I haven't written about any of the funny conversations that I've had with Paolo in a while. I could write a blog a day with the material I've accumulated, but that doesn't make for exciting blog reading, and really, I gotta give the guy credit. His English is getting better each day. I am still in the phase where he can't even make fun of the things I say in Italian because, really, it's not Italian. It's more like a random string of nouns and verbs, all in the present tense, thrown together in hopes that MAYBE the point will come across. In time I might say something funny, but now it's more painful than humorous. Anyway, there are 2 conversations that I've had with Paolo that still make me laugh out loud when I think about them. I'll try to recapture them as best I can:
I
Conversation #1: "J. Fox"
Where: At my parent's house before we went to the family Christmas at my aunt's house. It continued later during the festivities.
Why: It started because I was fake-scolding him about something (probably not putting the toilet seat down...he's bad).
Me: "Paolo ______ Johnson!! (obviously, not his real last name) You forgot the toilet seat again! Hey, wait, what's your middle name?"
Paolo: "I don't have a middle name. I'm just Paolo Johnson."
Me: "Huh. But that doesn't work as well in this situation. When I'm trying to be mother-like and scold you, I need a full name. Like Paolo David Johson, for instance. We gotta give you a middle name. "
Paolo: "Ok"
Me: "And should be 2 syllables, because that flows the best"
Paolo: "Ok"
Me: "And it has to be American, because you already have 2 Italian names"
Paolo: "Ok" (you have to love that he's so willing to go along with this)
Me: "How about Joseph?"
Paolo: "No, that is your daddy's name. How about Justin?" (I knew he threw this one out because he feels that he and one Mr. Timberlake have much in common)
Me: "uh, no. "
Me: "Michael?"
Paolo: "No... Thomas?"
Me: "Paolo Thomas Johnson? Nah...."
We proceeded to come up with 2-syllable, American names for a few more minutes, but couldn't decide on one. Eventually we gave up. Fast-forward to a couple of hours later. We were at my aunt's house and I'd totally forgotten about the middle name conversation.
Paolo (out of the blue): "I've got it! How about 'J. Fox'??"
Me: "huh?" (no clue what he's talking about)
Paolo: "For my American middle name. I like J. Fox"
Me: "Paolo J. Fox Johnson?" (trying very unsuccessfully to stifle my laughter).
Paolo: "Yes. I like it."
Me: "Well, ok, Paolo J. Fox Johnson it is."
To this day, I'm still not sure if he thinks "J. Fox" is one word--"jayfox" or if he realizes that "J. Fox" is actually a middle initial and a last name. But either way, on that day "Paolo J. Fox Johnson" was christened, and is still used quite frequently.
Conversation #2 "Where's Paldo"
Where: At our apartment in Otranto, two nights ago.
Why: His sister had bought him a new sweater. It has red and blue horizontal stripes. We both liked it when we saw it, but when he actually put it on...not so much. The following conversation ensued:
Paolo (looking at himself in the mirror): "Do you like it?"
Me: Ummm, it reminds me a little of "Where's Waldo?"
Paolo: "Who's Maldo?"
Me (starting to laugh): "Not Maldo...!"
Paolo: "Oh, scusa, sorry--who is Paldo?"
Me (erupting with laughter): Paldo!!?! YOU'RE PALDO!"
It took me 20 minutes to explain what this meant, who "Waldo" is, and why it all struck me so funny. He exhorts this kind of goofy humor without knowing it, and it kills me. When I try to explain it, it becomes funnier and funnier to me and more confusing to him. Which in turn makes me laugh even harder. And in this case, even though it's not truly all that funny, it was one of those things when I thought about it an hour later I would start laughing all over again. I would just envision him standing there in his "Paldo" sweater looking confused asking "Who's Paldo?" Awww. He has no idea how cute he is.
I'll have to take a picture of him in the sweater.
So, now he's officially become Paldo J. Fox.
Oh, and speaking of pictures. I've posted the pictures of our redecorated apartment and our Valentine's party. Enjoy!
I
Conversation #1: "J. Fox"
Where: At my parent's house before we went to the family Christmas at my aunt's house. It continued later during the festivities.
Why: It started because I was fake-scolding him about something (probably not putting the toilet seat down...he's bad).
Me: "Paolo ______ Johnson!! (obviously, not his real last name) You forgot the toilet seat again! Hey, wait, what's your middle name?"
Paolo: "I don't have a middle name. I'm just Paolo Johnson."
Me: "Huh. But that doesn't work as well in this situation. When I'm trying to be mother-like and scold you, I need a full name. Like Paolo David Johson, for instance. We gotta give you a middle name. "
Paolo: "Ok"
Me: "And should be 2 syllables, because that flows the best"
Paolo: "Ok"
Me: "And it has to be American, because you already have 2 Italian names"
Paolo: "Ok" (you have to love that he's so willing to go along with this)
Me: "How about Joseph?"
Paolo: "No, that is your daddy's name. How about Justin?" (I knew he threw this one out because he feels that he and one Mr. Timberlake have much in common)
Me: "uh, no. "
Me: "Michael?"
Paolo: "No... Thomas?"
Me: "Paolo Thomas Johnson? Nah...."
We proceeded to come up with 2-syllable, American names for a few more minutes, but couldn't decide on one. Eventually we gave up. Fast-forward to a couple of hours later. We were at my aunt's house and I'd totally forgotten about the middle name conversation.
Paolo (out of the blue): "I've got it! How about 'J. Fox'??"
Me: "huh?" (no clue what he's talking about)
Paolo: "For my American middle name. I like J. Fox"
Me: "Paolo J. Fox Johnson?" (trying very unsuccessfully to stifle my laughter).
Paolo: "Yes. I like it."
Me: "Well, ok, Paolo J. Fox Johnson it is."
To this day, I'm still not sure if he thinks "J. Fox" is one word--"jayfox" or if he realizes that "J. Fox" is actually a middle initial and a last name. But either way, on that day "Paolo J. Fox Johnson" was christened, and is still used quite frequently.
Conversation #2 "Where's Paldo"
Where: At our apartment in Otranto, two nights ago.
Why: His sister had bought him a new sweater. It has red and blue horizontal stripes. We both liked it when we saw it, but when he actually put it on...not so much. The following conversation ensued:
Paolo (looking at himself in the mirror): "Do you like it?"
Me: Ummm, it reminds me a little of "Where's Waldo?"
Paolo: "Who's Maldo?"
Me (starting to laugh): "Not Maldo...!"
Paolo: "Oh, scusa, sorry--who is Paldo?"
Me (erupting with laughter): Paldo!!?! YOU'RE PALDO!"
It took me 20 minutes to explain what this meant, who "Waldo" is, and why it all struck me so funny. He exhorts this kind of goofy humor without knowing it, and it kills me. When I try to explain it, it becomes funnier and funnier to me and more confusing to him. Which in turn makes me laugh even harder. And in this case, even though it's not truly all that funny, it was one of those things when I thought about it an hour later I would start laughing all over again. I would just envision him standing there in his "Paldo" sweater looking confused asking "Who's Paldo?" Awww. He has no idea how cute he is.
I'll have to take a picture of him in the sweater.
So, now he's officially become Paldo J. Fox.
Oh, and speaking of pictures. I've posted the pictures of our redecorated apartment and our Valentine's party. Enjoy!
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Divorce
I just read Jenn's blog about the movie 27 Dresses, and how it basically teaches all of the female audience members that they will not be truly happy until they are "the better half" of a happy couple. I was planning on writing my blog about a typical day for me in Otranto, but after reading that, I thought I should put a big damper on the "a woman's not happy without a man" topic and instead, I've decided to write about a much more light and happy subject--divorce. A woman's not always happy with a man...
In talking to my counselor and also from what I have learned in my classes, divorce is one of the hardest events that someone can go though, only second to the death of a spouse or child. I can't imagine ever having to go through either of those things, and my heart breaks for those that have had to live through it. But I do think there is the possibility for there to be a bit more peace in death, because your love for them is pure, your missing and hurting is true and clear, and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it. It was out of your control. With divorce it is different, it's messy and confusing--and hardest of all, it is a choice. It's either choosing to no longer be with the person you thought you were going to spend your life with, or that person choosing to no longer spend their life with you. Whatever side you wind up on, it's hard as hell. You know that the person that you were once closest to, is still walking on this earth, continuing on with his/her life, and you are no longer a major part of it. You are no longer part of it at all.
On December 3rd, I went to court by myself to finalize everything. Leslie was in Trinidad, so it was considered an uncontested divorce, and was scarily simple. We split everything on our own terms (we didn't have a ton of stuff, just our bank accounts, the condo, and what was in it), signed some papers, he waived his right to be there, and I went with my mom (because you have to have a witness). We got to the couthouse early, in hopes that we could get in and out of there, and ended up waiting for almost 2 hours. As we were waiting I watched the other soon-to-be-uncoupled couples interact--it was so bizarre. One couple, who looked to be about the same age as me, were also there without lawyers. She arrived first, looking at her watch and rolling her eyes. He showed up 20 minutes later and they sat next to each other and started reviewing their paperwork. The dynamic was such a odd mixture--the familiarity was obviously one of two people who were once very close, they sat so close that their legs were touching. Yet, at the same time the hostility between them was also very apparent. I kept thinking to myself, "Right now they are married. When they walk out of that room they no longer will be. Huh. And, right now I am married. When I walk out of that room I no longer will be." Even though I kept telling myself that, I could not wrap my brain around it...
I finally got called into the courtroom, where we had to wait some more, for another proceeding that involved lawyers and custody discussions. I happend to be sitting next to the husband before they got called up and I heard him lean over to his lawyer and say "I can't believe this is really happening. It's so surreal." I hadn't cried all morning, but that nearly did it to me. He was right. It is surreal. How does that happen to 2 people? How can you stand across the courtroom from the person you are married to as though they are a total stranger?
The judge then called my name--my married name. I went up and stood in front of him with my mom at my side. He asked some questions--I don't really remember what they were, but one stuck in my mind "You've cited irreconsilable differences, so this means you've done everything in your power and the marriage can no longer work?" "Yes." I gulped, as the tears formed in my eyes. I think he saw that I was on the verge of losing it, took pity, and signed the papers.
I walked out of the courtroom in a daze. We got in the car and I turned on my cell phone. There was a message from Leslie. It wasn't until that minute that I broke down. The man on that message was no longer my husband. He was just Leslie. I was just Maggie, and he was just Leslie. No longer "The Fitzpatrick's", "Mags and Les," no longer a "we" or an "us." Just Maggie. And just Leslie. Ugh.
I know that we did the right thing. And with time, that is becoming more and more clear. I'm ok with being "just Maggie"...and, like the girl in 27 dresses, I too feel happy when I am part of a couple. But, I am learning how to also feel happy in those times when I am not part of one. And oddly, as I figure that out, the happiness I've found within "coupledom" has been much more fulfilling.
In talking to my counselor and also from what I have learned in my classes, divorce is one of the hardest events that someone can go though, only second to the death of a spouse or child. I can't imagine ever having to go through either of those things, and my heart breaks for those that have had to live through it. But I do think there is the possibility for there to be a bit more peace in death, because your love for them is pure, your missing and hurting is true and clear, and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it. It was out of your control. With divorce it is different, it's messy and confusing--and hardest of all, it is a choice. It's either choosing to no longer be with the person you thought you were going to spend your life with, or that person choosing to no longer spend their life with you. Whatever side you wind up on, it's hard as hell. You know that the person that you were once closest to, is still walking on this earth, continuing on with his/her life, and you are no longer a major part of it. You are no longer part of it at all.
On December 3rd, I went to court by myself to finalize everything. Leslie was in Trinidad, so it was considered an uncontested divorce, and was scarily simple. We split everything on our own terms (we didn't have a ton of stuff, just our bank accounts, the condo, and what was in it), signed some papers, he waived his right to be there, and I went with my mom (because you have to have a witness). We got to the couthouse early, in hopes that we could get in and out of there, and ended up waiting for almost 2 hours. As we were waiting I watched the other soon-to-be-uncoupled couples interact--it was so bizarre. One couple, who looked to be about the same age as me, were also there without lawyers. She arrived first, looking at her watch and rolling her eyes. He showed up 20 minutes later and they sat next to each other and started reviewing their paperwork. The dynamic was such a odd mixture--the familiarity was obviously one of two people who were once very close, they sat so close that their legs were touching. Yet, at the same time the hostility between them was also very apparent. I kept thinking to myself, "Right now they are married. When they walk out of that room they no longer will be. Huh. And, right now I am married. When I walk out of that room I no longer will be." Even though I kept telling myself that, I could not wrap my brain around it...
I finally got called into the courtroom, where we had to wait some more, for another proceeding that involved lawyers and custody discussions. I happend to be sitting next to the husband before they got called up and I heard him lean over to his lawyer and say "I can't believe this is really happening. It's so surreal." I hadn't cried all morning, but that nearly did it to me. He was right. It is surreal. How does that happen to 2 people? How can you stand across the courtroom from the person you are married to as though they are a total stranger?
The judge then called my name--my married name. I went up and stood in front of him with my mom at my side. He asked some questions--I don't really remember what they were, but one stuck in my mind "You've cited irreconsilable differences, so this means you've done everything in your power and the marriage can no longer work?" "Yes." I gulped, as the tears formed in my eyes. I think he saw that I was on the verge of losing it, took pity, and signed the papers.
I walked out of the courtroom in a daze. We got in the car and I turned on my cell phone. There was a message from Leslie. It wasn't until that minute that I broke down. The man on that message was no longer my husband. He was just Leslie. I was just Maggie, and he was just Leslie. No longer "The Fitzpatrick's", "Mags and Les," no longer a "we" or an "us." Just Maggie. And just Leslie. Ugh.
I know that we did the right thing. And with time, that is becoming more and more clear. I'm ok with being "just Maggie"...and, like the girl in 27 dresses, I too feel happy when I am part of a couple. But, I am learning how to also feel happy in those times when I am not part of one. And oddly, as I figure that out, the happiness I've found within "coupledom" has been much more fulfilling.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
9/11
Like many Americans, today is always a difficult day for me. I was in Columbus when it happened, but I can remember it like it was yesterday. For me, 9/11 shaped how the past 6 years of my life have turned out...
Tiffany lived in NYC when the buildings were hit. I was calling her all day, until finally I got a hold of her mom and she said Tiff was fine and she was on her way home. The ad agency in which I worked allowed all of us to go home that morning, and for the next 12 hours I could not rip myself away from the TV. It was at this point that I first thought "I have to be there."
Tiff got home that night. We had our 5 year high school class reunion on Sept 15th--which still took place. As my group of friends were talking, Tiff made the comment about how she didn't know how she was going to get back to NYC, since the airports were closed. She talked about taking the train, or a bus. I blurted out "I'll drive you." And my friend Michele, who was feeling much like I was, said, "I'll come too."
So on Sept. 16, the 3 of us packed my car and drove 10 hours back to New York. I took a week off work, not caring if they would fire me (my boss was so cool though...she understood this was something I HAD to do). My mom freaked out "Maggie they don't NEED you in New York, they have enough volunteers, you will be in the way." (In other words, "Maggie, I am scared to death about you going to New York.) My dad supported her publicly...but would secretly pull me aside and say he wished he could come with me.
We arrived to New Jersey, and had to park at the Newark Airport because all of the bridges into the city were still closed. It was in Jersey that we began to see the missing pictures of the people that were still not accounted for (a vast majority) that covered every wall in the city. At the point the buildings were still on fire, and the smell is something I will never forget. It was a combination of burning metal, paper...and people.
Over the next few days we did a lot of tough stuff. We went to the Armory, where families were waiting to hear any news (it is where they were bringing any bodies or remains) we went to candlelight vigils, a Marshall McClellan memorial service, and a hospital to donate stuff that people sent with us. We watched the fire fighters come out of the wreckage after their 12 hour shifts, covered in ashes, their faces telling the whole horrific story without them having to speak a word. It was easily the worst experience of my life, but at the same time one of the best. New York was a different city. People were looking each other in the eyes, they were helping one another, they slowed down to give each other hugs--perfect strangers. Everyone was so obviously thankful that they were alive, that the feeling of the city was surely one of fear and confusion, but above all it was compassion and love--for each other and for our country.
It was probably our 4th night there when Tiffany got a strong sense of New Yorker pride (after all she'd been living there for about a year by this point) and she said "We are going out tonight--we are not letting them control us, we are not letting them control our economy, we are going out in this city. THE BEST CITY IN THE WORLD."
So we did. And that is the night I met Leslie.
The rest of the story plays out with us falling in love, getting married, moving to Atlanta, then to Salt Lake--soccer being the focus of our lives. Then the marriage started falling apart, and I had no idea what I was going to do with the rest of my life...so I decide to start running far and fast around the world, which brings me to where I am today.
Tiffany has somehow been an anchor in every major change in my life. If she had not dragged us out that night, I would not have met Leslie, if I had not met Les, I would have not learned all that I have learned over the past 6 years, and would not have gone on my trip. (At least not in they way I did). Sometimes it takes major life changing events to serves as a catalyst for making the changes you want...or NEED to make.
The same goes for Tiff. She was flying through the ranks at Kate Spade. No one from OU gets a job at Kate Spade right out of college, it's all Fashion Institute people...but Tiffany did. She was on the fast track to high powered success. Then 9/11 happens. And when you are faced with your own mortality...when you see that it can all end in a split second, you begin to evaluate what is REALLY important. And like Tiffany, I think most of us would find that it isn't power, money, status, career, or any material things. She did some reevaluating of what she really wants out of life, and has since been studying yoga, traveling the world and trying to live each day with purpose.
So had 9/11 not happened, Tiff likely would not have been living in Thailand, or be on this big world tour. And if she wasn't I don't know if I would have made these plans by myself. I'd like to think I am that brave...but when I planned the trip, most of it was supposed to be with her.
Tiffany and I are just some of many, many stories about how September 11th has caused very direct or indirect changes in our lives. But there is one thing for sure--it has changed all of us in some way, because it has changed America forever. And each time you go through airport security you remember what happened, and why you have to strip down in public. We were attacked. On our own soil. In our most famous city. With our own airplanes.
9/11 has changed us forever. My prayers go out to the families and friends of the victims.
We will never forget.
Tiffany lived in NYC when the buildings were hit. I was calling her all day, until finally I got a hold of her mom and she said Tiff was fine and she was on her way home. The ad agency in which I worked allowed all of us to go home that morning, and for the next 12 hours I could not rip myself away from the TV. It was at this point that I first thought "I have to be there."
Tiff got home that night. We had our 5 year high school class reunion on Sept 15th--which still took place. As my group of friends were talking, Tiff made the comment about how she didn't know how she was going to get back to NYC, since the airports were closed. She talked about taking the train, or a bus. I blurted out "I'll drive you." And my friend Michele, who was feeling much like I was, said, "I'll come too."
So on Sept. 16, the 3 of us packed my car and drove 10 hours back to New York. I took a week off work, not caring if they would fire me (my boss was so cool though...she understood this was something I HAD to do). My mom freaked out "Maggie they don't NEED you in New York, they have enough volunteers, you will be in the way." (In other words, "Maggie, I am scared to death about you going to New York.) My dad supported her publicly...but would secretly pull me aside and say he wished he could come with me.
We arrived to New Jersey, and had to park at the Newark Airport because all of the bridges into the city were still closed. It was in Jersey that we began to see the missing pictures of the people that were still not accounted for (a vast majority) that covered every wall in the city. At the point the buildings were still on fire, and the smell is something I will never forget. It was a combination of burning metal, paper...and people.
Over the next few days we did a lot of tough stuff. We went to the Armory, where families were waiting to hear any news (it is where they were bringing any bodies or remains) we went to candlelight vigils, a Marshall McClellan memorial service, and a hospital to donate stuff that people sent with us. We watched the fire fighters come out of the wreckage after their 12 hour shifts, covered in ashes, their faces telling the whole horrific story without them having to speak a word. It was easily the worst experience of my life, but at the same time one of the best. New York was a different city. People were looking each other in the eyes, they were helping one another, they slowed down to give each other hugs--perfect strangers. Everyone was so obviously thankful that they were alive, that the feeling of the city was surely one of fear and confusion, but above all it was compassion and love--for each other and for our country.
It was probably our 4th night there when Tiffany got a strong sense of New Yorker pride (after all she'd been living there for about a year by this point) and she said "We are going out tonight--we are not letting them control us, we are not letting them control our economy, we are going out in this city. THE BEST CITY IN THE WORLD."
So we did. And that is the night I met Leslie.
The rest of the story plays out with us falling in love, getting married, moving to Atlanta, then to Salt Lake--soccer being the focus of our lives. Then the marriage started falling apart, and I had no idea what I was going to do with the rest of my life...so I decide to start running far and fast around the world, which brings me to where I am today.
Tiffany has somehow been an anchor in every major change in my life. If she had not dragged us out that night, I would not have met Leslie, if I had not met Les, I would have not learned all that I have learned over the past 6 years, and would not have gone on my trip. (At least not in they way I did). Sometimes it takes major life changing events to serves as a catalyst for making the changes you want...or NEED to make.
The same goes for Tiff. She was flying through the ranks at Kate Spade. No one from OU gets a job at Kate Spade right out of college, it's all Fashion Institute people...but Tiffany did. She was on the fast track to high powered success. Then 9/11 happens. And when you are faced with your own mortality...when you see that it can all end in a split second, you begin to evaluate what is REALLY important. And like Tiffany, I think most of us would find that it isn't power, money, status, career, or any material things. She did some reevaluating of what she really wants out of life, and has since been studying yoga, traveling the world and trying to live each day with purpose.
So had 9/11 not happened, Tiff likely would not have been living in Thailand, or be on this big world tour. And if she wasn't I don't know if I would have made these plans by myself. I'd like to think I am that brave...but when I planned the trip, most of it was supposed to be with her.
Tiffany and I are just some of many, many stories about how September 11th has caused very direct or indirect changes in our lives. But there is one thing for sure--it has changed all of us in some way, because it has changed America forever. And each time you go through airport security you remember what happened, and why you have to strip down in public. We were attacked. On our own soil. In our most famous city. With our own airplanes.
9/11 has changed us forever. My prayers go out to the families and friends of the victims.
We will never forget.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
My real life fairy tale...
Once upon a time there was a girl who was recently, terribly heartbroken. But instead of staying in Columbus, Ohio at her parents house wallowing in her sorrows, she decided to take a trip. An epic journey of sorts, to various ends of the earth, to learn how others live, meet new people, see new sights and learn more about herself.
She went to Japan, Thailand, and India. She was leaving Delhi and headed to Rome--one of the most romantic cities in the world...by herself.
Or so she thought...
She got up early the morning of her flight, took a taxi to the airport, bid goodbye to India, and slept her way to Qatar, where she had a 2 hour layover. In the airport in Qatar she went into the duty free shop because her friend, Tiffany, has convinced her that an expensive pair of sunglasses is a necessity. While looking at sunglasses she saw 3 men also shopping. The one trying on the glasses was young, well dressed and very nice looking. He was asking the other 2 men for their opinions about the glasses but did not seem satisfied with the responses. They were speaking in Italian so the girl didn't know what was being said. He sees the girl, and says in broken english, "I need the opinion of a woman, which sunglasses do you prefer?" She told him she liked option #1. He thanked her, put the other 2 pair away and purchased option #1. The girl smiled to herself, pleased with the interaction and continued to look at sunglasses, not giving it another thought.
The airport in Qatar was an array of cultures, women completely covered--everything but their eyes, sheiks, travellers, tourists...the girl was fascinated so she waited patiently for her delayed flight watching all that was going on around her. She noticed that the sunglasses boy was sitting nearby, and she wondered if he was on her flight. There were many flights going to various cities in Italy, so the chances were slim. The plane finally arrived and the girl boarded. She walked to her seat, looking forward to 5 hours to sleep. She sat down and looked next to her. It was the older gentleman from the sunglasses shop... and next to him was sunglasses boy. He looked over and smiled, also surprised. He started speaking to the girl over the older man (his father) and the men ended up trading seats. They continued to talk and talk and talk for the entire 5 hour flight. He gave her an Italian lesson, they discussed her trip, his work, Italy, the US, and they watched Happy Feet together in English (because they didn't have it in Italian and they figured it would be the easiest movie for him to understand in English).
Much to the girl's dismay, he was not from Rome, and was headed to his home in the south. When the pilot came over the intercom saying they'd be landing shortly both the girl and boy felt immensely disappointed. They were not ready to part ways. The girl said "I wish you lived in Rome so you could show me around." The boy smiled, leaned over to his father said something in Italian and leaned back and said, "I would like to stay in Rome and show you around. I have a very good friend who lives in Rome, I will call him and tell him I am staying."
The two checked into the same hotel--ironically called "Hotel California" and met his friend for the girls first real Italian dinner--pizza. After dinner they went to a fantastic little bar and had a glass of wine. The day had been long and the girl had been up since 4am so after a glass of wine she was ready for bed.
For the next 4 days the girl and sunglasses boy were inseparable. They saw all of the amazing sights of Rome-- The Colosseum, the Vatican, the Pantheon. They went to see the Pope give mass on Sunday (but arrived a bit late), they took a bus tour, shopped, saw artists on the streets, cooled off in public fountains, ate at all of the cute little outdoor restaurants. The girl could not have imagined a more perfect 4 days if she tried.
They had a connection that neither one of them could put into words (especially since they barely spoke the same language). He could just look at her and know how she was feeling--tired, hot, happy, in awe...and often he was feeling the same way. When they spoke it was as if the language barrier disappeared and they were totally in sync. For them it was effortless, romantic beyond belief, and so, so much fun. They laughed, joked, and sat in stunned silence at the realization of how old their surroundings were.
As the days went on, she learned more and more about him. He is her age, 29, and is a doctor of marine biology. He works now as an electrical engineer/businessman with his family business. He was in Qatar because the business might be expanding into the Middle East. He has a large family, and they are also involved with real estate. He has asked her to come visit, and has offered her a place to stay here:
http://www.villaraffaella.it/en/index.htm
She has decided after London and Stockholm to skip Paris. Instead, she is going to go down to Southern Italy, to spend more time with this wonderful man. She keeps waiting for the moment she is going to wake up...but for now, she's happy to live in the fairy tale.
Paolo, I know this blog will be hard for you to understand...but when I arrive to Lecce I will explain.
Grazie mia amore. Ti vedrò presto.
She went to Japan, Thailand, and India. She was leaving Delhi and headed to Rome--one of the most romantic cities in the world...by herself.
Or so she thought...
She got up early the morning of her flight, took a taxi to the airport, bid goodbye to India, and slept her way to Qatar, where she had a 2 hour layover. In the airport in Qatar she went into the duty free shop because her friend, Tiffany, has convinced her that an expensive pair of sunglasses is a necessity. While looking at sunglasses she saw 3 men also shopping. The one trying on the glasses was young, well dressed and very nice looking. He was asking the other 2 men for their opinions about the glasses but did not seem satisfied with the responses. They were speaking in Italian so the girl didn't know what was being said. He sees the girl, and says in broken english, "I need the opinion of a woman, which sunglasses do you prefer?" She told him she liked option #1. He thanked her, put the other 2 pair away and purchased option #1. The girl smiled to herself, pleased with the interaction and continued to look at sunglasses, not giving it another thought.
The airport in Qatar was an array of cultures, women completely covered--everything but their eyes, sheiks, travellers, tourists...the girl was fascinated so she waited patiently for her delayed flight watching all that was going on around her. She noticed that the sunglasses boy was sitting nearby, and she wondered if he was on her flight. There were many flights going to various cities in Italy, so the chances were slim. The plane finally arrived and the girl boarded. She walked to her seat, looking forward to 5 hours to sleep. She sat down and looked next to her. It was the older gentleman from the sunglasses shop... and next to him was sunglasses boy. He looked over and smiled, also surprised. He started speaking to the girl over the older man (his father) and the men ended up trading seats. They continued to talk and talk and talk for the entire 5 hour flight. He gave her an Italian lesson, they discussed her trip, his work, Italy, the US, and they watched Happy Feet together in English (because they didn't have it in Italian and they figured it would be the easiest movie for him to understand in English).
Much to the girl's dismay, he was not from Rome, and was headed to his home in the south. When the pilot came over the intercom saying they'd be landing shortly both the girl and boy felt immensely disappointed. They were not ready to part ways. The girl said "I wish you lived in Rome so you could show me around." The boy smiled, leaned over to his father said something in Italian and leaned back and said, "I would like to stay in Rome and show you around. I have a very good friend who lives in Rome, I will call him and tell him I am staying."
The two checked into the same hotel--ironically called "Hotel California" and met his friend for the girls first real Italian dinner--pizza. After dinner they went to a fantastic little bar and had a glass of wine. The day had been long and the girl had been up since 4am so after a glass of wine she was ready for bed.
For the next 4 days the girl and sunglasses boy were inseparable. They saw all of the amazing sights of Rome-- The Colosseum, the Vatican, the Pantheon. They went to see the Pope give mass on Sunday (but arrived a bit late), they took a bus tour, shopped, saw artists on the streets, cooled off in public fountains, ate at all of the cute little outdoor restaurants. The girl could not have imagined a more perfect 4 days if she tried.
They had a connection that neither one of them could put into words (especially since they barely spoke the same language). He could just look at her and know how she was feeling--tired, hot, happy, in awe...and often he was feeling the same way. When they spoke it was as if the language barrier disappeared and they were totally in sync. For them it was effortless, romantic beyond belief, and so, so much fun. They laughed, joked, and sat in stunned silence at the realization of how old their surroundings were.
As the days went on, she learned more and more about him. He is her age, 29, and is a doctor of marine biology. He works now as an electrical engineer/businessman with his family business. He was in Qatar because the business might be expanding into the Middle East. He has a large family, and they are also involved with real estate. He has asked her to come visit, and has offered her a place to stay here:
http://www.villaraffaella.it/en/index.htm
She has decided after London and Stockholm to skip Paris. Instead, she is going to go down to Southern Italy, to spend more time with this wonderful man. She keeps waiting for the moment she is going to wake up...but for now, she's happy to live in the fairy tale.
Paolo, I know this blog will be hard for you to understand...but when I arrive to Lecce I will explain.
Grazie mia amore. Ti vedrò presto.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Watch out Bollywood, here I come!
Yesterday Tiff and I were sitting at our favorite coffee place, Moonpeak, doing our favorite thing--monk watching--when suddenly, for a brief few minutes I became a famous movie star. We were sitting at a table outside near the road and there was a group of Punjabi Indian men (looked to be in their 20's) sitting on some concrete barriers that stopped cars from careening over a cliff, across the street. They were not at all attempting to be discreet in looking our way. This went on for about a half hour until one of them, after much discussion and prodding, finally had the courage to approach me. "Can you please take a picture for us?" he asks. Ha! Is that all they wanted? Me to take their picture? They shouldn't have been nervous about that, I was more than happy to...
...maybe it was the language barrier, but that wasn't exactly what they were asking.
Instead, they wanted me to have my picture taken--with each one of them--separately. So feeling utterly amused and quite flattered I obliged, and each one of them came to stand next to me for a very un-candid photo. There was no arm over the shoulder action--nothing. Just me standing there, hands at my side, them next to me, hands at their sides, smiling goofily at the camera. After that was done, I smiled politely and started to make my way back to Tiffany. Wait, but no... they weren't done yet. Apparently they had round two planned--the seated photos. They sat me at one of the restaurant tables and then a couple of them at a time would come sit with me--making it appear that we were actually dining together. (Sans any food or drink). By this time a small crowd had gathered also bemused by the impromptu photoshoot. Finally, after the "dinner" photos were finished, I was allowed to make my way back to Tiffany, with many kinds words of gratitude from the men.
I am dying to know what they tell their friends when they get back to Punjab...I can only imagine.
So, for a brief moment, I felt kinda famous. A little flattered, a little weirded-out, a little violated, a lot embarrassed. But, you know, if I had to, I could probably get used to it... :)
I flew out of McLeod Ganj today and I'm back in Delhi-- and its still hot. But this time proved to be much easier, even though I am by myself. Once you have experienced a city and have some sort of familiarity with it, it is so much easier the second time around. I am staying at the same hotel as the first time, and it's made me realize how good we had it up in the mountains. Tiff and I were paying 3 dollars each a night to have a bed with sheets and blankets, and hot running water--and a view worth a million. Here, I am paying twice as much, to have a room where I will not put my head directly on the pillowcase (I cover it with my sarong or a towel), there are no blankets on the bed (although the aren't really needed) the flat sheets (no cover sheet), although I'm pretty sure are clean, have holes in them, and there is no hot water. I miss McLeod Ganj!!!!
Wow. What a fantastic little treasure of a town it is. It is someplace I'd love to visit again. Next time I would set up some classes beforehand because the town is overflowing with educational opportunities. Massage, cooking, dance, Tibetan, Buddhist, Hindu, music, yoga, meditation, trekking--all types of classes and all very affordable.
While I was there I spent most of my time taking it all in. It's a place you probably need to stay longer than 9 days to really get it, but I did my best. We found our favorite places to eat, hang out, use the internet, explore--and since it is so small, by the time I left we knew all of the people that worked at each place and some of the other regular patrons and we were recognized and greeted by many. We had our favorite Lepers ( many of the beggars have leprosy and are missing limbs) but they are absolutely lovely people, and even if you don' give them money they are always ready with a Namaste and a smile. We saw monkeys pretty regularly, we belly-danced, we attended a Sufi (type of Islam) music concert, we saw a sitar (stringed instrument) and tabla (percussion) concert, had Tibetan massages, went to the Dalai Lamas temple, shopped for beautiful Indian and Tibetan clothes, jewelry, decor, watched a young girl walk a tight rope with no net under her in the middle of the street for money, met a fantastic young Aussie named Tiirum, who is bound to change the world, I had my epiphany...and I finally got rid of all of my ailments. So overall, I think it was a successful part of my trip.
After being in Asia for the last 6 weeks, I am looking forward to Europe. It's crazy, the countries I've gone to and have ahead of me are all so different, culturally. But, there are good people all over the world and Tiffany and I have been really lucky to have met so many.
Namaste, India. Buon giorno, Italy.
...maybe it was the language barrier, but that wasn't exactly what they were asking.
Instead, they wanted me to have my picture taken--with each one of them--separately. So feeling utterly amused and quite flattered I obliged, and each one of them came to stand next to me for a very un-candid photo. There was no arm over the shoulder action--nothing. Just me standing there, hands at my side, them next to me, hands at their sides, smiling goofily at the camera. After that was done, I smiled politely and started to make my way back to Tiffany. Wait, but no... they weren't done yet. Apparently they had round two planned--the seated photos. They sat me at one of the restaurant tables and then a couple of them at a time would come sit with me--making it appear that we were actually dining together. (Sans any food or drink). By this time a small crowd had gathered also bemused by the impromptu photoshoot. Finally, after the "dinner" photos were finished, I was allowed to make my way back to Tiffany, with many kinds words of gratitude from the men.
I am dying to know what they tell their friends when they get back to Punjab...I can only imagine.
So, for a brief moment, I felt kinda famous. A little flattered, a little weirded-out, a little violated, a lot embarrassed. But, you know, if I had to, I could probably get used to it... :)
I flew out of McLeod Ganj today and I'm back in Delhi-- and its still hot. But this time proved to be much easier, even though I am by myself. Once you have experienced a city and have some sort of familiarity with it, it is so much easier the second time around. I am staying at the same hotel as the first time, and it's made me realize how good we had it up in the mountains. Tiff and I were paying 3 dollars each a night to have a bed with sheets and blankets, and hot running water--and a view worth a million. Here, I am paying twice as much, to have a room where I will not put my head directly on the pillowcase (I cover it with my sarong or a towel), there are no blankets on the bed (although the aren't really needed) the flat sheets (no cover sheet), although I'm pretty sure are clean, have holes in them, and there is no hot water. I miss McLeod Ganj!!!!
Wow. What a fantastic little treasure of a town it is. It is someplace I'd love to visit again. Next time I would set up some classes beforehand because the town is overflowing with educational opportunities. Massage, cooking, dance, Tibetan, Buddhist, Hindu, music, yoga, meditation, trekking--all types of classes and all very affordable.
While I was there I spent most of my time taking it all in. It's a place you probably need to stay longer than 9 days to really get it, but I did my best. We found our favorite places to eat, hang out, use the internet, explore--and since it is so small, by the time I left we knew all of the people that worked at each place and some of the other regular patrons and we were recognized and greeted by many. We had our favorite Lepers ( many of the beggars have leprosy and are missing limbs) but they are absolutely lovely people, and even if you don' give them money they are always ready with a Namaste and a smile. We saw monkeys pretty regularly, we belly-danced, we attended a Sufi (type of Islam) music concert, we saw a sitar (stringed instrument) and tabla (percussion) concert, had Tibetan massages, went to the Dalai Lamas temple, shopped for beautiful Indian and Tibetan clothes, jewelry, decor, watched a young girl walk a tight rope with no net under her in the middle of the street for money, met a fantastic young Aussie named Tiirum, who is bound to change the world, I had my epiphany...and I finally got rid of all of my ailments. So overall, I think it was a successful part of my trip.
After being in Asia for the last 6 weeks, I am looking forward to Europe. It's crazy, the countries I've gone to and have ahead of me are all so different, culturally. But, there are good people all over the world and Tiffany and I have been really lucky to have met so many.
Namaste, India. Buon giorno, Italy.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Forgiveness
Right before I fell asleep the other night a thought popped into my head. It wasn't like a thought that I came up with on my own, instead it was like someone else telling it to me. The thought was:
"You did the best you could with the tools you had."
I didn't know where it came from, or really what it was about, I just thought, huh, that was strange and quickly fell asleep. The next morning Tiffany and I went to our favorite place for breakfast. We were sitting there quietly and suddenly tears started pouring out of my eyes. I had no control over it and had no idea where they were coming from. I wasn't feeling sad or upset, or even really happy for that matter. Luckily I was with Tiff, and she didn't think it was at all weird, so she allowed me to cry as I tried to figure out where the tears were coming from and why they wouldn't stop.
Then the thought from the night before came back to me. And it all became crystal clear. For so long I have killed myself with questions like "why didn't I do this differently... how could he do that...why did I act that way...why didn't he understand...why couldn't I hear what he was saying...how could we hurt each other so badly when we loved each other so much?"
...we did the best we could with the tools we had.
We thought we were loving one another--and we were. The only way we knew how. And the way we knew how to love came with a very self-protective element, because, like I've mentioned before, we are terrified of getting hurt. What is amazing though, is the fear of getting hurt is SO MUCH worse than the actual pain itself. So this whipser of awareness that I recieved in the middle of the night allowed me to see that sometimes even when we have the very best intentions we still can't get it right...because we are not yet equipt with the tools to do so.
I don't feel like "if I only knew then what I know now" or "hindsight is 20/20" instead I feel like my life is playing out the way it is supposed to. This little whisper was a BIG lesson to learn, and apparently a very important one for me because I certainly had to learn it the hard way.
So the tears over breakfast were neither sad nor happy. They were tears of forgiveness. Forgivess for him, and more importantly, forgiveness for myself. We made mistakes, but not maliciously, instead,they were out of ignorance and fear. We did the best we could with the tools we had. And realizing that has allowed me to be able to let go more and more, and feel the freedom of this journey I am on.
And the journey I am referring to has nothing to do with traveling...
"You did the best you could with the tools you had."
I didn't know where it came from, or really what it was about, I just thought, huh, that was strange and quickly fell asleep. The next morning Tiffany and I went to our favorite place for breakfast. We were sitting there quietly and suddenly tears started pouring out of my eyes. I had no control over it and had no idea where they were coming from. I wasn't feeling sad or upset, or even really happy for that matter. Luckily I was with Tiff, and she didn't think it was at all weird, so she allowed me to cry as I tried to figure out where the tears were coming from and why they wouldn't stop.
Then the thought from the night before came back to me. And it all became crystal clear. For so long I have killed myself with questions like "why didn't I do this differently... how could he do that...why did I act that way...why didn't he understand...why couldn't I hear what he was saying...how could we hurt each other so badly when we loved each other so much?"
...we did the best we could with the tools we had.
We thought we were loving one another--and we were. The only way we knew how. And the way we knew how to love came with a very self-protective element, because, like I've mentioned before, we are terrified of getting hurt. What is amazing though, is the fear of getting hurt is SO MUCH worse than the actual pain itself. So this whipser of awareness that I recieved in the middle of the night allowed me to see that sometimes even when we have the very best intentions we still can't get it right...because we are not yet equipt with the tools to do so.
I don't feel like "if I only knew then what I know now" or "hindsight is 20/20" instead I feel like my life is playing out the way it is supposed to. This little whisper was a BIG lesson to learn, and apparently a very important one for me because I certainly had to learn it the hard way.
So the tears over breakfast were neither sad nor happy. They were tears of forgiveness. Forgivess for him, and more importantly, forgiveness for myself. We made mistakes, but not maliciously, instead,they were out of ignorance and fear. We did the best we could with the tools we had. And realizing that has allowed me to be able to let go more and more, and feel the freedom of this journey I am on.
And the journey I am referring to has nothing to do with traveling...
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Perspective
I have to write this before it leaves my brain. I am so hot. And so tired. It is probably 120 degrees here in Delhi. It is the dirtiest place I have ever seen. When I blow my nose it comes out black--great for the cold. The sky is perpetually grey because of the mass amounts of pollution. People live and work and sit and eat and rest on top of trash on top of trash on top of trash-layers and layers. Cars drive in every direction, men stare at us as though they see right through our clothes, we see very few women, but there are cows in the middle of main roads. There is a scam around every corner and you have to be aware of yourself and your belongings at all times.
It is a complete assault an all of the senses. The smell of exhaust, smog, people, animals, food...the unbearable heat. I have never sweated like this in my entire life. I am soaked sitting here in an internet cafe. The cold water in the shower doesn't even really come out cold. We actually had a pretty good day despite the overwhelmingness of it all. We went to the travel place to book our train tickets to the North but it was closed. We had a fantastic rickshaw driver (these are like 3 wheeled open-air mini-car type things that are one of the main ways to get around. They are much cheaper than taxis) and he offered to take us on a driving tour of Delhi, so we sat back, sweated our asses off and spent 2 hours getting an insiders view of important places for a visitor to see. More interesting than any of the places he showed us were the things that he doesn't even see anymore. Like a woman carrying a huge pile of bricks on her head. Or the man asleep on top of his ice-cream cart. Or the mass piles of trash everywhere. I gotta get outta here soon cause its so hot (our room actually has AC), but my point of writing is this:
When I get home, I hope to God that I can remember every second of being in Dehli. There is nothing easy about living here. It is so incredibly crowded, dirty and hot. When I start to get frustrated about Columbus traffic, or pissed that my cell phone lost reception again, or annoyed that "he" (whoever that may be) did not call yet, I'll think of Delhi. Cause in one second my perspective will completely shift. I can say it over and over, but it's like I still haven't digested how true it is--our lives are so easy. Yes, we have problems, but the stuff we let ourselves get worked up about on a daily basis...lord. It's bad.
Tiff and I were talking about how what we have to be careful of when we get home is to not get frustrated with others frustrations. Like, if one of my friends is frustrated because they had to wait a half hour at a restaurant before they were sat for dinner, or Grey's Anatomy is a rerun, or their husband came home from work late and dinner was ruined...we can't be like "what are you worrying about??! You have NO IDEA what its like in other parts of the world. Just be happy you have dinner- period!!!"
We'd be really annoying. And, ultimately that is us thinking we know more or better--when really we just have gained a different perspective. A lot less will bother me when I get home--at least on a smaller scale. I honestly don't know how they do it. I do not know how they live here. I always ask myself, why don't they leave? Move? Go someplace cooler or less crowded? And then I think--is that even an option? Do they perceive that as an option? Where would they go? Is it hard for them to live here? Are they happy? Is it even about that? Or are they just so used to it that this is life from their perspective...and maybe it's not so bad.
I dunno. I think the heat is getting to me. My fingers are going as fast as my head and I don't know what I am writing anymore.
Damn. I am in India. India is hot.
It is a complete assault an all of the senses. The smell of exhaust, smog, people, animals, food...the unbearable heat. I have never sweated like this in my entire life. I am soaked sitting here in an internet cafe. The cold water in the shower doesn't even really come out cold. We actually had a pretty good day despite the overwhelmingness of it all. We went to the travel place to book our train tickets to the North but it was closed. We had a fantastic rickshaw driver (these are like 3 wheeled open-air mini-car type things that are one of the main ways to get around. They are much cheaper than taxis) and he offered to take us on a driving tour of Delhi, so we sat back, sweated our asses off and spent 2 hours getting an insiders view of important places for a visitor to see. More interesting than any of the places he showed us were the things that he doesn't even see anymore. Like a woman carrying a huge pile of bricks on her head. Or the man asleep on top of his ice-cream cart. Or the mass piles of trash everywhere. I gotta get outta here soon cause its so hot (our room actually has AC), but my point of writing is this:
When I get home, I hope to God that I can remember every second of being in Dehli. There is nothing easy about living here. It is so incredibly crowded, dirty and hot. When I start to get frustrated about Columbus traffic, or pissed that my cell phone lost reception again, or annoyed that "he" (whoever that may be) did not call yet, I'll think of Delhi. Cause in one second my perspective will completely shift. I can say it over and over, but it's like I still haven't digested how true it is--our lives are so easy. Yes, we have problems, but the stuff we let ourselves get worked up about on a daily basis...lord. It's bad.
Tiff and I were talking about how what we have to be careful of when we get home is to not get frustrated with others frustrations. Like, if one of my friends is frustrated because they had to wait a half hour at a restaurant before they were sat for dinner, or Grey's Anatomy is a rerun, or their husband came home from work late and dinner was ruined...we can't be like "what are you worrying about??! You have NO IDEA what its like in other parts of the world. Just be happy you have dinner- period!!!"
We'd be really annoying. And, ultimately that is us thinking we know more or better--when really we just have gained a different perspective. A lot less will bother me when I get home--at least on a smaller scale. I honestly don't know how they do it. I do not know how they live here. I always ask myself, why don't they leave? Move? Go someplace cooler or less crowded? And then I think--is that even an option? Do they perceive that as an option? Where would they go? Is it hard for them to live here? Are they happy? Is it even about that? Or are they just so used to it that this is life from their perspective...and maybe it's not so bad.
I dunno. I think the heat is getting to me. My fingers are going as fast as my head and I don't know what I am writing anymore.
Damn. I am in India. India is hot.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Alone
It`s my last day in Kyoto, and its cold and rainy. I was supposed to go visit Nanzen-ji Temple and walk the Philosophers Path today with a guy from New Zealand that I met last night, but mother nature put a damper on those plans. So instead, I`m just sitting here in my little apartment feeling very much alone. I can`t watch TV, because I don`t understand a word of it, and quite frankly it`s bizarre--I guess I don`t get the Japanese sense of humor, where watching people eat weird stuff is entertaining...but who am I to judge, when the US has such quality shows, like "Wife Swap..."
It`s in these quiet moments, when I can`t just pick up the phone and call home (since its 4am) that I ask myself, "What in the hell are you doing?" The answer...traveling around the world. Which leads to my next question. Why? Because I have the money to actually do it. Why? Because I sold the condo in Salt Lake. Why? Because I am getting divorced.
Oh.
And just like that the reality of my messy life comes crashing down on me, overwhelming. Sure, this is an experience of a lifetime, but I`d change it all in a heartbeat if I could go back in time, figure out what went wrong and fix it. This is the last thing I ever wanted, but somehow I did my part in creating it. Do we do that? Manifest the very things we fear the most so we have to face them and learn how to deal with them? Now, I am fully aware that I cannot be responsible for anyone else`s actions, but I do truly believe that we create most things that happen to us, whether its on a conscious level or not. So subconsciously, I must really have it out for myself...
It`s times like this that I have to believe it is all happening the way it is supposed to. Maybe the lesson I am learning is how to be alone and be OK with it. That giving yourself completely to someone else, although in theory is supposed to be a good thing, really isn`t. It is one thing to be selfless, it`s another to be self-less. It`s terrifying to wake up and think your life is headed in one direction and suddenly it takes a sharp turn and all your left with is you. And who is that? God knows. Apparently, I think the answer is going to be found under a rock in India or something...but really, honestly, I know the answer is right here with me all the time. It`s just facing it, looking at it head on, and then holding on to it, so as to not let it go ever again.
There are so many questions. Is my life going backwards when everyone else`s is moving forwards? Will I be able to do things differently in the future? What if this happens again? What the hell am I doing?
Oh, yeah. Traveling around the world. Looking for me...under a rock in India. Trying to find what I know is there but has been buried for so long. Trying to understand that everything I need, I already have--no other person will be able to give it to me, and if I look to someone to do that, then I will find myself back here all over again.
Alone.
It`s in these quiet moments, when I can`t just pick up the phone and call home (since its 4am) that I ask myself, "What in the hell are you doing?" The answer...traveling around the world. Which leads to my next question. Why? Because I have the money to actually do it. Why? Because I sold the condo in Salt Lake. Why? Because I am getting divorced.
Oh.
And just like that the reality of my messy life comes crashing down on me, overwhelming. Sure, this is an experience of a lifetime, but I`d change it all in a heartbeat if I could go back in time, figure out what went wrong and fix it. This is the last thing I ever wanted, but somehow I did my part in creating it. Do we do that? Manifest the very things we fear the most so we have to face them and learn how to deal with them? Now, I am fully aware that I cannot be responsible for anyone else`s actions, but I do truly believe that we create most things that happen to us, whether its on a conscious level or not. So subconsciously, I must really have it out for myself...
It`s times like this that I have to believe it is all happening the way it is supposed to. Maybe the lesson I am learning is how to be alone and be OK with it. That giving yourself completely to someone else, although in theory is supposed to be a good thing, really isn`t. It is one thing to be selfless, it`s another to be self-less. It`s terrifying to wake up and think your life is headed in one direction and suddenly it takes a sharp turn and all your left with is you. And who is that? God knows. Apparently, I think the answer is going to be found under a rock in India or something...but really, honestly, I know the answer is right here with me all the time. It`s just facing it, looking at it head on, and then holding on to it, so as to not let it go ever again.
There are so many questions. Is my life going backwards when everyone else`s is moving forwards? Will I be able to do things differently in the future? What if this happens again? What the hell am I doing?
Oh, yeah. Traveling around the world. Looking for me...under a rock in India. Trying to find what I know is there but has been buried for so long. Trying to understand that everything I need, I already have--no other person will be able to give it to me, and if I look to someone to do that, then I will find myself back here all over again.
Alone.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
She´ll be coming ´round the Mountain...
Well I made it safely to Japan and my travel was relatively uneventful. Columbus to Chicago, Chicago to Toyko (14 hrs), Toyko to Osaka, and at Osaka I had one of those guys with my name on a sign pick me up and take me to my guesthouse in Kyoto (about a 45 minute drive).
My guesthouse is quite comfortable with a living room with a PC and high speed intenet, a full kitchen, bathroom and bedroom.
I left at 10:30am and arrived at 7:10pm the following day. I didnt sleep well on the flights so I was exhausted. After having tea and a tray of Pringles and fudge striped cookies (intersting?) with the woman I am renting the guesthouse from, I was getting ready to head up to bed when my friend Marcus called. He said "get some sleep, we are meeting at 7:45 to go hiking tomorrow in Omi Nagaoka." Ok, cool. Some plans for my first day.
I met him and 2 of his friends at the Kyoto train station in the morning and we took about an hour and 10 minute ride to a remote little town with a really big mountain. Mount Ibuki stood towering in the distance and Marcus pointed and said "I think that´s what we´re climbing," I laughed...Marcus is really a funny guy. I knew they wouldnt do something like that to me my first day, after 26 hours of traveling and 6 hours of fitful sleep. We met 4 more friends at the Omi Nagaoka train station so in total there were 8 of us. 3 from Japan, 4 from the US, and 1 Canadian (Marcus is from Canada), and we headed to the base of the mountain.
This entire time I was still not believing that we were actually going to climb the mountain. Maybe hike around it, or go halfway up, or take a scenic ride...something other than scaling (literally) up a mountain. So we began walking...and walking and walking and walking. Straight up. Not weaving back and forth like when usually climbing up a large hill...no, STRAIGHT UP. The group quickly split into 3 groups, the super climbers, the middle of the pack, and then me and Tomo. I remember at one point we stopped at a sign written in Japanese, I asked Tomo what it said and he said it was the second stop. I asked how many stops there were total, praying the answer was 3...he said 9. I´ve never climbed a mountain before and had not at all prepared myself mentally for what was ahead of me. On top of everything else, my body was telling me that it was midnight and it was time to go to bed (there is a 13 hr time difference). So after climbing for about an hour we meet the group halfway up. They were taking a nice little break while waiting for us. I sat down and thats when I felt my legs tell me "there is absolutely no way you can walk one more step, Maggie." But the rest of the group jumped up ready for the second half of the climb, nicely rested. Tomo and I looked at each other, I´m sure thinking in our two different languages the very same thought..."we´ll see you guys on your way back down." But instead, we stood up too, and what I accomplished from there has become one of my proudest accomplishments to date.
Physically, my body was done. There was nothing left in me. Jetlag is bad enough when you are just out shopping, nevermind climbing a mountain. But something in me was saying you have to do this. So I kept going, literally willing each step, living one second at a time, afraid to look up to see how much farther. I hated Marcus, I hated Japan, I hated everything. I have never felt this type of physical pain and exhaustion, but for some reason I kept pushing through. As we got closer to the top it became much more difficult. We were climbing with our legs and arms now through large rocks and narrow trails. I was running on nothing but sheer willpower. Finally when I allowed myself to look up I saw my new friends (even though I hated them) smiling and cheering and taking pictures of us (hated them for that too).
I did it. My first day in Japan I climbed a mountain. At the top we ate lunch (which was heaven since all I had to eat in the past 2 days was airplane food and a breakfast bar that morning) let our legs relax for a bit and took in the sites. I was trying to play it cool on the outside, so my new friends didnt think I was a huge dork, but inside I was beaming with pride. I cannot ever remember a time in my life when I pushed through something so physically streanous by only using the strength of my mind, because there was no more strenght left in my body. Already this trip has started to make a difference...
So, what goes up must come down, right? I was a master at going down, but my knees and blisters the size of bowling balls disagree today. Brett, one of the other Americans told me to embrace my pain, so I kept repeating "I love my blisters, I love my blisters" and he was saying the same thing about his knee. We reached the bottom, and just sat for a bit. It took two and a half hours to go up and an hour to come back down.
Now the story could end there, but what´s a good story without some nudity?
After a day like that nothing sounds better than a hottub. So we headed to a traditional Japanese hot spring, called an Onsen which included indoor and outdoor natural baths. I had read about these baths before, and thought it was funny that such a modest society holds business retreats at these hot springs where you are bathing completely naked with strangers, or worse, coworkers. But, as they say, when in Rome...
So I put my own modesty aside, paid for my little towel and an hour in the Onsen, and proceeded to let my muscles relax in the soothing natural springs. You have to first wash yourself with soap in a shower, and then you are free to go into both the indoor and outdoor baths. One of the large indoor baths had some bags of herbs floating in it, and one of the outdoor baths had bubbles like a hottub. The other one outside was simply carved into a large rock. It was wonderful.
I´m guessing by now you are wondering if these baths are coed...sorry, nope. The women and men seperated and met back up in a quiet relaxation room (like a yoga room) where we just laid on the floor waiting for our taxis back to the train station.
I crashed on the train, and made my way back to my little home. I slept for 8 consecutive hours and am starting to feel like I am catching up. My knees and blisters are still killing me, but I just look at it as a reminder of my accomplishment on my first day in Japan.
Today I am going with Brett and his brother Mike to visit some temples and tonight we will meet Marcus and head to Osaka for dinner and a night on the town.
I am still trying to get my bearings and still can´t quite believe that this is just the first stop in 4 months of travel. I dont think I could have scripted a better first day.
On a side note, I feel like I should also address those people that might be reading this blog whom I havent met, that saw the little blurb in the Dispatch (all 4 of you). Originally I set this up to keep family and friends updated on whats happening in this hemisphere, but was excited about the opportunity to share my travel (and life) stories with Dispatch readers. So welcome, I hope you enjoy. And please remember "The thoughts and views expressed here are solely those of the author and in no way reflect those of the Columbus Dispatch"...blah, blah...my official disclaimer.
Ok, going to make some tea and begin the second day of the rest of my life...
My guesthouse is quite comfortable with a living room with a PC and high speed intenet, a full kitchen, bathroom and bedroom.
I left at 10:30am and arrived at 7:10pm the following day. I didnt sleep well on the flights so I was exhausted. After having tea and a tray of Pringles and fudge striped cookies (intersting?) with the woman I am renting the guesthouse from, I was getting ready to head up to bed when my friend Marcus called. He said "get some sleep, we are meeting at 7:45 to go hiking tomorrow in Omi Nagaoka." Ok, cool. Some plans for my first day.
I met him and 2 of his friends at the Kyoto train station in the morning and we took about an hour and 10 minute ride to a remote little town with a really big mountain. Mount Ibuki stood towering in the distance and Marcus pointed and said "I think that´s what we´re climbing," I laughed...Marcus is really a funny guy. I knew they wouldnt do something like that to me my first day, after 26 hours of traveling and 6 hours of fitful sleep. We met 4 more friends at the Omi Nagaoka train station so in total there were 8 of us. 3 from Japan, 4 from the US, and 1 Canadian (Marcus is from Canada), and we headed to the base of the mountain.
This entire time I was still not believing that we were actually going to climb the mountain. Maybe hike around it, or go halfway up, or take a scenic ride...something other than scaling (literally) up a mountain. So we began walking...and walking and walking and walking. Straight up. Not weaving back and forth like when usually climbing up a large hill...no, STRAIGHT UP. The group quickly split into 3 groups, the super climbers, the middle of the pack, and then me and Tomo. I remember at one point we stopped at a sign written in Japanese, I asked Tomo what it said and he said it was the second stop. I asked how many stops there were total, praying the answer was 3...he said 9. I´ve never climbed a mountain before and had not at all prepared myself mentally for what was ahead of me. On top of everything else, my body was telling me that it was midnight and it was time to go to bed (there is a 13 hr time difference). So after climbing for about an hour we meet the group halfway up. They were taking a nice little break while waiting for us. I sat down and thats when I felt my legs tell me "there is absolutely no way you can walk one more step, Maggie." But the rest of the group jumped up ready for the second half of the climb, nicely rested. Tomo and I looked at each other, I´m sure thinking in our two different languages the very same thought..."we´ll see you guys on your way back down." But instead, we stood up too, and what I accomplished from there has become one of my proudest accomplishments to date.
Physically, my body was done. There was nothing left in me. Jetlag is bad enough when you are just out shopping, nevermind climbing a mountain. But something in me was saying you have to do this. So I kept going, literally willing each step, living one second at a time, afraid to look up to see how much farther. I hated Marcus, I hated Japan, I hated everything. I have never felt this type of physical pain and exhaustion, but for some reason I kept pushing through. As we got closer to the top it became much more difficult. We were climbing with our legs and arms now through large rocks and narrow trails. I was running on nothing but sheer willpower. Finally when I allowed myself to look up I saw my new friends (even though I hated them) smiling and cheering and taking pictures of us (hated them for that too).
I did it. My first day in Japan I climbed a mountain. At the top we ate lunch (which was heaven since all I had to eat in the past 2 days was airplane food and a breakfast bar that morning) let our legs relax for a bit and took in the sites. I was trying to play it cool on the outside, so my new friends didnt think I was a huge dork, but inside I was beaming with pride. I cannot ever remember a time in my life when I pushed through something so physically streanous by only using the strength of my mind, because there was no more strenght left in my body. Already this trip has started to make a difference...
So, what goes up must come down, right? I was a master at going down, but my knees and blisters the size of bowling balls disagree today. Brett, one of the other Americans told me to embrace my pain, so I kept repeating "I love my blisters, I love my blisters" and he was saying the same thing about his knee. We reached the bottom, and just sat for a bit. It took two and a half hours to go up and an hour to come back down.
Now the story could end there, but what´s a good story without some nudity?
After a day like that nothing sounds better than a hottub. So we headed to a traditional Japanese hot spring, called an Onsen which included indoor and outdoor natural baths. I had read about these baths before, and thought it was funny that such a modest society holds business retreats at these hot springs where you are bathing completely naked with strangers, or worse, coworkers. But, as they say, when in Rome...
So I put my own modesty aside, paid for my little towel and an hour in the Onsen, and proceeded to let my muscles relax in the soothing natural springs. You have to first wash yourself with soap in a shower, and then you are free to go into both the indoor and outdoor baths. One of the large indoor baths had some bags of herbs floating in it, and one of the outdoor baths had bubbles like a hottub. The other one outside was simply carved into a large rock. It was wonderful.
I´m guessing by now you are wondering if these baths are coed...sorry, nope. The women and men seperated and met back up in a quiet relaxation room (like a yoga room) where we just laid on the floor waiting for our taxis back to the train station.
I crashed on the train, and made my way back to my little home. I slept for 8 consecutive hours and am starting to feel like I am catching up. My knees and blisters are still killing me, but I just look at it as a reminder of my accomplishment on my first day in Japan.
Today I am going with Brett and his brother Mike to visit some temples and tonight we will meet Marcus and head to Osaka for dinner and a night on the town.
I am still trying to get my bearings and still can´t quite believe that this is just the first stop in 4 months of travel. I dont think I could have scripted a better first day.
On a side note, I feel like I should also address those people that might be reading this blog whom I havent met, that saw the little blurb in the Dispatch (all 4 of you). Originally I set this up to keep family and friends updated on whats happening in this hemisphere, but was excited about the opportunity to share my travel (and life) stories with Dispatch readers. So welcome, I hope you enjoy. And please remember "The thoughts and views expressed here are solely those of the author and in no way reflect those of the Columbus Dispatch"...blah, blah...my official disclaimer.
Ok, going to make some tea and begin the second day of the rest of my life...
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