Chasing Hemingway

Below Freezing

December 15, 2009 · 1 Comment

Winter has hit Paris. Full on. I think the average this week is -1. Celcius, that is. We’re in Europe, remember.

My nose is permanently red, and my face is dry and burnt from the cold and wind. I rejoice in the metro, however smelly it may be, because I know that the more people there are packed into a car, the warmer I will be for that brief period of time. Our office is cold anyway – everyone wears scarves inside all day – but walking outside immediately induces a feeling that cuts straight to the bone and takes hours to dispel. Alfie doesn’t have gloves and his fingers are perpetually dry and raw; this is not helped by hours of washing dishes at work.

That’s right, we both have jobs now. You knew that he did, but I do too. I didn’t want to say anything before it started, because the way things have been going, you never know what could happen. But I started yesterday, so I can talk about it now. I’m working for a documentary production company as an intern/Production Assistant. They pay basically nothing, but it’s a good opportunity and the people are pretty cool. It’s a small, cute office in one of my favorite parts of town, and particularly the head Producer/Director guy is super enthusiastic and friendly. They’re asking me to essentially do the impossible, but they recognize the difficulty of the project, so I don’t mind too much. We’ll see how it goes. All the same, I still have to find another job if I’m going to even attempt to stay, because 300 euros a month (yes, really) won’t get you much of anything in Paris.

As for staying, talk to me again next week. Right now, I don’t really know much of anything beside that I’m meeting a few people for dinner tonight and I just had hot chocolate to dispel some of the cold. Send warm thoughts. Or snow. I’ll take either right now.

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Musings on a Life of Travel

December 12, 2009 · Leave a Comment

Crisis averted.

Welcome to the ups and downs of my life. Now you now what it’s really like living the jet-setting life: terrifying. You’ve been warned. You’ve tasted the depths of my despair. One day you’ll be walking on air, the next day you’ll be plummeted into hopelessness so deep you want to disappear under the covers and awaken to find yourself seven years old and at home in bed.

Why do we do it? Maybe we’re adrenaline junkies, but I can’t say that I’ve enjoyed much of the lows. No, it’s that the lower those lows are, the higher the highs will be. The greater the small victories seem. A phone call the day after seeing an apartment from a landlord who was so French she couldn’t even smile to ask if we’re still interested seems like the coup of the century. Emails back promising nothing but viewings are cause for elation. Responses from potential employers wanting to set up interviews means it’s time to splurge on a cupcake or croissant. Every feeling is experienced anew, every lesson learned for the first time. One has never felt so utterly depressed and trapped, nor has the world ever seemed so full of possibility.

But then, I’ve always been on the emotional side, so perhaps I just feel it all more acutely.

On Thursday, a Spanish woman asked me if all Americans are as crazy as I am, traveling all over the place, eschewing job/financial/housing security. I laughed. Clearly she hasn’t met that many Americans. Or that many people who travel a lot, even though she herself has lived in several major European cities. I wonder when I’ll be ready for that security so many others crave and build their lives on, or if I ever will. I thought I was getting there in the last few weeks, but it wasn’t security I wanted so much as stability, and the knowledge that I would be in the same place (house, really) for more than a transient period of time. Not to be living out of a suitcase. The ability to build a routine and a life of my own, just the way I want it. The more I think about it, though, and the more concrete the reality of staying here for a little while becomes, the more I realize that I’ve been creating my own stability for a long time now. I spent six weeks in Turkey this summer – mostly in Istanbul – and I had a nice little stable life of my own. Willa and I spent two and a bit weeks in Dharamsala, and we definitely had a stable little life routine. California is always easiest, because the stability is there waiting for me to step back into it whenever I arrive, and it’s nice to know that I have that there whenever I need to press the reset button, but it is slowly becoming less and less my stability to have.

Whenever I complain about something being difficult, my dad says that nothing worth having is easily gotten, and I’ll appreciate it more for the hard work I put in; much as I hate to say it, he’s right, as usual. My own stability, which I am building from the ground up right now, will be that much better for all the pain, despair, and tears that have gone into it. Perhaps it will even be more stable, I don’t know. Stay tuned in the coming months to find out, if you can handle the mood swings.

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Panic

December 10, 2009 · Leave a Comment

Often, we find ourselves sliding backwards, if you will. We think we’re moving forward with jobs/apartments, only to find a new hurdle appear that tries to send us falling backwards. The last few weeks have been about learning to deal with these beat-downs and circumvent them. At the moment, though, come Sunday, we have nowhere to stay for at least one of us, and we’ve been trying to deal with this to little avail. So, I’m putting a plea out into the universe for something within our minimal budget that can sleep three people for next week; if anyone has any suggestions, ideas, connections, I will be eternally grateful. Otherwise, you may be seeing me at home in January. If you want me to be home in January, then start sabotaging this post immediately, but I like to think that my readers are more kind-hearted than that.

I really hope I didn’t do something to karmically deserve this, because then I feel I must have something even worse coming.

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The Accidental Local

December 9, 2009 · Leave a Comment

I have been in Paris for going on three weeks now, and it is amazing how quickly one falls easily into routine. Perhaps this is because I have traveled so much this year, and so establishing a lifestyle for a short period of time has become second nature, but I really didn’t expect it this time. I assumed that everything would be transient until we had our apartment, and then everything would become concrete. While this is still true to a certain extent – I have yet to join a gym or yoga studio because I intended to find one near where we were living, which we don’t know yet – I have also somehow managed to develop a little life for myself here. Maybe if I didn’t know the city so well, I would have to spend more time adjusting and exploring before I could settle, but, since I know Paris better than many Parisians, I’ve basically dropped back in and picked up almost as if I’d never left.

(Lest you think I’m being cocky, I don’t exaggerate when I say that I know Paris better than many Parisians. The fact is, as every foreigner/expat I meet notes, that Parisians know two places in Paris: their home quartier and where they work, if the two are different. I cannot tell you the number of times I have told a Parisian that I am going/just was somewhere only to have them respond, “Where’s that? I’ve never heard of it.” Paris is not that big a city, either. It’s definitely smaller than London, New York, Los Angeles, and, I would venture to say, even San Francisco.)

My new life here consists of several things, some of which were mentioned in my last post. As for the other ones, my personal favorite is my Spanish-English Conversation Exchanges.

In case you don’t know, I’m trying to learn Spanish. This is absurd coming from a California girl, I recognize this; why did I move to Paris – away from the state where Spanish is probably more commonly spoken than English – to learn Spanish? All I can say is that I am crazy. AND that I want to learn Castilian Spanish, which I currently have a much harder time understanding than American Spanish, but, that’s the point, right? I just don’t get why they can’t pronounce things phonetically, but whatever. Silly Spanish.

Anyway, in my quest to learn Spanish, I quickly discovered that Spanish language classes are absurdly overpriced, so instead of paying money, I did some research, found a reputable website aimed at connecting people for language exchanges, and have now started meeting several times a week with three different Spanish girls to do language exchanges. Armed with my base knowledge and understanding of Spanish – coming, obviously, from being a native Californian, as well as some tutoring lessons from this fall – and my fluency in French (which is only sort of different), as well as my general passion for learning languages, I have dived in head first. After being thoroughly embarrassed at my limited knowledge, I am, after only a week, slowly starting to put things together. My teachers are incredibly patient and helpful, not to mention super fun. Maria and I have already planned to bake cookies before Christmas, go shopping for language books, and have a jazz club night, not to mention that she is trying to help me get a job! Laura is from near where James and Kara spent last year, and so says if we ever go back there and want to go to Léon, we can totally stay with her mom (who speaks no English, so it will be good practice for me). I’m having an absolute blast, making new friends in the process, and developing a nice little structure to my life.

I haven’t just made friends through Spanish, though. One of the advantages of traveling – particularly alone – for an extended period of time is that you become much less hesitant about contacting people to hang out. And you realize very quickly that most people feel the same, they’re just more embarrassed about trying to make new friends. As a result, I have (I hope!) befriended a fellow Californian (though she’s also actually French, unlike me), who, in turn, is now introducing me to her international group of friends. Many of them have been in the same place that Alfie and I are right now with jobs and apartments, so they were super helpful and encouraging. I am so excited for when we have our own place so that I can finally invite all these people who have been so wonderful and welcoming over to cook for them and thank them properly. Yes, Mediterranean/Indian/international culture of food equaling love has totally rubbed off on me.

I am also sure that I will rue saying this, but the job and apartment hunt has even become a routine. I spend so much time calling people and sending emails and wading through craigslist postings that when I no longer have to, I will find myself with too much free time.

Life chez Celine and Freddie has truly become a little home, if I dare say so. We all have our routines, we cook for each other, we watch movies and bad TV together (I’ve gotten them all into Glee!), Alfie makes us all tea… it’s quite a little family set up we’ve got here.

Alas, no good – or bad – thing can last, and, come this weekend, we’re going to have to move house for a few days, as Celine has some friends from London coming. I am contemplating going to visit my friend Susannah in Arles (where she is teaching English), and then James is coming to visit! Poor Alfie has to work, so he can’t come on holiday with me, but, on the flip side, he is making money and I am not. As for what will happen next week… who knows. I’m getting back to taking things as they come and not letting them get to me too much, but I suppose that’s just today. Who knows about tomorrow.

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Paris Inhospitable

December 5, 2009 · Leave a Comment

Je recommence!

After a wonderful summer in Turkey and all over Europe, and then back in the US for several months of fall to visit friends and family and make some money, I have started what I like to call “The Great Europe Adventure, Round 2.”

As you all know, I spent my junior year abroad in Paris, studying at the Sorbonne and just generally living up the Parisian life. Now, I’m back. This time, however, I am jobless, homeless (but for the kindness of some lovely Brits whom I didn’t know two weeks ago), and somewhat aimless. This time, Paris seems far more cruel and inhospitable than it did last time; no one wants to house us, because we are foreigners and therefore don’t have all the million papers that French landlords like to have (I learned yesterday that this is because it is pretty much impossible to evict a renter in Paris, even if they don’t pay you for months, so it makes sense that they like to have all the assurances); no one wants to hire me, because I am American and not a student and therefore not staying for a long time (read between the lines here). Not to mention that it is also rainy and freezing, which started immediately upon my arrival, apparently. I believe a conspiracy may be at play here.

In spite of it all, however, Alfie (my intended future roommate/friend of Willa’s who also wanted to move to Paris and recent Oxford graduate) and I have found numerous things for which to be thankful (or, as we like to say “Parisians to be Thankful”).

First and foremost is peppermint hot chocolate. You laugh, we cringe, but Starbucks’ peppermint hot chocolate has long been one of my favorite things, and has honestly been a godsend during the last two weeks of our struggle (Alfie arrived two weeks before I, to begin searching, during which time I gallivanted around Oxford with James).

Second on the list (a very, very close second) is the wonderful contingent of friends we have found here who have literally saved our asses and our pocketbooks by letting us crash at their places since my third day here. These are all lovely Oxford kids on their years abroad, and I cannot say enough good things about them. They are quickly becoming good friends and partners-in-crime of ours, and I really can’t think of how to properly thank them for their generosity; without them, I would probably have had to go home to California by now, simply due to the drain of having to stay in hostels all the time.

Third comes the cheap bread. Who doesn’t love a good baguette? Alfie loves them more than most, though, and for the first week, I believe we probably consumed about 3 or 4 a day. We’ve cut back on that, fortunately, but he still gets at least one pain aux raisins daily. I am trying to be disciplined, with moderate success. It’s hard when you’re constantly being beaten down; amazing cheap food/bread products seem like such an acceptable way to console oneself.

So, armed with these three things, we are setting forth to conquer Paris in the coming months. If you have any suggestions, ideas, connections, or anything else that may help us out or enhance our experience, please let me know. In return, I will be regaling you once again with my tales of grandeur and la vie internationale, should you choose to listen.

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Found the Dalai Lama

May 9, 2009 · 2 Comments

Just a quick update to say that while I will probably not meet the Dalai Lama while I am here (he’s a busy man), I saw him today! He returned from a speaking trip in the US today, and we happened to be lunching with some friends at the cafe in his residence’s complex, and they happened to have heard from some Tibetans that His Holiness would be arriving around 3 pm. Needless to say, we waited outside with the crowds alongside the road until about 5 pm, but he arrived and it was amazing.

I’ve heard stories about his presence, about what it’s like to meet him, about what he’s like as a person and a speaker; I can’t contribute much to that anthology, because I only saw him through a car windshield, but I was about five feet from him, and had a clear line of vision. The moment I saw him, I of course knew immediately that it was him, and I gasped in excitement in spite of myself. He was smiling pleasantly and waving at everyone with a slightly bemused look, as if to say, “Oh, hello, fancy seeing you here,” despite the fact that people were bowing to him and saying prayers and taking pictures and just generally being overwhelmed. Just another manifestation of his impressive humility. I do wish I could have a chance to talk to him.

→ 2 CommentsCategories: Dalai Lama · India · Tibet · Tibetan Buddhism · religion · travel
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Travel Plans

May 3, 2009 · 4 Comments

We have ultimately decided to stay in McLeod Ganj/Dharamsala for another week or two instead of trying to cram the entire country of Tanzania into 10 days, so this leaves me plenty of time to catch you all up on, well, all the places I haven’t written about in the last several months. In order to not confuse you all, I’m inserting here a chronological list of everywhere I’ve been in India so that you can refer back to it if necessary. (Note: I have included links for some, but these are not links to all my India posts, sorry.)

Delhi (1) and Agra

Goa

Mangalore/Karnataka

Kerala: Fort Cochin/Ernakulum, Munnar/Karadipara, the backwaters/Kumarakom/Alleppey, Trivandrum

Mumbai (1)

Shirpur

Mumbai (2)

Panchgani (and Wai and Mahabaleshwar)

(Mumbai (3))

Rajasthan: Udaipur, Jodhpur, Jaisalmer

Delhi (2)

Haridwar/Rishikesh

Dharamsala/McLeod Ganj

→ 4 CommentsCategories: India · travel · writing
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Indian Elections

May 3, 2009 · Leave a Comment

In case you haven’t been aware, the last few months in India have been leading up to the huge National Elections, which started April 30th and will somehow continue for the next few weeks. (I don’t quite understand.) Anyway, I just stumbled upon this interesting article by an Indian, a Mumbai resident, commenting on the elections. It sums up a lot of issues and things I’ve thought of over the course of my time here.

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Dharamsala: Search for the Dalai Lama

May 2, 2009 · 2 Comments

First, some logistics: you may have notices that at the top of the sidebar on the right, there’s a new widget that says “My RSS.” If you click on the little logo, you can go to a site that lets you subscribe to my blog, so it will send you my updates. At least, that’s how it’s supposed to work. Let me know if it does.

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As I mentioned in my post about getting robbed, we are now in Dharamsala, in the mountains leading up to the Himalayas. (I would call them foothills, but they are mountains in their own right. I guess that’s what happens in the world’s largest mountains – everything is bigger.) Technically, we are in McLeod Ganj (pronounced mc-CLOUD GAN-j, bizarrely), the home of the Tibetan Government-in-Exile (and, therefore, the Dalai Lama), a town a little north of Dharamsala, but everyone refers to it as Dharamsala in the wider world. Don’t ask me why.

McLeod is unlike anywhere else I’ve been in India. As the displaced Tibetan capital, it is understandably filled with Tibetans, and often feels more like Tibet than India. Of course, skeezy Indian men are ubiquitous within India’s borders, so you can’t escape that, but otherwise, I would call McLeod more of an international community than anything else. There are tons of people from all over the world who are either just passing through, or moving here for months or years. Some people are here for Tibetan Buddhist, some for spiritualism, some for yoga and/or reiki, some to work with refugees and/or help the Tibetan cause, some to just chill with other Dirty Backpackers (yes, it’s a thing), some to hike around and use it as a launching point for Himalayan treks… the possibilities are endless. Over the four or so days that we’ve been here, we’ve met so many interesting people and had so many interesting conversations, and it’s all so fluid that I don’t even know the names of half those people, much less have contact information for them. We always just say, “I’ll see you around town!” The assumption is that you will stay longer than planned, because it’s just that kind of place. Indeed, it reminds me a lot of Ubud, in that sense.

That is, in fact, the problem we are facing at the moment: whether to continue on as planned to Tanzania for ten days, or to spend the next few weeks here, volunteering with Tibetan refugees, doing yoga, and getting to know the community and area here.

In the meantime, I have talked Willa into going to yoga classes with me, and I’m hopeful that we have a new convert, or will have one by the time we leave. We have taken a Tibetan cooking class from a really cool Tibetan guy – Sangye – during which we had a very interesting conversation about the Tibetan/Chinese situation. We have enjoyed really good international food, and appreciated the proliferation of good coffee and adorable coffeeshops (think Seattle) here in McLeod.  We’ve hiked up to a waterfall with an amazing view and enjoyed the fresh mountain air. We have developed favorite cafes and restaurants where we are friends with the Tibetan owners and staff, and we hang out in the evenings watching documentaries and movies about Tibet (last night was Seven Years in Tibet), chatting afterwards with the other international viewers. We’ve visited the Dalai Lama’s temple and the complex his residence is in, though at the moment he’s in California, I think. Unfortunately. I would love to meet him, but it seems a little unrealistic.

Second semester senior year (so, this time last year), I took a class on Tibetan Buddhism. At the time, I couldn’t have imagined I would be here, in what some call “Little Lhasa.” (Lhasa is the capital of Tibet.) It’s been so amazing to see how much of what I learned then comes back now that I am here, surrounded by Tibetan Buddhism and culture. I frankly didn’t realize I’d remember so many details, but I appreciate it.

Stay tuned to see where we go next – we don’t even know!

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Haridwar/Rishikesh: Buddy Om

April 30, 2009 · 2 Comments

Everyone remembers ‘Buddy Jesus’ from Kevin Smith’s brilliant religious satire film, Dogma, right? Who could forget that hilarious parody of the commercialization of religion and spirituality?

Ladies and gentlemen, I have found its match in Hinduism/eastern spirituality. As soon as we arrived, Buddy Jesus sprang to mind. Willa describes it as Disneyland spiritualism. Welcome to Rishikesh.

We spent our first night there at some friends’ ashram in Haridwar, about twenty kilometers south of Rishikesh, a town comparable in Hindu religious importance to Varanasi, though the latter tends to be more well-known among foreigners. Thus, Haridwar is more aimed at domestic spiritual tourists, giving it a slightly more “Indian” feel; that is to say, there is much less English, and, while we are of course objects of stares, we are not the primary objects of touts.

Located on the Ganges River (or, the Ganga, as it is called here), far in the north, before it gets really dirty, Haridwar has little to recommend it other than a ton of temples and ashrams, only some of which are impressive. The real sight, though, is the sunset aarti ritual, which, I believe, takes place all along the Ganga, at last in the north. Aarti consists of lots of prayers and the release of lots of poojas by devotees into the river. Regardless of your religious affliations, this is a beautiful sight, because the poojas consist of coconut-like shells filled with flowers and other various offerings, with a tiny candle-like paper that allows for several minutes of flame. Thus, as it takes place at dusk, the aarti looks like tons of small flames floating down the river. Needless to say, this is beautiful, and I had some amazing pictures of it that none of us shall ever see, thanks to yesterday’s events.

We also made friends with an Indian family from Delhi who were up there for a few days, which was really fun.

After a rather chill day exploring somewhat sleepy Haridwar, being followed by some obnoxious teenaged boys, having a water bottle stolen by a money, and hiking up a mountain to check out some very popular temples, we headed up to Rishikesh for the hardcore spiritual tourism. We walked into town and the first thing I saw was a guy in an “Om” t-shirt. (It didn’t say “Om,” but rather the Hindi character for “Om,” which becomes recognizable very quickly here, as it’s written on everything wherever people are Hindu.) Then I began to notice all the stalls were full of spiritual memorabilia. The signs posted everywhere were for spiritualism classes, meditation, yoga, reiki, various gurus and ashrams, and so on and so forth. Every hotel, no matter how modest, offered yoga classes. Across the river from Lakshman Jhula, you could see what our guidebook termed “wedding-cake temples,” an apt description, though I thought the temples were less attractive than wedding cakes. It was a bit of a letdown, frankly, given that I’ve seen some gorgeous temples in India. These were brightly colored, but clearly products of the last forty years or so, since the Beatles popularized Rishikesh as a spiritual destination after their trip to the Maharishi Ashram (now abandoned). In addition to all of this, an entire “town” in Rishikesh, Swarg Ashram, is devoted to ashrams. This means that you walk down the street and pretty much every building/complex is an ashram, where you can go to be spiritual and learn from various swamis/gurus. I’m frankly not even sure how you’d pick one, except on someone’s recommendation. I had wanted to do some yoga, but the sheer volume of yoga classes actually convinced me otherwise, because, given their ubiquity and the fact that we were barely there two days, I had no way of guaranteeing quality or legitimacy. (There are stories of less-than-legitimate experiences.)

Before you think I didn’t enjoy Rishikesh, let me assure you otherwise. Rishikesh has some great benefits as a result of being a spiritual tourist destination. For the first time in weeks, I was able to have fruit, yogurt, and muesli for breakfast, and real coffee, and real bread! (Most of India eats white bread when not eating chapatis/rotis/naan/parathas, all of which are good, but sometimes a Western girl wants her thick, soft, whole-grain bread.) For those who head there and want some quality breakfasts,  I highly recommend Devraj Coffee Corner, overlooking the Lakshman Jhula bridge. Just next door is a pretty good bookstore, with another one just down the street.

Additionally, the natural surroundings in Rishikesh are stunning. There, you are even higher up on the Ganga than in Haridwar, and the Himalayas have begun to surround you in all their height and grandeur. We spent a lovely middle of the day (it was hot, but not as hot as Rajasthan or Delhi, so we were okay with plenty of water) wandering along a riverside path, enjoying the scenery and the hilarious signs advertising all sorts of spiritualism. Once again, lovely pictures that will never be seen. For those going to the area, I recommend staying in High Bank, which is a bit above the city and therefore much quieter and surrounded by nature. It’s a backpacker spot, but it’s really quite lovely, and nothing is as far a walk as it looks (it took no more than twenty minutes walking – or less – to get down to the river and the heart of Lakshman Jhula).

On top of all of this, you can be constantly seranaded by Hari Krishnas singing and playing music and sometimes dancing along. Yes, for the first time in your life, they will not be actively trying to evangelize. After all, they don’t need to; they know you’ll come to them.

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For those interested, Willa is also blogging, now that she’s with me. You can check out her blog either through the link on the sidebar, or here. Like Michal, she’s slightly more diligent than I.

→ 2 CommentsCategories: Haridwar · India · Rishikesh · food · religion · temples · travel
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