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Little Infinities

9/29/2018

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There are certain inevitabilities on the the road to one’s destination. Inevitabilities that travelers would often rather skip, but whose existence is the barrier between the Things that Everyone Does and the The Things a Few of Us Do. They’re the tiny little inconveniences that add up to a whole that stop so many in their tracks. These discomforts that stand in the way of our destinations - the long, endless flights, the dry recycled air, the dragging of suitcases, the crying baby on a 15 hour flight, the pat downs, and the endless days - they are the rite of passage into life on the road. They exhaust the traveler. They frighten the vacationer. And, eventually, like all rites of passage, they bring us to a new place at the end. It’s in the midst of this in-between place, the place between who we are and who we will become, that, if we’re lucky enough and we’re passing through with our eyes open, we can find perfect little infinities.  

On this trip, at the end of a crooked, dry sleep, I awoke to this one: a perfect soundless bed of clouds, lying over an endless sea, somewhere between the old continent that we’d left behind and the new one we were approaching. An endless ripple of perfect violets and blues melting into an endless horizon. ​

This is the reward for the traveler: an effortless, impossible beauty in the midst of a series of inevitabilities; that little infinity that appears out of nowhere that reminds us of the spectacular beauty that surrounds us. And the ability of every place, even the old and familiar, to feel new again. 
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Jordan Vignettes

7/18/2018

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I can’t believe it’s been almost a month since I returned from my trip to the Middle East!  Seriously, where did the time go? I feel like it’s been months since I teased the trip, and then left you all hanging.  I guess that’s what happens when you’re bogged down with important tasks like binge watching the second season of GLOW, obsessing over Dowton Abby (boy, am I late to this game! No spoilers please!), and planning your next trip (yeah, you read that right). Busy with all the important stuff, it seems!
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Jordan at a Glance

Being in Jordan was an utter pleasure. It helped that our tour guide was an absolute joy of a person, who, I’m pretty sure, didn’t know how give people a bad tour.  His heart was always in it, and he made sure we were comfortable and happy, too.

On our first night in Amman, we went the oldest falafel stand in Jordan, and ate, just as the king does, in plastic stools on the side of the road with our hands.

Then it was to Jerash, the ancient roman ruins - as big as Ephesus in Turkey!  But fewer people. The highlight there - a set of bagpipers in one of the stadiums.  What a kick! You never know what you’ll see when you’re on the road!

Off to the Dead Sea for a float.  We bobbed like corks and covered our skin in the black tar mud known for its “healing properties”.  The sea isn’t really a sea at all, but a hyper-salinated lake whose salt levels are so high, that you can only float on it, and nothing can live in it.  

Then to Mount Nebo to see the view of the “Promised Land” as Moses supposedly had done.  I couldn’t help but be taken by view, and wonder if all the suffering has been worth such a small bit of land.

Off to Little Petra, welcoming port of the Nabatean people, who carved their cities out of the sand. A quiet dusk-time viewing and a fascinating peek into the lives of the people who built the wonder of Petra.

Petra. A sight to behold, hidden amongst the natural stone of the surrounding mountains.  It’s a walk to the Treasury, the incredible orange facade, rising out stones. It’s the iconic place, the image of Petra.  The home to the holy grail, for us Indiana Jones fans. Then there’s the rest of Petra to explore, with a quick ascent up to the Monastery, an unexpected, but breathtaking site, as rewarding as the Treasury.  It’s hard to believe that we nearly missed our chance to see it all - the rain in other parts of the area were causing flash floods through Petra and the site was closed the day before and when we arrived first thing in the morning.

Next it was to the desert in Wadi Rum, where we slept at a Bedouin camp and ate a traditional meal that is baked in the ground, with layers of rice, vegetables and meat.  Delicious. in the morning, it was an optional hot air balloon ride over the desert. It was my first time on a hot air balloon and I was more than a little terrified! The beauty was outrageous, which helped my nerves.  The hot air balloon captain was charming and had discovered hot air balloons when he was in the United States, and thought “why isn’t that in Jordan?” (Rum Balloon)

Just a few more stops now - a respite on a private yacht on the Red Sea.  A relaxing day of snorkeling and an incredible view of Jordan, Egypt, Saudi Arabia and Israel all at once.

Finally the Baptism site of Jesus on the River Jordan.  A surreal and fascinating experience, as we watched bathers immerse themselves just a few feet away across the border in Israel.

Finally, we’re off to cross the border into Israel.  The heightened tensions and shelling in the north of the country are cause for us to adjust where we are crossing border. It’s a bit of maneuvering for our group, and off we go, through no man’s land into Israel for the next part of our journey.

It will prove to be a different land, indeed.
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Jordan Vignettes

Morning Wake-up Call
It’s impossible to talk about Jordan without thinking of the desert. That’s what most of Jordan is, after all – a long, outstretched vastness of desert. We arrived in Amman in the middle of the night, and like, most modern airports, we found ourselves on a long car ride to our hotel into the center of town, so we couldn’t really get a feel for the desert until the next morning. 


I must’ve fallen asleep around 1 or 2 AM when we finally settled into our hotel, and it wasn’t more than a few short hours later that I was jarred awake by a roaring sound in my room. It was still pitch black, with the clock blinking at around 4AM when the speakers began blaring the call to prayer.  

​I have to tell you, in the middle of darkness, in a foreign land, I was scared.  

And then I was overwhelmed. 
And then I was intrigued. 
And then, I was tired.  And went to bed. 

​I can’t really described the way traveling thrusts you into a reality not quite your own.  It doesn’t always happen immediately; sometimes you’re the proverbial frog in the water, lounging in your pot, until suddenly you realize the water is boiling.  Other times, it takes you by the shoulders, shakes you awake from the daze of your tiny reality, insisting to you that what you think is The Way Things Are, is really not that at all. 

Hearing the voice of the caller ringing through my ears just before sunset was a startling reminder that were weren’t in Kansas anymore, Toto.

So when I awoke again, with the morning having fully arrived, the sun shining and the colors of the desert before me, I knew we’d come to a different land; and I was ready.
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Wadi Rum 
There are some places that words don’t do justice, and most of those places are rarely of man’s design.  
​

Sure, the Taj Mahal is exquisite, in the almost unreal way it sits across the sky.  And yes, Macchu Picchu has a mystical stillness when the morning fog hangs over the valley.  No one will tell you the Sagrada de Familia isn’t special in a cavernous, physical prayer to God.  

But nature has its ways.  And usually those ways are the silent, stoic types.  The places in nature that enrapture us, do so in a way that knows its ancient place in the Order of Things.  It’s been standing here against the backdrop of time, watching us as we come and go through millennia, its lifespan so much longer than our own, that we can scarcely see it changing. 

When I’m riding in the back of a truck, speeding through the desert of Wadi Rum, I imagine that this is the Middle East of human history. I see the sun streaming through the clouds in the distance, and I imagine the stories of ancient texts coming to life.  The wind whips through your hair and the sand swirls around you and you a part of something that’s been happening here long before you, or anyone else showed up. 

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​The Bedouins still understand the desert.  The government is slowing moving them from the nomadic life; a life which is problematic in the modern world. So even though they’re slowly settling into government–sponsored towns, their connection to the desert is deep.  They drive us on their trucks, seeming to navigate through a roadless vista. But the road is there; they can see it better than I, and suddenly we’re turning a corner around one of the giant rock formations that dot the scene to a black goat haired tent.  

Abu means father.  If a man has a son, his honorary is Abu.  So when we enter Abu’s tent, we know it’s here for us, but the sentiment of the not-so-ancient Bedouins remains.  Abu gives us tea and plays a song from his string instrument; we shop. We hear the wind whipping outside the walls of the tent.  It isn’t exactly what it used to be, but the feeling is still there. The Bedouins are still connected to the desert.
​ 

The sunset in the desert feels different.  It isn’t like the gentle vastness of a sunset over the sea, or the slow creep and long good night of a sunset over the mountains. Sunset in the desert is stealthy and sudden; it’s stunning beauty subtly reminding us of the harshness of the waterless expanse.  The chill of the night creeps in and cools the intense heat of a desert day. 

Sunset in Wadi Rum is for silence.  The light and the scene demand it by their presence.  As we sit on rocks staring out at stone giants, it’s impossible not to be enveloped by the scene. Bright skies, dotted with clouds, melt into golden rays, which flow into a soft dusk.  ​​​

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My Friend Tony, 1956 - 2018

6/9/2018

6 Comments

 
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I spent much of yesterday in a haze.  

By 6am, I was up and had heard the news of the loss of Anthony Bourdain to suicide.  I was immediately heartbroken and continue to be so.  

I recently wrote about the untimely death of Kate Spade, the way it was making me feel and the way the loss seemed to penetrate the popular culture.  The way losing Kate Spade felt, at least to me, was like a loss of Someone Who Meant Something to Society.  She was a representation of a generation and a kind of icon for a woman in a certain time and a certain place. 

But losing Anthony Bourdain has felt like losing a friend. 

It's hard to put into words the way I felt about Anthony Bourdain.  I should probably say from the start, that I called him Tony, as all of his friends did.  I'm not the sort to have illusions about celebrities; I've seen the business and know that they are really just people, and no, they in fact, do not have any clue who you are.  But somehow, Tony seemed to seep into my personal culture in a way that I have trouble even describing now.  

Maybe it was because it felt like he was one of us.  

The epitaphs of the past days have often focused on Tony the Chef, but I first knew him as Tony the Traveler. He once said that when he achieved fame unexpectedly, that he had a lot of choices about what to do next. He figured that the best job would be to travel the world, so he began making a travel television series, called "Cooks Tour".  Later, he would move to travel channel and begin work on "No Reservations" - a period that I believe was his best work. Most recently, it was "Parts Unknown".

Now a food show, the beginning years were all travel.  Travel in a way that was so tangibly different than anything else that was on television.  Television created by a Traveler (he would hate that description), and told in a way that felt real and honest and true.  Tony was one of us.  He was one of those people who was going out into the world and not giving a f@ck about what hotel he was staying at, or how luxurious the pool was, or how he could blow his money shopping all day at the souvenir shops. He went to the places that were hard, to know how people really lived, and what's more, to understand them.  Food was always there, and later it would become the center of his show.  But in the beginning it was just telling people's stories.  

That's really who Tony was.  A storyteller.  A writer.

A lover of underground rock music and Irish poets, of filmaking and food. He showed us how to love life, and how to hate it.  He showed us that the ugly, harsh and disgusting parts of the human experience could be valuable, meaningful and, often, delicious. He wasn't afraid of reality. He wasn't afraid of pain. 

I've had so many thoughts in the last day about Tony.  I first thought about his daughter, Ariane, and his ex-wife Ottavia who he married after being caught in the middle of a war in Lebanon.  I thought about Eric Ripert, his best friend and the one who he cheekily nicknamed "The Ripper". I thought about his girlfriend, Asia Argento, and how they had seemed so in love, but also so off-balance in a recent episode of the show. 
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I felt shock and loss. I think of those days, when I was just out of college, in the midst of a recession trying to find my place in life and seeing Tony make television that made some sense to me.  I saw a person who was wickedly funny, with a sharp edge and a heart of gold. I saw a guy who was raised right, was smart as hell and fully "got it" when it came to the big stuff in life.  And it's true that Tony always skirted a dark edge: he loved angsty music and dark characters.  He spoke about his drug-addiction and his self destruction.  He loved the dark fringes of society and he had a little twinkle in his eye when he could make people in the mainstream wince a bit at all these dark things.  

But eventually, we all loved him for his darkness, his humour, his intelligence.  We loved the way he loved food, even the discardable bits, because it felt so real.  Tony connected us to the world in a way that few have the courage to do in American society. 

I will miss him.  He was truly one of a kind.  

When Tony was stuck in Beirut after war broke out during filming, he spent some time in a hotel, being closely guarded and waiting for repatriation by the US military. Eventually, he got access to the kitchen and made a stew.  Time and again, when Tony needed comfort, he would make a stew.  He always loved "peasant food" and would marvel at stews and soups, the way you could take the rejected bits, some average wine, and cook them for a few hours and something magical would happen. He said that everyone should know how to make beef stew (and roast a chicken).

So I'm going to make stew for Tony.  I may even find some Vietnamese food and eat that too.  Maybe I'll listen to the Ramones or Iggy Pop while I do.  It won't be the same without him, but at least it will be for him.  

Tony.  My friend I never really knew. A bright light gone out.  Safe journey my friend, wherever you're traveling to next.  I hope we meet there someday. 

---

A note about suicide:  I can't help but feel frustrated at the mechanical way in which the suicide prevention hotline is shared behind every article or post or news clip that has covered the death of both Anthony Bourdain and Kate Spade.  It feels like such a detached state from the real experience of depression and suicidal thoughts.  Let's be clear here: anyone who is in this emotional place is somewhere deep and dark.  They're not always able to take care of themselves and the feelings behind these behaviors are seemingly untenable for them.  So I want to say this: if you are in that place where there feels like there is no light and no reprieve, try to remember that you ARE the light.  You are a bright, shining light. Your light shines on people around you, even if you can't see it right now.  Don't give up. This moment will pass.  Tomorrow will come.  Have strength.  Have courage, and, even if you've asked a hundred times, or not at all, ask for help.  The world is better with you in it.  

https://afsp.org/find-support/ 
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-TALK (8255)
​Crisis Text Line by texting TALK to 741741.
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    Katie

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