You don't get love, you give it

When I was traveling last year, I read a lot of books.

One of those books was "Shantaram" by Gregory David Roberts. It's a mammoth book, a colossal undertaking of 944 pages that I braved largely because it was based in my newly-adopted hometown of Mumbai (Bombay), India. Like the author, I too had relocated there, though admittedly on much tamer circumstances. I bought the book on the second day of a 9 day trek in Nepal (after realizing Twilight #2 was nowhere to be found). I still shoulder some guilt for having our 16-year old porter Norbu carry it all those miles.

There's a line in the book, where Roberts ends one of the chapters by writing "You don't get love, you give it." At the time, I wrote it off for a cliche statement. But it has stuck with me since that quiet day in May when I read it, and I find myself lately reflecting back on one of the most amazing years of my life, and realizing just how true it is.

I've been fortunate enough to meet people throughout this year, and have experiences, that I would never have had the courage to even attempt in the first place without the support of so many family and friends. I've found myself thinking a lot about giving versus getting love, as I have been lucky enough to be the recipient of so much love, often when I didn't even deserve it.

Selflessly and completely, people have seriously shown me the love this year. And I keep wondering if I've done the same in return.

Several people have asked me what the highlights were of my time abroad, and one of the first things that comes to mind is my experience teaching in Bombay. The children I taught there are amazing, and as much as I love them, I feel like they gave me so much more love, unconditionally and without question, even while having so little, that it wasn't nearly a fair trade (though I did teach them what "totally awesome" meant, so I tried to show my appreciation on some level).

My entire adventure would not have been possible without my friend Sunitha and her husband Ashwyn who welcomed me not as a guest in their home, but as part of their family. I'm yet to figure out a proper repayment for their kindness, generosity, and sharing of their wealth of knowledge about Bombay (specifically its fine foods, both at home and eating out!) To have that time to spend with Sunitha again was priceless; I hope someday I will have a home as awesome as theirs to host them in (and maybe even on a beach, too!) and try and live up to the high bar that is Indian hospitality.

I'm not sure I ever explained how much it meant to me that friends and family came to visit me--Jessie, Bryan, and Randy--and experience the craziness of India firsthand, but the random motorcycle rides in the dark, the beers for breakfast, and the photo collages of food in Nepal and India will not soon be forgotten. For those friends I traveled with outside of India--Libby, Abdullah, Patti, Sarah and Gareth--the nights out in Mykonos, the kufte in Istanbul, the brewery tours in Ireland/Holland, the MeatBowl in Melbourne all still bring a smile to my face.

The list goes on of all the people who have given me so much love: the D-town winos, who got me bacon when I was fresh off the plane back in Denver in August; Annie K, not only for keeping my car but always being there to listen to all my random boy stories; Carolyn for watching my plants and being a shoulder to lean on; my parents for supporting me even when they think I'm crazy (which, I think is a majority of the time); Maria for encouraging me not to get a real job and to travel more; Jeffy Peeps for being my favorite Peoples; Joe for sending me Newsweeks and Economists in the mail; Nanu for telling me that no one would judge me if I decided I hated India and decided to go home early; Phil for hooking us up with Pemba Sherpa in Nepal; and for everyone that sent me a message while I was gone, that I've seen since I've gotten back over coffee, whiskeys, lunches or beers; who read my blog and (hopefully) enjoyed it; it's been amazing for me to have you all along for the ride the last year with me, through the ups and downs, the rik-shaws and the cows, the dance parties and the sunrises.

I come back to the statement again; with all this love I'm getting, is it true that you don't really get it, but give it?

And then, January 8th marked one year since I departed Denver and flew to Mumbai, unsure of what life held for me but extremely excited, apprehensive, and happy. Now I find myself a few days into the new year, feeling similar, but for so many different reasons. My home is again in Denver, though I haven't had my own "home" yet, as I have been so lucky to have friends like Todd, Emily, Angelique, and Patti that have let me lean on them and literally put a roof over my head. For their graciousness, I am ever grateful. I've reconnected with old friends and met new ones, and set down temporary roots with a new job. My wanderlust hasn't waned, but for right now, I am trying to keep it in check (though trips to South Dakota, Minneapolis, Iowa, and soon Phoenix worked themselves into my itinerary quickly in the nearly five months since I've been back).

When I was in India, my friend Jim and I in Denver wrote snail mail letters back and forth (which were a guarantee to wipe out any inkling of homesickness each time I got one). In one of those letters in February, I remember writing him about how happy I was at that moment, being in India, floundering but exploring, pushing my boundaries, encompassed by novelty and sensory overload and cows and garbage and color. I'm pretty sure the next day I was probably cursing India and all its headaches and shortcomings and lack of infrastructure. But at that moment, as I wrote to my good buddy, my perspective wasn't tainted. It was filled with love of my situation, my experience, my adventure. I was letting the love in, and giving it back.

The journey I set out on last year may have come full circle, as a new one is just beginning. And for that I am extraordinarily grateful. Because of all the things I learned, one of the most important was to not be afraid to give love. I've learned that if you do give it, you may find yourself lucky enough to get it, too. And I hope, out of all the books I've read over the years, I carry that message I came across in Shantaram with me in all my adventures yet to come.

Back to Amsterdam

AMSTERDAM July 4th - July 7th, 2009

It'd been 10.5 years since I'd been in Amsterdam.

My first visit, in January 1999, was three short days on the beginning of a three week tour of major art-stops in Europe. Touring with a group from college, we spent the brief few days hitting the tourist haunts and the nights dancing before our quick departure. I was excited to return, older, (hopefully) much wiser, and curious about the city I had been to long ago, heard so much about, but hadn't spent quality time.

We easily navigated from the train station to our hotel, which was in a great location near a beautiful canal (though it isn't hard to be near a canal here, admittedly). Patti and I wasted no time in grabbing a drink while Reed wanted some down time, and found a great outdoor haunt for whiskey and people watching. It was hot, and the pub had a baby pool one could wade in if so inclined.

Street view of Amsterdam.

Amsterdam is a city mostly at or slightly below sea level, and small land-wise, so most people get around on bicycles, which was evident immediately. After hanging for a bit, I decided to head out to find a gig that promised bluegrass/rock/punk/metal/folk/accordion tunes, which to me sounded like a perfect blend. Navigating the tram alone, I missed my stop and hoofed it back to the area I was looking for, only to finally reach the destination, knock on the decrepit looking door, and be told by a man playing up to Amesterdam cliches that the gig had moved, literally, near the stop I had accidentally got off on. I shrugged and began my walk back when I passed a very small, cute bar that could have passed for a simple but charming cafe. A man in his 60s started chatting me up, and before I knew it I was sitting with a few other Dutch men, spending the 4th of July in the company of a delightful entourage.

Soon I abandoned my plans to find the ecclectic gig, and settled in to bourbon and gingers, great conversation, and taking over the jukebox with my newfound Dutch friends. Turns out the owner was selling the bar in a few days, and it was a kind of last hurrah with him and some of his friends and neighbors.

My Dutch 4th of July buddies

I also learned what "large bike" or rather "bike that really is a huge wheel barrow"means in Dutch: "Bakfeets". A photo below:

Around 3 a.m. I headed back to my hotel, in a pricy but safe cab, having had an enjoyable evening with new friends who I likely would never see again but was so glad I had met.

The next morning Patti and I headed to the Museum of Bags and Purses which featured not only famous styles of purses and bags over the last 500 years, but bags from the likes of Madonna and Hillary Clinton and purses from all over the world. Admittedly a girly activity, I loved visiting it.

I swear I had a purse like this in 6th grade!

Who doesn't want a diamond Diet Coke purse? Really?

Found Hooch Street!

I spent the afternoon in the large Vondelpark in central Amsterdam, reading, writing, and listening to live music. Sitting there on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, it reminded me a lot of bein back in Denver. I also befriended Ghengis, quite the large pooch.

This dog was awesome!

Texas musician playing in Vondelpark in Amsterdam.

That evening we had a delicious dinner at an Indonesian restaurant, then headed out on a Canal Tour of the city, sailing in and out of the cities storied canals, while taking in the famous, and infamous, landmarks of the city.

Sporting some rad hats

Like glass.

Can't quite recall how I captured this.

Finally the next day we rented bicycles and Patti and I headed up first to a floating flower market and then to a huge weekend market packed with people and goods ranging from books to purses to antiques to clothes to fresh-squeezed orange juice. We then met up with the sleeping-in Reed, and took in another market nearby our hotel while sampling some delicious Dutch ice cream. Eventually we made it over to the Heineken Brewery, and enjoyed a delightful tour with not one but two complimentary brews.

Sooo touristy, I love it!

Pretty brewery stained glass windows.

That's right, put 'em up.

After the tour we continued on throughout the city on our bikes, but after some time we realized we were lost and Patti took an unfortunate tumble from her bike. There were police actually nearby who helped, and she was able to get up, brush off, and continue on as we finally found our way back. We took it easy the rest of the night, and I stayed up into the late hours doing much needed laundry in the creepy hotel basement laundromat.

On our last morning when Reed and I went to return our bikes it was pouring rain. We had been blessed up to that point to have had beautiful weather, so one morning of getting soaked seemed a small price to pay (though I did try in vain to blow dry my jeans before leaving for the airport).

It had been a fun adventure with Patti and Reed, but I was now excited to leave The Netherlands and have a few days of somewhat solo travel in London--another place I had not been for 10 1/2 years.

Dublin does not disappoint

Dublin, June 29th - July 2nd, 2009

Ireland.

A destination I had looked forward to for at least a year and a half. Initially, I had planned to celebrate my 30th birthday here, in the land famous for the whiskey I love and the red-bearded men I fancy. Instead, I found myself there two weeks after my birthday, meeting my friend Patti from Denver and her son Reed.

I made it to Dublin with relative ease in the afternoon, navigating from the airport to the bus to the hotel smoothly, but having just missed Patti and Reed due to a late flight. Undeterred, I attempted to walk to meet them at the restaurant they were at, but instead, feeling a bit lost, hailed a friendly van-taxi driven by a delightful man. In a few minutes I found them, and after an unsuccessful venture to the Guiness Storehouse, which was closed for the afternoon, young Reed decided to go back to the hotel while Patti and I caught up over a few beers.

Senor with our first brews in Dublin.

It wasn't long before our wandering landed us to the unmistakenly touristy yet enjoyable Quay's Pub with live music played by a duo consisting of some kind of flutist and guitarist, and where my Magic Greek hat seemed to pinpoint me as the Lady Most Likely to be Willing to Dance with the Old Men. Never shying away from an opportunity to dance with old men before, I quickly obliged.

Delightful Irish jig players.

We soon continued on, first landing in a bar/club called Noo Bar that was having a free BBQ and met two brothers who owned a small pub in the area called O'Donoghue's and again we shifted there. We hung for an hour or so, with them telling us to look them up the next day, and knowing well we wouldn't. Dublin in a few hours time had already shown promised charm.

After getting some needed sustenance the next morning:

we headed again to the Guiness Storehouse, which is one of the best beer tours I've been done, which I think to that point in my life consisted of four. It was self-guided, there was an indoor waterfall, and best of all you sip your cold brew at the end of the tour in a window-filled room overlooking the city. It also doesn't hurt to have your beer toppeed off with a foamy four-leaf clover.

Hops on the tour.

The three of us, very contented.

Oh Guinness! You great brew.

This was pretty sweet.

I've been a long fan of the Guiness advertising campaigns, and was most impressed with the display they had of all the marketing tactics over the years that impress on so many of our minds that, yes indeed, life is better with a Guiness.

Later that afternoon, Patti had arranged a short bus tour out of the city where we toured Maldive Castle and admired its beautiful grounds, and had delicious coffee and dessert in the grass. We also drove to one of the richest smaller towns outside of Dublin, Howth, and even got a view of islands? in Dublin Bay where Bono and S'nead o'Connor have residences. This small taste outside of the city was enough for me to envision a trip where I returned, car rented, three weeks of open road before me, and nothing but Ireland to explore.

On the grounds of Maldive castle.

Coffee and castles, in my element.

View of where Bono lives, way over Yonder. I decided not to call on him this time around.

After an early dinner of fish n chips, that night Patti and I attempted to see some live music, and went to a Lonely Planet recommended pub, Hughes Bar, that did indeed have music, but it was more a private practice session, and the bar was so bloody hot that after one pint we were ready to head back in for the night.

The next day I made it to the Jameson distillery though, where I earned my diploma in Jameson tasting. Plus, you know it's going to be an interesting day once you've had your first cocktail before 11. I met Reed and Patti at Wagamama for lunch, and wondered why there isn't one in Denver. We then proceeded to tour the Book of Kells on the beautiful and famed Trinity College campus (but sorry, no photos inside).

Who says I wasn't studying important things in Dublin?

Our final night in Dublin we had a delicious dinner at a tapas place, and an interesting interaction with a passerby who asked if he could have some of our food (we were sitting at an outdoor table), and before we could react, stole food off our plate and ran. The owner spotted this, and brought us some food to replace what was snatched. We wrapped up the night in Temple Bar area again, but this time were not too into the bar, and after watching our favorite street musicians for the third time in three days, turned in.

Think bluegrass/funk/rock/fun.

I'd seen plenty of Dublin in a few days, and my short time there did make me realize I will return to Ireland when I have more time and a chance to get beyond the city limits. I was ready to move on to The Netherlands where I knew the people would be tall and I hadn't been in over 10 years.

Part of the beauty just outside of Dublin.

No worries, if you don't come back to Ireland, he'll cut you.

Santorini, its sunsets and Captain Marcos

June 18th-June 20th, 2009

Whereas Mykonos was fun and beautiful, Santorini was beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Arriving at the port, you are surrounded by rock face that seemingly shoots straight up--and sure enough, soon enough that is what you drive up to get to your hotel.

A popular spot for couples and honeymooners, it was appropriate that we crashed the party here, but it was also a welcome calm from Mykonos. More than anything for me, Santorini was marked by gorgeous sunsets and great food.

I seriously miss the feta and those Greek salads.

Santorini also has breathtaking beaches, but we didn't sunbathe on any here. We did see some that had the famous red sand though

Being rather spread out, the best way to see Santorini is again by renting a scooter or 4-wheeler. Our second 4-wheeler was just as fun as the first, and perhaps more comical as it did not have reverse so we had to push it everytime we wanted to back up.

One of my favorite stops on Santorini was Captain Marcos' restaurant. Our friend Jorgos that we had met on Mykonos used to live on Santorini and gave us the general location, and we were able to search it out. Basically, it is Captain Marcos and his wife's house, and we were the only people there, but they graciously obliged making us lunch of fresh (fried) fish, Greek salad, excellent white wine, and bread. (I think it was at this point my pants started getting much more snug).


We spent the rest of the day hitting up two wineries, spying on a cliff side wedding, and walking along a beautiful beach.


Before the day was over, we decided to drive up to Oia, the northernmost part of the island reknowned for its sunsets. Finding a poolside hotel, we sat back and enjoyed the amazing view.


The next day we joined a tour group for all day tour of Santorini, where we visited the Prophet Elias' Monastery, which is the highest point of the island and built in 1711, as well as Pygos Village.

Our tour continued with a boat ride to an active volcano that we got to hike around on for a bit, and also some hot springs that you could jump into from the boat (Libby took the plunge, I resisted based on my sub-par swimming skills).


Following a great seafood lunch of shrimp souvlaki, we boated over to again see the sunset at Oia. However, we landed at the base of the cliff, but had the option to take a donkey up the hill.

Of course, we took up that offer.

I am not sure if I have ever laughed as hard as when we rode the donkeys; the lady next to me was freaking out, and then the guy leading mine kept spanking the other donkeys. Overall, it was a high level of hilarity. However, we were a bit disappointed it did not bring us ALL The way to the top.

The evening wound down with more fun cocktails and this time, a windmill accenting our sunset.

Libby in the window giving a holla!

That night we were hungry for Mexican and despite our better judgment tried some Greek Mexican food. The guacamole was great, but the next day those choices were not quite so good. We left Santorini via ferry, with wine-filled, 4-wheeled memories and soon were to land on the mainland to see what Athens had in store for us.

Adios Turkey Hola Greek Islands

Paros & Mykonos; You only turn 30 once and have to Make the Dance
June 14 to 18th, 2009

When Libby and I talked and planned our trip, I had only one request--I wanted to go to Mykonos on my birthday. The only context I had for this was that it was a really good place to go out, they had good wine, and great beaches. Sounded good enough to me.

We left Kusadasi via Ferry early on the 14th, and with my second Twilight book in tow, had a few hour ride to the island of Samos, where we switched ferries to get to Mykonos but not before we had a delicious pizza lunch and some fried feta cheese.

It was already good to be in Greece.

With vistas like this, there is no room for complaints

Several chapters of "New Moon" (AKA Twilight Book #2) later, we arrived on the island of Paros where we were to spend one night.

Paros did not disappoint.

We stayed near the water, and leaving our guidebook behind, wandered the narrow streets and stumbled upon a beautiful, quaint church that was holding a service, and soon after came across Pebble Bar, with one of the most beautiful sunset views I had ever seen.



We enjoyed the sunset, and the wine, and on a recommendation of the owner, walked to have dinner at a small seafood restaurant that had no other customers, and thus the old man working treated us like royalty, bringing us Grappa shots for free (a Greek liquor) and leaving us very, very full. A bit too much wine and grappa later, we headed back to our hotel but not before playing some mean soccer with some teenage boys in the street with a lemon (I scored two goals).

As my 30th birthday dawned the next morning, I took advantage of the nice weather to take a short run before heading off to a delicious brunch, which consisted, among other things, a waffle covered with Nutella. I figure on my birthday, I can get away with anything.

We did a little more exploring and shopping that morning before we caught our next ferry to Mykonos, and most importantly, I bought the next Twilight book, "Eclipse". Happy Birthday to me!

Upon arrival in Mykonos, you are greeted by masses of people from surrounding hotels and hostels wanting to recruit your business. We already had a reservation, but we liked this guy:

After settling in to our place, we decided to walk into town; but it turns out our hotel was a bit "rural" and the walk took some time, but we were rewarded with beautiful scenes such as this along the way.

Having an early birthday dinner, we met an American couple from Alabama who had been coming to Mykonos for 18 years. The woman, Christine, was quite the southern diva and we were very entertained by her company, and her husband bore an uncanny resemblance to Trent Lott.

We then sauntered over to rent a four-wheeler, but not before we saw this fellow on the boardwalk:

Driving a four-wheeler was one of my favorite things we did on the islands. Not to mention that it made us laugh to know end that it was a bit tricky learning to drive it--and put gas in it. I also had some technical difficulties putting my helmet on correctly


As we headed back to our rural villa, we had a deep desire to go out that night because A) we were in Mykonos and B) it was my birthday. One small problem was transportation, because we did not want to drive our precious orange 4-wheeler if we were going to have some cocktails. Determined, at midnight we headed to the driveway, hoping against hope that in the dark, the town bus would pass and pick us up.

Just when I was succombing to the fact that maybe tonight was not our night, Maria, co-owner of the Villa, rolls up in her 15-passenger van and exclaims "Oh! You girls going to go make the dance!? Oh! I give you ride! You meet nice boys, Yes?!"

Thus, my birthday was extended into the wee hours, we met a delightful Dutch couple who shared some drinks with us, we later met some otehr friends, danced on a few tables, and completed the night at 7 a.m. with a chocolate croissant from a great small Greek bakery.

Our Dutch friends

After 4 hours of sleep, it was time to do the most important thing: Hit the beach. We 4-wheeled it to Super Paradise beach, which as you can tell, was fantastic:


After several hours on the beach, we headed back, continued trying Greek foods and loved them, and the next day headed to Paradise Beach, perhaps the most famous beach on Mykonos because of its party-time atmosphere. It was fun, but Super Paradise was preferred. Our last night in Mykonos consisted of me trying several cocktails that were no comparison to bourbon and ginger ale, and Libby becoming a fan of the Gin Fizz. Another late night, we decided Mykonos was fun for it food and its frolicking, but it was definitely time the next day to head to Santorini.