Ithaca

This poem was in the first few pages of a novel by Paulo Coelho called The Zahir. While I felt that the novel was just OK (I much prefer The Alchemist, a truly exquisite novel) I love this poem and its message.

Ithaca

When you set out on your journey to Ithaca,

pray that the road is long,

full of adventure, full of knowledge.

The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,

the angry Poseidon—do not fear them:

You will never find such as these on your path

if your thoughts remain lofty, if a fine

emotion touches your spirit and your body.

The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,

the fierce Poseidon you will never encounter,

if you do not carry them within your soul,

if your heart does not set them up before you.

Pray that the road is long.

That the summer mornings are many, when,

with such pleasure, with such joy

you will enter ports seen for the first time;

stop at Phoenician markets,

and purchase fine merchandise,

mother-of-pearl and coral, amber and ebony,

and sensual perfumes of all kinds,

as many sensual perfumes as you can;

visit many Egyptian cities,

to learn and learn from scholars.

Always keep Ithaca in your mind.

To arrive there is your ultimate goal.

But do not hurry the voyage at all.

It is better to let it last for many years;

and to anchor at the island when you are old,

rich with all you have gained on the way,

not expecting that Ithaca will offer you riches.

Ithaca has given you the beautiful voyage.

Without her you would never have set out on the road.

She has nothing more to give you.

And if you find her poor, Ithaca has not deceived you. Wise as you have become, with so much experience, you must already have understood what Ithacas mean.

Constantine Cavafy (1863–1933)

translated by Rae Dalven

Football...

You know, the kind you actually play with your feet?

It never ceases to amaze me at the sheer number of people in the world who love soccer. Being of the American variety, I've never much been one for it and never seem to get how engrossed my darling Europeans, particularly the Scottish One, can be in a game where they almost never score. That being said, I'm a particular fan of basketball, which, one might argue is the most ADD mainstream sport imaginable. I've never much gotten into baseball either, but it is fun to chat and have a beer at the ball park.

The reason I bring this up should be obvious. It's the World Cup and everyone, it seems, has their eyes set on the games in South Africa. I'll be tuning in tomorrow to watch the England v. USA match, because that's just great, isn't it? I've sat in enough pubs in my day to learn how to appreciate the game and the significance of being able to keep up with my pals abroad about who's ranking where in each group.

So here are the questions:

Who are you rooting for?

Who do you think will win?

Update Trifecta

In continuing with my apparent modus operundi for this blog, it's been about a month+ since I've last written. Fair enough. There are plenty of developments, therefore, that I have yet to mention. The pertinent one as it relates to this blog is that I have another trip planned and on the calendar. This fall, I will be going to Morocco for two weeks, followed by a few days in England to visit my cousin who is moving there in August to live at her Grandma's house and then a week on the Emerald Isle where I will get a long overdue visit with the Irish One. I don't think I have to mentioned that I'm thrilled to be going. I managed to get the entire four weeks off, which leads me to my my next development: I got a job. I don't recall to what extent I've mentioned it, but I had been unemployed (first by choice, then by bad timing in a crappy economy) for over two years. Because of this development, two things have occured: 1) I have more money and can acutally afford more trips and 2) I have less time to go on trips because I'm commited to work all the time. Oh, the painful irony of it all. Finally, 3) I've crawled out of my hole. Meaning, I have been playing volleyball on a sports league and making friends who like to do activities that do not include sitting around watching TV. The latter two developments have sucked up most of my free time, turning me into an exhausted sleep-deprived zombie in the evenings. This makes it hard to get up the energy to write about the places I'm going and my thoughts about them. So... there. That's my update and semi-excuse. For anyone who's listening.

St. Patrick

Hills of rolling, endless green. A whisper of an ancient celtic song as the wind whips around your hair. If you're lucky, the sunshine will appear for a brief moment to caress your face as you stare into the long and endless countryside. Ancient stone houses dot the scene and you can't help but be drawn to Emerald Isle in some mystical way, as though the wicked Irish woman from whom you descended has lived in you all along, tucked away, suddenly appearing hundreds of years later, ready to take you home.

I learned recently that there are more Irish-Americans than people who live in Ireland. I am one of them, and although I wish that my bloodline ran more green it does, I can't help but feeling that somewhere in the mix-up, I came out a little more Irish than the rest of us. Even if I could meet my Irish ancestors and found we were nothing alike, I'd like to think that the Irish spirit - a joyous, wild way born of devastation, poverty and racism - lives on through us. We're a family of storytellers and I'd like to think that it's the Irish in us.

This year St. Patrick's Day falls dead-center in the middle of the week. Apparently the infamous Chicago festivities are happening this weekend so as not to inhibit those who love a good romp. It's fair enough, who doesn't want to have a good reason to party with strangers every once in a while? As to what I'll be doing? Well, let's just say there's corned beef and cabbage in the fridge with my name on it and bottle of Irish whiskey on the shelf that may get cracked open, too.

Even though the sun is shining only as it can on a California day, I can't help but wish I could be in Ireland today. There may be a rain storm that blows in and the good weather I hear they've been blessed with this week may subside, but at least I know there would be a pub down the road with a perfectly poured pint, smiling faces and maybe a little music to greet me.

"May the Irish hills caress you. May her lakes and rivers bless you. May the luck of the Irish enfold you. May the blessings of St. Patrick behold you" - Irish Blessing

Did You Know...

I originally thought of naming this blog "A Tramp Abroad." But I wasn't sure if people would get it.

Images of a Shanghai Market

A bustling market:

All kinds of different crazy meats. Chicken feet and heads are common all throughout China

Cured meats hanging all over this alcove:

More of the dried meats:

And finally, the piece de resistance, the pig face in a bag:

Shanghai

I started writing about Shanghai right after I put up my last entry vowing to get my thoughts down about the China trip. Unfortunately life has a way of taking control of your plans sometimes and I found myself attending to more important things. Our family friend who has been battling lymphoma took a turn for the worst over the past few weeks and eventually died a couple of days ago. Lucky for me the universe aligned and sent me my best friend up for an unexpected visit right when it happened, which gave us a lot of strength and something to keep our minds off of this terrrble loss. Today I finally got a chance to take a look at the little bit I had written about Shanghai and decided to post it. I'll do my best to get some more up soon.

When I used to imagine what Shanghai was like, I always had this 1920s image in my mind. I imagined art deco façades with an Asian flair; wealthy colonizing elites having their Asian adventure in posh clubs. I’d always imagined it as one of those world cities – a crossroads where cultures came together.

In many ways, the place I had imagined was there. During our trip, we found that Shanghai was in fact the most Western of the cities we visited and home to a plethora of global corporations and businesses. In its recent history, Shanghai had been broken apart into districts by its colonizers – the French, the British and the Americans. The most famous of these is the former French Concession, an area that still causes the Chinese to lose ‘face’ when discussed. It was an area the French had controlled and is characterized by the strong French architectural influence but, like everything in China, is slowly being overtaken by time, development and change – that ubiquitous lady busy defining modern China.

The thing that seems to stay the same in this city - and define it, really - is that indescribable global flavor of a big city. It’s that posh thing about Shanghai that you can’t quite put your finger on, the thing that makes you know you’re somewhere special. No surprise here, I liked it. It was the kind of place I could wrap my head around. But I guess that's to be expected from a city girl at heart.