Friday, August 17, 2012

The Roads of Siem Reap

I had a really fabulous trip touring the temples in and around Siem Reap, and virtually all of them by bicycle. I really think that touring by bicycle is the way to see and experience the country if one has the time and the motivation. At least I think that was true for me (in my limited experience).

My itinerary went something like this:

On my first full day I rented a "town" bike (for $1) and rode around the city of Siem Reap. I also took a tuk tuk (that sounds and looks kind of funny) out to Tonle Sap for the requisite boat tour of the floating villages. A couple of other points of interest during that day made for a nice entry.
 



My third day I took a bike tour out to Beng Mealea, 75 km or so Northeast of Siem Reap (by backroad) at the edge of Phnom Kulen National Park. I was the only one who signed up, so it was just Sum (the guide) and me. Beng Mealea is a 12th-century temple that was rediscovered and excavated from its jungle home in the 1990s, though landmines and lousy roads made it a visit only for the most intrepid until about 5 years ago or so (or so I am told). It's a truly magical experience rambling through the rough ruins of this jungle-encroached temple, especially after a long (hot and sweaty!) bike ride through beautiful countryside.

On the Road to Beng Mealea

Magical "Courtyard" at Beng Mealea

The ruins of Beng Melea
Day four, another bike tour with Sum; this time one other person signed up, a lovely young woman from Holland (whose partner was in Hospital with Dengue Fever--ouch!). The three of us had a great time touring the temples of Angkor Archaeological Park, starting with the immense and stunning Angkor Wat. There is a really good reason why this temple is represented on the Cambodian flag. We then rode our bikes along a portion of "the great wall of Cambodia" (as Sum would say) that surround Angkor Thom, then a visit to famous and remarkable Bayon, followed by lunch (no crickets or ants today), then the unfinished (tall pyramid temple of) Ta Keo, followed by a ride through the back gate (and a very narrow trail populated largely by folks leaving and going to work at the temples on their motorcycles and bikes) to Ta Prohm, whose majestic trees vie with the structure, and in fact infiltrate it!

Angkor Wat--the tallest tower

Riding the wall around Angkor Thom 

Banyon Face

 
                                                                                 
                                                                                                                     The Mysterious Ta Prohm!
Lunch! 
The seriously steep Ta Keo



Afternoon commute to Ta Prohm

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Learning to Use a Compass

For my 50 th birthday last year a friend of mine gave me a compass, a really beautiful one encased in wood with inlay. I have kept it on my bedside table for over a year. I haven't actually really used the compass so much for its most fundamental job (navigating). Rather, it reminds me that there is always a way to know which direction I am going. I sometimes forget where I'm going, both in the earthly, material sense (I came downstairs to get something--what was it again?) as well as in the internal or spiritual sense. And I often get lost (just ask my daughter), or lose myself, especially when I'm in a new neighborhood.

I decided to bring a compass on my trip to Siem Reap, Cambodia. Not the beautiful one I received as a gift (it was back home in Meadville, I was leaving from Minneapolis anyway), but a standard camping compass that also had a flashlight (very useful, especially since the small "torch" I bought for my trip didn't work for some reason--I have such trouble with flashlights). I took it because my guidebook recommended a compass as many of the descriptions of the temples I was planning on visiting used North, South, East, and West as guidelines to orient the tourist. For that, it actually was helpful.

It was also helpful to me in navigating roads. Try as I may, I was unable to find a particularly good map of the area. The best I good do was the maps in the Siem Reap tourist guide. These maps had some streets listed, but not many. It turned out that didn't matter so much because I rarely saw street signs anyway. There were a few in the Old Market/tourist section of town, and a few on the other side of the river where I was staying, but really, very few. And once I got out of town on my bike on the way to see a temple, this was especially true. It seemed like there was the main roadway (two lanes largely once out of town), and then there were smaller sometimes paved roads, most mostly gravely dirt roads, many of which wouldn't accomodate a car, or at least not much of one.  I loved traveling on these back roads, which I did with Sum on our trips to the temples. I did gain some confidence (or lacked good sense, depending on your point of view!) and rode on some back roads on my last day when I visited the Rolous temples, which were about 15-20 km from Siem Reap. It was longer if you took the back roads, and still longer if you missed your "exit" (i.e., got lost), both of which I did. But I had such fun on those roads, feeling intrepid without really being in any danger (I could always go back the way I came, retrace my steps--I was in no hurry and there just weren't that many roads to get lost on in the end it seemed to me at the time-oh folly!). It was a good example of, as one friend refers to it, "mildly adverse conditions."
The road on the way back from Bakong temple.
Some friends (and a number of strangers for that matter) have wondered at my taking such a trip on my own and riding a bike on strange roads (with no helmet often, sorry dad, just not the culture there). I honestly didn't feel particularly courageous or bold, or even scared or nervous (except that one night when I was on my bike and really not sure if I was heading the right direction, at which point I really didn't have that much time, nor could I retrace my steps since I was returning a different way than I had gone out in the morning). It all felt like I was doing exactly what I needed to be doing, going exactly in the direction I needed to be going, though I wasn't always sure where exactly that was geographically. It seemed, mysteriously even to me, all to be perfectly and easily just as it should.

I know I've posted this quotation before (from the Daily Dharma, Tricycle Magazine), but it bears repeating, and reminding.
Whatever your difficulties—a devastated heart, financial loss, feeling assaulted by the conflicts around you, or a seemingly hopeless illness—you can always remember that you are free in every moment to set the compass of your heart to your highest intentions. In fact, the two things that you are always free to do—despite your circumstances—are to be present and to be willing to love.


- Jack Kornfield, "Set the Compass of Your Heart" 



Friday, August 10, 2012

It's All About the Food

Anyone who knows me knows that, for me, it's all about the food.

A little tired from five days of biking, I decided to take a day to do not much of anything, which is not that like me, but it seemed like a really good idea to just hang out and write and read and rest, maybe get a Khmer massage. I had a huge leisurely breakfast and then back to my room to relax. It wasn't too long before I started thinking about this blog, actually, and how I wanted to write about how much I love the food here.

It started something like this, with a small complaint at the outset, followed by praise and adoration for the rest of the entry:

I love my tea, and I really kind of need it to get started in the morning--like some people need their coffee. Herbal tea has its place, as does decaf, but I need black tea--English Breakfast, Irish Breakfast, English Teatime. I hold a special place in my heart for Earl Grey (sorry you purists). I love English tea (Red Label, Tetley's, PG Tips) largely because they seem to be more full-bodied, bold, and fragrant. My son has pointed out to me that he thinks I have a "problem," and perhaps he's right. I have missed my tea here. It has been surprisingly elusive to find a proper cup of tea. The Green tea is just fine, but to start the day I need a real cup of tea with lemon and sugar or milk (preferably half and half, forget the nonfat stuff) and sugar, or just straight. 

That said, I can live without my other familiar and loved foods, namely chocolate. Whatever. I'll get back to you soon enough. The fact is, I am in love with Khmer cuisine. And I have been trying to figure our what the most important staples to try in my short time here. Soups seem to be big and common (see previous post, "Don't Worry" for just how big). I asked about food recommendations from Sum; he obliged (we actually had many meals together if you count the breakfasts that he ate while I drank tea!). I tried lok lak, Khmer curry, fish Amok ( several times) and three dishes I shared with Sum and Lucky on our day out to Banteay Srei. This was my last touring day with them, and Sum was a little more relaxed about things, so he informed me that we would all eat together and share, and so he ordered: morning glory soup with basil, shredded ginger with beef, and some unknown vegetable with egg in a sauce that I couldn't identify. It was almost smokey and bitter tasting, and the texture of the vegetable was somewhere between a melon and okra.  While it wasn't my favorite of the three, but when I put some fish sauce and chili on it it was really quite excellent. 

Last night I had Cambodian BBQ down the street from me at a resaurant that Sum suggested. There were a few meats that I recognized and a whole bunch that I didn't, but I put a bunch of stuff on my tray and tried to negotiate my table BBQ, which is more like a domed reverse wok in which you put some fat substance on the top which then melts down as your meats/soya cook. They then make their way into the moat which holds noodles and veggies and whatever manner of things you deem important, and it all cooks up into a highly tasty (if somewhat mysterious in my case) stew.

I have also had my fair share of Street food. It's cheap, often fried--what else could one ask? Some might argue that it's not safe, but most of the "restaurants" that I have eaten at here don't have traditional kitchens anyway. Go ahead, take your prophylactic Pepto Bismol  and eat your street food!

I love the way interactions around food can bring out what is real in us, even if that is discomfort on a blind date, or joy around a family dinner table (or vice versa). It gives us an opportunity to share in the sacred act of nourishing and caring for our bodies. But it can also be fun and joyous, even educational, as my Khmer cooking class was today. Our cooking instructor was a young 27 year-old Cambodian whose mother died (they lived in a village) when she was six; her father became an alcoholic and died a couple of years later. The children were sent out to different aunts and uncles to become part of their families. Out instructor told the story of how she became one of the chefs at the restaurant. She also said, in rather a cheery demeanor, and honestly, I think, that she didn't know how to cry, she was so young at the time, but that she did know how to cook, and to share her life through her food. And her food through the stories of her life.

Any one who knows me knows that, for me, it's all about the stories.

Thursday, August 9, 2012

Trust Your Guide

As hard it has been for me to trust various guides I've had in my (not so many) travels over the last several decades, so it has been hard for me to trust (for lack of a better phrase) my "inner" guides. On this trip, for whatever reason, I have been much more able and willing to trust my guides. Sometimes I have trusted without a second thought, other times I have come to trust through overcoming doubts or suspicious thoughts, sometimes I have come to trust through experience.

On my first day, the tuk tuk driver I met at the Buddhist Pagoda (seemed to be a trustworthy place to meet a tuk tuk driver!) when we made an arrangement for him to take me to Tonle Sap (see previous post--"Offerings"). Later that night he picked me up to take me to a tourist dinner and traditional Cambodian dance show that he had encouraged me to sign up for. He was a little late in picking me up and he explained (without taking his helmet off) that his grandmother was in the hospital with an injured leg and that he had to come up with a bunch of cash to help pay for it. He then, with some difficult I think, asked me if I could loan him or give him $50. I was in a spot--he seemed genuinely upset, and we had spent the day together and I felt he was a good guy. But it was my first day in town and I had heard so much about corruption, and I had already been duped earlier that day (donate to instead of delivering directly, except for your English lessons of course, to orphanages). And his request probably hit some nerve in me about my own difficulties around money and my clear status as having privilege (which I have trouble dealing with particularly gracefully sometimes). And I also didn't have $50 on me. I resisted him, but he pressed. And I ended up giving him the $20 I had.  He insisted that I should call him (he gave me his mobile phone number) and that he would drive me during my stay. We parted. You probably think I'm nuts. But I let it go and went and had a reasonably good dinner in a huge banquet hall and saw some actually pretty interesting dance.

It turns out I didn't take any tuk tuks over the next many days (except in desperation later the next night when I walked quite in the wrong direction and had to succumb to taking a tuk tuk back to my hotel). Then a couple of days ago as I was biking past the Buddhist pagoda where we first met, I saw him--he waved, I waved happily back but kept moving in the flow of traffic. Yesterday I was walking to meet my new Dutch friend for lunch and he saw me walking down the street, turned his tuk tuk around (mid-street in chaotic traffic, as is the way here!) and asked me if he could take me somewhere. I was only going a couple of blocks, but I went with him. He asked me why I hadn't called, and I explained my non-tuk tuk travel. He reminded me to call him whenever I needed him. After lunch when we were walking over to the Old Market area, we saw Rea at the pagoda. My friend needed a ride to the hospital where her partner was with Dengue Fever--so Rea took us there (a long way and often a 3-5$ expense, depending on your bargaining skills), and brought me and a young Israeli couple (another story!) back of course without charge. He reminded me again to call him.

He has been true to his word. I believe I was right to trust in my instincts about Rea. It wasn't without doubts and hesitations, but I clearly need to trust my intuition and to trust in what I think is the basic truth about humans-- that we are all basically good souls, deserving of respect and trust.


Are we there yet?

The last five days have been about two things: The Bicycle and The Temple. I came to Siem Reap with a vague idea that I would try to bicycle to whatever temples in the area I could, though I knew some were pretty far from home base, though some also seemed doable. I also read that bikes could be rented easily and cheaply. I was right about both these things. What I had no idea about was how easy or difficult it might be to navigate to these places, or if I would hire a tour guide at some point and for what (as the literature seemed to indicate was common practice). I also knew it was going to be monsoon season and so hot, steamy, sweaty, and wet. So with little sense of what exactly I was going to do, or how, or with whom, or when, I got on a plane for Southeast Asia.

I could not have not planned any better. My first day in town I rented a "town" or "simple" bike (aka a clunker--no gears, some brakes), and while I was exploring the streets near where I am staying I came across a bike touring company (see previous blog). I looked at their offerings, and without really knowing what temple I was going to, or where it was exactly (or even vaguely), or what 75 km converted to mile-wise, I signed up for a tour leaving at 7:00 am the next morning for Beng Mealea.

When I arrived the next morning I was greeted by a very slight, smiling young Cambodian man whose first interaction with me was to offer me a high five. I couldn't remember what the temple destination was, or which direction (perhaps I was still in jet lag mode), though I did figure out the ride was about 50 miles one way--the van would bring us back, happily. I was the only one who signed up for the tour, so off we went, stopping first in what Sum (my trusty bike and tour guide) referred to as a "suburb" of Siem Reap (though I can assure you it looked absolutely nothing like a western-style suburb), and what looked like to me a village market center with "restaurants," medical clinics, food stalls, shops, petrol (sold in l and 2-liter bottles from small stands to the motorcyclists). Sum had breakfast (eggs, beef, and rice and iced tea) and I had tea--green (more on my half-hearted quest for a proper cup of tea in a different blog). We also had a toilet break--"clean toilet" toilet Sum would come to say. This toilet was very clean, and also what I call (and maybe is still called by some?) a Turkish toilet--the kind you squat over, then pour a small bucket of water into to flush it.

The terrain we covered for the next 30 or so kilometers to the half-way mark was wonderful and interesting countryside, and we had the gift of having some cloud cover so the blazing sun was simply hot and steamy. The houses ranged from small and shack-like, to relatively large with actual windows on them (though not often the case on this particular ride). Almost every one was elevated on stilts--I thought because of the water rising and falling, but Sum (who grew up in a village not unlike some of the ones we saw) says it is for storage (for motorbikes and bicycles, for food, and for hammocks). And there were a lot of hammocks. And young kids (it's a school holiday) running after us along the red, gravely dirt path yelling "hello, hello!" and "goodbye, goodbye" always with big smiles on their faces. There were motorcycles carrying all manner of things and passengers, sometimes five people to a 100cc bike, or cargo, including pigs. The pigs were in all likelihood headed to market, and there were sometimes three to the back of a bike on their backs, tied down in submission, though occasionally squealing. It wouldn't go over well with animal activists, but how does a place like this, with an economy that doesn't really support many cars and trucks and which has many more motorcycles and bikes, get to humane treatment of animals?

At the half way point , we have a bottle of water (at least) and Sum smokes a cigarette. He invites me to try the hammock at our rest stop/roadside stand. I do. I get in and I really don't want to get out. I can see how it is we have seen so many people occupying hammocks on our ride. It's comfortable and the heat and humidity require us to do less and do it more slowly. I'm a total convert.

We continue our ride and I continue to find the rice fields and planting and harvesting of rice of interest. I enjoy the stories Sum tells about life in this area as well as his own life (among other things he was a Buddhist monk for 10 years). About 3/4 of the way there the sun has come out in full force. Not a cloud in the sky. I'm feeling a little depleted--it's about 11:00am and I at breakfast at about 6:30 am and I've been pedaling for four hours. I feel the effects of the heat, of hunger, of thirst (though I've been drinking some), and of age. I ask Sum if we can stop at the side of the road, and we do, though he makes a little fun of me, but also admits that sometimes he gets a bit dizzy from the sun and heat (and which is why, he later tells me, he doesn't wear sunglasses). I eat a couple of small bananas, drink some water, feel refreshed and off we go to the temple--the name of which I can't recall. In fact, this whole time, I have no idea really which direction we are headed (the roads we take are dirt, some not passable by car), or (until the half-way point) how far we have gone, or when we might arrive at our destination. And I don't even ask. I'm in no particular hurry. I figure we'll get to where we're going. Which we do.

It's unceremonious in some ways, Beng Mealea is. There's a pretty new looking building (clean bathrooms), and a formal looking gate with a guard, though for what I don't know. We pass through and there are restaurants and shops along this dirt road, as in many places we have passed through that are a bit more populated. (Pictures soon I hope.)  The temple itself has barely had the jungle carved off of it, and it is clearly a battle to keep it that way. Not all parts of the temple are particularly passable. Those that are are via some plank walkways, and sometimes just planks. Clearly a hazard in western terms. Sum tells me the story of the temple, its ancient history and its recent history.This temple predates Angkor Wat and Angkor Thom. And it has really only been cleared of landmines in the last five years apparently, though no area is ever 100% cleared it seems.

I am continuously humbled by the suffering experienced by the people in this country, and the way in which the atmosphere is generally one of joy and optimism. I guess that's one reason why I can't stop smiling as we ride by the people smiling at us on the roadside and from their hammocks and homes. I suppose I look a little ridiculous out there on the dirt road on my mountain bike wearing a helmet with my white skin. No matter. In time, we all get to where we are supposed to be, whether we ask impatiently if we are there yet, or simply get absorbed in the journey and forget to ask.




Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Zen and the Art of Bicycle Riding

Riding a bicycle around Siem Reap, Cambodia is a lot easier than it looks. The streets look chaotic, the crosswalks a vague notion (you see them there but they don't mean anything as far as I can see). There are afew stop lights, and the walk/don't walk signs are hysterical as well as instructive (I'll try and upload my video clip at some point). When green, there is a second countdown on top and a figure of a person walking underneath. As the seconds tick down, the figure moves faster and faster until it looks like it might go into cardiac arrest. Then it goes red. Not that anyone pays attention to any of this. But it is informative since stop lights, as far as I can see, are lowly regarded.

The greatest proportion of vehicles seems to be motos and tuk tuks, a large number of bicycles, and of course cars, trucks, and tour buses. And everyone uses their horn generously, but not hostilely. The honking is more informational than a complaint, as it often is in the States (though I realize sometimes it is informational). Motorcycles, tuk tuks, bicycles, autos-- they all can be found driving down the wrong side of the street when necessary. There are not that many stop lights, and I know there must be stop signs, but I only remember seeing a few on my sojourns. How does this city manage without continual accidents?

Here's my theory (and I'm sticking to it for now and also recognize its limitations so it comes with the usual caveats, but no quid pro quos). This is a city, a county, with a large number of Buddhists. I have commented I think in an earlier blog on how open the people generally are given recent and very difficult history. They actually, despite appearances to the naked Western eye (or at least my eye), drive with a lot of care. I know this because my main form of transportation has been by bike. I have rented a bike everyday since I've been here--either the clunker from the guesthouse I'm staying in for 1$/day, or from Grasshopper Adventures (for the two days of tour I went on with them--see other blog). Bicyclists do not wear helmets (though most of the motorcyclists/tuk tuk drivers do). Riding, as in driving in many cities, is a lot about attitude. And while it at first looks like an aggressive-NYC-get-in-there-and-assert-your-place-on-the-road attiotude might be the best strategy, it really isn't. Everyone drives very mindfully; they watch each other, they yield (though not always discernible to an observer, granted!) carefully, they honk to inform. I have only once felt the negligence of a driver asserting himself inappropriately, and I really felt some fear. Otherwise, I have felt virtually no fear in riding around the city, in the countryside, around the temples, even when sharing narrow, bumpy, nearly impassible roads with buses, trucks, motos, etc.; even when vehicles of all kinds are coming at me from the wrong side of the street, or they cross suddenly in front of me to make that left hand turn.

Riding around here has been one of the most enlightening experiences I've had in all of my driving experiences. And not just in that it is an interesting driving experience (though it is that, too). It is, like most experiences (I sound like a broken record, I know!), a life lesson. It has helped me practice paying attention, taking care. I find that I have a bit of a careless streak in me. When I'm riding my bike here, I get to give that up amongst the masses (and it does often feel that way on the city streets!) of drivers, and join in the humanity of a place long plagued by inhumanity.

Monday, August 6, 2012

Offerings

Saturday August 4 was a day of offerings.

My first day in Siem Reap I was somehow led to three different Budduhist monasteries in and around town. And one or two additional shrines (for lack of a better term). The first one I visited in the morning when I was riding on the bike I rented from the Guesthouse. just to get the lay of the land. I really had no idea what the week's itinerary was going to look like. I knew I wanted to see the temples around Angkor Wat; I knew I wanted to bike. So I set out to see where I was and maybe figure out how to do these things. The bike was easy enough to organize. It is quite suitable for riding around the town--it has no gears, and the brakes work more-or-less, but the front break slips regularly on to the tire so as to be constantly breaking, so I am regularly leaning down to un-slip it. No bicyclists wear helmets, though many of the motorcyclists do. And the tuk tuk drivers.

It is hot--weather: high 85, low, 80, humidity 85, chance of precipitation, 60%. That's the forecast everyday.

So I am riding by the river and I spot a Buddhist "pagoda."  I consider myself Buddish, plus it's interesting looking so I go in. In a while I'm approached by a tuk tuk driver. This is not unusual (except for the fact that maybe we're in a Buddhist pagoda off the street). It's low season, they are every where and every where I go I'm being offered a tuk tuk. We got to talking, and so I decide, well, yes, I could use a tuk tuk to take me out to Tonle Sap--the very large lake the rises with the rainy season, home to floating villages, among other things. He's kind I think, and, hey, we met at a Buddhist temple; I simply trust. We agree that I will meet him there at 11:30 am (about 2 hours from then).  Before leaving, I sit some time in the cool of the temple where there is a large standing Buddha. I make my offering.

On my way back to Mom's Guesthouse (yes, that's really its name), I pass a small Buddhist shrine situated on a traffic island. Several young women are tending it (shoes placed on the curb, traffic zooming by), several others have come to give offerings: money, flowers, birds which they free from cages after sprinkling them with water. Across the street there is another shrine, bigger, under a kind of pagoda. There are musicians and a number of people tending and praying. I go in (shoes off first), make an offering (there is a Cambodia Red Cross box there) and contemplate my loved ones. Some who are struggling with illnesses seen and unseen.

At 11:30 am I meet Rea (the tuk tuk driver) and he takes me Tonle Sap--it's a pretty interesting 45 minute ride out. He asks me if I'm afraid of boat rides. No, I'm not, though I wonder if I should be. Especially when he asks~me two more times. We arrive and he warns me not to buy anything out on the lake. I wonder what I could possibly buy out on a lake. Famous last wonderings! When I get to the boat, I start to understand why he asks. There are multiple boats of various sizes, some with tour groups. I seem to be by myself on a really quite small boat which seems to be run by two 15-year-olds (one is 16, the other 20). There is quite a bit of water in the bottom of the boat. And we are locked in the "dock"by several much bigger boats, several boats deep. I imagine we will back out, but we go forward, pushing our way through two big boats tipping and rocking as we go. I figure they must do this all the time, even as I think we will tip over! I, in fact do tip over. I'm sitting on a wooden chair (one of about 6 or 8) and as the boat rocks as it squeezes through the two bigger boats, my chair flips over. I can't help but laugh because, well we are beyond the boats by the time I get myself up and there's nowhere else to go, so I'm on a boat (as my son would say)! It's an interesting ride with interesting conversation about the nature of the lake its inhabitants. We pass a floating orphanage, and the my boaters give me a spiel about how westerners buy food and deliver to the children. I must look incredulous (I think actually foreigners are encourage to help and volunteer at orphanages but no visit them as tourists), for they assure me this is a good thing to do. The next thing I know they stop at a floating store where I am asked to buy some food for the orphans. The prices are exorbitant (for Cambodia), but I'm fresh off the boat (in so many ways) and so I end up buying something. On our way back, I refuse to go in, but we deliver the food to one of the teachers. Even though I'm sure I was duped on some level, I also felt like the kids got some food, and the store owner got some money--it all goes into the local economy, in sore need. That's the story I tell any way, and I'm sticking to it. In any case, it was another offering. And it was only noon.

After my boat excursion we are on the way back and Rea asks me if I've seen Lotus flowers. No, now that I think of it, not in person. Though I was considering getting a tattoo of a blue lotus because of its symbolism. It is the symbol of the victory of the spirit over the sense, of wisdom, knowledge, and intelligence, the embodiment of the "perfection of wisdom. We stopped by a "field"where they were harvested--the flowers for offerings at Buddhist shrines, the seeds from the pods (after the flowers bloom and die) as a sweet. Rea leans into the edge of the wetlands to get one of these pods for me to try. He is kind and open and I trust him for some reason.

We returned to Siem Reap, I to my bike. On my way back to the guesthouse I took a side street where I came upon on the one side of the street the Peace Cafe (where they have free Khmer lessons on Saturdya and Sunday) and on the other a bicycle touring business--Grasshopper Adventures. It looked intriguing so I went inside and found myself checking out a number of tours around the area and ended up signing up for a 75 km bike trip out to a (more remote) temple of Beng Mealea.

I will show up at 7 am tomorrow at the bike shop to go to place whose name I hardly recall an hour later.





Saturday, August 4, 2012

Don't Worry, Be Happy.

Getting somewhere in Southeast Asia from anywhere in the US is a project, I needn't remind anyone. Mine started with the 12 hour drive from Minneapolis to Detroit. A t\13 hour flight from Detroit to Tokyo, which was simpler than finding the correct Tokyo to Bangkok flight (who knew there were so many leaving at 6:30 pm?), then a 6 or so hour from Tokyo to Bangkok.

At 7:30 am on Friday morning, after a breakfast of boiled rice (which is like rice soup) with pork (I know, I know, I'm a vegetarian), I took a taxi to the Northern Bus station in Bangkok--I was reminded of the last time I was in Thailand (over 20 years ago--I sound like a really old person, I know). I could only chuckle as the taxi driver was driving 130 km/hr in the 80 km/hr zone. And I won't even mention the side streets. I got to the station and walked inside and just happened to come upon the kiosk that was selling tickets to my destination--Aranyaprathet: 250Bhat. I found the bus quay (thanks to my glasses--I first nearly went to quay 21, not quay 121 which was much MUCH closer) and I climbed right on the "first class"bus (which means it had air con). All within five minutes, which was when the bus was leaving. Brilliant! Smooth so far. I'm smiling at my good luck!

We drive for a while, stopping to pick up passengers, to get fuel (a process very slow and not like American pumping at all). At some point I wondered if I am on the right bus, ever so briefly, since it really didn't matter if I were on the wrong bus-it's not like I could get off and have a clue how to reisituate!  So I enjoyed the bumpy ride in the back with the slightly smelly toilet nearby. At some point a policeman came on at a stop and invited two women to get off, which they did with hardly a shade do resistance. Meanwhile the guy next to me has gone into the bathroom, to pee I think, but I suspect he's hiding from the police when, after the policeman sees him in there and leaves him, he returns to his seat. What the heck is going on I wonder. Some miles later another official gets on-this one with a more impressive uniform. This time, when my travel partner goes into the bathroom, this guy waits for him to come out. When he does they have some very low key exchange wich I obviously don't understand, and he's invited off the bus. I thought there might be some type of resitance on his part, but no. Just strolled off the bus!

When we at last get to the stop, I' m talking to the other two Westerner's on the bus about sharing a tuk tuk to the boarder. They are taking too long getting their stuff together and the bus driver starts to drive off. I ask him to stop (the international symbol of waving hands!). We get off and in a moment he's driving away...with my bag in the hold. I start laughing and run after the bus knocking on the door as he's driving away, thinking how hard it would be to locate my bag should it leave the parking lot! He doesn't speak Engish and I don't speak Thai but pointing works well enough.

Once at the boarder at Poipet by tuk tuk, which I share with a young newlywed couple from the states-conservative kosher Jews in Cambodia--we walk across the boarder from Thailand to Cambodia. In between there are big and quite fancy hotels and casinos. It's a strange space between these borders. The Cambodian immigration is through a rather dark and dank and dripping room, with little to indicate the usual terseness of the entry process, save for the Camboidan border gaurds, who are VERY terse. It's chaos in this room as dozens of us crowd in (and out of the pouring rain) to make our way to the other side. Once through, we get on a free shuttle bus (not what you might imagine when I say "shuttle bus" I might bet) to the bus station where I get a $9 (it turns out Cambodian ATMs dispense US currency) ticket on the next bus to Siem Reap. A three-hour tour, er, ride. I get the last seat on the bus in the back and I squeeze in between an Italian student (who just got a new tattoo in Bangkok in honor of Buddha day the day before) and a youngish British man. I'm pretty sure I'm easily the oldest person on the bus. Even though Ive had little sleep the last three (or is it four?) nights, I'm wide awake for the next part of this journey, interested in the scenery and the most fascinating life story that is unfolding from my seat mate.

About two hours into the ride the bus pulls over at a restaurant (though it doesn't look as you might imagine when I say "restaurant") for a break--it sounds like he says we''ll be here an hour. Very Cambodian--there's nothing to do but enjoy the rest. I have a beer with my new friend (well, okay half a beer because I'm a cheap date and I want to stay awake through dinner) and have one of the kinds of conversations that happens in such circumstance. For me, it was a chance to practice being open, undefended, and to listen more carefully than I sometimes do. In another two hours we were in Siem Reap. I don't know what I expected, but it is quite the place. Chaotic, busy streets, night life, Buddhist shrines.

I walked to dinner to a local restaurant--Suki Soup. The menu of course is in Cambodian, but they have good pictures so I point to the vegetable soup (they bring you fresh veggies and you cook it in a broth at your table). It looked big in the photo, but when it arrived it was absoluted enormous--dinner for four easily. I couldn't stop from laughing at myself and my situattion, and the waitresses also saw the humor. But I cooked a lot of it and took some back to my room where, it turns out, I have a small fridge! So I had some for lunch.




At the end of the day as I crawled into bed, I found myself giggling at the day's events...and how hard, um, firm, my bed was. I was asleep in minutes. It's hard to worry too much here for some strange reason. But then again, why worry about that? It's easy enough just to be happy!


Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Right Lane Must Exit

I left Minneapolis this morning after handing off some things for my daughter to Brenda, who will take my daughter in when she comes back to Minneapolis to continue her training. It's such a gift to have generous families who will take an extra body in for a week and a half--especially busy families with complicated lives. So my heartfelt thanks to them. Plus, Brenda has a crazy cool pink convertible VW bug, featured here:


The drive from Minneapolis to Detroit is a long one--nearly twelve hours. Plus I "lost" an hour. And I took a little more time than I usually do when making these long hauls. I had a lovely stop in Madison, Wisconsin for a Nepalese lunch (thanks for the tip Kerry!). And now I'm a little road weary and vibrating from all that time in the car. But I won't be doing any driving (I don't think!) for the next 12 days (except for a bicycle I imagine), so that will be a great thing. And no phone. Also a good thing (for me--I should give it up for Lent!).

I was sad to leave Minneapolis, but I'm excited about my trip. I leave tomorrow afternoon (well, today actually) for Bangkok (via Tokyo), then travel overland to Cambodia. I don't think that I've fully gotten my head around the fact that I'm leaving the country--and not to my usual European destinations--for a trip on my own. I'm really looking forward to seeing what comes of it. It seems like just the thing I need to do right now, which is a good thing...because it turns out, this is what I'm doing.

Tuesday, July 31, 2012

End Freeway

Tonight is my last night in Minneapolis. The month went by predictably quickly, and we hardly scratched the surface of all of the things we wanted to do, though we did a lot of fun things while we were here for my daughter's skating. Tomorrow I drive to Detroit where I will spend the night, park the car, and head off to Bangkok and then Cambodia. I think it really only just started sinking in today (once my daughter left and I had some time to start focusing on the next leg of my journey) that I'm about to take a pretty big trip, and on my own. No tours. No traveling companions. It seems like the thing I need to do, take this trip alone and see what it's like not to be distracted by the many things (necessary and concocted) that I distract myself with to avoid things about myself (or my situation) I rather not face. Kids, work, cell phone.  One thing is for sure, it will be an adventure. Hopefully not too much of one!

In preparation for my trip I ran around doing the usual kinds of last minute errands--take- along shampoo container, post office, slow-leaking tire repaired, booster shot, library book return (2 libraries), food coop for snacks and tea tree oil. There were a couple of other trips in there as well. I almost got a last bike ride in, but not quite--got a little dark. Didn't get my last scoop of Izzie's ice cream, but did get a nice Ethiopian dinner to go from the Seward Co-op. I was a little wistful as I entered the store and got to breath in that lovely co-op smell. Instant, visceral happiness. I don't much like shopping, but I do love shopping for food, and this is one of my favorite places to do that.


I also had one last trip to a cafe while I waited for my tire to get repaired. Here's one of the bakery cases from Gigi's Cafe on 36th street. They even had a vegan offering (left hand side of the photo). I will really miss Minneapolis--the YWCA, the bike riding, the food, the lakes, did I mention the food? I won't miss the heat and the humidity, but you can't have everything.



In addition to the errands I am packing up the apartment today--not an uncomplicated process. I had to sort out the pile of things that will stay here at a skater's house for when my daughter gets back, the stuff of hers that goes home, the things I need for Cambodia, the things I don't need (in another suitcase), the left-over non-perishable food items, and the books--so many freaking books. I ended up with more than I came with.  many more. But it will all get done somehow, the packing, the cleaning, the arrangements. The drive. There has also been a few minutes here and there for feeling bereft and feeling the losses of the last several days, weeks, months, and years. Too many too name here, but each deserving its own time and attention. 

There will be time for the grief. And for the joy. For now, I'm finishing packing a carry-on size suitcase; I like to travel light.

Monday, July 30, 2012

A Rim and a Prayer

I guess the title of my blog today makes is sound like things are a bit dicey, but actually I think we are always coming into town on a rim and a prayer, so to speak. So why not just call it what it is. What we think is solid and certain really isn't ever solid and certain, we just trick ourselves into thinking that it is so that we can feel "safe." At least that's how I work (and I guess I can really only speak for myself). But if we were to wake up to the ungrounded nature of our life, would we feel afraid or would we feel liberated? Speaking for myself, I'd say (off hand) afraid. But I can see how it could be liberating--like going down the river without a raft--in that when we're (er, I'm) not clinging to what we think is solid ground, then so much more is possible. If we can let go of our limited sense of the world, and ourselves in it and in relation to it, we can really be present and not be bound by a narrow sense of identity, a small, limited self.


How does this work in daily life, you may ask? Good question. I'm not sure I can answer, except today I dropped my daughter off at the airport at 6 am, kissed her goodbye and realized, on top of this being the end of our month together in Minneapolis--this sweet and sometimes sour time--I'm really not sure when I'm going to see her again as she's talking about staying in MN (after her return from LA next weekend) until her school starts. My own school starts not long after I come back from Cambodia--how will I see her? No need to worry about it now. We will (as I often say) fall off that cliff when we come to it. I fretted for a moment when she left. And I have thought about her a lot today as I did some things that she would like (went for a bike ride around Lake of the Isles and checked out a new restaurant--see below) and some things she didn't (went to the First Universalist Church). I miss her. I wish I could be with both of my kids. But instead of dwelling on that, I let it be. That feeling of longing has come and gone numerous times today and I have felt that heartache (for lack of a better word) that one feels about one's children in their absence or in the parting. 


But it hasn't been the only thing I felt today. I also really felt grateful for my time in the Sanctuary at church. I loved my bike ride. I laughed at my impulsive decision to ride over to The Midtown Cafeteria for Sunday Brunch--which turned out to be a plate full of cholesterol and mainly animal-based food (which I haven't had in months). I almost ordered a drink (hey, it was 2:30 pm and it was 5:30 pm somewhere). I guess that's what happens when your health-conscious vegan daughter leaves town: you eat meat and (almost) drink alcohol. 
This is "The Uptown Cafeteira and Support Group"--no lies.
I bet your cholesterol just went up looking at this "Full Monty English Breakfast." Yes, that's bacon AND sausage.



Fun decor.
And condiments. Siracha and Mrs. Butterworth's.


You also wouldn't want to miss the Bloody Mary Bar. That's Bloody Mary Tyler Moore Bar to you.
After my indulgent artery-clogging meal I continued my bike ride around Lake of the Isles. I loved clunking along on my trail bike. I even took a call on my cell phone Amsterdam-style (they all talk on the phone while they ride), though I stopped and sat under a tree for most of the conversation.
Some other fun times on the Greenway Bike Trail.

A funny bumpersticker on the way to the FUCOM--I just love the way it cuts to the chase, so to speak.

"Lord, help me to be the person my dog thinks I am."
I guess that pretty much says it. It seems to me that dogs are in love with every moment, accepting of every circumstance we offer. When you come home, they are delighted to see you. When you feed them, there isn't a better thing that could happen. When it's time for a walk, there is joy and excitement. When they meet a new person, they couldn't be more gleeful. When you are a dog, it seems (unless you are one of those dogs who needs prozac?), every moment is an opportunity for happiness. They must imagine us as providing one glorious opportunity after another--bringing joy and happiness at every turn. 

Likewise, when one is awake to the essential groundlessness of our human condition, there's nothing to do, nowhere to go, nothing to be other than right where we are. When it's time for a walk, we light up; when we see a new person, we are elated. Everything can be, if we choose, as glorious and exciting as the next (or last) moment.  If only we choose to let go of the raft, our narrow sense of ourself, our expectation of stability, we could let the river carry us to just where we need to go. And we would delight in that liberation rather than fear we might drown.

Saturday, July 28, 2012

Last Chance Texaco

If this were a blog about flying (which it could be, I've been on enough planes or will be to justify some sort of flying-related title), I might title this blog "Turbulence." But I just did Rough Road the other day, so that wouldn't do. But "Last Chance Texaco" seems as a propos as "Turbulence" anyway.

We just got back from Detroit this morning and my daughter leaves for California tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn, and so these are our last hours together in Minneapolis--when she comes back in a week I'll be on the next leg of my journey: Cambodia. It's strange for both of us to be suddenly at the end of our time here together. She loves Minneapolis, has expressed many times how she wishes we lived here; tonight she wished we could just continue on doing what we're doing, living in a small one-bedroom apartment in mid-town, shopping at the Seward Co-op, riding our bikes over to St. Paul, going to yoga at the YWCA down the street. Our needs are actually pretty simple. Except that I have a job to return to and she's got a school to attend. But first, our respective journeys.

For our last few hours in Minneapolis together my daughter wanted to do a couple of favorite outings--the co-op for a banana/peanut butter/soy milk smoothie and some homeopathic medicine for her hip injury; dinner at the Mill Valley Kitchen; a stop at the bookstore. She's been amazingly pulled together today given the big transitions that are ahead of her in the next few weeks.

I have been holding it together as well, but I'm definitely feeling the wear and tear of the week. I have had the great experience of being present for my daughter in her skating (she had a pretty pivotal experience--difficult, but ultimately helpful for her I think). I also had (on the same day) a dear dear friend in the hospital undergoing brain surgery for a malignant tumor. Happily the surgery went as well as it could have gone. All the prayers did not hurt I'm sure. So many thanks to a network of friends for responding to the call.

And yesterday an old friend, kindred spirit and bandmate died after surviving over a year with ovarian cancer.  I won't do justice to her life here, but I can take a moment to say she lived life the way she played guitar--with heart and with guts. She was an open and alive spirit and one of those people with whom you could have a wonderful, wide-ranging, and crazy conversation.  And she was a generous spirit who did so much good in her life, it has been both humbling and inspiring. Happily, her legacy and her light will live on in so many ways, including in her work as a doctor, her work making the Pomona Community Clinic happen, and in her music. She approached all things in her life with passion and commitment--and she was artful with all she did. I carry you in a song in my heart. Go in peace.





I snagged this from Rin Lennon's web page--shows us all back in our band days. Jamie and I exchanged clothes for the video these photos came from. 



Friday, July 27, 2012

Uneven Road

Sometimes we come to a place in our lives when we have to make some decisions--we come to a crossroad. There are some that say that when we are at a crossroads it means we need to re-evaluate or revisit our Purpose. If we are clear about our purpose, our road may wind and curve. It may be bumpy. But it is a direct route. My daughter and I are both at a kind of crossroads in our life; I'm sure it feels equally momentous to us both, though our crossroads pale in seriousness relative to much of the world.

May all sentient beings be safe and protected and free from inner and outer harm.
May all sentient beings be happy and content.
May all sentient beings be whole and healthy to whatever degree possible.
May all sentient beings be free from fear.
May all sentient beings experience peace and ease of well being.

May all sentient beings know their true purpose.

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Planes, Trains, Automobiles, and Ice Skates (in that order)

At 5 am this morning we walked down to the light rail train station to catch the 5:19 train to the airport (just made it!). We then took a plane from Minneapolis/St.Paul International airport to Detroit. Thanks Wisconsin for making the ride more exciting. Once in Detroit (I've been to DTW a multitude of times, this is the first time I've left the airport in 20 years) we rented a car (sigh). We have been navigating our way around some Detroit suburbs--Pontiac, Bloomfield. Three hours in town and we've been to two rinks already. But the Detroit Figure Skating Club is home of some champions: Tara Lapinski, Todd Eldredge, Belbin and Agosto. We saw two champions, in addition to Caryn Kadavy (my daughter's  coach), in the first 10 minutes at the rink, who are now coaching (though still skating, too)--Todd Eldridge and John Zimmerman.

I had a moment today, when my daughter was struggling with an injury in a way I haven't seen her before, that I felt like I had the courage to navigate yet another unknown city, be the scaffolding and support for my daughter, and stay true to my purpose. But I spent most of the rest of the day doubting my ability to tolerate the unknown (aren't I supposed to feel liberated by the unknown?), to stay centered in myself, to hold steady for my daughter, and to walk the day with an open heart. I also realized I wasn't feeling very happy. Lately I have had much more joy and happiness in any given moment, even while I've been tending to some internal and external challenges. But today I felt like I was so far from myself.

But now at the end of the day, having had a nice vegan dinner, and as we watch "So you think you can dance" while icing the hurting parts of ourselves, there seems to be some hope in us both. 

We will deal with what comes to us tomorrow, tomorrow.

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Recalculating Route

Yesterday I went to the International Medicine Clinic in Minneapolis to get some immunizations in anticipation of my trip to Cambodia which I leave for a week from tomorrow. Only two injections mercifully (I still ended up looking, and feeling, like I was going to pass out!)--Tetanus and Hepatitis A/B. Ouch. Then downstairs for the Typhoid caplets. And a myriad of other pills--Malaria pills, a strong antibiotic, and a couple of others. I'm not one who is prone to worry about getting malaria, or dengue fever, or Japanese Encephalitis.  But the doctor seemed to think that I am a high risk traveler, mostly, I think, because I am traveling alone. And during monsoon season. I haven't had a whole lot of time to think about the risks, but I did bother to go out today and buy a truck load of insect repellent (better living through chemistry), to which my daughter commented, "why don't you go somewhere like Hawaii that isn't dangerous?" I tried to explain to her that it wasn't actually dangerous in Cambodia (although of course there are certain dangers).

It is true that when I reviewed the travel advisory compiled from the consular websites of the US, UK, Canada and Australia, I was a little surprised at some warnings (high firearm ownership, sexual assaults and banditry in urban and rural areas), but not at others (most heavily mined country in the world, especially Siem Reap--though not Angkor temples--and Banteay Meanchey. She still doesn't understand why I would want to go and see the Angkor temples. I tried to explain their cultural significance, their beauty, my personal draw to the sacred area, my need to take this particular journey on my own. It's more than the destination (though it is that, too); it is the timing, my internal compass--my purpose-- that I'm trying to find and then follow.

Today, after buying all of that DEET and anti-diarrhea medicine recommended by the literature,  I took a bike ride down to Lake Nakomis. We drive by there every day on the way to the rink in Edina, and I've been wanting to ride around it since we got here. But it's been so hot in the afternoon after my daughter is done skating it's hard to get motivated. But today it was only 85 or so degrees, so I headed out around 6:30 pm to see what I could see. It was a fun ride, and it turns out there are some swimming beaches with a fair number of folks swimming--across the lake. I hope to come back this weekend and give lake swimming a try. I'm notoriously bad at it!

Sunset swimming at Lake Nokomis.
On my way home, I rode through streets and neighborhoods punctuated by distinct dinner smells. On one block there was the smell of barbecue hamburgers--almost made me want to eat meat! On another block I caught a whiff of what reminded me of the Thai food that a woman named Challie used to make (she was a UCLA student boarder in my dad and step-mother's house when I was in my early teens). A block later I could smell the unmistakable scent of tamales. It's funny how visceral the smell of food is for me, and the kinds of memories it evokes. It was quite sweet. 

I also finally made it to the neighborhood with the grass-growing mini van. I was momentarily disappointed when I discovered that the grass growing on the car was in fact astroturf. But what did I think? It's summer now in Minneapolis--how would the owner keep it growing year round? (I had seen a car in CA with real grass growing on it some years ago.)  It still looks totally cool. The top of the car has "LOVE" written on it (so much of that in this part of town with these various cars!).



 And of course the Peace sign in the front yard!


Tonight my daughter and I packed up for a trip to Detroit for a skating competition. We leave at 5 tomorrow morning. When we get back she will leave for California for a visit with family. I will have but a couple of days here before I pack up the car and head back to Detroit where I will get on the plane for yet another journey. This time by myself.


To live your purpose you have to
dare to be even more
of who you really are.
What does that mean to you today?
                                 --Robert Holden

Sunday, July 22, 2012

"That Journeys are Good"

"That Journeys are Good" by Rumi was one of the readings today at the First UU Church of Minneapolis. It's a poem for every occasion, for we are always on a journey, external or internal, often both simultaneously, and learning, like Joseph in the Rumi poem, who left his country  "to understand dreams, and give away grain."  As I have journeyed through my days learning to meet others, meet joy, fear, and desperation, I find I often turn away from experience, from meeting someone else (in their pain, frustration, elation, accomplishment), for fear that my shortcomings will be revealed if I reveal myself (an impostor!). I have undertaken a daily ritual, morning after morning, day after day, week upon month upon years, with the intention to stay in the presence of the Fear (the Buddhists say they are "sitting with fear," not that they are afraid). This practice has perhaps become my most profound--and transformational-- journey of all. And it looks nothing at all like what I thought it would.  

Last night I dreamt I was standing in tree pose (I've been doing a lot of yoga--can you tell?), and my hair was blowing wildly, sand was blowing in my eyes, my clothes (because I wasn't dressed properly for yoga class!) were flapping in the wind and up and across my face. But I was insistent on staying in the pose--for reasons of ego or commitment I couldn't say. And I laughed a little bit--I can't recall if it was in the dream or in my half-conscious awareness of my dream--at the transparent metaphor, analogy, lesson of the Buddhist image of the mountain. Our true nature, our unconditioned self, is like the mountain--it is unmovable, even when the wind is blowing crazily, or the snow is falling, or children are digging at the surface. The external just blows through, momentarily changing the view, but ultimately not the mountain itself. My utter determination to stay in the pose as the conditions around me changed seemed to reflect a moment of awareness of my true power. In those moments of my dream, I was suddenly, experientially, transformed.

As I rode my bike home from the FUUCM (that's a crazy acronym if ever I've seen one), I thought about my upcoming trip to Detroit with my daughter for a big skating competition she has been struggling over; I thought about my trip to Bangkok, then Cambodia. Such possibilities await. And then, as I was riding along the street, I saw down the block a flock of (no, not seagulls you 80s rock fans) Canada geese stopping up the roadway. They can fly, I know, but they were really all just strolling down the street. I took this photo then rode away. A few minutes later they took to the sky wings beating not quite silently, calling to each other or me below. Or both. I had two thoughts as they flew over me in beautiful formation: I hoped not to be soiled by geese poop. And I guess now it's time to learn to give away grain.




Saturday, July 21, 2012

Back Seat Driver

It was a given that, sooner or later, at least one post would have to have a title that referenced back seat drivers. Or in this case, driver. In fact, my daughter has been known to sit in the back seat voluntarily partly out of the habit of youth (she was really too small for most of her life to sit in the front), and partly out of avoidance I think (she sometimes would rather not have a conversation--particularly on her way to the skate rink after school--and the distance from front to back, she surmised, would discourage conversation) Plus, as the youngest in the family she was often delegated to the back seat.


But she does like to give directions. And commentary. And express her opinion. And it isn't limited to her seating location in the car. The other day I was just trying to make some conversation that might take my mind off of how grumpy I was about the hot and humid weather. So I started chatting with her about the idea of getting a tattoo (me, not her); I thought she might find this an amusing conversation. "Mom," she said with a clipped "you've-got-to-be-kidding-me" tone, "if you got a tattoo that would just  be further proof that you are going through a serious mid-life crisis."  (To be fair, she has a point.)  But do I really listen to my daughter about what kind of clothes I should wear ("please don't pick me up looking like a hobo"), or the way I spend my money, or when or where I can cry, or if I talk to strangers on the the parking lot of the Seaward coop? None of these expressions of love veiled as criticisms or embarrassments do I really mind when I think about it (sometimes in the moment I feel exasperated), for I know that my daughter is really sensitive and caring. But, like me, she sometimes likes to be in control and tell me where to go or what to do, even when I'm driving the car, so-to-speak, because, I would guess, it makes her feel in control. I empathize.


I have more and more appreciation (or understanding?) of the subtle ways I try to control things in my life. At the moment, so much of that effort seems crazy and wasted. But at the time I'm in it I don't even recognize how much damage it causes me--and those around me.  So let me redouble my efforts to be connected to my Purpose, and to what's really true and authentic in me, and let everything else be. Everyday I have more opportunities to stop being a back seat driver.

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
~from Mary Oliver’s “Wild Geese”

Friday, July 20, 2012

Drinking and (not) Driving

If I start to cry for no apparent reason,  my daughter gets instantly agitated. But she's grown up a lot this last school year, and even these last few weeks, noting things such as how she has just started to realize how hard it is for other people when she is feeling low and having a not great attitude about things (skating in this case.) It was a very impressive observation. Then she went on to talk about how horrible she felt about it and what a bad person she was for that. Like most of us, she has a little ways to go in the self-acceptance and self-forgiveness department. I can relate! So when, for no apparent reason (in her mind, and frankly a bit in mine as well) I began to cry on our ride home from the hair place where I got my hair cut (yes, I chose one at random--passed it by on my way to the Urban Bean yesterday--and let someone I didn't know at all cut my hair!), she was immediately annoyed with me.

                                   
                                                    A new haircut is always a good thing--my hair is still a renewable resource so far.

I think I mentioned in yesterday's blog that there is nowhere to hide for us, so there I was. Perhaps a sad song came on the radio, or I flashed on some memory that evoked my loneliness (more likely a combination of the two!). And she asked me what was wrong, and I actually told her because I don't like it when I ask her what is wrong and she won't tell me. And she harassed me about it (ouch) and I felt pretty lousy, though I have to recall that she's a 16-year-old girl who I bet would like to feel like her parents are always able to take care of her. This probably didn't feel very solid to her. So I got a bit grumpy and then left for Core and then Yoga and came home a little more centered (and a lot sweatier). And then we went to dinner, which cheered her up considerably. 

I had a local beer--or some of one (I'm such a cheap date).




Afterwards we saw the car below in the parking lot of the lovely French Meadow Cafe. It was a thrill for my daughter. She wishes we could stay in Minneapolis and live here. I mutter something to her about the winters, and then catch myself--this is the girl who is a figure skater and who loves the cold.  So Minneapolis, at least for the moment, is really her kind of city.