My friend and I decided to stay in the bohemian area of Cartagena to bookend our week long cruise in the Southern Carribean. The area of Getsemani is peaking towards gentrification, and will surpass gentrification as a Four Seasons is being built there. I love that one tiny hotel refused to sell their property, so they will exist as the Four Seasons is being built around it. Per my walking tour guide, whose name was Legacy, the area in the past was filled with drugs and prostitution. The city wanted to change this and began hiring street artists to paint murals in this side of town to change it’s vibe. Murals exist of their version of Mother Earth, or an homage to an elderly man who fell asleep in the same spot daily and died there, and even of three children bandits who are raising their fists in a power symbol to stop gentrification.
There is a vibrant authentic bohemian energy still that still exists, with local restaurants that have tables on the street next to parked taxis and motorbikes. Celebratory umbrellas or colorful banners line the streets of makeshift bars in alleys. There are locals selling art to tourists, and local souvenirs. Rappers and swindlers follow you and start rapping about what you are wearing, and if you engage with them (for a fee) your story. A musician plays No Woman No Cry in the background. I hear accents from different countries walk the streets, whose mouths are open in wonder of what they are witnessing.
Multiple blocks away there are chains that exist, which include Starbucks, McDonalds, and KFC. But in this little area, only local shop owners, or tiny hotels and bed and breakfasts exist. As I checked into my bed and breakfast early at Les Lizards, I was greeted with kindness and a second breakfast of a fresh fruit drink, arepas, coffee, and local fruit. I was told “this is your home,” I could visit the jacuzzi, hang out in the lounge area. I would only be there for one night, but was offered so much generosity. Later in the evening, I stood in front of the door and debated to go inside or grab dinner, but I wanted a suggestion. The staff member/owner saw me as he walked down the street and said “you’re right here,” as the door appeared hidden. I queried about dining recommendations, and he escorted me down the street, and talked to the staff. I sat in the outdoor table on the street and took in the moment.
It was as if I stepped back in time. This was bohemian Cartagena, but it could be a bohemian town anywhere in the world at one point. Isn’t this the essence of what directors strive to capture on film? I imagined this was what the East Village was like in the 50’s or Brooklyn back in the day? Tourists long to linger here, it’s as if you are stepping onto a set that we want to inhale into our memories.
There’s a dichotomy here of chaos and chill vibe. Horns are honked on the street by cars taking their time to let people out, and one way streets are blocked. Music is playing at one restaurant, while rappers are scheming with their boombox down the street. There is a cat begging me for food as I eat. And yet I am finding a sense of pause as I drink my coconut lemonade, which tastes like a pina colada. The soft bulbs that line the streets which appear to be pedestrian, make my eyes hazy as if I am in a dream.
I was here in Cartagena for a short time, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I come back. Who knows if this place will remain the same? Will the authentic vibe outlast the tourism that seems to be booming here and the Four Seasons to premiere in Spring 2026? Not sure, but for a moment todo es tranquilo.
Have you ever visited Cartagena, or a place so bohemian you stepped back in time? If so where? What was it like?
“Nobody can discover the world for somebody else. Only when we discover it for ourselves does it become common ground and a common bond and we cease to be alone.” -Wendell Berry
Yesterday, I opted to end my 10 days in Costa Rica with a walking tour of San Jose. It’s an easy way to squeeze in history, exercise, and tourism in a short amount of time. There were six of us tourists, all solo travellers. The interesting thing when you travel solo is you are out of your comfort zone, no familiar friends or family to converse with, and you have the opportunity to have conversations with people around the world.
On the tour, my only fellow American spent the past week clowning around Costa Rica. She literally was clowning, through an organization run by the infamous Patch Adams. They spread smiles around the world through comedic performance. We were an international group from Ecuador, Colombia, Netherlands, and Scotland. One was brought here for work, another has moved here temporarily as a digital nomad, and most for pure pleasure.
The day unfolded without much plans, we walked the laid out path our guide had set for us. But then we inquired about the restaurant he recommended La Esquinita de la Abuela (Grandma’s corner), an awe inspiring place with a cheap menu and local cuisine, decorated as one’s grandmother’s home would be. Our guide stated “you know how minimalism is popular, but Central America is not that. Minimalism is boring, we are maximalists. And this is decorated with maximalism.” In the corner of the restaurant, where chicken soup was being served, was an homage to St. Martin de Porres with brooms next to him. Upon exploration of who this Saint was and why was he here, he was a mixed race friar from Peru. He’s the saint for social justice, racial harmony, and mixed race people. The broom served as a symbol that all work was sacred, regardless of how small the task. I felt that in this restaurant that served authentic Costa Rican cuisine in it’s kitchy plates and glasses. The love was offered to all who entered.
We listened to local stories our guide shared with us over lunch, such as who was author Jose Leon Sanchez. He allegedly stole La Negrita (the beloved Black Madonna) and condemned to jail for years, and upon release fleeing Costa Rica, and found fame in Mexico City. We heard about a tradition of people wearing folk masks in small towns, who look like pinata heads but the opposite occurs. Instead of this pinata like figure being hit, you are hit with a stick, “you know what you may happen if you are too close.”
It was as if some of us didn’t want it to end. We enjoyed wandering (flaneuring) the streets taking in the recommended restaurants, cafes, and markets. The 2 ½ hour tour extended to over 8 hours, as we shared our professions, travel history, political views of our countries, and dreams over coffee and shared desserts. We stumbled to one of the top 100 cafes in the world, and also one of the most beautiful in the local theater. Our guide told us, if we couldn’t make it to a show, we could get a peak of the theater while walking to the restroom.
As we walked the streets, I was reminded of the film Before Sunrise, without the romance, and instead of two main characters, there were four. Who knows if we will see each other again, I made sure to share our contacts. Life has a funny way of working out, “we may end up meeting in another country” I told a fellow traveller as I gave her a hug goodbye.
As we meet strangers, when we travel solo, we have the opportunity to pause and reflect on who we are in this moment, where we’ve come from, and where we opt to go. What are the stories you choose to share? Where are the destinations you hope to go? What type of life are you stepping into when you return home? Where is home, and will home change? All of this occurs within the backdrop of an unfamiliar country, which adds to the allure of the fleeting moment. I can’t help but notice the nomadic wanderluster arises in me at times like this. The 25 year old backpacker who visited 15 countries in one summer, and so many hopes before landing my first full time job. Do I forever want to wander? Will I ever find one home? At moments like this, I don’t just meet new friends, but meet that old version of myself who still longs for adventure, wonder, and feels ephemeral.
When’s the last time you’ve met that version of yourself?
“Is this your first time at Esalen,” the gatekeeper asked, as I was checking in.
“No, it’s my fourth, but first time volunteering.” I responded.
The gatekeeper proceeded to describe property rules and protocol for my day at Esalen. I’ve attended three retreats at this Big Sur property in the past 15 months, nourishing my soul at times of change. I had the urge to return, but didn’t have the time to allot to a full retreat, therefore a day dose would have to suffice. Volunteers get nearly 12 hours to use the facility.
I kept this in mind as I left my home at 6am, but with traffic, and a stop to fill my car, I didn’t make it to Esalen until after 10:00. I put positive thoughts in the universe my desire for leftover breakfast and a spot to charge my car, and surprisingly both were available to me on arrival. I was lucky for scraps, as breakfast ended at 930. I needed food in my body, because my shift started when lunch would be served.
Retreats sell out at Esalen, and as I checked the website, so do volunteer slots. Available slots are posted two weeks early, and are quickly nabbed up. Everyone wants an opportunity to experience the land, the thermal baths, and the healing space Esalen has to offer. So I felt relieved when I landed a spot. I had hopes to share this with my partner, but he cancelled the week prior due to a conflict in schedule, and we broke up yesterday. So, here I was ready to volunteer solo on what I thought would be a joint venture.
My two hours of free time before check in included writing as I looked out the cliffs of the Pacific Ocean, laying in the gardens, and glancing at the available books in the bookstore. Time passed quickly, I moved my car, parked far away as requested and went to check in for my volunteer shift to begin.
“I want you to get lunch first, then start your shift for me.” My shoulders and nervous system relaxed. The volunteer attendant wanted to ensure I was nourished before I prepared food for others. What a beautiful thing. My body needed nourishment, after a break up, and long solo road trip.
My three hours in the kitchen served as a meditation, as I cut up zucchini with repetition. Everyone was in their zone of allotted tasks to do. Another staff member, asked how I was doing and if I needed water. She grabbed water for me in a large plastic container. Once again another stranger was nourishing me. Time passed as I swept the kitchen with a broom, peeled off stickers from plums, and washed these fruits for others. And just like that, my shift was over.
For the next 75 minutes I relaxed in the thermal baths, naked as everyone else was. We watched otters play in the water, one even shared her binocolars with the collective. Each time I go to the thermal baths, I cant help but think we stepped outside of Big Sur California and into ancient Greek times. Perhaps we are our own gods and goddesses who deserve a break from daily modern life.
This is my first time I volunteered at Esalen, and I know it won’t be my last. Perhaps in the future it may be more than cutting vegetables, perhaps a sound bath I will lead or a workshop. But for now this is good, I appreciate the mutual nourishment in what this place offers me. I have gratitude to the land, and the ancestors and protectors of the land the Esselen tribe. Thank you for holding me, nourishing me, and I hope in some way I can serve you.
I’m curious how there is reciprocal nourishment in your life? Whether that is through people, pets, or places?
‘The overriding sense of Tokyo is that it is a city devoted to the new, sped up in a subtle but profound way: a postmodern science-fiction story set ten minutes in the future.’ ― David Rakoff
I am someone who yearns for a contemplative life. Last year I made a vow with a friend to not buy clothes or shoes for the entire year, and for the most part I kept to it. I was intentional with all I brought into my world.
And now Tokyo. Being here is overstimulation for all the senses. Shopping the streets of Harajuku, my inner 7 year old comes out. She’s longing for all things cute (here known as Kawaii) that she didn’t get. This includes Hello Kitty characters for my hair and feet. Jackets and shoes that have dainty ruffles on them, shoes that increase my height and look they are made out of bubble gum, and rainbow colored snacks that give you a sugar high simply looking at them. Cafes are filled with animals to cuddle with either to further feed the stimulation, or perhaps calm it down. I’ve seen not only puppy and cat cafes, but micropigs and hedgehog ones.
Last year’s restraint has been temporarily erased, as somehow I found myself purchasing four pairs of shoes in one day in Harajuku. I’m not sure what happened. I was under the spell of bright happy cotton candy colors that clouded my vision. The river of people were moving at an incessant speed. Instead of fighting the stream, we went with it.
It makes sense there are pockets of serenity intentionally placed throughout the city. Nostalgic jazz by the likes of Ella Fitzgerald softly plays as the backdrop in multiple cafes. It seems as if shrines have strategically been placed within parks to soften the volume Tokyo. All of these are necessary as one walks through the crowded streets of tourists and locals. It blows my mind that this city has 4 times the amount of people living in it than New York City does. And as I write this in a high rise hotel overlooking the streets and waterways of Tokyo, I’m appreciative of the current calm moment that is existing before another day begins.
My word of the year is “savor.” What I realize that to savor is not just the quiet moments that exist within nature and silence. Savor also is to take in the vibrancy of colors, joy, cuisine, curiosity, the fast pulse of city that vibrates at a different pace to one’s own. Savor the chaos, find stillness when one can, and know you have a choice how you want to flow when you return home. What will be integrated after the travels you’ve processed?
‘For those with restless, curious minds, fascinated by layer upon layer of things, flavours, tastes and customs, which we will never fully be able to understand, Tokyo is deliciously unknowable. I’m sure I could spend the rest of my life there, learn the language, and still die happily ignorant.’ – Anthony Bourdain
“A creative life is an amplified life. It’s a bigger life, a happier life, an expanded life, and a hell of a lot more interesting life. Living in this manner—continually and stubbornly bringing forth the jewels that are hidden within you—is a fine art, in and of itself.” ― Elizabeth Gilbert,Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear
Sometimes we seek out creativity without knowing what to expect. This was the case several weekends ago in Santa Fe, where my mom, friend, and I went to a free Denim painting workshop put on by the Site Santa Fe Museum (also free to visit) and 4Kinship, an indigenous owned clothing store in town. We didn’t know what we were in for, as I thought when we signed up that this would be a class to teach us how to paint indigenous designs. Instead the class offered permission and paint to design whatever your heart called for. The theme was joy.
But for before the class began the owner of 4Kinship shared a story of how she had partnered with an organization to build a skatepark on an indigenous reservation. On the inaugural day of the skate park opening, legend Tony Hawk was invited and came to skate in conjunction with all of the other skaters. The owner of 4Kinship recruited an individual Shawn, who had been skating for years, to serve as a mentor 2-3 times a week to teach and lead skating lessons. He offered through mentorship and skating, alternative ways of being and living could be discovered to indigenous youth. Another indigenous creative was there who created a bespoke skateboard company (he also happened to be half Filipino). As this story was told, the owner began to tear up, which made me want to cry out of the beauty of collaboration and commitment to community.
And here we were in a free denim workshop. She gave us permission in that moment to create for the sake of it. As we did, there was initial hesitation and trepidation, what if we paint something and it’s wrong? There’s no erasing…. But we began to follow our intuitive hits. My friend Crystal, had images of faded checkered lines on the back of her denim coat, and was advised a way to seek out those results. My mom free styled a Desigual-esque vibe, as I tried to mimic the essence of examples that were hung of denim with indigenous patterns. Beats played in the background, we all got in the zone, chatted, and painted. It didn’t matter what the results were, we temporarily were all being creative collectively. And there was such beauty in this…
Being in Santa Fe, at this workshop, then strolling down Canyon Drive with dozens of galleries, gave permission to step into my own creativity once again. It’s easy to get caught up in the everyday drama of life, focusing on the daily busy-ness of work and to dos. But to let your mind wander, let the paintbrush move on a canvas, there was freedom there. As someone who is a creativity coach, I am used to talking to people 1:1 about their creativity, but there is a sacredness in doing this in a group. Separate and connected.
I had taken my first and only cruise with my family over 20 years ago, and had never stepped foot on one again until this past week. The reasons have changed, I wasn’t opting for solely relaxation, family reunion, and a getaway during the autumnal months. I was looking for ways to gain access to the Travel Century Club. The reason one joins is for bragging rights to claim that you have been to at least 100 territories in the world. On this one, I would add three more to the list: Puerto Rico, St. Kitts & Nevis, Sint Maarten (the Dutch side)/Saint Martin (the French side), Barbados. This was in addition to the US Virgin Islands, to which I had already been to (St. Thomas and St. Croix). This would put me at 80, and so on a cruise we go….
Cruises seem to be made for loving gatherings of large groups of friends and families exploring the world together without having to worry about cooking, cleaning, or driving. Entertainment and activities are provided, and all that is required of you is to get back onto the ship before departure time each day. On the first day, there was a massive balloon drop, which my friend and I managed to find ourselves in the front row of the dance floor. The band played Celebration by Kool and The Gang, as we counted down for the balloon drop. The crowd screamed as we tapped the balloons to others as they fell from the ceiling slowly, then picked them off the ground to keep them from popping and kept volleyballing them to others on the dance floor. My friend and I realized we were the only adults laughing with joy as we did this. The only other people doing the same thing were children, but we didn’t care. This was wonder in action.
Since my previous cruise departed from Florida, I had a bias that a majority of my fellow cruisers would be from middle America. Surprisingly this was not the case. We left from San Juan Puerto Rico, and nearly 75% of the guests were Puerto Rican. At our evening dining table, we were the only ones not from Puerto Rico. It truly felt we were part of the Caribbean. Dance and lip sync competitions had numerous participants that hailed from Puerto Rico, as the crowd cheered. Fellow mainlanders realized they were in the minority. A middle aged white man named Kirk even tried to claim he was from Puerto Rico to gain the audience’s love and votes as he competed doing pelvic thrusts and hip sways to Shakira, Ricky Martin, and the song Gasolina. The audience and host knew the truth, saying “alright Kirk from Puerto Rico” but laughed and clapped along anyways to the ridiculous over the top court jester archetype.
As we met other guests on this ship, there were people that were regulars in the cruise life. Whether they remained loyal with the same company and earned points or shopped around dependent on the regions explored. At some point, I realized we are all reflections of each other. Two older women sat next to us, whose husbands who opted for the buffet. They solely spoke French, and I listened in and internally translated bits of their conversation. Two other older Midwestern friends sat next to us, who resided in Ohio (my home state). One lady was British, and when I shared the towns, I lived in the UK (Cambridge, Epping, and Bury St. Edmunds), we were both shocked as she revealed her father was born in Bury St. Edmunds. We all exchanged names, and when I shared my name Tricia, the other woman noted she would remember this as her sister’s name was Patricia. Patricia Ann specifically (my name is Tricia Ann), who died at the age of 44 (I am 45). She teared up as she talked about her, and for a moment I thought how she may have needed me to serve as a mirror to her sister for a momentary reflection.
Staff members we engaged with hailed from India, Indonesia, Jamaica, Dominican Republic, Philippines, and numerous other locations. A flag dance party the last night of the cruise claimed 57 countries where staff on that specific ship resided from. One waiter asked if my friend and I (both of Asian descent) if we were married to Americans, wondering how we gained citizenship. We informed him that we were born in America. This exchange served as a reminder to be grateful for my family members that made sacrifices to come to America, the land of opportunity. I am not sure the exact amount staff are paid on cruise ships, but many waitstaff particularly come from low income or third world countries. These hardworking individuals work for at least 7 months a year, with minimal days off, in hopes of financially moving ahead in their lives. Some may enjoy the lifestyle, as I met one waiter from the Philippines who has worked for this same company for 20 years. The cruise life now is his home, and his homeland is a vacation. I overheard another staff member from India saying he was retiring after 30 years of working on these cruises. “Who will you work for now?” a guest asked him. “My wife,” he said with a smile, he was looking forward to spending time with her and his adult children.
There is poignancy in small moments. One of the nights, the waitstaff walked around the restaurant, as the guests clapped for their waiters and twirled their white cloth napkins in the air as a form of gratitude and appreciation to those who served them. We joined together in a large dance of the macarena. One port held 5 cruises on St. Martin, this meant 25,000 of us went ontp the island on that one day. As one cruise ship left, phone flashlights shone waving goodbye from both ships, as crowds do at concerts. Waving farewell to strangers via phones, or when we passed them on land, reminded me of the universal urge of wanting to connect.
And one begins to realize that we are mirrors for each other. We may not be as different as we expected. The characters we observed in our fellow cruise ship passengers were all archetypes, each who exhibit aspects of us. The court jester who hammed it up for the crowds in dance competitions, the lovers celebrating anniversaries or honeymoons, the bereft who still had residual grief , the royal court who complained about everything, the sick who needed to slow down their pace even on the cruise ship due to recent surgeries, the artists that performed each night, the salesmen who lured you to their stores with raffle prize wins and deals on art auctions or jewelry, the martyrs and wounded healers as staff who sacrificed so much as they served us to make money for people back home, the anxious ones who worried about this ship’s reliability as we swayed and rocked the waves on the boat, the gamblers who vowed to win more in the casinos, and the explorers who longed to step onto new lands, We have a desire to live for something more. We are here to celebrate, to cry, laugh, dance, and connect. For a brief period we were all unplugged from the everyday devices and linked with those around via conversation, laughter, song, travel, presence, and appreciation for one another. I’ve met so many types of characters on this ship, even some characters within myself that have been dormant.
What is the American dream? And can one still attain this? It seems that some people are still in search for this, and have ventured to the state of Alaska to attain it.
Inflation in the country, has made it difficult for the average person to afford rentals, and further the purchase of homes. But in Alaska a 3 bedroom home is still within reach. Over the first twenty four hours of arriving, we’ve met several people who have moved from different parts of America due to the affordability, opportunity, and promise of something more.
But there is also something else here that exuded… The kindness that emerged from the locals and the transplants, in offering suggestions of delicious cuisine to eat, stunning natural landscapes to witness, and warnings of what one may encounter during one’s visit.
I visited Anchorage Alaska mid-October, during Indigenous people’s weekend. To honor this, the Anchorage museum waived the $25 entrance fee for all visitors. A volunteer greeted us at the door, a young Indigenous female with a painted red hand over her face. I asked to take her photo, she said “I’d rather you not.” I honored her request, remembering that some people believe that if you take their photos, you are taking their souls. The red hand I observed was familiar, but I couldn’t place it. My friend reminded me that this was a symbol to bring awareness of missing and murdered Indigenous women in North America. They are 10 times more likely to be sexually assaulted or murdered than non-indigenous women. To read more https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_handprint#:~:text=A%20red%20handprint%2C%20usually%20painted,be%20murdered%20or%20sexually%20assaulted.
As I walked through the museum, I couldn’t help but be stunned by the controversial art pieces on display sharing the indigenous people’s stories throughout generations. Through imagery and storytelling, there were reminders of how the indigenous people were robbed of their heritage, appropriation was used as a platform for consumerism and capitalism, and the necessity of the new generations to discover, embrace, and share their heritage in their own native languages to ensure traditions are carried on. In addition, there was homage to other ethnic groups that make up pockets of Alaska, including Black Americans and Latin Americans.
(Nicholas Galanin: The Imaginary Indian, 2009)
Alaska is a complex entity, becoming the 49th state in 1959, but originally was purchased from Russia in 1867. Then came the Gold Rush, subsequently the search for oil.
It became a powerful place for America to own, “In 1935 General Billy Mitchell said to Congress “I believe that in the future, whoever holds Alaska will hold the world. I think it is the most important strategic place in the world.”
But with this cane the wipe out, erase, capitalize, appropriate the indigenous people and their customs. There were so many mixed feelings being here, that I may need to continue to reflect and chew on. The Anchorage museum held controversial conversational pieces, but what about the remnants diversity throughout the land? From what I explored, in the surrounding areas of Anchorage this was minimal. There are high rates of suicide, alcoholism, and ancestral trauma. And how do we serve and honor all those impacted by generations of colonialism?
There is so much to say about this, and I am aware I am only scratching the surface. But I am reminded, as we visit places even in our own country, it’s important to honor the land and the ancestors of the land, even if you are not a direct descendant. How can you be a responsible tourist and leave more than you take? This can be kindness, conversation, exploration, and discussions when one returns to your own neighborhood of the vastness you experienced. It’s an ever evolving reflection, and the more I travel to further vast corners of the world, the more questions arise. Thank you Alaska for what you shared, and I honor you and all that you contain.
“The unicursal path of the labyrinth is what differentiates it and sets it apart as a spiritual tool. The labyrinth does not engage our thinking minds. It invites our intuitive, pattern-seeking, symbolic mind to come forth. It presents us with only one, but profound, choice. To enter a labyrinth is to choose to walk a spiritual path.” ― Dr. Lauren Artress
Labyrinths often are confused with mazes. At a quick glance, they appear similar. Oftentimes a circular journey that appears to trick us as we walk towards the center. Yet there is one differences. Mazes have multiple options one can talk, a small form of choose your own adventure, filled with false pathways and dead-ends. But labyrinths do not trick us, there is only one way in and out.
Over the years, I’ve wandered through numerous labyrinths, but inside churches, buildings, and in gardens and retreat centers. Yet, the experience at Chartres Cathedral was profound. I had heard once that the labyrinths, particularly in France during the medieval times served as a metaphorical pilgrimage people could take if they did not have the time or physical strength to take the 500 plus mile walk via Camino de Santiago. This contemplative practice offered a piece of the reflection that could occur.
I was reminded that a pilgrimage begins with intention, often when one leaves the home. Last week, as we waited at Gare Montparnesse for our train track to be displayed to Chartres, we witnessed a staff member arguing with her boss. He didn’t seem to be understanding her as her voice elevated, at one point she screamed and hit the floor. Was it a panic attack, stress induced stress or a dramatic act? We couldn’t tell as a handsome passenger who also was a doctor, offered his help. As the fainting woman was sent away in a mini ambulance golf cart, I wondered had the pilgrimage begun. Each component played a part in the day: the heavy bags we carried, a miscommunication with the uber driver, the short but steep distance we walked from the train station to the hotel? A line of police vans drove by and small tents were getting set up. I couldn’t help but wonder what type of celebration was occurring or who was here. We queried our receptionist, who stated simply that someone important was in town. Thoughts immediately went to political importance. When I inquired if it was the president, she nodded her head, not wanting to verbally share who was here but not denying it either.
And so the pilgrimage really did begun. Each persona we met with during the day served as an archetype for the journey: the victim, the doctor, the police, the staff, and the president. We were prompt to arrive at Chartres Cathedral, as we were aware the labyrinth is only open for several hours on Fridays during some parts of the year. But as we walked to the Cathedral, we noticed crowds of students gathered outside and inside. Was it a massive field trip or something else? I later learned it was a photo op with President Macron. We were so in the zone of the moment that we didn’t seem to absorb he was in the Cathedral the same time as us. The labyrinth appeared before us, uncovered from the chairs that usually sit on top of it. I was curious how this labyrinth experience would compare to others I have done in the world.
One is to think of an intention as you enter a labyrinth. And so I did. As I meandered from one side of it to the other I reflected on this intention. Volunteers guarded the labyrinth, from tourists who stumbled unknowingly onto the labyrinth. They ensured that all who would grace the space offered their respect to what lay underneath them. If they were not going to walk it appropriately, they would have to leave the labyrinth and walk around the perimeter. The protector archetype was present, as was the fool, and the student. And as I walked the labyrinth, I would repeat my mantra. Pause. Repeat. Many of us were spread out, but as we entered the final stretch of the labyrinth, there was a bit of a human traffic jam. I wondered if I would feel frustrated with so many people there. Were people taking it seriously or was it just another quick tourist photo op?
But something shifted and changed. I dropped into this sentimental place observing my fellow pilgrims. And then I couldn’t stop crying for the beauty of the moment. This entire day was a metaphor of life. All the characters and interactions, and in the symbolism of this walk we were each headed for a moment in the center. The Chartres labyrinth is special in there are 6 petals in the center, for this particular walk, unspoken rules were created were our specific group. We were all strangers from different parts of the world momentarily gathered to embark on this contemplative tradition. As we walked into the entryway to the center, each of us would step to the left, as the person in the center stepped out. Some people had their hands to their hearts, bellies, both, or even palms open, ready to receive. As the person stood in the center, they faced the altar and infamous stained glass windows. It was as if it was there moment to shine, receive our quiet intentions and prayers, before stepping out. I couldn’t help but compare this specific part to one’s death, offerings, acknowledgement and prayers are made for a moment in time in one’s honor before you step out of the labyrinth.
Each time you walk the labyrinth it’s different but this specific moment will be etched in my mind. It served as a powerful reminder of meeting each part of ourselves on the journey of life. And having a moment of grace before one steps out of their path on earth. What are your stepping into? What are you leaving behind?
And so I challenge you to find a local labyrinth, make one, engage in a finger labyrinth and notice what metaphors arise on the journey.
As I write this, I am at the airport, awaiting my international flight to Paris. It’s my first international trip since I have begun a full time job 9 months ago. Although I’ve had mini holidays the past year, nothing of this extent. I will be gone for ten days. To the old free-spirited wanderluster, this amount of time is nothing, but to the me in a full time job, it’s a lengthy amount of time. There were so many little things that arose last minute to prepare for the weeks leading up to it: confirming with work, clients, fellow staff members, dog sitter, shuttle company, neighbors, family and friends.
I made the final touches to my luggage this morning. As I closed the zipper on my backpack, my Black Madonna keychain broke off. Automatically, it served as a reminder the journey was officially starting. There was no turning back.
Experiences are amplified when you take a long haul trip, and in this there is a realization you have to let go and allow the trip to unfold. Some things may go as planned, some may not. But in a time crunch, you must surrender that the travel guides and gods will protect you on your journey. You will be watched over and it will be what it will be.
There are mysteries that arise on journeys that may not be understood until reflection. Life will go on back home without you, but time will be stretched on your trip. Regardless of how much stress a trip may cause, the experiences gained are generally worth it.
“Travel far enough, you meet yourself.”― David Mitchell
“Where are you from?” It’s the number one question we were asked and asked others on this trip. It was a question that had potentially layers of responses. This is not just what country we were raised in, but where were we living, where did our ancestors come from, and where did we aspire to live? One of the most interesting things about travel is the people you meet, if you give yourself the opportunity to exchange words with strangers. On this most recent trip to the UAE, we met people from India, Philippines, Pakistan, Nepal, Uganda, Egypt, Algeria, Greece, Germany, Singapore, England, Netherlands, and America. This is a tiny glimpse of who exists on this land.
Dubai is one of the most expensive cities in the world. The local population in the UAE is anywhere from 8-20%. One guide alluded to the fact that many of the locals do not work, having received large portions of their finances from oil. Oil was discovered only decades earlier, which brought the new found wealth to the country to a group of people who were nomadic bedouines. He noted that in addition to receiving free healthcare and education, some newlyweds are offered land or villas to assist with their new start in life. When we asked our tour guide if he was of local Emirates descent, he responded “would I be giving this tour if I was?” He said this as he drove us around six of the seven Emirates in one day, he worked seven days a week, giving group and private tours, and sleeps several hours a night balancing work life, family life, and playing professional cricket.
We know that a country can’t survive if nobody works, particularly countries such as the UAE that are developing at such a fast place. This means that 80-92% living in the UAE are expats. Newer digital nomads from Western countries move here due to tax breaks, with zero percent income tax. A fellow German explorer who was on this Emirates tour with us lived in Saudi Arabia for over the past ten years working as a HR consultant for a wealthy family and their multiple businesses. He loved the Middle East and wanted to move to Dubai with his Mexican wife who lives in Qatar, for these exact tax benefits and to expand his business. But not everyone has the financial freedom to live anywhere.
It’s been said that 50% of the population are from India, and another large majority are Filipino. Our Ugandan waitress at a Japanese restaurant asked my friend and I if it was the first time we went to this restaurant. We nodded are heads, as we were there during a Wednesday, which coincided with all you can eat sushi night. Shethought we were expats who were splurging on our night off. It made sense, because I am a mix of Filipina and Eastern European descent and my friend Isabella is Thai. We were brown just like everyone else we saw on the metro and streets. We looked like we could be living here, fellow servers in another restaurant. And if things were different, maybe we would be.
I couldn’t help but think of a parallel life I would have, if my grandmother never immigrated to America from the Philippines. I have mixed feelings with being American, particularly having lived in the UK and Europe for the past 10 years. But I often forget the world of opportunities that are available with an American passport and making a salary in USD.
The UAE is welcoming to those wanting to come to their country, allowing one to attain a work visa while on a tourist visa. But for some individuals in service industry jobs, one wonders what it is really like. Pay is low (although probably more than that of one’s third world country), health care is provided, transportation to and from one’s job is also offered. This is in addition to lodging, but transportation is on large school buses. Tourists are enamored by the bright lights of the skyskrapers and the fountain show in front of the flashing Burj Khalifa. One only has to look a little further outside a taxi or bus window to see the lines forming on the side entrances of malls or hotels, picking up and dropping off staff members at transitional hours. The UAE is expensive and therefore having housing benefits is a perk, but it’s been said that people may have up to 10 roommates in a 1bedroom apartment. I shared this story to friends in Paris, and they had heard rumors of passports being taken until debts are paid back to those who brought them over to the UAE. My ex-husband who was Italian American told me this years ago as he was sent to Dubai to open a new restaurant, but I couldn’t fathom the depths of struggle industry workers from third world countries were facing.
This blows my mind, and I wonder how this occurs in a land that many pilgrimage to in order to see these astounding feats of human creation. The UAE has created man made islands, engages in cloud seeding (where planes fly into clouds to produce rain), there are ever increasing skyscrapers and it boasts the most records in the Guinness Book of World Records, with such extravagances as the largest mall, the tallest building, and the largest gold piece of jewelry. These extravagances are built on the backs making meager income. It is a choice to work in the UAE, but how much freedom do these people have?
We often forget that physical space, such as one bedroom apartments, are a luxury many of us are privy to. Sacrifices are made to live in the UAE with one’s privacy, living situation, weather, and working hours. Oftentimes money is sent back to families in their homeland, expat parents may be providing money for grandparents or aunties and uncles caring for their own biological children they had to leave behind for all to lead “better” lives. I pondered what my life would have been like, if my grandmother, aunt, and mother never left the Philippines. Although they had great jobs in the medical field and we came from a wealthy family, who would I be if they hadn’t been willing to take the leap to move to a new land?
We talked with some of the people we met who moved to the UAE from other countries and now had aspirations to move to Nordic territories such as Finland or Sweden. Although these countries are also some of the most expensive in the world and can get extremely cold, it was an aspiration to live in these exotic lands. The UAE was to be a springboard for their next dream. They were paying their dues working hard there to aspire to advance to places with more freedom, income, and flexibility within the EU.
There were other moments of my future and past meeting me on this trip. On an hour long cruise along the Dubai Creek, we met three individuals travelling together. We thought they were a cute adult family, but it turns out two were Caucasian coworkers at a travel company and the other Hispanic individual who was travelling with them they had just met and asked to come along: Mike, Joan, and Toey. One of the individuals, Mike, was our ideal future travel self. Both Isabella and I set a goal recently to join the Travel Century Club (TCC) before we turn 50. To join TCC one must travel to at least 100 territories, which is more expansive than countries. After the UAE, I am currently at 75 territories and 53 countries. Mike was familiar with TCC, as he has travelled to over 165 territories, including the North Pole and Antarctica several times. This 68-year-old man was a kindred spirit because he encouraged us to go to Unesco World Heritage sites and National Parks. These are places Isabella always strives to visit, and this year I had applied to work at both of these organizations. Both Joan and Mike were on a cruise together throughout Greece and Egypt and met fellow passenger Toey. Mike was supposed to have his girlfriend come on this extended holiday with him, but she wasn’t able to make it, therefore they invited Toey for the ride. Toey was a young special education teacher from Texas, who bought a one way ticket to Europe, as he was on disability leave. He never had time or money to travel, as he was always working. Now was his chance, he had little plans and allowed moments of synchronicity to arise on this trip. Mike felt empathy and compassion for Toey, being a previous educator himself, and offered an invitation for him to tag along and take his girlfriend’s spot on the remainder of his Middle Eastern and European journey. Mike was paying travel privileges forward, and I had a feeling in the future Toey would do the same to another stranger.
On another excursion to the Dubai Spice and Gold Souks, we met two African American coworkers from Washington DC, who were court reporters. They appeared to be in their fifties to sixties and had travelled the world together. I had realized that Isabella and I were also prior coworkers, as we met on the set of filming a television show over twenty years ago on a set in Los Angeles. We have also taken trips around the world together. This was their second time in Dubai in two years. They loved it so much and there was more to experience on their UAE bucket list they had yet to achieve, so they returned. Their zest for life was how we aspire to continue to wander the world and make the most of the vacations we have. Time passed on the large souk tour, and we lost track of these fellow travellers. I noted to Isabella how we didn’t get to say goodbye, but the Universe wanted to ensure we did. That same evening, after getting lost in the world’s largest mall, the Dubai Mall, we ran into them, shared our days’ experiences, and grabbed a selfie. We were them and they were us.
The following day our jam packed adventure tour included two young 30 something men from Greece, and an African American fifty something married couple from Columbus Ohio. These young men were working as engineers on a construction project and were in Dubai for the past 20 days. That day was their first day off that month, and we could tell they were letting off steam as they glided and weaved in and out of their atvs or surfing on the sand dunes. Their past several years were filled with 12 hours work days in foreign countries, sacrifices made for their future selves. Both Isabella and I could relate to this offering much of our energy and time in our 30s to our jobs, making the most out of any amount of free time we had. In regards to the Ohio couple, he was retired working for the military, living in various places in America throughout his life, including Hawaii but being raised in New York. I was born in Ohio, and meeting someone from Ohio in the Middle East is simply wild. We talked story of Ohio State football culture, which has it’s own traditions. In addition, their military and New York and Hawaii life resonated with me, as I have worked with them, lived in NYC and Hawaii twice myself.
These are reflections I have on my Air France flight back to Spain, as an American, where I currently reside which has a layover in Paris, where I lived last year. All versions of me being an amalgamation on one trip. What’s so fascinating with this trip is that Dubai seemed like every place and no place. The downtown city skyline was endless and took the best brands from multiple countries of hotel chains, restaurants, cafes, grocery lines, and clothing stores and brought them all there. It’s a wealthy city which refreshingly smells of sandalwood everywhere you go, and is a melting pot of expat workers whose sole existence is to build, serve, and grow this land into a cosmopolitan luxury superpower and have bragging rights for as many world records as possible. With every person we met, regardless of their ethnicity or occupation, I could relate. In some way, whether in a past, present, future, or parallel world- they all could be me. It’s vital to see the similarities amidst the differences and to be able to see ourselves in others. Take the time to talk to strangers, whether fellow travelers or staff members. Who knows which version of you will be met on your next trip?
It Only Takes A Smile 