Bringing Me to Bali

Bali. The place between Heaven and Earth. The island of the Gods. I had little understanding of how true those two statements are, but I was soon to find out.

The decision was made for me before I even stepped foot off the plane home from Egypt. My family is amazing, and decided that two months in Bali would do my broken heart some good. So 1 week to the hour I was back at SFO international boarding another flight to take me to Bali, Indonesia. I didn’t know what to expect, I hadn’t done any research but was excited because Bali was always Adrian’s place between Heaven and Earth. I can recall many conversations in our relationship of his travels to Bali. He loved everything about the island; the people, the simplicity, but especially the epic surf.  He beamed whenever he talked about the subject. I met with his mother a couple days before my departure, I wanted to fill her in on everything and let her know I would update her with all my experiences. She, in return, gave me one of the best presents I’ve ever received. Sitting at the dinner table she pulled a small jar out of her purse, and in it were Adrian’s ashes.

                “Take these with you, do with them as you see fit, but I think he would have wanted you take him back there” she said.

                Suddenly this trip had a completely different meaning.

I flew in with Allie, and we traveled a bit before meeting up with some other friends from San Francisco and settling into a house in Seminyak for a month. Seminyak is a more westernized posh town, not exactly what I had in mind for Bali, but never-the-less a good place to start and get my bearings. I pondered daily slightly frustrated trying to think what and when would be the most appropriate place and time for the ashes. I had no idea where Adrian went when he was here, and I wasn’t able to get in contact with his friends that he traveled with. Different ideas and scenarios ran through my head daily, but nothing seemed fitting. “I guess I’ll just wait until it feels right”, I thought.

After our month, in Seminyak ended, Allie was getting ready to head back to the states, and Kevin and I decided to move down south a bit were it was quiet and better surf.  We packed our luggage in a taxi and drove the 20 minutes to Bingin beach. I sat in the front seat with my head leaning against with window as we drove out of the city down a two lane road lined with lush green trees and plants and in the background the occasional glances of the sparkly blue ocean. We drove down a long bumpy unpaved dirt road to a small parking area. We asked the cab driver to wait a minute while Kevin and I set out on foot to look for a place to stay. We walked down a muddy rocky path about 2 feet wide with mud up to my ankles. I looked at Kevin in front of me and thought to myself “were the hell are we going”. There are tons of little home stays scattered along the cliffs there, so we decided to poke around and find one with the right price. The first one we stopped was booked, but suggested we try Leggie’s next door. We walked in front of Leggie’s entrance, and I looked at Kevin and suggested continuing to walk down the hill a little way to be closer to the water, but not wanting to carry tons of luggage down cliff stairs, he suggested we check out Leggie’s first. We walked through the large wood doors into a beautifully manicured court yard area with small bungalow cottages placed around the edges. There were a couple women sitting out, obviously the keepers, so we asked them if there were any vacancies. They said yes and showed us a room. A small well kept clean cottage placed in the back, with two beds, rock flooring, and an outdoor shower. I fell in love immediately and said we would take it. They had a small pool in the middle of the grounds and in the far corner an eating area. There was a small kitchen to order food and the women who ran the home stay would cook it for you on the spot. That night I was swimming in the pool, admiring the completely unblocked clear view of the stars, when Allie called my name from the kitchen area.

“Tobie, come here”, she said.

“Why?” I answered mildly irritated that I had to get out of the pool. I got up and walked over to her standing at the counter.

“Brace yourself,” she said.

 Unsure and a little scared as to what she wanted me to see I slowly walked over and peered in the window. There, taped up next to some surf stickers, was Adrian’s beautiful face. The card that was passed out at his funeral that I have seen thousands of times, and have taped up in my own house, was there staring me in the face in Bali. In Bali! In this random cottage, down that random muddy path, next to the place that was booked up, down that long random rocky road past that small beach parking area, down that windy tree lined road with small glances of the ocean in the background- in Bali! Not really going to go into detail about my reaction, but as a sat on the bathroom floor and cried I thought “ He brought me here”. No doubt about it, he brought me here, because this is where he wanted to be, and now I’m here with him. I pulled my face up out of a towel and out loud asked him “Where are you?”  No sooner had I said it something came crashing down on the bathroom roof. “Ok, baby, ok.”

Allie left the next day, and I looked at Kevin and said “I don’t know what your plans are, but I’m not leaving this place until I absolutely have to. So we stayed for 17 days.

He brought me there. No doubt in my mind otherwise, and in the three years since his passing I have never felt closer to him. I could feel him in the air, in the trees, in the water. I could see him running down that rocky path and precarious rock steps down to the beach surfboard under his arm to charge the waves. I could see him flirting with the Balinese women who ran Leggie cooking him dinner at night. I could see him sitting on the deck of one of the many cafes overlooking the beautiful Indian Ocean with a Bintang in hand, smiling, just loving his life.

He brought me there. A mother’s intuition is always right. When his Mom gave me those ashes and said “I think he would have wanted you to take him back there” she couldn’t have been more correct. He brought me there. And in some small, but huge way, we were together again. Not physically, but just knowing that I was walking where he walked, seeing what he saw, and experiencing what he experienced was powerful. Maybe he wasn’t holding my hand while I walked down the beach, or kissing me goodnight, but we were together again. He brought me there. And now this place was my place between Heaven and Earth. Truly, the island of the Gods.

So now, in every sense of the words, it was time to let him go. I decided there was no better place than right in that spot. I would paddle out in the place where he caught the best wave of his life and let him be a part of those waves forever.  It rained the last four days we were there, but Kevin and I decided to paddle out at sunset our last night. In perfect Adrian style, as soon as it was time to go out, the rain stopped and that beautiful sun poked its head out from behind the clouds. I placed him in the water, watched him spread out and move with the ripples, and move on. With the sun shining on my back I laid my head on the surface of the surf board and placed my hand on top of the water and soaked in the peaceful moment of being out in the ocean with him. He brought me there, and I let him go.

Not a day goes by that I don’t think of him. I know his passing changed my life, impacted it, but more importantly his presence in life and death has shaped my life. He brought me there, here, physically and mentally exactly where I am in my life. He inspired me to do, and I continue because I honor him and our relationship.

One time he and I were out at a bar with some friends, and he leaned over and whispered in my ear “You were always supposed to be mine.” I think about what you did to my life, Adrian, you were absolutely right. As painful as it was to lose you, I’m incredibly grateful that God decided I was supposed to be yours. Because you, my darling, continue to bring me there.

Lessons I've learned through trial and error

I apologize for not updating this blog sooner. Blame my writing absence on too much boys and sun, but I promise I will get around to telling you all about my Indonesian adventures as soon as those two things aren’t quite so abundant. However, I did take a couple minutes today because I want to share some of my personal findings that have come to light over these past 8 months. This is what I like to call "Lessons I've learned through trial and error".

Lesson #1- Follow your gut

                Pretty basic. Your “gut” is directly correlated to your heart. Intuition guides all. Eyes tend to be blind and our heads too narrow, but your heart will always seek the truth. Open it. Listen to it. Trust it. Follow it.

Lesson #2- Do you

                Look into the mirror; observe the reflection for a moment. Take in the beauty that we all individually posses. Appreciate it. Fall in love with your idiosyncrasies.  Never question “your you”. Never change the person you are, even when others don’t appreciate it. Fuck those others, because the people that DO matter will love” your you” as much as you do.

Lesson #3- Seek constant progression

                Never settle for a stagnant existence.  Always strive to do more, be more, see more, and most importantly learn more. Challenge your mind daily to consistently soak in information, and grow. Become obsessed with knowledge.

Lesson #4- Smile too much

                Angry people are ugly.

Lesson #5-Love more

                Always remind people how much you love them, because you never know when they might walk out of your life. Don’t let fear or pride keep you from opening your heart. Love is the easiest and best thing to give.

The Coral Triangle

  

The waters of The Coral Triangle are almost 1.6 billion acres that inhabit the world’s largest diversity of coral, fish, crustacean, mollusk, and marine plants and animals in the world. Unfortunately, like most delicate habitats, The Coral Triangle is now at risk due to unsustainable fishing, poorly planned development, pollution, a growing population and the effects of climate change. 

I met a guy while here in Bali, who is establishing a media platform (The Coral Triangle Communications Platform) that will hopefully create awareness to an irreversible damaging environmental catastrophe. He is looking for someone to creatively and effectively edit and maintain the CTCP to which will intern motivate the public to protect one of the world’s richest bio-diverse areas.

Email me at Trixi350@yahoo.com for an outline of the project and the terms of reference for an editor. Since social media is the easiest way to project ideas and dilemmas, I’m asking for any possible candidate references you might have. Thanks for all the unwavering support from my friends and family.

Visit their website at http://www.thecoraltriangle.com/ for more information on the issue.

Leaving Egypt

Tonight is January 30^th. Its 3am and I’m lying on my couch in the dark attempting to distract my mind with a movie. “Pop! Pop!” I flinch a little, but that one was further out so I go back to my movie. It’s Love Actually, and I actually really love this movie. “Pop!” Shit, I think to myself, that one was even closer. I hear a door open, and from where I’m sitting I see my neighbor come out onto the balcony to investigate. I myself walk to the window in the dark to peer out into the usually quiet village to see a couple men running around my building carrying lead pipes. “Pop! Pop!” The gunfire continued that night and the next, and the next. I click the channel to Aljazeera to see what is happening over in Cairo. Thousands have gathered in Tahrir with no intention of leaving until their president of 30 years does.

“Oh the Land of the Free” We have been singing these words every day since we were in Kindergarten, but not really understanding what they mean. Sure I can dissect the sentence and give you an accurate definition of each word, but I never understood what it meant until I lived in a country that was fighting to be a free land. I spent half a year with the Egyptians, teaching their children, being invited into their homes for dinner, learning their customs and language. These people were my extended family. They were the ones who knocked on my front door with a cup of tea when I was sick. And here they were on my TV asking for a very basic human right and in return having tear gas thrown at them and power hoses sprayed in their face. Greed and corruption has dominated the government, and when anyone tried to speak out against it they are immediately thrown into jail. Politicians are the richest people in Egypt, and voting is rigged. After the election in November I read a newspaper article in Cairo that interviewed several people asking why they choose not to vote. One woman responded “there’s no point, the people’s voices aren’t heard anyway”. Politicians stay in office, stay rich, and convince the average man to keep their face on the mat 5 times a day, accept what they have and one day they will be rich in “paradise”.

My decision to leave Egypt might seem like an easy one, but in actuality it was the hardest I’ve ever had to make. I left my colleagues, friends, but most importantly my kids. I left without a single hug or explanation to them why I was going. I had my colleagues and Egyptian family telling me to stay, but my friends and American family asking me to come home. If the expression “stuck between a rock and a hard spot” ever meant something in my life, it was now. So I took the medial decision and went to Turkey to wait it out. I didn’t end up staying long, situations escaladed and by the time I landed it had erupted to a full blown civil war.

So, home I came. I landed on a surprisingly warm San Francisco weekend to a very happy mother and even warmer friends. I fired around the city and Los Angeles to say hello to as many people as possible before I made my way back to the damn airport to depart for Bali. Oh by the way if you didn’t know that part, I’m in Indonesia now.

As far as Egypt goes, as of now I’m not going back for this school term. Hopefully I can make a trip sometime next year to get those much needed hugs from my kids. In the meantime I want to reiterate how proud I am of the Egyptians for finding their voices after such a long time of silence. I was very lucky to briefly witness history in the making, and hopefully making a little of my own.

I started this blog in the midst of the excitement, and am just now finishing it. Since I never wrote much about my work in Luxor, I want to leave some pictures of my school, kids, and those not forgotten precious moments.

Working in the garden.



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Painting faces for Halloween

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Building our "Rock Museum"

Turkish Delight

Ok so Turkey. I’m going to make a very bold statement; only hopefully to retract later in life, Turkey, hands down, has the best cuisine I’ve ever. ONLY comparable country would be Mexico, but I haven’t been in a couple of years so I’m going to re-iterate my statement. Turkey has the best cuisine I’ve ever had. And here’s why. Since Istanbul is such a metropolis you get the best. Maybe in some far off village an old woman’s meatballs would be better than “Ciya” but I suspect most recipes, even at the big restaurants, are passed through generations anyway. Turkish food is what my version of soul food is. Hardy, filling, satisfying, but it never popped a button off my pants-wishful thinking though. A good meal in Turkey just left me happy and in need of a good snuggle.

For me, food is the best part of travel. Look at Anthony Bourdain, he’s made a career out of being a gluttonous Fox. I truly believe a culture is defined by their cuisine. Cooking is a form of art, said the Chef’s daughter. So please put me in the museum, line the walls with Doner kebab, kumpir, baklava, lahmacun, pide, a bottle of Raki and leave me for a while.

The thing about these countries here in the Middle East they only use seasonal local ingredients, because anything else is just completely unaffordable; i.e. 5TL for a single lime. In many ways this makes for better meals. I don’t disregard decisions made in restaurants in the states, but I think food production would be better quality and cheaper if we all had this mentality. It’s a no brainer that an apple grown from an orchard in Napa valley is going to be way juicier than one shipped from somewhere China and pumped with hormones to ripen it along the way. So why would we order them off season for an apple walnut salad? I will give credit to the “Nopa’s” and “Chez Panisse” who have firmly jumped on the bandwagon of local and seasonal ingredients. It shows through in the quality, and therefore notable and successful restaurants.

Another thing about these countries is the price of meat versus the price of fruit. On average I eat meat 1 or 2 times a week. It’s un-intentional, but reflects how expensive meat is. On the other hand fruit is dirt cheap. Pomegranates and oranges are in season now so a glass of fresh squeezed pomegranate juice from an outdoor juice stand was about 5 TL (1.75 USD or so) and orange was about 2TL (.75 cents). In the states a glass of squeezed orange juice is about 4 dollars and a burger 99 cents. Here’s a little food for thought, what would Americans look like if they ate less meat, especially red meat, and more fruit? What would happen to all those big pharmaceutical corporations that profit from people’s high blood pressure and heart disease?

But less of that and more of what makes Turkey so delicious. Given the right meal and situation food can be, if not comparable, better than sex. Breakfast was usually simple, Turkish coffee, a roll, and fruit. One day I had a burger and Caesar salad for breakfast, but I was extremely hungover so it doesn’t count. Lunch and dinner generally depended where we were. Doner, was fresh sliced meat-chicken or lamb, into a thick piece of pocket bread or wrap with lettuce onion ect. Lahmacun was delicious-a large piece of thin bread with sausage and cheese baked just long enough to make the edges crispy. You open it up and sprinkle lettuce and onions, then roll like a burrito-yum. Pide-flat pizza bread. Muscles on the streets were historic. Stuffed with or without rice you just order, squeeze a lemon and down the hatch. Sour meatballs served in a Pomegranate sauce. Kebabs galore served everyway but with yogurt based sauce was my favorite. Breads, rows and rows of fresh baked bread. Soups made of every possible vegetable, which was great since it was rain and cold. Kumpir is genius, a simple stand that sold baked potatoes, then everything imaginable under the sun to stuff it. They start with butter then you can pick anything from yogurt sauce to green olives. Like an all you can eat topping buffet, and more toppings the better. They had the same idea for waffles.

Waffle buffet.

 First they make you a fresh waffle, then spread on an assortment of spreads and finish it with fresh fruit. It’s rolled up like a gyro and you attempt to eat like a lady. Americans would be in heaven. Then the holy Mecca of Istanbul food experience-the wet burger. I don’t think this was a traditional Turkish dish, but it didn’t make it any less orgasmic in my mind. A counter holding about 50 sliders under a heat lamp drenched in this sauce that has the consistency of BBQ sauce, but better. I got one for a “snack”, went back for another and a hug from the man behind the counter. I’ll never forget that burger as long as I live.

 Everything spiced perfectly and cooked with, I’m sure, olive oil. If that’s not enough you finish it off with Raki, very traditional and dangerous spirit made with Anis that has the same flavor as licorice. It was served to me with a glass of water and white cheese. Then you get a small glass of the worlds strongest black tea. Desert? Holy Baklava. I’m generally not a fan of Baklava, but some of the Baklava here melts in your mouth like butter. You can get it with an assortment of different nuts and honey. Salep is a highly addicting grainy milk drink served hot and sprinkled with cinnamon sold at outdoor carts in the touristy areas for about 2 TL. Best drank in the rain under my umbrella. I would take another day in Istanbul sitting in a café sheltered from the rain with all these dishes over a night with Clive Owen or Javier Bardem. What can I say, I’m a fat girl at heart.

Store window after store window
just like this

Needless, to say the food was incredible. If that was the only mentionable quality Turkey had, then they would be way ahead of the game, but the food was only the beginning. Istanbul was such a mesmerizingly beautiful city. Generally when I travel I become restless in a few days, but not in Istanbul. I was completely content getting lost in the cobble stone alleys winding through the city lined with juice and kebab stands, clothing stores, and outdoor cafes in search for the Frida Kahlo exhibit. I could have spent an entire day watching the fisherman along the Bosphorus, walking around Aya Sofia in the rain, polishing my bargaining skills in the Grand Bazaar, or laying in the steamy Hamam. Not to mention staying with Kristine and Danny was like staying with family.

Having spent Christmas and New Years, I’m completely endeared to Turkey. I bought the flag as a reminder of the great time. It hangs on my wall next to all my other souvenirs; a beautiful ceramic Turkish tea set, some black and white photographs of Old Istanbul, loads of memories, new friends, and 5 extra pounds on my ass.

winner winner chicken dinner

Yesterday I decided to buy my usual spit roast chicken for dinner an upon observing that my usual seller has changed I instantly knew I was going to get cheated on the price. It happens, but this is how I handled that siuation.
ME-"How much for a chicken?"
EGYPTIAN CHICKEN VENDOR-"50 pounds"
ME-"Do you know Abdul Rahim?" (Hes my landlord and very well known in these parts)
EGYPTIAN CHICKEN VENDOR-"Yea"
ME- (with my finger pointed) "Well I live in his house and if I call him right now and he tells me a chicken is cheaper than 50 pounds Ill never come back here. So how much is a chicken?"
EGYPTIAN CHICKEN VENDOR-"40 pounds"
ME-"Ok Ill take half"

Christmas Cards to Heaven

It’s Christmas again, well Christmas eve, and I’m sitting at the airport in Cairo waiting to board my plane to take me to Istanbul. Today, I’ve been thinking a lot about the people I left in San Francisco. Clearly I’m having an unforgettable time, but it’s the holidays and the airport soundtrack is full of the most damn nostalgic songs. Ok enough with the Sinead O’Connor Cairo International, really.  Briefly I want to wish everyone I love in San Francisco, Los Angeles, Kentucky, Indiana, Texas, Oklahoma, Maryland, Florida, Australia, Egypt, and everywhere else in the world where you may be, a very Merry Christmas. If I were home you would be getting another one of my traditional Christmas cards, with a lovely picture of me and one very pissed off Bruiser in reindeer ears. However, since that isn’t happening this year, this is the best I got. Also I wanted to, more importantly, write a note to the people who are not going to receive my Christmas card this year.

Dear Dad, Adrian, and Gregor,

        HI! How’s it going? It’s been awhile since I made an attempt to speak to you, I’m sorry for that, but I assume you are following my every move. To me this is evident through circumstances of my life in this moment, and every moment of the past year. I wish you were here so I could tell you all about my adventures in 2010, and how through your influence I was brave enough to accept all challenges. Did you know I moved to the Middle East to become a teacher? I know, random…but I think if you saw me in my element you would be proud.

Dad, I remember all the art lessons you gave me as a child, well my students love them. Every morning when I look in the mirror, and I see my dark brown hair and prominent ears I see a product of you. Thank you for giving me “Garcia” and somewhat Hispanic appearance, nothing makes me more proud than to call myself your daughter.  Our last Christmas together you gave me a tradition Native American dream catcher. I curse the 13 year old girl who carelessly lost it, but it’s O.K because now, as I get older and witness the products of my manifestations, I see you’ve made sure that that dream catcher has been over my bed the whole time.

Adrian sometimes I pretend that you are sitting in bed with me and I look at you and tell you about the crazy things I’ve been doing. You always look back at me, smile and say “well of course why do you think I picked you”. You are the reason I started traveling, and are the reason I continue. I choose to sail in the Caribbean and scuba dive in the Red Sea because you can’t. I honor you and our relationship by living through your memory. Thank you for allowing me to do this.

Gregor while having a tequila induced conversation with you we began discussing the places of your past 6 months of travel. You named of Mexico, Brazil, London, and Chicago ….I said “I want your life” and you replied (in very typical Gregor fashion) “Darling, I want you in my life”. Done! You were awesome travel buddy. Completely experienced, yet unpretentious.  “Plane tickets are the easiest things in the world to buy”, you told me once. I think about this statement all the time, and how it continues to shape a lot of spontaneous decisions.

Up until now you three have been the men of my life. Thank you God for making me deserving of this. It’s completely true that the encounters of our past, good and bad, pave the path we are presently walking.

It's that time of year again, where we should indulge in happiness. Christmas has that wonderful way of making us forget about sadness, and remember what is truly important. Tomorrow, I hope everyone hugs those who you love, and maybe even those who you don’t. So like always, I’m sending lots of love from Africa. Have your-self a very Merry Christmas. All my love,

     Tobie.

And in the words of Gregor. “say hello to ya mutha for me”