I am a writer. I have always been a writer.
I am also a wife of one, divorcee of two, mother of three.
A stand-up comedienne trapped in a body of a Pharmacist. A feminist.
A Life Coach, the 'ass-kicking' kind!
Blogging memoir-ishly about my ridiculously happy right now and how to manifest some for yourself.
There is a time in everyone's life when a decision needs to be made on a whim. On a whim and based on the "me first" kind of philosophy. Sprinkled with a bit of carelessness - the good kind - just to prevent overthinking. Carelessness that simply must include some form of hedonism.
Sounds interesting?
Well, let me tell you about my most recent "Hell YES!" decision I am sure to revel in for the rest of my life!
Next thing I know: I'm in Colombia!
Towards the end of this winter - the weirdest winter of wars and worries - my phone rang and I heard a: "Would you travel to Cartagena with me?!"
As one of my best friends rattled on with her contagious zest and elaborate plans listing fast approaching dates I got lost for a second. My young life flashed in front of me: I was 15 and back in my favourite geography class. South America. A strategically important port. Chocolate. Coffee. And of course, narco mafia, cocaine. Pablo Escobar. Thank you movie/TV stereotypes! The soundtrack playing in my subliminal cortex: Romancing The Stone!
There was no time to Google anything. Just pack the cabin luggage, grab my passport, kiss the kids and get ready to experience the very essence of the word: AVENTURAS!
Fav coffee place
I don't know what made me fall in love with Cartagena the most, but here it all is and not in any particular order. In fact, it was more like a tsunami - everything hitting me at the same time - the warmth, the tastes, the smells, the sights, the sounds making me feel enchanted from SEGUNDO UNO! - Caribbean Sea breeze that hugs you as soon as you step out of the Rafael Nùñez International Airport whispering: "Life Is Good" - Coffee - thick and powerful, nutty with the hint of caramel that removed in a single sip all remnants of our red-eye flight tiredness; Se Volvió Prispri - a little, elegant, home-made, cool piece of heaven - Cobblestone streets - close to 500 years of history polished into the stones lining town squares and corners. From the Inquisition (the Museum of Inquisition serves as a somber reminder of atrocities done in the name of the cross - too bad CNN wasn't around to report on it) to Inspiration - street-art, performers, entertainers, ladies selling fruit in traditional costumes and an explosion of colours at street vendor offerings
Colombian tote bags
- Spanish colonial architecture - colourful facades, balconies adorned with cascades of bougainvillea, magnificent entrances and door knockers that totally deserve to be in their own coffee-table book
Breakfast is ready!
- Fruits - mango, maracuyá, papaya, pitahaya, passion fruit, pineapple, guava and guanoabana and my all-fruits-favourite lulo. How to describe the divinity of exotic flavours? Simple: you bite into a banana and at once understand that is how God intended it to taste. Not how we get to buy it in North America - yanked off the tree while still seriously green then shocked into hibernation by cruel, unnatural cold in some giant cargo crate only to be stunned by the neon lights of the mega-grocery-store, presented to us in a pale-shy-yellow... Blasphemy! - People - with learning English still being considered a privilege reserved mostly for well-to-do families it is amazing to experience how easy it is to connect with people while knowing only a few Spanish words (note to self: learn Spanish!). Thank you Google translate App! There is something so unbelievably easy and generous in the collective demeanour of Colombians. They simply love life. They get it. Minutes are not rushed. Meals are not gobbled. Steps are taken in a leisurely way.
Fernando Botero at Plaza de Santo Domingo
- Celebration of the feminine curvature - imagine a place where Spanx is a mythical term. Where tight clothes are welcome, busts carried with pride and behinds ready to move at the first beat of salsa. And although South America is notorious for their ultra-high plastic surgery rates (the unspoken rule is: nose-job for sweet 15 and silicones for coming out of age), I have never seen more beautiful women of all ages wearing whatever they God-damn-well please without a care what the fashion police is saying is a faux-pas for their age group.
New friends!
- Book-lover's & writer's playground - I have finally discovered the ultimate happy place: ábaco libros y cafe - a small corner coffee-shop and independent bookstore that is as enchanted as the books that stack far up to the ceiling. It didn't matter that most books are in Spanish although there indeed is an English shelf. Just browsing the spines, recognizing the writers and titles, and smelling the print felt like home. Sipping coffee. People watching. Meeting new glorious friends. HERMOSA!
Cartagena was also a home of South America's most famous writer and one of the greatest Colombians.
Gabriel José de la Concordia García Márquez. The Nobel Prize for Literature laureate was a journalist, short-story writer, novelist and screen-writer who studied at Cartagena's local university and made home within the old city walls.
Mmmm... Arepa con queso
- Street foods - from freshest fruit juices squeezed right before your eyes, to calorie-loaded-yet-oh-so-worthy empanadas to my all time favourite arepa con queso. There was this street vendor just on the side of the park at Plaza Bolivar (if you follow the Amazing Race - this was the pit stop of the first leg contestants ran in Cartagena that aired this month). No matter what kind of self control my gal-pal and I resolved to follow, just seeing the crispy golden tops made us line-up, morning after morning, patiently waiting to spend the fifteen-thousand pesos the best way possible. 75 cents!
- And now that I've opened the Pandora's box of all Foods irresistible, here it is:
Devil's shrimps and Mango octopus ceviche
In the Cartagena restaurant Olympics there would have been two winners: Cuzco which is likely one of my best dining experiences ever - the food and the company! And then there is La Cervicheria where the entire menu is fresh sea-food that has been cured in lemon and lime juice, sprinkled with aji (chili peppers) and garnished with cilantro and red onion and spices. The varieties are endless and delicious and refreshing and light and totally guilt free!
Ultimate favorite: Ceviche
There is also Montesacro - where delicious foods and full bodied wines are served on the terrace overlooking Plaza Bolivar while the band plays bossanova seducing you into thinking life should always come at +26 C and a best friend laughing out loud with you.
Seafood coconut curry
The winner of Cartagena's desserts... and we explored decadent stuff like coconut crème brûlée and the likes (aka coconut dulce de leche) is...
All this and I haven't even touched on the Argentinian steak-house or many non-food experiences such as Castillo de San Felipe, the origin and faith of the natives, Convento de la Popa, historical term: vomito negro - I am sure to use not as a medical diagnosis but a character description; the dark muds of the near-by volcano, the pink sands of unspoiled beaches and coral-reefs of Rosario islands. The Havana club with authentic jazz or the cool of finest linen fashion the Clinton's have already discovered. Witnessing the full moon during the horse-carriage ride through the narrow cobblestone streets. Experiencing Colombian authentic chocolate making process from start to finish making my own truffles to go at museum of chocolate. Dear TripAdvisor, I owe you so many 5-star reviews!
A 5-star experience with dear friends @ CHOCO museo
And one last thing... Cartagena is way more than a sophisticated, safe and sizzling travel destination. For me personally, it is the port into the new world and the new era. The one where my fort withstood the attacks and my ships earned their smooth sailing with my flag proudly waving in the wind. Which brings me to my friend Vesna. The commandant, the confidante and the fellow conspirator of all things fun. Because the truth is, although I loved every second of my Colombian adventure, the best part of it all was experiencing it with a kindred spirit, an extraordinary woman, mother, sister, daughter, friend, fashion-expert, home-chef, vine-connaiseur. Fifteen hour flight there + 7 days + 15 hour flight back of the best friendship, pure and uninterrupted joy!
My favourite word I learned in Spanish is the word for 'jewelry' - as in emeralds, gold. After all the yellow half of the Colombian flag represents natural resources.
🇨🇴🇨🇴🇨🇴
And although I always preferred Swarovski-like bling rather then the real thing which I have to be responsible for, this word is now my absolute favourite and I am using it to describe my 2016 - my friendship, my trip, my life:
I pulled the boutique's glass doors and the cool air mixed with posh perfume scent welcomed my face. The decor was dark and glossy and sexy and it spelled the language the Kardashians are fluent in. Silly me! When first we met Kardashians weren't a thing yet.
"OMG, YOU ARE MARINA!!!" - she said with enthusiasm I thought was only reserved for Cher or Madonna. Or other one-name celebrities. Neither Rihanna nor Adele have been discovered when first we met.
"Let's do coffee!" - became our mantra. Not talking Starbucks or Tim's, God forbid! With Vesna, the sacred ritual of coffee meant the sophisticated roast, finest China and delicate pastry. A dark chocolate treat glistening at the edge of the saucer.
"I was waiting to meet you" - were her first words when we sat down, coffee cups clinging - "my husband came back from that New Orleans conference and said 'I finally met someone who talks more than you! You should be friends."
And friends we became. We never really talked when first we met - it was more like an avalanche of words mixed with girly giggles. We chatted about everything, jumbling high fashion with pharmaceuticals and making men out of our boys; we deciphered divorces - first mine, then years later - hers. And we've changed our personal outcome of the Balkan war - Serbia and Croatia could coexist just great!
Tonight at La Cervicheria in Cartagena Vesna and I remembered all this. Was it the high of girlfriends' first escape to South America or the caipirinha on repeat matters not: our laughter is loud, our hopes are high, our bond is deep - just like when first we met.
I dread seeing headlines that accuse smart phones of robbing us of our present moment.
Article upon article accusing parents of neglecting their children. Working people losing productivity at the office. Fingers pointed at teenagers for taking selfies, calling them egotistic and self-obsessed. And never mind all those clinical studies showing decline in cognitive function and disruption of the circadian rhythm due to the radio frequency and glare of the screen!
I dread it mostly because I am compelled to read it all, fearful that one of these days I might be found guilty of some or even all of the above. But I dread it more because I waste time reading the stuff that does not really interest me - I am a kick ass parent. I read it solely because of the potential guilt of which I'm afraid I might be currently oblivious. Note to self: please don’t give a damn who says what!
So it's been on my mind for a while now - life coach that I am - to look for what is good in having my mighty iPhone be my constant companion for the last several years. And although I can often point to a text message or a quick call that made me come alive, feel loved and appreciated in that very presentmoment we are accused of wasting away while staring at the phone, I still somehow fail to find a strong case in defence of my sleek Disney "Cars" stickers-adorned phone being near me so often.
Just this past week I dared post a selfie on Facebook taken right upon checking into the Trump Tower hotel. It was that moment when I closed the door of the suite on the 22nd floor behind me and leaped to explore the bathroom (don't ask - the bathroom is absolutely the very first place I check out every single time) only then glancing at my king-sized bed. A flirty pink orchid on the desk. A full selection pillow menu. I mean pillow menu! Automatic blinds. A single standing bathtub overlooking Toronto's downtown. Heated floors. Sunflower shower. A built-in TV in the bathroom mirror (I turned on only once just to experience the insanity of that innovation in hotel offerings and question the sanity of the market that bought into it!).
This is home for the next five days? - Hell YES!
The only thing I had to do was drop my bags and throw myself - with all the might of a yoga aficionado - backwards on the silky white bedding. Snap a selfie and - voilà! This shot garnered a lot of praise and 'Facebook love' but also some comments that made me think:
- "I am not good at taking selfies"
- "I feel awkward taking pictures of myself"
- "Am I becoming some self-obsessed lunatic?"
As of this writing I am not aware of any articles defending a selfie. All I have ever come across has been negative. So please search for the science of it someplace else - I am no scientist. Instead, I am a storyteller. Here is the story:
Take as many goddamn selfies as you please, please! No justifying and no apologies.
Why wouldn't you? Especially if you are a woman.
Are we not always the ones who are hidden behind the camera and later missing on all major life event photos?! You make the cake, decorate it and then stand as far as you can from your child blowing the birthday candles?
Last time someone took photographs of you was at your wedding. An attempt to have a say how you wanted to be captured risked putting you in the bridezilla category. So you pursed your lips.
Then came pregnancy and although glowing, you felt too big to take too many photos other than the growing belly ones - they are justified. Your face with those dark splotchy spots and the double-chin - not so much.
For the following several years you used all the kids you have delivered to hide your body at the beach. So - conveniently - you became a family photographer of your own family.
Then kids entered the phase when they just make silly faces followed by a phase where they want nothing to do with you, let alone take a photo.
The next time you look - if you did life right - you will have a few deep wrinkles and a myriad of those only visible to you, making you conscious of how to choose the angle, the light, the hair toss...
You know where I am going with this?
When you glance at your watch next time, kids will be gone and you will finally have the time to arrange those photo albums - one of life's most taunting mega projects I am intimidated to even think about. And guess what? You will notice, with sadness, that your vibrant and younger self, missed out on too many of those hug and squeeze and "cheese" moments.
I have met many refugees over the past decade and a half of living as an immigrant in Canada - some have lost everything prior to safely landing here. The very lucky ones have only lost material possessions. When I ask them - what one thing do they miss the most - the answer is always the same. The photographs. The account they were younger once. More innocent. Still dreaming.
I will happily be labeled egotistic and self-obsessed. But to me, selfie is 'dope'. It is my proof Marina was here, in my beautiful, busy and complicated life, rightiously taking my space under the sun.
You are welcome to take a look!
That time I was a double divorcee with a child
That time I got my plane ticket for Belgrade
That time I discovered the joys of hot yoga
That time I discovered the sadness of an empty nester
That time I remembered I have two more kids to go ;-)
That time I finally summoned my crew
That time we attempted a family photo
That time we had three generations together
That time I felt the call of the wild
That time the call of the domesticated came a bit too close
That time I witnessed beginning of Shabbat in Jerusalem
That time I witnessed sunrise at Taj Mahal
That time car-crazy replaced car-sick
That time I walked to help End Women's Cancer
That time I drank to celebrate amazing woman's birthday
That time I got photobombed
That time I almost went deaf
That time I surrendered and played along
That time I really loved my outfit
That time I really loved myself
It is all well worth it. You are well worth it. Now - you go do it!
Take as many selfies as you please. Take them even if you don't please. Give it a try. Just like the mirror work it will help you get to know and love the beautiful you inside of you.
If you want to hear the truth about something, just ask the kids!
That's exactly what happened upon our return from a nice and relaxing family vacation in Florida - three eager grandparents inquiring: "How was it"?!
And to my utmost surprise, rather than bragging that one learned how to swim while the other one lost three baby teeth - earning a whopping $30 from a ridiculously generous southern tooth fairy - the following information was shared:
"Mama kicked three women out of the swimming pool and Aba… Aba said the F-word!!!"
Three grandparents looked quizzically straight at me. Was this true? Great. Just g r e a t.
I take zero credit for the idea to actually go on vacation while being on vacation. It was my husband and a scene from his favourite Meet the Fockers coupled with his zest to be on the move introducing us to the southernmost tropical island of Key West.
Key West must do: Cuban Coffee Queen
I should have known that booze consumed by other people would have been the deciding factor in this travel experience. A rowdy bachelor party of about 15, all wearing bright pink T-shirts with a guy's stupid face printed on it labelled with the promising "Frank Da Tank" hashtag boarded the early morning fast liner. When the bar opened at 7:30 AM they all promptly and tidily lined up ready to begin the weekend-long liver challenge. Call me a sexist, I don't care - although I think it's more my feminist's outlook - but it's never a drunken man that irritates me the most. Sure he looks stupid as he shouts something illegible making everyone burst into laughter that sounds more like snorts and grunts than anything else. But it was the three drunken women at the hotel pool who were well into their thirties and blatantly begging for the attention of the aforementioned pink-shirted party that really bothered me. I'm a life coach -- if lucky, there will be a few sessions before any of them gets to understand the concept of self-love and self-worth. When high-pitched screams and forced laughter failed to get the attention of the already-plastered bachelors' crew, they resorted to the option B that usually guarantees a double take: girl on girl action!
I was averting a major pool fight between my own boys all the while obsessing that neither of their mouths would come in contact with the pool water (I'm not brave enough to imagine the chemical content of it given the amount of beer cups lining the poolside) when my 7-year-old pointed and yelled loudly: "Look JoJo, BOOBS!"
View from the old Lighthouse
And indeed, boobs there were, as two out of three clearly desperate yet not-that-young women engaged in French kissing while grabbing each other's bathing suit tops. And attention they definitely got from a 4 and a 7- year-old and their not-so-amused mother. But alas, no attention from the guys in the bachelor party.
The usually-patient me cursed the 5-star hotel's delayed late check-in, which had forced me to take the kids to the pool to spare the lobby patrons the Hunger-Games-worthy battles that usually occur when there is space and sofa pillows and chandeliers.
That's when I noticed that one of the women was under water, while another who had been licking that one's face just a second earlier was attempting to yank on her limp arm in order to lift her up. The third woman was just standing next to them, eyeing the pack of guys from under her mascara-smudged lids while professionally wearing her RBF. I was starting to get nervous when the woman's head finally emerged. A second later she splashed again face first to the other side.
"You have to get her out of the pool!" - I made eye contact with the woman who was still making no move to help her friend. And while I understood this was likely their attention-grabbing strategy I was becoming increasingly anxious seeing the nose and mouth both still fully immersed even though quite a few seconds passed.
"Get her out! Get her out" - all of a sudden the pink shirts all hopped off their lounge chairs, leaving their booze behind. Clearly, this was serious.
The 'drowning' girl, although pale and dazed, re-emerged sporting a faint smile. I guess she was acting after all. Then the third chick, aware that none of the dudes had actually jumped to the rescue - it wasn't a bottle of Smirnoff being dropped in the pool after all - looked menacingly at me while unleashing a stream of words - Was I crazy??? Didn't I know how to have some fun??!! Why was I creating all this drama?!!! Each of these were laced with a certain word that rhymes with - er... witch?
"Shut up and get out of the pool! And sober up! I'm calling security!" - I growled with so much force I actually surprised myself, never mind stunning the kids. In return, I got two determined and one hesitant middle finger waved at me as they sloppily collected their sunglasses and smart-phones and dripped away to the Key West sunset. Phew!
The following day, while playing real tourists, boarding the Conch Train Island Tour, my husband had a chance to show the kids he too knows how to be a - er... witch?
Conch Train on famous Duval St.
Three couples and their numerous kids all over the age of 10 were already on the train when we occupied the last four spots, trying to escape the heat. As the driver humorously outlined the tour's safety rules: "keep your arms, legs, little kids and other belongings in at all times as we don't stop for lost arms, legs or little kids..." the group was already getting their party started - drinking coolers wrapped in tacky Key West memorabilia (It’s my Birthday Bitch!) and eating sunflower seeds with such ferocity the shells pretty much rained over everything.
I really wanted to hear why so many roosters are free to roam the island and why each ceiling of the signature Key West porches were painted blue, never mind the countless anecdotes of the island's famous inhabitants like Ernest
Blue ceiling on a Key Lime house
Hemingway or Tennessee Williams - but the group wouldn't allow it. The constant banter and shrieks had the rest of the tourists, us included, constantly shushing them. The train driver made few unexpected stops in order to make a point - but to no avail. A woman I'll call Shabana (chosen by the most prevalent logo she wore) was particularly determined to have a great time. Every time someone asked for the group to tone it down, things seemed to get exponentially funnier to her. Just as we made a decision to hop off and switch trains on the next stop, Shabana started screaming - "Stoooop, stop, stop the train!!! I dropped my flip flop!!!"
Boy, karma works real fast down South!
Our burly driver - named BJ if we were to believe his name-tag - took real pleasure in repeating the safety regulations we heard prior to the train leaving, enunciating every syllable with painful precision.
In my next life, I'll want to be a rooster on Key West
"You are welcome to collect your lost belongings with the understanding you cannot board this train again ma’am”. Ha, a pickle indeed!
What Shabana didn't lack in the vocal department she definitely lacked in charm and attitude - she pouted and demanded and threatened while listing all of her requests. It did not work - BJ was rock solid and determined to follow the SOPs to the letter.
Shabana was still arguing when my inner - er... witch could not hold it in any more: "I really think you should go get it! All of you, just go get the poor flip flop!”- I was actually sounding friendly yet convincing. But we were a 20-minute walk away in scorching heat from the next stop and there were a dozen of them in their group. The verdict: my Shabana lost her Dolce and Gabbana!
At the next stop as they got off the train, she turned to me with evil look in her eyes and yelled her curse: "I hope you lose something you LOVE!" The always practical me looked at her, shrugged and suggested: “...or you just go buy another pair of flip-flops?”
I don't know if that answer managed to anger her towering husband but he angrily got right into Ram's face - "You'd better get off here, 'cause we are gonna continue to talk!" unaware he was talking to an Israeli. "Are you threatening me?!" - my otherwise sweet husband suddenly turned the volume up. "F*ck yourself" - the man muttered. "No, YOU FUCK YOURSELF!!!" bellowed my brave hubby taking an unreasonably large step forward, of all directions available. A crowd formed. Our little kids started crying. My hands trembled and I squeezed kids closer to me. Thankfully, BJ broke it off with a single thunder of a command: "EVERYBODY SHUT UP! Especially YOU" turning a huge finger towards a man who had just attempted to hit my husband with a mega bag of sunflower seeds - it looked like a giant piñata broke! "YOU AND YOUR GROUP ARE NOT COMING BACK ON THIS TRAIN." Shabana, in the true fashion of her people, threw a shoe at him. Or should I say her other flip-flop.
The Southernmost Point
As the train left, we nestled into the seats the dirty dozen used to occupy. As for them, they were now surrounding the tour supervisor - kicking, screaming and demanding a full refund for all 12 of their tickets. As our train disappeared turning the corner, I took a slim island map folder from underneath me - I had accidentally sat on it as the fresh group of tourists boarded. In it were six adult and seven children's tickets with a neatly-stapled receipt for close to $400 paid in cash. Guess there won’t be a money back guarantee coming after all - the Southernmost recycling bin made sure of that! DISCLAIMERS: A - I love beer. On a hot summer day, there is nothing I like better than a cold Stella Artois on tap. Or a Corona Light. Or Mill St. Organic. Or Loose Cannon. Or Belgian citrus laced Shock Top. B - I did make a subtle comment while on that train intended for my husband's ears only: "Jerry Springer Show people are actually r e a l". So perhaps it wasn't so subtle...
With just a bit over a month away from the long-awaited and dreamt-about, in-detail-imagined and anxiously-anticipated departure for India as a member of the medical volunteering team, I am compelled to list in one place all that I have been reading, viewing, ingesting, googling, pondering and imagining in order to make sure that my time in India counts - for the sake of the people I will be serving and for the sake of my own very sheltered yet ridiculously happy life.
Mowgli - my first crush (Walt Disney animation)
It is a funny thing to remember my first crush. He was small and skinny and wore only an orange langot - a loincloth. I was completely smitten by him although I believe he was likely twice my age at the time. He hung out with a bear and a black panther, elephants and monkeys. It is indeed Mowgli I can thank for my earliest fascination with India, and the enchantment with the idea of the human and animal worlds living in harmony. Add a catchy tune from Disney's The Jungle Book based on Rudyard Kipling's book and I happily committed to a tomboy childhood.
Books have always been my favourite way of getting to know places. Although I am no literary critic, the following are the books that got me hooked on India, its many faces, that one giant beating heart and one calm and friendly demeanour that greets you with "Namaste".
Otherwise a slow reader, feeling as if the Bangalore driver had been writing directly to me, I read it over two nights, my heart pounding, my sense of self, smell and hope being put through the ringer.
2. Shantaram - David Gregory Thomas The best part of this epic novel was having my phone (and car) read it to me. I downloaded it from Audible - not only did 900+ pages simply fly by, but the accents! Oh, the accents were such a delight: Australian, Afghan, Nigerian, French, Persian and of course Prabhakar's Indian. For a while I added the "baba" after my family's names (driving them crazy) in the style of the novel. Never have I enjoyed being stuck in rush hour traffic so much! 3. Q & A (Slumdog Millionaire) - Vikas Swarup If you have seen the movie which became a worldwide blockbuster, you will LOVE the book even more - Mr.Swarup's first literary accomplishment! 4. Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie A long, fascinating yet convoluted story about a man who had been "mysteriously handcuffed to history" and "what's his name" - God. 5. Life of Pi - Yann Martel Richard Parker. So worth reading even if only to find out about who he is. 6. Siddhartha - Hermann Hesse I read Siddhartha for the first time when I was 13. My friend Dubravka had it in her sea-side condo. I was bored and confused. Yet intrigued. Intrigued enough to pick it up again 30 years later and understand it. Understand it and love it.
I have always been a movie buff. And although a fun night of going to the cinema for a movie opening got majorly derailed with the arrival of my little people, the me of my mid-forties guiltily admits to loving my time alone, late at night while everyone's sleeping, with the iPad and earphones in bed (everything opposite of the wise advice about how not to disturb your sleep!). It's simply a gift from me to me!
Movies:
1. Gandhi I saw this movie in Belgrade's cinema "Kozara" when it debuted in 1982. It was 3.5 h long and there was an intermission while they changed the reel. I was profoundly moved by the true account of this man's great life and became a life-long fan of actor Ben Kingsley. I just watched it again - it is a masterpiece and a must-see. 2. Deepa Mehta Trilogy: Fire - Earth - Water All three are breathtaking. "Water" is my favourite - whether because it is set in mystical Varanasi or because - to the feminist that I am - it sheds light in a powerful way on the deep-rooted custom that women can be and should be thrown away. 3. Monsoon Wedding Light, funny and very Bollywood take on the importance of family in India and the tradition of the arranged marriage. After witnessing some amazing real-life matches, I am - interestingly enough - not against it! 4. Passage to India Pretty epic and not only for the mid eighties - it is a great cinematic glimpse into the British colonial India and why it really needed to end. 5. Lagaan: Once Upon a Time in India I come from a place where soccer (fudbal) is "the most important secondary thing in the life". Apparently, Serbians got it all wrong - it's cricket! 6. The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel To make it up to the Brits for being escorted out of India, there comes a cute movie that made me smile during the in-flight presentation. Although sequels are seldom worth it, the same goes for the The Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel (now playing on Air Canada flights).
They say "Love goes through the stomach" so here is the section that needs no intro. I am a foodie. Will go a long way to source the authentic spices and ingredients cooking up a storm at home or track down the ethnic take-out spot in town where the women in saris line up to shop.
Food:
1. Punjabi Chicken in Thick Gravy - Cilantro for breakfast? Not a problem!
2. Masala Chai - Indian spiced tea - it is the book Shantaram, that convinced the low-carb moi to drink this delicious sweet tea!
Recipe at thebackpackman.wordpress.com
3. Chana Masala - Savoury chickpea dish - Married to an Israeli, it's no secret we eat hummus with each meal. So this was an easy yet spicy upgrade!
4. Samosa - Favourite on the go - I know it's deep fried, dammit! It could be baked, in theory.
5. Palak Paneer - Fresh spinach with cheese - I actually crave this, right now. Googling Naples Indian take out... brb
6. Gulab jamun - Cardamom, saffron and rose water delight - I salivate even while pronouncing it out loud! Try it! It's also a great threat for my four year old: "When I catch you I'm gonna make Gulab jamun out of you!" - then he giggles uncontrollably, which is even sweeter!
Weather:
I added New Delhi to my weather app (and world clock to start planning for the 9.5h time difference), back on March 5th, when I heard the news I had been selected as the Canadian volunteer for the "Connecting Hearts Abroad" mission. It is a part of my daily routine and something tells me I won't be able to ever delete it from my list. Thankfully the monsoon did arrive, ending one of the worst heat waves in history, hitting the frail and the homeless by the thousands. With "dust", "haze" and "smoke" as common weather descriptors and photos of melting Delhi streets all over the internet, this former West Nile Virus sufferer is often asked: "How are you going to survive the heat/humidity/mosquitos/pollution?"
First - I have no idea. Second - just the same way the patients I'll serve will. Thanks Dr.Saldanha for the first round of my travel vaccines - I haven't slept on my left shoulder for a week! Looking forward to the part two, not!
Video:
Not in love yet?! Take a look at my favourite YouTube clip: Baby bath time in India
I'm a mother of three and although I was a bit shocked the first time I saw it, I now tend to envy both the moms and the babies. It is a beautiful and social time for the moms - aren't we all a bit lost those first days of motherhood - all isolated in our near sterile surroundings - intimidated by the little body parts we need to clean, all the while making sure not to squish or drown them? Isn't the full body baby massage beneficial for circulation, release of gas and 'skin-on-skin' soothing effect? I would have loved to try this!
Instagram:
Do follow muradosmann - his mesmerizing and breathtaking photos of India - a part of his #followmeto travel series - will get you to travel (smart phone in hand) and see the world even while lining up at the grocery store behind that ultimate queen of coupon-ing - and you won't mind!
Best news story of 2015:
The best 244-words-long article giving me hope young women in India are done with tolerating crap. Game over!
I have been a hot yoga devotee for the last few years: twice a week, my husband and I have a "date night" on the mat -- 75 min of warrior twos, downward dogs and dripping sweats. Sleep like babies afterwards!
Although I couldn't have been any more smitten in the sweet anticipation of my first trip to India, what's yet to be accomplished between now and me boarding a 17h long flight is a full Bollywood Dance Cardio workout, that neck movement, the hips, the teasing jerky moves - it's on my must do list!
Great read while pondering legacy
Volunteering:
With all the sights and flavours and colours it is easy to get lost and forget what's my mission. This time around my mission is to be of service. My mission is to extend my heart, to deepen my humility, to bring my best skill, to spread my enthusiasm. My hope is to become a friend and a family and to instantly cease being a stranger. To upgrade from a fellow traveller to a life-long companion. To be that one of the 7+ billion, that knows that each act of kindness both matters and multiplies.
My legacy?
Today I would be only guessing what my true legacy after this mission will be. Something tells me that once I land, fully take in the new surroundings, visit the local market and adorn myself in the traditional kurti (long blouse) and dupatta (Indian scarf) and meet my new family, the clarity will start sinking in and I will know what's next. For now, inspired by a volunteer in Guatemala, I've collected about 30 pairs of used prescription glasses and will be bringing them with me. Apparently, what keeps sitting unused in many drawers (changed Rx or post LASIK) equals life and livelihood in the poverty-stricken parts of the world. I know that's just the beginning!
I'm ending this heart-fluttering-in-anticipation report with the poem, that has been my favourite for many years. It only happens to be written by an Indian poet - the same one that got me to fall in love with Mowgli. Namaste!
"If " by Rudyard Kipling
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
Cartagena was also a home of South America's most famous writer and one of the greatest Colombians.
