Asia: Bhutan

I remember the sights of Bhutan
Vibrant red poinsettias
Endless green mountainsides
Stair stepped rice terraces
Sacred golden temples and majestic Dzongs
108 white prayer flags scattered on a hill
And homes adorned with bright colorful artwork- Showing the joy and culture of this land.

I remember the sounds of Bhutan.
Quiet, Blessed Quiet.
Roosters crowing at dawn
Schoolchildren yelling “Bye, Bye!”
A Granny calling us to her temple
Chants- which open the heart
And the frantic yet harmonic music
At the Temple of the Divine Madman.

I remember the tastes of Bhutan
Spicy pumpkin curry soup
Nutty, robust red rice
Sweet apples- just picked that morning
Surprise chocolates at Tigers Nest
And mostly- chilies, red fiery chilies
Hot, hot, hot.

I remember the smells of Bhutan
Pure, fresh air
Incense in the Temples
Smoky fires ready to make tea
Sweet wildflowers sprinkled along our path
And the pungent smell of chilies
Baking on the hot tin roofs.

But Mostly…
I remember the people of Bhutan
The sweetness of the young monks
The joy in the children’s faces
The smiles and helping hands from Ongdi, Tsetn and Ugen
Sangay’s great love and knowledge of his country.
And my Bhutanese Guardian Angel- Kinley.
Showing me the heart and soul of this land
While making me feel safe every step of the way.

I remember Bhutan
With gratitude and joy.

Poet: S. Enderle

Vistas: Turban Dressing, Meharangh Fort, Jodphur, India

Mangia: Peruvian Chicken

So yummy. Served at a local café in Cusco, it had me coming back for more (3 times).

1 whole chicken (about 4 pounds)
4 tablespoons white vinegar
3 tablespoons white wine
3 tablespoons canola oil
2 1/2 tablespoons garlic powder
2 tablespoons paprika
1 1/2 tablespoons cumin
2 teaspoons black pepper
1 teaspoon salt
juice of 1 lemon
1 quart cold water

Preparation:

Combine vinegar, wine, oil with garlic powder, cumin, paprika, black pepper, and salt. Mix well to form a paste. Add lemon juice to cold water. Trim chicken of any excess or loose fat. Wash chicken thoroughly with lemon water. Place chicken in zip-top bag. Pour spice paste over chicken. Coat chicken completely with mixture rubbing into every surface. Try to get the paste under the skin as much as possible.
Seal bag and place chicken in refrigerator for at least 2 hours. The chicken will have more flavor the longer it "marinates" in the spice mixture. Do not refrigerator more than 24 hours however.

Preheat grill and prepare rotisserie. Place chicken on rotisserie and on the grill for approximately 1 1/2 hours at a temperature around 300 degrees F. (150 degrees C.) Test chicken for doneness by measure in the temperature in the thickest part of the thigh. Chicken is done at 165 degrees F. (75 degrees C.).

This chicken is frequently served with dipping sauce. A simple version of this sauce is made from combining 1/2 cup of mayonnaise with 2 tablespoons mustard and 2 tablespoons lime juice.

Vistas: Katch That Kandy!, Karnival, Koln, Germany

Bali: I'm Gonna Wash That Funk Right Off Of My Body

I’m gonna wash that funk right off of my body
I’m gonna wash that funk right off of my body
I’m gonna wash that funk right off of my body
And sent it on its way

Whenever I travel there are certain activities I like to experience around the world. They are (in no order of preference) horseback riding, wine tasting and spa indulgences. Bali is known for its spa remedies. Mind you, I travel on a budget and with a curious mind so I opted out of spa treatments at the more luxurious hotels; I wanted a more authentic experience. By chance, strolling down the street from my hotel I happened upon Body Works, a true Balinese Spa. They are an independent spa just up from Jl. Dhyana Pura.

The day before my flight out of Bali I decided to treat myself to a true Balinese spa treatment and popped in to enquire about their services. One treatment sounded particularly enticing to me, the ‘Javenese Lulur.’ The treatment begins with an hour long Balinese massage. Then, the entire body is painted in a brown, granular paste (the traditional Javanese lulur), containing turmeric, sandalwood, cinnamon, ground nuts and rice. The paste is then gently rubbed to exfoliate the skin. After a quick shower, cool, fresh, yoghurt is splashed, then smoothed over the skin. The yoghurt’s enzymes stimulate cell activity and restore PH balance of the skin, which feels as soft as silk as soon as the yoghurt is washed away. The final step involves luxuriating in a fragrant, warm, flower filled bath. For $25 USD? George Washington rocks! I walked in to Body Works and found them to be friendly and laid back. They asked me if I wanted a massage. I said “Tidak saya glee.” (No, I’m not ticklish). Body Works has a reception area at the front and 9 small private rooms located behind. Each room has a bed with a bath.

A young, very young, masseuse, guided me to one of their rooms and in a language I clearly don’t’ understand, instructed me to take it all off (she couldn’t have been older than age 19.) Take it ALL off, right in front of her (no private dressing rooms, no towel to cover up). Memories of a young girl came back to me; undressing in the girls locker room in Jr. High flooded me where I escaped to the girl’s locker room to change in to my gym shorts flooded me. I was a modest young woman growing up but I had to (and did) get over it! She wasn’t going anywhere. “When in Rome Erika…when in Rome,” so I undressed completely in front of her eyes. Completely undressed I was ready to go. “Get over yourself” I thought and I did and it was Heaven.

Body Works spas services are divided into Massages, (which include Full Body Massage, Exfoliation Massage, Thai Massage, Shiatzu Massage, Aromatherapy Massage, Back Massage, Foot Massage), Hair Treatments (which include Creambath, L'oreal Spa Creambath, Hair Coloring, Highlighting, Eyelash / Eyebrow tinting, Shaving), Facial (which includes Sari Ayu Facial, Biokos Seaweed Facial, Biokos Aloe Vera Facial, New-Bio-Lifting Facial), Waxing (which includes Bikini, Brazilian, Half Leg, Full Leg, Lip & Eyebrow, Underarm, Back Waxing, Chest Waxing), Natural Nail Care (which includes Bodyworks Manicure, French Manicure, Flower Manicure, Sports Manicure, Polish Manicure, Polish Change, Bodyworks Pedicure, French Pedicure, Flower Predicure, Sports Pedicure

A sample selection of prices are as follows: Full Body Massage (1 hour) 139,000rp), Highlighting (short hair) 309,000rp, Biokos Seaweed Facial (1 hour) 115,000rp, Bikini Waxing 55,000rp, Sports Manicure 60,000rp.

Body Works has another location on Jl. Kayu Jati, the small lane that runs between Jl. Oberoi and Jl. Petitenget. They open from 9am-10pm.

Bodyworks Jl. Seminyak (0361) 730454Bodyworks Jl. Kayu Jati (0361) 733317
Jl. Raya Seminyak No. 63, Seminyak
Kuta, Bali
Tel/Fax: (0361) 730454

Jl. Kayu Jati No. 2, Petitenget
Kuta, Bali
Tel/Fax: (0361) 733317

Buenos Aires: Tango Forever

Passion. Passion is just not fire, ambition and fireworks, passion can be so subtle it can be found in everyday life. Passion has such an intensity to the definition, an exuberance, however, I think it is really simple. Passion doesn’t only exist when times are high and the feast is huge and the wine is flowing. Passion is a feeling for life, whatever the circumstances; the conflicts, despair, loss, wants. It’s about finding the beauty, sensuality and the electricitiy to reignite your spirit in the everday life. I discovered passion during my trip to Argentina, a country that’s been burgeoning with passion since it’s very existence, in good times and bad. Like stopping by a gas station you can refuel your passion (for less dollars these days I'm sure) through the dance of tango. In a bar, on the dancefloor, in the living room or on the street. Tango. Tango forever.

Photo: Couple dancing the Tango on the streets of Buenos Aires.

Peru: The Power Of Now (Part I)

Before embarking on a trip I always wonder what the outcome may bring. What might I learn, experience or discover? When under a different tilt of the earth’s axis what will the sun shed light on? When I return home will I view myself and the world differently? I discovered I did indeed possess an outdoorsy side after Australia and New Zealand. India made me appreciate my female right to speak my mind and freedom to walk in front, side by side or without a man. London ignited the power of a dapper Saville Row suit with matching handbag and shoes.

To aid in these discoveries I’d bring along a book to read on long flights, train rides, lay-overs and T.V.-less hotel rooms. For France, I read Gustave Flaubert's Madame Bovary. In India, Holy Cow: An Indian Adventure by Sarah McDonald and in Costa Rica, Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love. For Peru, I brought along a book titled The Power of Now: A Guide To Spiritual Enlightenment by Eckhart Tolle. Perhaps I could enlighten myself spiritually (much needed) while enduring the cross country bus journeys and the week-long camping and horse trek through the Peruvian Andes, sleeping under the stars in a tent.

Months prior to my trip I visited my family and during Saturday morning coffee my Dad confronted me. “I’m really worried about you” he said. I resisted rolling my eyes back. I’ve had these dialogues many times before and expected a parental sermon on the state of my 401K, who’s doing my taxes this year or how diversified my mutual funds are.

“I’m fine Dad. I am putting the max I’m allowed per paycheck in to my 401K and the company matches dollar per dollar.”

“No that’s not what I’m talking about. Are you really going to take this trip?”

“Of course I am! It’s all planned out, flight is booked. I’m ready to go.” I chuckled.

“No, Erika, I’m being very serious here. I’m worried about you because you’re acting out of character and when someone you love is acting out of character, talking about doing things out of the ordinary, you begin to worry about them.”

“Dad! Come on! I’m not on drugs or pregnant! I’m talking about taking a horseback riding trip! Nothing could be more in character. You know me. I’ve loved horses since I was 5 years old. You were there when I first rode a horse. In fact, you were right behind my horse teasing it to go faster while I was yelling for dear life! And I’ve loved it ever since.”

“Yes, I appreciate that. I’m talking about the camping aspect of this trip. This is so out of character for you. You’ve never camped a day in your life. Do you realize what you’re getting yourself in to? Where are you going to go to the bathroom at night?”

“Well, they didn’t exactly highlight bathroom needs in the brochure but I assume I’ll just head off somewhere in private, out in nature.” I chuckled again, in vain, because a part of me knew my Dad had a strong argument. If he was a betting man he would have pooled his entire retirement savings on me not surviving this camping trip. For him, the odds were too damn good that I would bail at the thought of a squat and potty amidst nature. If I were a betting woman, I would have known that a warm chicken salad sandwich (heavy on the mayo) bought from a street side café and consumed on a hot, Sunday afternoon in the town of Cusco, Peru, is a bet NOT to take a chance on.

Story to be continued in Part II...

Vistas: Horse n' Buggy, Seville, Spain

Mangia! Florentine Frittelles

The Italians have a way of making anything sound sexy. Toilets to us are ‘tolettas’ to them. Holy crap to us is ‘schifezza santa’ to them. And doughnuts to us are ‘frittelles’ to them. Frittelles is a traditional Florentine pastry specially made for Carnival. They’re a perfect nourishment to keep your energy up and appetite curbed while you navigate the maddening crowds of party goers in the canal city of Venice. They taste quite yummy (or ‘squisito’) with a Bellini cocktail as well!

To feed a multitude, you will need:

1 3/4 cup rice (cheap rice is best here)
1 quart milk
The zest of one lemon
3-4 Tablespoons sugar
A walnut-sized chunk of sweet butter
3 eggs
1 jigger of rum or sweet wine (the recipe calls for rum, but try Vinsanto)
4/5 cup flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
Oil for frying
Confectioner's sugar
Simmer the rice in the milk until it's quite done, then stir in the sugar, lemon zest, and butter and let the mixture cool.

Separate the eggs and whip the whites to soft peaks. Stir the yolks and the rum or wine into the rice mixture, then fold in the egg whites, flour and baking powder. Drop the batter a teaspoon at a time into hot oil and fry the frittelle until they are a rich golden brown. Drain them on absorbent paper, and when they have cooled dust them with confectioner's sugar.

Vistas: Candi Dasa Footprints, Bali, Indonesia

Par Avion: Florence, Italy

Postcards with an edge sent from around the world. "Ciao! Acceta la carte di credito (do you accept credit cards?) These have been the only words to come out of our mouths since we have been in this outstandingly STUNNING city of Firenze! We're downing our third cappucino of the day. Payed homage to the espresso nirvana of the universe. We are not worthy of Italy! Took a long siesta after shopping, a bottle of chianti, gorgeous pasta, espresso with biscotti (dipped in desert wine). If we ever got ran over by a moped you would see handbags, scarves, jewelry all flying out of our hands! We are not worthy of Tuscanny. Love, your bambino"

Postcard of: Brunelleschi's Dome, Cathedral of Florence, Italy

Casa e Città: Cheerful Window Shutters, Arles, France

Vistas: Elephant's Watering Hole, Tarangire, Tanzania

Take Action: Haiti Earthquake

There are two different types of tragedies one might face in this world. Ones that are beyond our control (acts of God, forces of nature) and ones that are completely within our control (ignorance, hate) if we choose to change them.

The 7.3 earthquake that struck Haiti on January 12, 2010, resulted in the loss of an estimated 50-100,000 lives and the potential for more loss due to the logistic challenges posed from such a catastrophic event (water supplies, sanitation, and supplies distribution). It’s a tragedy beyond our control that no on one on this earth could have ever foreseen. The other tragedy is the disgustingly dim-witted remark that ‘televangelist’ Pat Robertson made on the 700 Club http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/01/13/pat-robertson-haiti-curse_n_422099.html in stating that Haiti has been “cursed” by a “pact to the devil.” That a long time ago, while under the heel of the French (Napoleon III, he presumes) the Haitians gathered together and swore a pact to the devil if Beelzebub released them from the oppression of the French. True story (so Pat says). For any of us who have lost or witnessed the suffering of a loved one from any tragedy statements like that must feel like an evil curse. No one deserves this.

I am more than aware of the predicaments that many of us find ourselves in (unemployment, ill health, disability, financial shortcomings, emotional upsets) and the reasons we might make to forgo on helping out with aid of any kind (aid isn’t just dollars it can be clothes, volunteerism, blankets, shoes). I received a bit of a shock myself in that this week my property agent sent out a notice saying that if any tenants chose to make a donation to the Red Cross towards Haiti earthquake relief efforts that they would match any donation made. So no excuses, if the landlord can cough up than so can I.

Here are ways you can help...

• Donate $10 by texting “HAITI” to 9-0-9-9-9
• Visit http://www.redcross.org/ or call 1-800-RED-CROSS
• Volunteer for the American Red Cross, please contact your local chapter
• Check with your employer, church, property management to enquire about matching donations

Some tragedies we can turn around so when the rubble begins to clear in Haiti then perhaps, God willing of course, we can band together again and purchase Saint Robertson a first class airplane ticket to the 21st century.

Vistas: Play Me a Song, You're the Accordion Man, San Telmo, Buenos Aires, Argentina

Mangia: English Brekky

My cooking skills remain debatable within some circles but there’s one meal I can easily whip up and that is an authentic English breakfast. I won’t bother rehashing what you can find on the Internet. Instead, I’ll recite the recipe from memories of helping make this simple, quick and hearty dish every morning while in lock up over the New Year weekend in a cottage outside Oxford. Don’t worry about measurements and specifications; the beauty in this brekky is that any tosser can make it while emerging out of their late Saturday night pub crawl coma.

Ingredients:
2-3 cups mushrooms
1 tin of baked beans
2 tomatoes
½ cup orange juice
3-4 rashers (i.e.: Canadian bacon)
2 bangers (i.e.: sausage)
2 eggs
4 slices bread
cooking oil
butter

1.) Turn the oven on to broil.
2.) Slice a cup or two of mushrooms, set aside for now.
3.) Pour a couple tbs. of cooking oil in frying pan and place under low to medium heat on the stovetop, place the rashers in the pan.
4.) In a separate stirring pan pour the baked beans and simmer on low heat.
5.) In yet another stirring pan, drop in 2 tbs. butter and simmer on low to medium heat. Toss the sliced mushrooms in, periodically stirring until they’re light brown.
6.) Slice tomatoes in half, place on an oven dish and lightly drizzle cooking oil over the tops. Place the tomatoes in the oven under the broiler. Not sure for how long but keep an eye on them! You want them to be grilled, juicy and the skin slightly crisp.
7.) Pop bread in the toaster; get the kettle going.
8.) Flip the rashers over and crack two eggs to fry sunny side up.
9.) Toss in a half cup of orange juice in to the mushroom pan (yes, OJ!). Stir and sprinkle in some salt and pepper.

A cup of Earl Grey or English Breakfast tea goes great, steep and drop in a few cubes sugar and milk. Throw it all on a plate and slop on whatever condiments you like (HP sauce, mmm!)

Venice: Hey, if I Like It, Why Should I Put a Ring On It?

It’s the oldest trick in the women traveling solo guidebook; wear a fake wedding band on your left ring finger to avoid unnecessary passes from men. That is if they spot a wedding band on your hand (signaling you are spoken for) then out of respect they won’t harass you. But, hey, if I actually like it, why should I put a ring on it (exception made for the 14K white gold, green amethyst and diamond accent ring that now dons my left ring finger).

There was a time long ago that any mention of me traveling solo to a lust filled, machismo driven country like, say, Italy, would heed loved ones warning me to wear a fake wedding band on my left hand. Years ago I was driven to return to Italy, on my own, to fulfill my desire to visit Venice, the city of canals. “Are you still thinking of going to Italy, alone?” Overly concerned, loved ones would ask.
“Definitely!” I replied.

“Oh…are you sure? It might be quite dangerous to go alone. The men can be quite persistent and we worry about you being harassed all the time. You should buy a fake wedding ring to wear on your finger. We just want you to be safe.”

Prior to my trip I stopped by Nordstrom’s to purchase a cubic zirconium ring. Stashed it in my suitcase and upon arrival in Italy donned it on my finger. I wandered the canal, watery city on my own, day and night. One chillingly cold evening in late December I found myself as on a crowded vaporetto. Vaporettos are basically the public transportation system for Venice. These boats navigate this water locked city as there are no cars, buses, taxis, not even a street light. I sat there nudged in between older women donning their furs, well dressed professionals and well, a boatload (no pun intended) of young, dark, chiseled, handsome Northern Italian sailors. I glanced down at the imposter ring on my finger, halfheartedly reassuring myself that I was OK because I was taken.

I recalled earlier memories of traveling Southern Italy with my sister where we were bombarded by the minute by men constantly courting “Ciao bella” smack smack, kiss kiss they’d leer. We got in some pretty contentious arguments the two of us. I was appalled and more so, annoyed by their lack of manners. I’d quip back “Please, give me a break!” “Oh brother” “As if!” rolling my eyes. My sister would bark at me, “Look, you’re traveling in their country now. You have to respect their culture, stop getting in to such a huff about it. When in Rome…do as the Romans” she’d scold me.

“Yeah, when in Rome do as the Romans but that doesn’t mean I have to DO a Roman! They’re being rude and disrespectful!”

I peeked up again to see if any lonely sailors lost at sea were checking me out for some possible maritime good times. Nothing. Not one single sailor glanced my way that evening.

I disembarked the vaporetto and returned to my hotel. Standing in front of the mirror in my room I did a once over. I reassured myself that albeit I was no Sophia Loren I was still young and fairly attractive but my God, if I can’t get one nod from a boatload of Italian sailors then something might be terribly wrong. I removed the fake wedding ring from my finger and stored it back in my suitcase reassured that I had kept the receipt to return it once I got back home.

The following day young, handsome male passersby remarked “Ciao, bella…where are you from?” “Are you a university student?” “Where are you going?” “Are you lost” “Would you like to share a cup of coffee?” I breathed a small sigh of relief. Everything is right in the world again.

Par Avion: Khajuraho, India

Postcards with an edge sent from around the world.
"There's an old Hindu saying that wherever there is woman, God is worshipped and I find that sooooo groovy!!! What a great ending to my trip. 15 temples dedicated to the power of women!!! Beautiful, smart, creative, voluptous, playful, women! Loved it."

Postcard of: The Khajuraho Temples, Khajuraho, India, Devi Jagadamb Temple, 10th Century

Inspiration: Seek Your Joy

"One cannot divine nore forecast the conditions that will make happiness; one only stumbles upon them by chance, in a lucky hour, at the world's end somewhere."

Will Cather

















Photo: Zanzibar, Tanzania

Vistas: Path to Basilica San Biago, Montepulciano, Italy

New Decade, New Year, New Paths...