A Year of Plenty: Reflecting on 2013

If you are lucky in life, you have people surrounding you that are incredible writers, artists, sportsmen, lovers, wisdom-holders, tear-wipers, travel buddies, team-players; or in other words, you are lucky, to be blessed.

The last year of my life included many compelling milestones, voyages, reconnections and plain happiness.  I do say, I am a little nervous about maintaining the wonder and amazement of it all, it´s a challenging task to renew beauty.

On one hand I don´t want to sound as if I am bragging; on the other hand, I do want to remember these wonderful opportunities and in the digital age and time we live in, my thought is that one day, someone will look back at this document and think ´this was what the average person was doing in 2013..´

So without further adieu, in no particular order except the way that my memory processes, here are some of the tremendous opportunities I luckily had in 2013.

Born to Run: I ran my first marathon in 4 hours 6 min in Amsterdam, in the Netherlands.  It was a sunny day, there were over 45,000 participants and the city of Amsterdam took me under their wing as if I was one of their own.  (I suppose it doesn´t hurt that my blond hair and blue eyes gave the overall appearance I was Dutch).  2 of my favorite people in the world were there: Lisa Rivera, one of my best friends and traveling running partners extraordinare, came in around 3 hour 45 minutes, bless her ironman heart and steel legs; Andrés Manso, my partner followed me around Amsterdam using planes, trams and cabs to make sure he could give me a clap and a thumbs up sign while I struggled through all 42 km, particularly the last 4 km.   Overall, I am not sure how I feel about more marathons.  I do know I prefer trail running in the end but we´ll see.  Sometimes it´s hard to resist the idea of a trip to a new place all in the name of running a marathon.

Oh the places that you´ll go: I reached 50 countries, it´s only a little less than 1/3 of the countries in the world but I am well on my way.  This year, I travelled to Ireland, Belgium, Senegal, Japan, England, The Netherlands, Croatia, Bosnia-Herzegovenia, The Philippines, Greece, Czech Republic, France and to Menorca and Santiago de Compostela within Spain.   Being in Barcelona makes it easier to conquer Europe and more difficult to get to more exotic destinations such as Africa and Asia, but it is in my blood to be in these less frequented places of the world.  In El Nido, Palawan, I was touched by the sense of community set to a backdrop of the Jungle Book meets The Beach.  In Cap Skerring, Senegal, I got my groove back in a hip hop club surrounded by gorgeous chocolate men and women.  And in Mostar, Bosnia, I had the privilege of listening to Ahmed, our Croatian-Bosnian tour guide, who had lived for ten years in the US, who shared multi-level perspectives on the past, present and potential future of his country and the extensive Baltic peninsula.   In the themes of books, I take this quote from Augustine of Hippo to remind us "The World is a Book, those who do not travel read only one page."

On the Road:  Finishing the Camino de Santiago has been a 2 year process.  In the end, it turned out to be one of the most spectacular experiences of my life.  This year, I had the pleasure and challenge of finishing the last 200 km with my mother.  My mom was a trooper the whole time, trying to force a smile on her face and ignore her blistering soles.  In the end, I was blessed to have an assortment of friends and family around us.  Andrés made the journey from Barcelona and our two friends, Albert and Aleix, arrived in Santiago the same day as my Mom and I.  My Dad also arrived to Santiago and before I knew it, I was surrounded by love and accomplishment on the road.  I cannot recommend this journey enough to people who like to walk, meet people and be at one with nature.  The Camino will always be a part of me, in my buckling knees and warming my heart with one fond memory after the next.

Of course there was much more, just like more is yet to come.  But no one has time to read through all of my ups throughout the year, and everyone should know that there were also many dark and twisty moments throughout the year.  It´s why roller coasters are fun and often compared to life.  They wouldn´t be fun without all the ups and downs.  You often have to look back at the ride and remember the, whoa and wow, all at the same time to really feel the pleasure of the journey.  I hope to read more people´s reflections and thank especially my Barcelona community for being expressive and ready to inspire by regularly blogging.   One of my many goals this year is to do just that, blog and write more,  there´s a lot floating around up there that might provide a little wisdom or at the very least some humor and empathy.  And to finish in some more famous words provided by William W. Purkey, an old favorite and something wonderful to live by in the year to come and hopefully many more.

“You've gotta dance like there's nobody watching,
Love like you'll never be hurt,
Sing like there's nobody listening,
And live like it's heaven on earth.” 

Finding the Way at the Very End- Camino de Santiago Part 2

This is the personal narrative I wrote in 6th grade this year and it largely represents my Camino experience this year while walking with my mom from Ponferrada to Santiago. I hugely learned that what is one woman´s pleasure is often another one´s pain, but it brought my Mom and I closer and I finished something I committed too. 

Finding the Way at the Very End.

I looked before me, with my legs wobbling back and forth, weary and tired from the 205 km we had walked in a week. The stairs, all 20 of them, appeared monstrous, like a mini- Everest lying in front of me and I hadn´t even hit base camp. In a way, they were laughing at me, grey faced and strong.  I knelt down feeling the cold stone on my knees, it felt like dry ice puncturing my knee caps and pain instantly hit my heart. This was going to be much more difficult than I thought, just like the Camino had been for my Mom.

I looked deep into my Mom´s eyes. She stood, at the top of the steps, staring down at me, with tiredness drawn all over her body and eyes aching for sleep.   As she was waiting for me at the top of the stairs as I lined up behind many pilgrims to enter the grandiose cathedral in Santiago for the daily mass.  I needed to know and understand her tiredness.  I needed to feel all the soreness she had spoke of every time she showed up at the albergue with buckling knees and fatigued eyes.   I wanted to understand how someone can´t have a smile after walking 30 km, because it felt that good for me.  I looked at the stairs and watched the church group bow down to their knees.  They quietly took off their shoes and placed them on their hands and began to climb the 20 or so stairs that laid before them.  I looked at my Mom again.  She saw the glimmer in my eye, the determination that I was going to follow the pilgrims and follow the way.  I knew what I had to do.

        I slowly untied my shoelaces, happy to have my sore feet escape from the trap of sweaty hiking boots.  I knelt down on the first grey, stoney step.  I felt the cold rock cool my body which momentarily gave me relief in the heat of the scorching sun.  2 seconds later, my mom and I met eyes.  She looked at me and realized what I was doing.  I could feel her glance burning a hole in my heart.  I could feel my knees resisting the rock underneath them, beginning to ache from the seconds without moving.  I looked down and began.

        With my shoes in my hands, I made it up the first step.  ´Not that bad,´I thought, my heart fluttering and my eyes glancing upwards, noticing the 19 or so more steps that lay before me.  The man on my left who was two steps above me, quivered with pain.  The woman on my right, had tears forming in her eyes and a face that screamed pain.  She used her coat sleeves to lay down padding every time she went up another step.

        As the seconds past, I began to realize how easy it would have been to climb those stairs normally and how easy it was for me to walk the Camino.  But that was just it, the Camino wasn´t supposed to be easy.  In fact, it was supposed to be something that challenged you every day, every hour, every minute.  With my next step, my body pinched itself, I gasped, feeling the guilt run through my body into my knees and slamming against the cold stone.

Once more, I gazed at my mom and tears began to form in her eyes.  When I saw the tears flowing freely out of her eyes, I felt sadness boiling up inside of me  and the tears rushed out of my eyes.  With each step, I breathed in deeper breaths, because each step didn´t get easier.  It was completely the opposite, each step came upon me like a fire breathing dragon that got it´s defense by roaring on your knees. With the excruciating pain, I felt lifting my sweaty legs off the lower step, I raised my knees to the next step and to the next step, sucking in air, each time I reached the step and could breath for 5 seconds before moving onto the pain of standing in one place for too long.

        My mom took a long glance at me.  Her tears gave me strength.  Her tears made me know that she knew. I wanted to understand what she had gone through.  I wanted to let her know that this was her Camino and I was there for her.

        I made it through the middle stairs rapidly with her weak smiles and the powerful raindrops falling gently off her face.  Reaching the platform, I let out a “aghhhw!” piggish noise.  My knees now layered with pebbles dug deeply into my epidermis, pressing against the stone simultaneously, feeling a frog in my throat as I tried to swallow.

        The woman next to me with tiredness singing from her eyes, said “No puedo.”

        I got next to her and said “Te ayudo?” and she shooed me away like a fly.

        I remembered the journey is only your journey and you must get there independently.

        I looked at the last 8 steps.  My mom, in her florescent yellow jacket, blue shorts and pink sweater was waiting for me, silently cheering me on.  “Oh Boo.” she mouthed the words to me, my nickname, and I think she got it. I slowly climbed up, checking on the troubled lady behind me, but simultaneously, looking forward towards my mom and the liberty of standing.  And finally, there it was the last step, looking at me in the face, smiling at me at eye level, laughing at my knees 4 steps below.  ´No sweat´ I thought my hands swimming in my sweaty shoes and my knees wobbly moving from left to right to minimize the pain.

I reached the final step and pushed myself up, as my knees flexed back and forth, side to side.  My mom rushed up to me between where she watched and the last step.  Tears streamed down her face and contagiously, formed in my own eyes. ´I know it was hard´I said silently, wearing my apology in my face, my eyes glistening with salty tears.  She squeezed my hand and leaned forward to hug me.  To me, those were her unspoken words, ´Now, I know you understand.´

Remembering What We Must Not Forget

        I remember seeing photos across newspapers and seeing the covered grandmothers.  Their cheeks were hollowed out and they wore scarves around their heads and their hearts under layers of clothes.  I remember noticing lines of people lining up for food and making a connection to the great depression.         And there were nightly newscasts with sirens, and bomb blasts and cloudy skies, and yet, I had no idea what was happening in Bosnia Herzegovina in 1992 and why.  I was 12 years old and well, I would like to say I was sensitive and alert to what was happening in the world and astute for a pre-teen, I was only so much, in my own little self-absorbed world.  And yet, as an adolescent, it´s not an excuse but it does provide some background justice to my ignorance.  Meanwhile,  I don´t know what the adult (10 years my senior) world´s response would be to that statement, but I am not sure how anyone who actually knew what was happening and wasn´t directly involved could justify their turning of a cheek, as the world did, more or less, during the 90s war of the Balkans.

       I have been lucky enough in my life to be able to dive into some history, that was taught to me, through landmarks and living histories of people who experienced war, injustice, poverty and the woes of the world.  Across South Africa, Laos, Vietnam, Korea, Cambodia; Salvador, Brazil;  Singapore and India, I was able to learn more from my visits to castles, forts, food tours, cooking classes, tunnel tours, theatre presentations, dance troupes, long chats and much more, I learned more about the history and cultures of these place then I ever did in history class or in a museum.   And yet, in Bosnia Herzegovina, a museum was really all I had, because 20 years later, there are very few people who want to talk about it.  Furthermore, a museum gives you half of what you should know or want to know, but it also melts your heart because you are formulating an idea about a history that is not yours without any true personal understanding or monumental understanding to help expand your knowledge. 

      As I travelled from Dubrovnik to Mostar, up the tree-lined coasts with turquoise waters, with light creating sparkling diamonds, into the rolling hills with water clear as glass and green lush, I was drawn to the simple, untouched landscape with a mere windy road and a few cities sporadically laid throughout the Bosnian countryside.  

     In Mostar, even though it took us two hours to find our charming guesthouse, everyone in the city was at our service with little or no English.  When there was a will, there was a way.  As we walked around Mostar, lined with old buildings labeled "Dangerous ruins" do not enter and cemeteries the size of small lakes, one couldn´t immediately fight the wave of sadness flooding your core.  A city not rebuilt, bursting 100s of tourists during the day and turning into a ghost town at night, the whole idea of hope comes in like the wave and and lulls and rises of a tide. 

    "These cities have been killed by indifference, by our conviction that somebody else- the government,  the party, those "above" are -- in charge of it. Not us.. How can we be in charge of it, if we are not in charge of our own lives?" Slavenka Drakulic 

     How right Slavenka was, our tour guide Admir, explained to us.  "The Bosnian government has received billions of dollars of aide to rebuild this country and yet, there´s a 50% unemployment rate, little industry and no physical sign of where the money has gone.  Corruption is rampant and no one knows what is next."   

      I did some research. Admir was right. 5.3 billion Euros have been invested into the country and yet, in Sarajevo, building corners lay shackled with bullet holes; new architecture is only represented in the reconstructions of old architecture or in the art deco buildings that barely survived the war.  Where has the money gone and what can we do to make sure history doesn´t repeat itself as people want to eat, live, work, worship and more independently?  Rights, most of us, rarely consider desires but fundamentals to our everyday existence. 

   I just finished a book, written by Croatian author, Slavenka Drakulic.  It was titled, How We Survived Communism and Even Laughed.  She, herself, said, in an epilogue that the title was not appropriate, given that her country and many other former Yugolsavian states entered a whole other war, shortly after it was finished. A war that was not worth laughing about.  A war, that I know, as a 30 something, I need to understand better to understand the world better.  It was a war that is being mirrored in Syria right now, and a war in which the world let hundreds of thousands people die.  

    After my trip to Bosnia, I am not laughing.  I yearn to learn more and I want to better understand how the world continues to let these wars, civil or what have you, continue where people are continuously killing each other or fearing for their lives.  I´ll end on a quote that inspired me to speak up and out and if nothing, try to encourage a re-education of the events of Bosnia.  

"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." Edmund Burke

Here´s to the crazy ones.

Here's to the crazy ones, the misfits, the rebels, the troublemakers, the round pegs in the square holes... the ones who see things differently -- they're not fond of rules... You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them, but the only thing you can't do is ignore them because they change things... they push the human race forward, and while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius, because the ones who are crazy enough to think that they can change the world, are the ones who do. Steve Jobs

  Yesterday, I watched a TED talk that inspired me to be each one of my students´

champion. Every kid needs a champion! 

   Contemplating this, it´s quite a big task, but somebody´s gotta do it, right.  I challenged myself the the last 30 days of teaching to be extraordinary.  To be a teacher that shared new things on a daily basis that weren´t necessarily relevant to the coursework or units, but relevant to life on a whole new level. And maybe, I am a rebel for it, and maybe I just see things differently and meaning differently like Steve Jobs suggested.  However, for now, this is a mission and an important one, because inspiration is integral to our lives as human beings.  We dance around happiness, looking for love, looking for light but really, we just need something to believe in and something to move us forward into action. 

   When I think back of all my professors, the ones that truly inspired.  I think of Lavada Nicholls, my photography teacher, from High school, who stood by my side as I fumbled towards photographic ecstasy over 4 years and came out with a small but developing eye for beautiful things, but probably more, particularly, the need for human beings to interact with each other and art.  

  I think of Mr. Kennedy, who asked me to stay after class in Expressive writing class.  Everyone knows that terror of having to stay after class and I immediately though I had done something wrong, when in fact, he wanted to praise me and encourage me to publish my work in a mainstream magazine.  My kwirky writing had hit the right note and sent me soaring into believing I was finally, a capable writer.

  When I think of the crazy ones, I think of Chandra Mohanty, who told me, "maybe Hamilton isn´t right for you, maybe you need something way out of your comfort zone."  Looking back, I know she knew me way before I knew myself.  

  You need to know that Bob Palusky, my pottery teacher, who watched me meticulously try to master the art of throwing pots and centering clay, stood by me, knowing that all that ridiculous pneumonia filled passion that I spent in the studio, would one day lead to some powerful hand sculptures.  Our professors that make us good don´t only push us to be funnier and smarter, they push us to go way outside of where we knew existed.  They push us to work harder even when we aren´t good at things.  They push us to want to be successful in things that are initially impossible.  What a big job they had.  What a bigger one I have nowadays with social media, globalism and increasing economic gaps in every small crack surrounding us.  

  Facebook rumor has it, it´s National teachers week and I have to say that being a teacher for the last 11 years hasn´t been a ride in the park.  It´s been a turbulent filled ride around the world, filled with tears, romance, depression, captivation, awe, beauty and sadness, but writing about it, makes me realize, how much I myself embody all those feelings on a daily or weekly basis.  Being surrounded by these emotions only really makes me feel more human. So, in honor of National teachers week, I fully support Steve Jobs´wise words because I would be aimlessly feeling for the light in the dark without those teachers that made me "think different." Without good teachers,making me smile until my face hurt, or smiling and nodding and knowing I would find my path, I would be still wandering through the fields looking for my part to share.  Because of good teachers, I have been blessed to share the love and adventures I find around the world with each one of my students in a hope to inspire equally, magic. 

I want to break free

This past weekend I went away to a technology conference in London. 

 I thought nothing of going to it.  It was just another conference in something that I am interested in.  And yet, going back to Barcelona I feel like I've been on Jupiter and had this somewhat life altering experience.  

I have mixed feelings about the whole experience. Leaving your comfort zone isn't what I would call fun.  I mean there are moments when you learn or do something you couldn't dream possible or when you are intoxicated by cold, fresh air like you would be from taking a shot of tequila or 3, but the word fun isn't what comes to mind.  I think challenged would be the positive side of it but confused would be the opposite side of things.

I guess that was what was scary, how lost and confused I felt after, after feeling confident and secure before I arrived. Now, I don't know where to go or what to do with my life, with my career as an educator.  I feel a little bit more sad about the world and really just unsure of what's the next step, when in the back of my mind I know that I need to be stimulated and inspired by my work which must on some level involve a good deal of intellectual research and discourse, but also involve working with people of varying levels of education, class, race, etc. 

  That being said, everything that I have seen in the last 2 days awakened me to a few clarities:

A) Even though our school doesn't have tons of resources it is a supportive environment for giving its staff the opportunity to develop professionally. I feel I am on the right track and my independent motivation combined with a pretty supportive community has allowed me to personally advance in my understanding of technology, and 75% of what we have finished have aided in students understanding of themselves as individuals and collaborators

B) The bells and the whistles of all these technological ipad/ android apps in the world are beginning to overlap and finding the ones that help push critical thinking skills, and which also have a real and forward set of real world application and lastly, produce something which shows a comprehension of content and ability to understand and explain, are far and few between

C) Asb has to start honing in on one implementation strategy or all of them are going to implode

D) Kids are losing out on some core understandings of basic economics in the world due to all these gadgets and gizmos and all this incessant consumerism largely influenced by the extreme increase of technological devices over the last ten years

E) I have to solve some issues of the world, whether that happens by actually going out into underdeveloped countries and teaching OR by starting to design some projects in school with technology  that actually help people in developing countries gain access to some of the basic human resources we have; something has got to change and quickly.

When we don't know, we are free, but when we know, we inherit chains limiting our freedom.  And the knowledge brings a whole different set of powers, because we have the privilege to choose what we do with this knowledge, do we break free from the chains and try to pretend like we don´t know, or do we summon up all the courage we have and do something.  

Sometimes, especially when I think of my time in Senegal or Southern Venezuela or in the mountains of Chiang Mai, I feel like not knowing is power. The smiles on those faces in those places stemmed from smoking corn cigarettes and playing 3, 6, 9 in a variety of languages; or how about a foreign couple entering the local bar located in the living room of another foreigner; or laughing at the four foreigners sleeping together in solidarity to avoid the danger of a single rat, all of these generate energy you can´t get from an Ipad. 

Often I feel as if our Westernized worries and fears only bring laughter to the poorest people in the world and when we think about them, they can bring laughter to even us and the ridiculousness of our reactions.  

On the contrary our westernized wealthier cultures often bring worry and stress as people travel or immigrate to our countries and sadly this repeats twice as much on our side.  We aim to accommodate but cultural norms sometimes close down communication ending commonly in misunderstanding.

In the end I come back to the Macy Gray lyrics and aim to be bigger, better and bolder in the days to come.

Get up, get out

And do somethin'

Don't let the days of your life pass you by

You got to

Get up, get out

And do somethin'

How will you make it if you never even try

Get up, get out

And do somethin'

Can't spend your whole life tryin' to get high

You got to get up, get out

And do somethin'

'Cause you and I have to do

For you and I

2013 Vision Boarding..

If you could cook up your life, what would it look like? 

Everyday I go in and outside of my life, through my work, through my relationship, through my commute, and through my doings and I wonder if this is what it´s all supposed to be. 

Of course, we all have these waves that we crest and float safely into sure, smoothly, on days that we feel loved and proud of our lives and our work.  And, we have agonizing ones for sure, that seem to take us forever to get into shore, swimming across currents instead of with them, getting sucked down by a huge wave and trying to fight your way out of it.  It´s nothing new and yet, at times, I wonder if I get worse or better at dealing with it all. 

If I could cook up my life, here´s what I imagine it would look like. 

I´d be in love with someone who makes me laugh when we are intimate, challenges my patience levels outside of the classroom, brings my lows to highs and smiles from ear to ear when my highs are on the horizon.  I´d have my life and he´d have his, but we´d meet in between for wondrous voyages and mouthwatering meals.   And to be honest, this is an area which I am comfortable with, but am still trying to challenge completely as well.  I want to be married to amazement and the only place I know I will find that initially is with me.  Making it with another person is a whole different ride in the park. 

I´d be in a job which I feel like I give to the world.  Check on 9/10 teaching posts so far..

But I´d also be in a job where I feel like I am creating.  Less on the artistic side but much more on the literacy/ technology side, I must keep moving forward and pushing those ideas through... Sometimes check... 

And a job where I could make a little bit of money to pursue bigger dreams or crazy ideas.  Negative check.

Finally, I´d be in a job where people take me seriously and respect my ideas, don´t patronize me and value my experience.  A veces, si, A veces, no....

Finally, my life in 2013 and what it would ideally look like.

My commute would be less than 20 minutes.

I would run at least 3 times a week and run a marathon. (in the cards friends)

I would play volleyball on the beach or court twice a week and actually play the whole time.

I would fulfill at least one of the crazy prophecies I have once a week. 

I would cook 3 times a week at home and maybe do the Barcelona Eat with Friends thing..

I would speak Spanish better than I do now.. 

I would break the 50 country mark.. 5 more to go and a couple hundred plus days to do it this year.. 

I would complete some version of "Before the end" project in Spain this year.

Here we go 2013.. Here´s to you, here´s to me and here´s to not only thinking but really doing.. 

To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.
e. e. cummings 

We remember. We celebrate. We believe.

This title comes from a song we sang in church a lot growing up and I found it an intriguing way to start a post-holiday reflection.

I remember arriving in Banjul, eyes half-open, a smirk on my face and as we walked dreamily through the airport, our entrance into Africa wasn´t so different than any other country I have traveled to.   When we walked out, the completely normal row of drivers holding papers, as to be expected at 3:30 am,  but where was Buba?  Nowhere to be found and hence the adventures with public transport began.  Our first taxi, a small green 1970s version of the Ford focus, rattled up, and so we hopped in.  As we travelled down the smooth Gambian roads, with a cool breath of air blowing through the window and a cute, cozy Spaniard snuggling into me, I felt Africa welcoming me with open arms.
I remember diving into the Atlantic off Gambia for the first time, feeling baptized by the water, a little bit colder than my liking but nevertheless, it was as if I had been cleansed of my sins and resurrected from the hard work of the last few months.  I splashed around, and rode the waves, my mind secretly swimming back to childhood moments of getting lost in the water for hours upon end.

I remember arriving in Ziguinchor, which seemed like a scene from the movie District 9.  It was like a junk yard/ trash deposit that had come alive with old cars dominating the scene.  Men of all colors haggling, stores constructed of car hoods, rope, and plastic bottles selling anything you could imagine and a lingering odor of urine and farm animals.
I remember being thirsty and confused when Andrés directed me to a house in Kartong and said, "This is the bar."
And, we rocked up and a small Guinean man came out and said "What do you need?"
"We can get a cold beer here?" We asked.
"Sure, come in."
And sitting in the cozy living room of this man´s house/ bar, I couldn´t help but laugh about how important it is our definitions are always changing while traveling.

I remember getting told that "Bisous son interdit," otherwise known as "Kissing is forbidden" in the street while getting in some make out magic on the streets of Cap Skerring.


I celebrate the voices, dancing, costs, access to entertainment, energy of the Abene music festival.  While watching African women shake their booties and move their legs dancing like crickets would, I watched, hand in hand with a small African child who had grabbed my hand and insisted we were dance partners, shaking our hips with broad smiles and wide eyes.
I celebrate the fireworks and chaos of Place de Independence in Dakar on New Year´s eve.  Firecrackers flew in every direction.  By some people´s definition, a war zone, energy flew around and lit up people´s faces and hearts.

I celebrate the island of Goree and the ability to walk around freely exploring like it was your grandfather´s old farm house.  Every corner lied photo opportunities people dream of and the tranquility of the island left room for your imagination to create independent accounts of people´s experiences and adventures in this island.

I celebrate a good boogie in Cap Skerring and holding my own in the African discotheque.  I was never a hip hop star.  But somehow, on that magical evening, I was surrounded by a crew of Senegalese men,    busting a move to Sean Paul and somehow, for a moment channeled Rihanna.  We all have moments when we fool ourselves into thinking we are cool.
I celebrate the Saigonesse in Saint Louis.  In general, Vietnamese food makes my world go around; nevertheless, I will be dreaming of the pho we had at the Saigonesse for awhile until something else nurtures my culinary spirit like that again.  Here´s hoping.

I believe that I had the best tiger prawns yet along the Cap Skerring coast, at a fly-infested hut along the beach.  Always reiterating beggars can´t be choosers and expect the unexpected.
I believe that sharing experiences makes color disappear in front of your face.  As we sat in the crowded bus, and more people climbed, kids on every lap possible, a bench and people basically sitting on our laps in the back and finally 5 people holding onto the luggage rack and ladder along the back of the bus as we cruised down the road towards Saint Louis.  You can´t help but share nods, expressions that say "I know, this sucks" or "Respect that we can do this."

I believe in the healing power of hot water and really, how it can make everything better, when you are traveling out of your comfort zone.
I believe from the happiness of the people in Senegal with so little that we all must take a step back and look a little bit closer at appreciating what we have.
I believe that trips like this help us to reflect, laugh, grow, develop patience and to appreciate and value our existence, our partners, our families, our lives.

I encourage you to remember, celebrate and believe.