Constant Wanderings

Go Exploring

Portrait of a young traveler. Somewhere in the North of Israel.

I accredit my parents for impressing the importance of exploration into my life from childhood. After all, it was my parents who raised my sister and I on non-beach family vacations, trips that opened us up to cultural and environmental otherness, internationalism, diversity and excitement. These are the family trips that empowered me with a sense of autonomy so that by the time I was 19 I knew I wanted to live abroad. When I moved to Paris to study French language, French media and French art, my parents and my sister came to visit. Mostly we went to museums and we ate, but we also rented a car and traveled South to the rocky white beaches of Nice and to the Mediterranean coastline of Caps d’Antibes. Though nearly a decade ago, I still remember the perfect marriage of savory and saltiness of the mussels and frites from a local restaurant where we dined in the streets. That trip was a fantasy, and like all fantasies, I understood and embraced its conclusion.

For years following, travel continued to speak to me. I wanted to return to Paris —and just two years later, I did —but I also wanted to know under-the-sea creatures of Thailand and the hospitality of Israelis in my homeland. I began collecting global wisdom from authors and from friends and all their advice confirmed my hypothesis that travel is accessible. And even, that traveling as a young woman, not yet 21 years old, was accessible. Armed with those whispers of knowledge I set out into the world on a journey of my own and have continued to move ever since. Travel has led me to understand that there are few things that nurture my soul like self-exploration and curiosity. Alone in the world with only my intuition as a guide, I can see myself so clearly. Because travel strips us down to our rawest self: it forces us to let go of our pre-conceived notion of limits and boundaries, allowing us to reimagine our human potential to connect with others, and more importantly, with ourselves.

We're standing at the bar top - Pepe, Luca and me - drinking rum with ice to cool us down. The humidity of this South American evening wraps itself around me. I'm in a sultry dress looking older than usual, older than 25. My companions are pushing 40, with faces worn by age and children. As we drink, we don't say much for a long time; the music has taken us away, transported us to a world where only the beat - and nothing else - exists. We're at 1940, it's old Cuba here in New Colombia. I can feel eyes turn toward me as my hips move faster, so I move behind the crowd to feel the music in ecstasy and in peace. Next to me, an older couple dancing like they've had thirty years together to find their rhythm. It's beautiful. It's exotic. It's intoxicating the way they flow. He can't take his eyes off her, even after all these years. The music gets faster, the air, hotter; cigar smokes mixes with sweat. It's so sexy here in Cartagena. There are no problems here in Colombia, at least not tonight. Pepe, another drink!

“He did not think of himself as a tourist; he was a traveler. The difference is partly one of time, he would explain. Whereas the tourist generally hurries back home at the end of a few weeks or months, the traveler, belonging no more to one place than to the next, moves slowly, over periods of years, from one part of the earth to the other.”

— Paul Bowlers

Spanish Guidebook 101

Flour=harina / Wheat = trigo / Contiene Harina = does it have flour? / Perdon? = Pardon / Por favor, puedo usar el teléfono? = Can I use your telephone? / Quien = Who / Que = What / Derecha = Right / El libro = The Book / Carta = Letter /Diario = Newspaper

japan

Tokyo //
Go.
Go.
Go.
Tall. Busy. Frenetic. Frenzy.
Full of life. Full of people. Too many people. Motion.
Skyscrapers. Department stores. Non-stop. Motion.
Train stations. Life in transit. Up all night. Til the morning train.
Go…go…keep going…
Those bright lights. Those God Damn Bright Lights.
Modernity. Lines. Shops. Gamers. Businessmen. Robots. Confusion.
Cheap meals. Fancy meals. Vending machine meals. Standing meals. Bar stools. Bar snacks. Whiskey. Plum wine. Shochu. Sake. My God Too Much Sake.
Walking and walking. That quiet alleyway. That quiet coffee shop. That manicured garden. That sensation of zen.
Complete tranquility.
Peace and Quiet.
Slow down.
Stop.
Enjoy this moment.
Enjoy this place.

From top to bottom, left to right: Shinto gate along Kumano Kodo — Nakahechi Route / Man in Ginza, Tokyo / Side street in Ginza, Tokyo / Nishiki Market, Kyoto / The start of an ascent along the Kumano Kodo / Nezu Museum, Tokyo / Kumano Kodo hiking trail / Lost in Tokyo / Men eating ramen in Ebisu, Tokyo

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“In the best travel, disconnect is a necessity. Concentrate on where you are; do no back-home business; take no assignments; remain incommunicado; be scarce. It is a good thing that people don’t know where you are or how to find you. Keep in mind the country you are in. That’s the theory.”

— Paul Theroux

One of the greatest moments. Vang Vieng, Laos

Nine Emperor Gods Festival;

Phuket, Thailand:

This is a story about travel that will live on only in my mind. Not on paper. Not on camera. Not for the world to know. Only for the pure pleasure of keeping a memory, letting it settle into my being and become a part of the map that lives within me.

Alone in Mexico City //

I take myself to a neighborhood spot for breakfast and I think of Ricardo, meeting each other with house music pulsing loudly through my body, young people rubbing their bodies up and down all around us. I think of greeting each other like old friends, with a warm and comfortable embrace, and talking about our mutual friend back in New York. I think about the bar growing louder and more energetic as we move from the dance floor to the open-air terrace to continue exchanging introductions: about work - his, then mine - unique places in Mexico, a shared appreciation of music, and not much else that I recall now. I think of the shots he orders that we knock back quickly. Then another. And another.

Because that's life in Mexico City and I'm just trying to live it.

I think of the thick seduction swarming all around us as I begin to dance. The late-night beats pulsing up and through me as he draws in closer. Moving our hips in sync without touching and the secrets that live in the air between us.

I think of the night growing later and Ricardo pulling me to the rooftop, laughing at every step higher. Youth, What a Joy!, I think. To be desired and in control in a country that is not my own: this is the ultimate freedom. Pleasure shoots through me like a lighting bolt.

I think of the bathroom, and washing my hands and meeting Ricardo’s eyes in the mirror as I feel his erection against my back. Strong. Hard. Like sex. So close I can already taste him. His eyes moving over me: down through the delicate curls that hang over my shoulders, past the rose in my cheekbones, into my almond eyes, down, down the yellow of my dress that holds onto the pear of my hips. Hearing his slow breath in my ear until all I feel is his tongue making circles on me. Is this alright? Turning to meet his lips with mine so we can kiss each other long and hard. Thinking his secrets are worse than mine.

I think of his words lets get out of here at a time I don't know for certain but what feels like 4AM. When the night is still young in Mexico City. I think of saying yes, then no, then laughing with my whole body. Falling over each other, his hands on my thighs, my back, my shoulders.

I think of Ricardo returning to his girlfriend the next morning and looking at her and realizing how beautiful she is, and wondering guiltily to himself how he could have ever been unfaithful to her. How could he have let himself be tempted by someone else. For what?, he might think to himself: a good fuck? Could he fathom that he had done that to a woman he loved deeply? After thinking for a while, I invite my mind to quiet and turn my attention back to the dish in front of me and take the most delightful bite.

Because that’s life in Mexico City and I’m just trying to live it.

How strange to love a city
With every ounce of your Being

How strange to dream of Elsewhere
In search of what is foreign

A map, the object of desire
The object of your life

So small in scale
But so large in possibilities

Always seeking,
Expanding,
Remembering

To move is to be alive

Travel as existence

What freedom,
What joy!

To go forth in the world
And meet yourself in it

Traversing inner
Worlds and
Outer worlds

The landscapes of life

Reinventing,
Growing taller,
Growing whole

Going, going, going

But at the End
there is nothing better
Than the feeling of Returning

—notes from a wanderer