The State in which I live

"These are our masks," my uncle, David, said nonchalantly, holding two cardboard boxes in his hands. Like masquerade masks? Its not Purim, what's he talking about?

"For what?" I asked naively. 

"You know, to be prepared for the chemical gases," he replied bluntly.

Where the hell am I?

Earlier that week, I sat on a dark bus ride from Ashdod to Jerusalem with my aunt, Celine.  The orange city lights flashed past the window as we drove, lighting her face with an eerie flickering. "There's going to be another war you know," she said blankly as she gazed forward. Um, no, I didn't know that. "This time worse than ever before, we are going to be bombed from every border," I stared at her with wide eyes, as she continued to look at the seat in front of her. "As soon as it starts, I think you should leave right away... there's just no hope for peace anymore, they don't want peace." Now she stared at me dead on, "It's not safe anywhere," she said with a resigned shrug and a glance towards the ceiling as if to say, "What can you do?" 

We both returned our gazes to the front of the bus, and I sat motionless as her words rattled every tense muscle in my body, "It's not safe anywhere." I began to feel trapped in the bus, and I was relieved to step out into the cool Jerusalem night air.  Relieved, that is, until she pointed to the bus station from which we had just come, "There was a suicide bomb here just two months ago."

Where am I, and why am I here?

In Italy, I felt safe everywhere I went. I went anywhere I pleased on my own; I felt empowered, and at peace. So in coming to Israel, I had set the intention and expectation of finding more loving community. But now, in the course of a bus ride, she had zapped every bit of  confidence I had and replaced it with a wobble-kneed scared little girl. 

I attribute this shift partly to the change in social dynamic I have experienced since arriving in Israel. When I was travelling in Italy, I felt extremely independent. Everything I chose to do, eat, see, and visit -every turn I took - was my own decision. And all planning was done largely on my own. (editors note: my mom and dad did help a lot, especially when I didn't have internet) In Israel, however, I have been staying with family, and I can definitely feel the difference. I am grateful for their hospitality, but they are seriously parenting me more than my parents do. The questions are incessant: "Where are you going? How are you getting there? Did you even reserve a place? Did you eat? What did you eat? Are you cold? Are you really wearing that?" 

Woah, how did I go from being an independent adult right back to being the baby of family?

So, I was already feeling pretty small when Celine decided to tell me that, by the way, I'm not safe anymore. And that got me thinking, why did I come to Israel? I mean, besides the preconceived notion of wanting to meet my family. Why would the universe put me - coming from Italy in this high-minded state of peace, clarity, and love - into one of the least peaceful places on Earth? 

It's proving to be a valuable lesson in upholding my state of my mind regardless of the state of my physical surroundings. I will not let my higher self, which has unconditional love for all beings, be belittled and roped into hate. To put it simply, I refuse to let myself succumb to fear any longer. I will instead allow my intuition to guide me to where I need to be, and I will feel safe in the sanctuary that is my body. 

I debated about whether or not to even write this post. I mean, there are stressful things happening and being said around me. But in large part, life is still pretty normal here. I suppose it is more of an affirmation to myself than anything else. And it feels much more solid now that I've put it down in words. 

Now, it's time to start living it. For the next few weeks I am committed to fully enjoying the amazing and historical place in which I am living. I'm thinking a trip up north to Tzfat, Haifa, Jerusalem, climbing Massada, visiting the Dead Sea.. And then (best part) on January 2nd, I am starting a six week program called  the Green Apprenticeship at Kibbutz Lotan. Along with a dozen other young people from around the world, I get learn the ways of permaculture farming, eco-building, and community living; all while sleeping in a mud dome in the beautiful Arava desert! At the close of the program, I will be certified in permaculture farm design and eco-village design! 

Writing this made me feel much better, thanks for reading :) Oh and the hunt for a new camera continues... so you'll have to keep holding out on my words alone for a bit longer. I feel your pain. I know that when I read a blog, I only look at the pictures... so it must not be very fun. hmmm let me see what I have in the old picture folder...

D'aww, there we go. A baby lamby in Italy, feel better?

We're not in Italy anymore

Ashdod, Israel could hardly be a more striking contrast to the landscape of Italy. Even the most modernized areas of Italy, like the bustling streets of Rome, still had an air of history and mystique about them. Not to mention, most of the smaller towns I visited in Italy ( Siena, Lucca, Venice, a majority of Florence) don't even have car access on their narrow, winding streets. And along those alleyways, you could barely walk one hundred meters without bumping into something of historical significance. But Ashdod, well Ashdod is maze of white concrete apartment buildings, linked by wide, four lane roads, and massive round-abouts. In Italy, it was everyday fare to walk into a building constructed two thousand years ago. In Ashdod, no building dates back further than 1948.

In Italy, we roasted our chestnuts, always over an open fire. In Israel, we zap 'em in the microwave.

Don't get me wrong, I had a nice time in Ashdod. It felt good to relax, sleep in my own room, catch up on emails, etc.. It was just a bit of culture shock, or environment shock, having come straight off a permaculture farm tucked into the mountainside of central Italy.

Anyways,

The other night, I was standing on the beach in Ashdod with my cousin Bar and a few of his friends. "What is our cousin Simona's daughter named?' Bar asked. "I don't know..." I replied sheepishly.
"Oh, Amram's son came to visit also, you know him?" he tried again.   Uhhh, "nope."
How about my sister ? Nada.
"Wow, you really don't know your family," Bar's friend remarked.

And he's right! I have about thirty five cousins I've never met, along with ten aunts and ten uncles whom I only vaguely know.

Earlier this summer, while sitting in the San Francisco airport with my father and uncle on the way to my sister's wedding in Philadelphia, we attempted to list out each of my father's siblings along with all of their offspring. Getting the siblings in chronological order was hard enough, but listing all of the nieces and nephews left half of the page blank. Turns out, I'm not the only one who doesn't know my family very well.

I grew up very close to my mom's side of the family, but my dad's side had always been a sort of ambiguous Israeli mass that I just labeled "Like Dad". I did feel a certain pride in calling myself a Morrocan, a Danan, but I had no real idea why. Now that I am finally spending time with this Moroccan mob, I am beginning to pick out the nuances and personalities that make up the Danan clan.

Take my uncle David, for example. I really love David. (Well I love both my uncle Davids, but right now I am speaking of the one of the Israeli variety)
Maybe, I love him so much because he calls a 'kindergarten' a 'kittengarden', and that's just adorable.
Or maybe, I love him so much because he takes notice of every bird, every flower, and every rock - giving each his loving admiration.
Or could it be, that I love him so much because he woke me up one Saturday to walk me thirty minutes out into the sand dunes, just so that he could tell me "to meditate" ?
Most of all, I think the reason I love him so much is because he proves false just about every assumption I've made about my dad's family. I thought they would all be stubborn, hard headed, orthodox Jews with overly Zionistic tendencies. But David is almost the exact opposite; he is gentle, patient, thoughtful, and he would much rather meditate by the ocean than pray in a shul.


Or my aunt Gloria, she is clearly the 'mama' figure in the family. She is the type that won't let you set foot in the house without sitting down to have something to eat. When I visited, she had prepared a traditional Moroccan couscous with a chickpea and sweet potato stew.  As the afternoon waned, ten or so of her family members wandered into the apartment to collect their foil wrapped portion of steaming couscous, exchange stories, and return home with their bounty in tow. I told my aunt Celine about how sweet it was, to which she responded, "You should see her on Friday nights." When apparently, her small apartment turns into a full spread take away restaurant for hungry loved ones.

My knowledge of Hebrew also got put to the test on that visit to Gloria's. It's nice to know that I can still understand pretty well. If people talk slowly, like to a baby, I can get about 52% of what's going on. She kept repeating what I think translates to, "Your are getting fatter, why don't you have a boyfriend now?" Good question.

Then there's my aunt Tehila, whom I met for the first time last night. I'll admit, I was a little nervous to meet her. She is the only one of father's siblings who is still orthodox; the kind of orthodox that disapproves of my mom being a female Rabbi, and wears clothes from wrist to ankle, including a head covering. I currently have very long and colorful yarn tied in my hair..  so I braced myself. Turns out, Tehila is one of the sweetest people I've met. She's very welcoming, and she's an amazing cook. Perhaps even the best cook in the family, according to my cousin, Mor.

It's really beautiful to see the multifaceted world from which I come. I got different view of this world when my aunt Gloria invited me to a "brita" ( a baby naming ) for her newborn granddaughter.

"Yes!" I replied excitedly, imagining the same traditional Moroccan festivities which I had experienced at several family Bar/Bat Mitzvahs and weddings. You know, the kind where everyone piles into a crowded living room, dressed in a rainbow palette of sequined Moroccan dresses, and dances around a table (that's even more crowded than the living room) filled with homemade cakes, sesame candies, macaroons, and pastel hued meringues ? So when asked Gloria if I could help her bake for the party, I was surprised when she looked at me slightly confused and replied, "No...?"

But as soon as I walked into the party, it all made sense.  Expecting to come to someone's house, I instead walked into a posh nightclub ballroom set with thirty white clothed tables, dimly lit by pink and red mood lights, and the sounds of Israeli hip hop coming from a raised DJ stand. If this is what her naming looks like, I can't wait to see her wedding.

In awe, I sat down at a table with my uncle, Shimon. I was relieved when he told that this wasn't technically my family, so I didn't feel so bad for not knowing a single one of the two hundred guests. That is, until a man with a stocky build walked up to me smiling with open arms, "Arielle! How are you? Are you enjoying Israel?" He must have seen my dumbfounded look, because he then asked me,
 "What? You don't remember me? I'm your uncle Danny!" Oh, shit.

"I really don't know my family.. I need to figure this out," I thought to myself. I silently counted on fingers which of my father's siblings I had met so far, "OK.. David, Shimon, Danny, Marco, Amram, Celine, Gloria, Jaclyn, two more... I know Tehila won't be here.. and that leaves..? Oh ya! Sami!"
"Danny," I nudged, "Where's Sami? Why isn't he here?"
"Sami? He's right there!" Danny said as he pointed to an unassuming man with glasses sitting directly across the table from me. Oh, shit.

How is it that I can sit right next to my own blood relatives and not know the difference? Shame on you, intuition. It's a very strange sensation, really. These people are just as much my family as my aunt Missy and Ali from the States, yet our relationship is so vastly different.
This is one of the main reasons that I chose to visit Israel; I feel a yearning to get back in touch with my family, my roots. Even if its painfully clear that I still don't really know everyone, I am already beginning to recognize the diversity of individuals within my family. And within each personality, I see a mirror for something I hold within myself. In Tehila and Gloria, I see my love of cooking and caring for others. In Celine, my passion for art. In David, my desire to lead a peaceful and meditative life.

Maybe in order to get to know my family, I need only get to know myself.

Where on Earth is Arielle Danan?

Well, earlier today she was standing at the foot of the Acropolis in Athens (why waste a nine hour layover just sitting in the airport?) And now, she's somewhere over the Mediterranean headed to Israel, and ready to finally give you an update! Yes, I realize that I haven't posted in over a month, and that may be worrying some of you. Or not, maybe you couldn't care less. Regardless, I have been feeling lately that some people back home are concerned about my whereabouts and well being.

I would like to say to all you worriers, if ye be worrying, I hereby release you from your duties!

I am really, truly, doing wonderfully.

Last we spoke, I was headed to the EFT retreat in Chianti. The retreat was amazing and surreal. I find it difficult to describe the fullness of the experience, but suffice it to say that I grew a vast amount both mentally and spiritually in those two weeks. The retreat confirmed what an important tool EFT is in my life, and what power it has to help others. I met people who had cleared lupus and even prostate cancer with the help of EFT. And each day, I watched as the thirty three other participants and I broke open our ego shells a little more, and began to blossom into our true and beautiful beings. Aside from EFT, there was plenty of yoga, meditation, dance, bodytales, song, and delicious vegetarian food.

my big happy hippie family

some sweet lovin at the retreat

the beautiful miss Sonya and I

Everyone at the retreat felt instantly like family to me, and I can't wait to see them all in the future.

(( If you would like to know more about EFT or the retreat, feel free to ask! I'm now a certified practitioner who would love to share with others and get the chance to practice! ))

After the retreat, Talia ( a friend from Chico ) and I headed up north to Venice. Venice was certainly beautiful and unique. However, the frosty air and gray skies cast a stark shadow on the sinking city, making it feel almost deserted...
Eerily picturesque.

Dreary or not, the winding canals and alleyways of Venice make for some awesome photos.

an awesome used book store. notice the canal water pouring right in and the sign pointing towards the water that reads ' fire escape'

i think Liora might have a painting of this one coming her way

                                                       

Talia and I were admittedly happy to depart from the slightly claustrophobic streets of Venice, and head to the more open and lively, Bologna.

Bologna is definitely my kind of city. It is labeled the 'food capital' of Italy, and the streets are paved with delicacies of every sort: prosciutto, all kinds of cheese, handmade tortellini, fresh fish, premium produce, and some of the best looking pastries in Italy. To top it all off, we found a really awesome 'couch surfing' host who cooked for us and showed us around town.

From Bologna, Talia and I traveled back down south to Tuscany, where we met up with Cypress (another friend from Chico/the retreat) and set out for Frittole, an eco-village in the making and our next WWOOF farm. When we visited, Frittole was essentially a construction site. Nevertheless, their vision for the future is clear and beautiful. Frittole is going to be a sustainable living community made up of private families who work on the land, natural medicine facilities, communal living spaces, as well as a tepee and yurt village which can be used for retreats and educational purposes.

Everyone at Frittole was very sweet, and we enjoyed our days of olive harvesting, sleeping in tents, and sipping wine by the fire. Not to mention, the olive oil at Frittole is the best I've had in Italy ( and certainly the best I've made ) - thanks to the fact that the trees are basically wild and haven't been harvested in twenty or so years. It was really wonderful to see the process of creating an eco-village, and it was eye opening to see the vast amount of work and detail that goes into its making.

a visit to Saturnia, a natural hot springs near Frittole that looked like something straight out  of a fairy wonderland.  this is Mauro, Cypress, me, and Talia

                                               

Marco ( the leader of Frittole ) and his "puppy" Zion

one of the amazing cooks/workers at Frittole named Francesco concocted this masterpiece -  freshly made foccacia bread with caramelized onion on top, filled with fresh arugula pesto and local pecorino cheese 

                                          

happy birthday to a very sweet girl, and future Frittole resident. so much love at this place

                                           

                                     

base camp at Frittole

                                              

Unfortunately, that quantity of labor (plus sleeping in a tent for six months) can also make for exhausted workers. Which was evident in the fact that we were asked to find a new farm after just four days of working because the Frittolians desperately needed to go on vacation..

So, Cypress and I journeyed on to another farm named Podiere Buriano, a smalled family run production making olive oil and cheese. Our time at this farm was sleepy and slow, but pleasant. Stella, the wife, was a sweet, typical Italian mama. So, we were a bit spoiled, if not over-coddled.

Zu!

                                             

   

A few days later, an invitation from Darcy back at Localita Il Piano (the second farm I visited in Italy) brought Cypress and I to Umbria for Thanksgiving dinner – Italy style. The first time I left Localita Il Piano, I had stumbled down the steep descent from their house to the bus stop, along a small mule track through the forest.. at about six in the morning. As I slipped and fell on my behind, taking my fifty pound backpack down with me, I grumbled to myself, “ Never again...”

Never say never! Just four weeks later, I was climbing the same steep ascent with my same fifty pounds of baggage. Luckily, I'm a super buff farmer, so it was much easier this time around. As soon as we reached the house, we were welcomed with warm scents of Thanksgiving dinner in the making, and I knew I was exactly where I should be.

What does one eat for Thanksgiving in Italy, you ask?

Roasted chicken

Moroccan pumpkin soup (the third time I made this in Italy, aren't you proud, Aba?)

Mashed purple potato casserole with asiago and parmesan cheeses

Stuffing with porcine mushroom gravy

Wild cornelian cherry sauce

Polenta (corn) bread

Fennel and mandarin salad

Sautéed Jerusalem artichokes with lemon butter

Homemade bread with freshly ground spelt, millet, and whole wheat

and my personal favorite, a Butternut squash pie with marscapone and ricotta cheeses, topped with fig molasses and crushed amaretti cookies

Best part? All of the following ingredients came straight off their own farm: the chicken, purple potatoes, celery, onions, cornelian cherries, butternut squash, olive oil, jerusalem artichokes, all of the herbs, eggs, fennel, the fig molasses, and wine.

Right before I left for Italy, my mom and I pulled three angel cards for my journey. We pulled 'Adventure', 'Spontaneity', and 'Willingness'. In retrospect, I don't think I could have picked any better words to describe my three months in Italy. At every turn, my willingness was tested: my willingness to be adventurous, my willingness to be spontaneous and seize the moment, and my willingness to work hard and try my own strength.

All in all, I have nothing but good things to say about my time in Italy. Spending three months on my own has helped me grow in ways that even I can't yet fully comprehend.

I do know that it has certainly been three of the happiest months of my life. I have seen and savored such wonderful things, and I have allowed myself to be fully immersed in the present moment.

With each day, and each new experience my perspective is becoming clearer. I can feel many more beautiful things forming in my future, and I am excited for much more working and learning in the next few months.

Before I flew from Italy to Israel, my mom pulled another two angel cards for this next leg of my trip. She pulled out 'Eretz Israel' (the land of Israel) and 'Joy'.

I think you can all look forward to some easy reading to come.

                                              

ps. My camera broke for no apparent reason. My friend just pressed the on button, and now it's stuck with the lens out and it won't turn on. So, unfortunately, until I can find myself a replacement/fix my camera, my blog posts will be sans pictures. 

La Dolce Vita

Back on the grid for a day!

Wow wow wow , the last few weeks have been a whirlwind of adventure: an amazing new farm, pizza parties (and pizza parties and pizza parties), Japanese tourists, Ausies on bicycles, pick axing, goat milking, mountain views, serendipity at every corner, the chaos of Rome, and now the peaceful yet dramatic setting of the Amalfi Coast.

I'm not really sure where to start, and I've still been meaning to post about my experience at the winery ( man, that feels like ages ago). But, seeing as it's two in the morning, and I only have internet for one more night, I guess ill just spit things as they come to mind and hope it makes sense..

After a five hour train ride, a bus ride to a tiny town off the highway, and a hike through the forest, I arrived at easily one of the coolest places ever.

Localita Il Piano is a beautiful permaculture farm and agriturismo (farm-stay accommodation) tucked away in the Appennine Mountains. The owners and sole workers (aside from WWOOFers) are an adorable young couple, D and A.

After becoming disillusioned with her perspective career in veterinary medicine, D took some time off to find a new direction for herself. She told me, “ I made a lot of jam during that period.” Causing a friend to jokingly remark, “ Well, why don't you just go to fruit school?“ Why not? So, D Googled “fruit schools” and ended up doing her graduate study at UC Davis. Shortly after starting at Davis, she met A, a charming Italian man who was also doing graduate study in agriculture. The pair fell in love, and a few years later headed back to Italy to start their own little haven of self sufficiency.
                              

'sup

best baby ever?

My first night at the farm, D prepared a wonderful spread for dinner: risotto with kale, fresh egg frittata, caprese salad, and berries with whipped cream. To give you an idea of just how self sufficient they are, the following ingredients from the meal all came right off their land: eggs, onions, potatoes, kale, tomatoes, basil, homemade mozzarella from their own goat milk, olive oil, strawberries, raspberries, and grape juice which A and B (their three year old son) stomped themselves. How's that for locally sourced?

incredible view from the porch

A and D bought their property with no more than a crumbling farm house and forested land. But, with extremely rigorous labor, creativity, determination, and the help of WWOOFers, they have since turned it into a beautiful, nearly self-sufficient farm, and agriturismo. I spent a wonderful two weeks immersed in their family life and the mountain side. I savoured my days of tending to the animals, watering the fields, hacking at blackberry bushes, reading, resting, eating, helping with the agriturismo
 guests, and learning as much as I possibly could.

artichokes in bloom

the family with ALL of their gear for an entire year

 
A few days into my stay, four new WWOOFers arrived. But these weren't any ordinary WWOOFers (not that there is such a thing). As I finished a lunch of nettle gnocchi with a group of seven Japanese tourists, a family of Australian cyclists rode up to the front door of the farm house. I stopped to appreciate the oddity of the moment, and then ran down to greet them. The cycling Ausies were conprised of F(mom), D(dad), and daughters Z and S who are nine and seven years old, respectively. The gang has put their home lives on pause for a year to pack up their gear, strap it onto four bicycles, and tour around Europe for seven months of adventuring.
They are truly an amazing bunch, with a keen sense of curiosity and passion for life. If you would like to check out more about their adventure, go to 4bike1tent.org . I would love to meet Z and S later on in life to see what amazing adults they become. With an experience like this at such a young age, surely they will know that anything is possible, giving them the confidence to pursue whatever they choose.







Some of my favorite moments at Localita Il Piano:
- Waking up every morning to feed the animals. I fell in love with their donkey, Gelso
- Listening to Adolfos mother ( typical italian grandmother) and one of the Japanese guests sing lullabies to F ( D and A's youngest son)
- After-dinner dancing with A, D and their two adorable sons B (three years) and F (four months)
- A and D attempting to eat pizza with chopsticks as encouraged by the Japanese agritourismo guests
- A playing happy birthday to D on his accordion, then serenading us for the remainder of the evening
- Realising this serendipitous connection: a man which A hopes to do agricultural research with in California this spring happens to be the father of one of my good friends from Chico. Oh it is a small world, after all!
- Stopping at least once a day to think, " Damn, I love my life"

gniocchi making with grandma

A teaching D a few things on the accordion after D's birthday dinner
note B on the left playing his tiny accordion - i loved this kid, he spoke both english and italian but his english came with a teeny italian accent  

chopsticks and pizza

traditional Japanese calligraphy in the guest book. the group kept pulling out gift after gift for everyone - I received (among other things) a card which appropriately reads "grape" in Japanese

After a bitter-sweet departure from Localita Il Piano ( I hope to return for Thanksgiving), I headed to the chaotic and fascinating, Roma. Rome reminded me of a mix between the revolutionary vibes of Athens and the setting of New York City... where everyone speaks Italian. The day I arrived in Rome, there was a massive ( and non entirely peaceful ) demonstration to protest greed in the banking system ( part of the demonstrations in which protesters are occupying nearly every financial district worldwide).
The aftermath of this protest-turned-riot left bank and post office windows smashed, and many cars incinerated.
It was strange to see this harsh reality first hand, and still continue to visit the tourist sights as if nothing was happening. I felt a bit dazed all day, like I would wake up at any moment. So, I thought I would make the most of my dream, and headed for the Vatican Museum.

one of the raphael rooms, vatican museum

The Vatican Museum is notorious for its lengthy lines which can hold you for up to four hours, so here's my advice for getting into the Vatican Museum in under thirty seconds, in just three easy steps!

Step One: Start your day by taking the wrong train. When you finally arrive in Rome, take the wrong metro train to the Vatican and get off at the wrong stop. Then walk way too far in the wrong direction.

Step Two: Now that you are nice and angry, harness your frustration and turn it into fierce determination. When you finally see a sign that reads " Musei Vaticani", march right in - completely disregarding the fact that it is an exit. It helps if you repeat the mantra " I am going to see the Sistine Chapel" -  preferably out loud.

Step Three: Head left, right past any officials - remember, you are, "going to see the Sistine Chapel." You will be dropped off directly into security check, where you can cut into line, bypassing the four hour cue outside!

FYI, I only promised thirty seconds to get INTO the Vatican, it will take you another 3 hours of winding hallways, and dizzying art galleries to finally reach the Sistine Chapel.
Oh, by the way, inside the museum, the signs will read "Capella Sistina" - not "Sistine Chapel". That should save you an extra hour or so of hopeless wandering. 
                                   

le colosseum

                                   

at the pantheon

bodies frozen in time, pompeii

                                        
After a full day of sightseeing, I was ready to crash into my bed when my friendly hostel bunkmate invited me out to dinner. M is a really interesting individual, the "see all fifty states before I'm thirty, and all seven continents before thirty five" type. We were chatting over dinner, when I mentioned the cycling Australians. "Waaaaait a second," M exclaimed with an excited look. Turns out, M and F (the mom of the gang) were both in the same Italian course at the University of Peruga, the month prior to their visit at the farm! Isn't serendipity splendid?

About half way through our meal, the waiter came by and asked us to stand up; we were puzzled, but curious, so we obliged.  They pulled back our table, and opened the hatch door on which we had been seated. "Our wine cellar," one waiter explained, as another ran down to fetch a bottle - only in Italy!

After another day in Rome, some trains, and a dangerously windy bus ride to the coast, I write to you at three AM from a youth hostel in Positano. Positano is a charming town on the Amalfi Coast, whos dramatic stacked houses and sheer cliffs falling into the ocean evoke memories of Greek islands. 

my camera was too concerned with its own reflection to focus on the view. its ok, I feel like that sometimes too, camera.

sunset, positano

Phew, so there you have it - a taste of my life from the past few weeks!
Next, I'm headed into an exciting and intense two week period. I'll be spending this time at an EFT retreat in Chianti, led by a woman who formally lived in Chico. EFT, for those of you who are unfamiliar, stands for Emotional Freedom Technique. EFT is a self applied healing modality which combines the concepts of acupuncture (opening energy meridians in the body by tapping on certain points) and talk-therapy, to clear both physical and emotional stresses. During the retreat, thirty seven other individuals and I will be going through intensive EFT sessions and workshops to clear our own negative emotional baggage, and receive training to lead our own EFT sessions. I am greatly looking forward to this experience in order to gain further clarity and firmness in my own potential and power. I also can't wait to connect with the other trainees in dance, community, and transformation.

That's where I'll be for the next while. So, even though I won't be blogging for a bit, I assure you that I'll be living it and loving it!

Ciao Ciao, Pace e Amore a tutti

Wanderings, Rewarded

The past two weekends I have spent my Saturdays doing some solo travel into Siena and Lucca. Both are incredibly beautiful, charming, and the perfect size for a day-long exploration. In taking these trips on my own, I have discovered just how much I love traveling by myself.

When I'm on my own, I can just wander without a strict sense of time. There's no need to make a plan, or stay on track; I just get to meander through the shaded streets and see what I find. Both in Siena and Lucca, I departed with only a vague idea of where I might like to go ( I circled some things in my Lonely Planet). Instead of seeking out the attractions, I decided to see what attracted me, and here's what I got:

cafe and crema gelato

love that I can just stumble upon wonders like this

streets of Siena

the inside of the Saint Caterina cathedral, you're not supposed to take photos, but oh well.
I had seen the description of this church in my guidebook. It specified that admission was free, but when I arrived the first sign I saw said "Entry .50 Euro". "That's strange," I thought, but fifty cents didn't seem unreasonable. So, I walked up to the first lady I saw who was taking money, paid my fifty cents, and walked into the first door I saw without reading the sign. Turns out, it cost fifty cents to use the bathroom, not see the cathedral. That's the other great thing about traveling on your own, no one has to see when you make a total fool of yourself.

magic

beautiful archways, everywhere in Lucca

I had even less of a plan for Lucca than I did for Siena. But my wandering were certainly rewarded. The first thing I ran into was this amazing local artists market. Once a month, local jewelers, ceramicists, glass artists, seamstresses, and many other craftsmen gather in the streets of Lucca to sell their beautiful goods. I could have easily spent my whole day ( and all my money ) at this market.

some of the most gorgeous and unique jewelry I have ever seen, copper wire with beading and clay accents. picked up a little something for me mum

the kind of people I want to be hanging out with

recycled paper jewelry, bowls, and other knick-knacks

the main piazza in Lucca

just bumping into beauty everywhere I go

Lucca is a walled city, on the top of the wall sits this lovely three mile long walking path that you can take all the way around the city.