Everyone has their calming mechanism. Some do repetitive motions, others feel comfortable in the back seat of a car. Mine—an airplane. As the engines rev for takeoff from DFW, I am amazed at how my body starts to magically relax. Relax in a way that no massage, no tranquil music could ever produce. I love being on an airplane.
I have traveled extensively for the past 5+ years, accumulating over 1.5 million miles. Until about 1 year ago, I was still a nervous flier (yoga cured that). Now, as the plane enters turbulence or any kind of “pot hole in the air” I feel more relaxed than humanly possible. The vibration of the engines, the warm smiles of the flight attendants, the soft red blankets…it all feels like home. But then again, when the airline calls you to simply thank you for being a valued customer, I expect the commute to work to be bountiful with home-like remembrances.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Monday, July 5, 2010
Boracay, Philippines
For many years now, acquaintances whom have lived or worked extensively in Asian have told me that I must visit Boracay—a small island in the Philippines. “It’s the best beach vacation” numerous people have touted. So, on a recent trip to Manila, I managed to slip away to Boracay for the weekend.
Wow…”best beach vacation” doesn’t begin to describe the experience. The island is 7km long x 1 km wide. White Beach—consistently labeled one of the best beaches in the world is flanked by what is now considered the best water sports beach in Asia. Surfing, kite surfing, skim board…you name it, it is there. Interestingly, White Beach is gifted with perfectly calm waters coupled with sea green and azure blue seas only postcards could possible convey. When dreaming up the beach of all beaches…White Beach tops the list.
The sand is naturally white. But it’s the texture of White Beach that is incredibly phenomenal. It’s so0 soft and airy--like flour. The texture is sandy enough that it will stick to your skin whilst bathing unless you rub a hand over it. Surely, my clothes are still filled with sand despite the multiple washings.
The island boasts lodgings to meet any budget. From $10 to $400 per night…you simply can’t go wrong. The best part…$10 per night gets you a room off the beach (mind you, the island is ½ a mile wide, so it might as well be considered beach front). My incidentals for 2 ½ days…a total of $40USD—and that included a massage. The island is incredible cheap by American standards and quite hospitable. Philippinos aim to please and hospitality is their specialty. No wonder the Europeans have kept this little island a secret…
Be mindful of the means to travel to Boracay. A plane from Manila is followed by a bus ride to the boat dock, where you then take a water taxi to the island. There’s no airport on Boracay….so the nearest island must do. It’s an arduous journey, but worth it nonetheless. The sun is perfect, the mangos best in the world, and the hospitality unrivaled. I would, I will, gladly return here.
Wow…”best beach vacation” doesn’t begin to describe the experience. The island is 7km long x 1 km wide. White Beach—consistently labeled one of the best beaches in the world is flanked by what is now considered the best water sports beach in Asia. Surfing, kite surfing, skim board…you name it, it is there. Interestingly, White Beach is gifted with perfectly calm waters coupled with sea green and azure blue seas only postcards could possible convey. When dreaming up the beach of all beaches…White Beach tops the list.
The sand is naturally white. But it’s the texture of White Beach that is incredibly phenomenal. It’s so0 soft and airy--like flour. The texture is sandy enough that it will stick to your skin whilst bathing unless you rub a hand over it. Surely, my clothes are still filled with sand despite the multiple washings.
The island boasts lodgings to meet any budget. From $10 to $400 per night…you simply can’t go wrong. The best part…$10 per night gets you a room off the beach (mind you, the island is ½ a mile wide, so it might as well be considered beach front). My incidentals for 2 ½ days…a total of $40USD—and that included a massage. The island is incredible cheap by American standards and quite hospitable. Philippinos aim to please and hospitality is their specialty. No wonder the Europeans have kept this little island a secret…
Be mindful of the means to travel to Boracay. A plane from Manila is followed by a bus ride to the boat dock, where you then take a water taxi to the island. There’s no airport on Boracay….so the nearest island must do. It’s an arduous journey, but worth it nonetheless. The sun is perfect, the mangos best in the world, and the hospitality unrivaled. I would, I will, gladly return here.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Tropical Rain Forest, Panama
After a tour of Panama City—including being able to enter the Presidential Palace (supposedly a rare occurrence)—we head into the rain forest of Panama. Myself, Colleen, Daphne, and Barbara (a woman who has a brilliance, a radiance, never before seen) eye each other skeptically as we make our way 90 minutes outside of the city. The day prior, we were seduced over Corvina Francesca (sea bass with a Chardonnay and butter reduction) and a pitcher of the best Sangria to dance on my palate. Seduce by stories told by Luiz, our tour guide. (Interestingly, Luiz’s native language is Hindi—born in Panama of an Indian father and Panamanian mother. He fluent speaks English, Spanish, Hindi, Italian, and French. He’s currently in the throws of learning German, getting stuck by the sheer amount of exceptions allotted in the grammar of the language.)
The seduction...we were seduce by the tales of the aboriginal peoples who are truly natives of the rain forest in Panama. After loosing their native lands to the government, they were “conveniently” relocated—sound familiar? The natives offer tours to visit their local village where one is guested to a lunch along with a brief summary of their history and current state.
The four of us burden our way through muddy roads in which we question the ability of our van to make it through deep troughs via questioning glances. After many eyebrow raises, we arrive at what appears to be a bus stop. Our driver and tour guide conveniently announce we had arrived. We have? Certainly not. Um….
As we look around, we notice a few of the locals hanging out. There are men, who upon inspection are wearing loin cloths covered with bright, decorative skirts of beads. We soon realize these are the aboriginals who have agreed to allow us to intrude into their secretive world. They graciously help us down a steep hill to their hand made canoes. The canoes are over 18 feet long, holding up to 7 guests. They take up to 6 months to carve, depending on size and available men to aid their hands. Once we make it safely to our canoe, we all have a good chuckle as the senior Indian starts up the engine.
Sadly, the rains have not been kind to this region of Panama, and we are often forced to pull up the engine as our 3 aboriginals break out the oars and row—more like push—through shallow waters. After an hour, we end at our destination—sort of. Normally, the rains push up the water level and we would be closer to our destination…but today, we are forced to hike to “10 minutes” to a waterfall. So, we start to rough it. I am enthusiastic to find our destination—me, clothed in flip flops and my Coach bag which is housing my SLR. 20 minutes later, it is enthusiastically announced that we are half way there. Not a problem…except that I diligently shaved my legs this morning and put lotion on my legs to moisturize. Well, sweat, lotion, and gravity, only lead to slippery feet—in flip flops. I was nearly at the point of deciding to go bare foot—like the natives—as my foot slipped out my shoes time and time again.
Finally, we arrive at the waterfall. Absolutely gorgeous! It falls into a fresh water pond, large enough to fit all of us with plenty of room to spare. It’s the perfect temperature—cold—after a long hike in the humid rain forest. We stay long enough to cool our bodies off; enjoying a natural shoulder massage as the water reluctantly follows the force of gravity. The hike back to the canoe seems shorter and more pleasurable. We take a short canoe ride to the camp.
We are eagerly greeted by the locals via song and dance. We are quickly herded off to a public pavilion in which we are quickly fed. Fried plantains, sea bass, and freshly harvested watermelon, eloquently rapped in a banana leaf. Simple and delicious. The chief of the tribe nobly greets us and quickly begins to tell us the history and current state of the tribe. 2 guest speakers arrive to describe the roles of the men and women of the tribe. All is spoken in the local language—Ambrial—then translated to Spanish, to English. The roles are typical segregation of outside-inside male-female roles. Interestingly, the role of child rearing is a group effort.
The 82 members of the tribe congregate to our location and organize themselves to perform a traditional dance. The men gather to the side, each picking up a musical instrument. The elder—a man of approximately 80 years—picks up a hand made flute. He has been featured in the likes of National Geographic, BBC, and the Travel Channel. The first few notes that escape his instrument, allows the other musicians to fall into step. The women dutifully and enthusiastically begin their dance. It’s simple, but beautiful. The first dance ends and the second one begins. We are then asked to join in on the third round. With gusto, we comply. Smiles, joy, music, and laughter abound.
We are then asked to shop the local crafts made by the families of the tribe. Everything is right up my alley—hand crafted by locals, never to be found in franchised stores. Each table represents the goods of a different family. In an effort to share the wealth, I shop slowly, wanting to purchase something from each family. Sadly, my suitcase does not have enough room, but I manage to purchase a beautifully carved canoe, oar, and stick—reminiscent of our mode of transportation—and a basket hand weaved of palm fronds. The basket took 6 weeks to make. It costs only $30 USD. Feeling guilty that I have not paid enough and not contributed to each family, I make a large donation to the chief. Feeling grateful for the time the tribe has given us, for sharing their way of life. Today was a gift.
Sadly, the late afternoon storms are quickly approaching and we decide it is best to leave. We canoe our way back to the “bus stop” and sadly say good-bye. The eyebrow raises on the road home do not exist. We are grateful for the experience, for the check mark on our bucket list. The beauty, the simplicity, the unbridled joy. Each of us find it difficult to contain the butterflies floating eloquently, softly throughout our bodies.
The seduction...we were seduce by the tales of the aboriginal peoples who are truly natives of the rain forest in Panama. After loosing their native lands to the government, they were “conveniently” relocated—sound familiar? The natives offer tours to visit their local village where one is guested to a lunch along with a brief summary of their history and current state.
The four of us burden our way through muddy roads in which we question the ability of our van to make it through deep troughs via questioning glances. After many eyebrow raises, we arrive at what appears to be a bus stop. Our driver and tour guide conveniently announce we had arrived. We have? Certainly not. Um….
As we look around, we notice a few of the locals hanging out. There are men, who upon inspection are wearing loin cloths covered with bright, decorative skirts of beads. We soon realize these are the aboriginals who have agreed to allow us to intrude into their secretive world. They graciously help us down a steep hill to their hand made canoes. The canoes are over 18 feet long, holding up to 7 guests. They take up to 6 months to carve, depending on size and available men to aid their hands. Once we make it safely to our canoe, we all have a good chuckle as the senior Indian starts up the engine.
Sadly, the rains have not been kind to this region of Panama, and we are often forced to pull up the engine as our 3 aboriginals break out the oars and row—more like push—through shallow waters. After an hour, we end at our destination—sort of. Normally, the rains push up the water level and we would be closer to our destination…but today, we are forced to hike to “10 minutes” to a waterfall. So, we start to rough it. I am enthusiastic to find our destination—me, clothed in flip flops and my Coach bag which is housing my SLR. 20 minutes later, it is enthusiastically announced that we are half way there. Not a problem…except that I diligently shaved my legs this morning and put lotion on my legs to moisturize. Well, sweat, lotion, and gravity, only lead to slippery feet—in flip flops. I was nearly at the point of deciding to go bare foot—like the natives—as my foot slipped out my shoes time and time again.
Finally, we arrive at the waterfall. Absolutely gorgeous! It falls into a fresh water pond, large enough to fit all of us with plenty of room to spare. It’s the perfect temperature—cold—after a long hike in the humid rain forest. We stay long enough to cool our bodies off; enjoying a natural shoulder massage as the water reluctantly follows the force of gravity. The hike back to the canoe seems shorter and more pleasurable. We take a short canoe ride to the camp.
We are eagerly greeted by the locals via song and dance. We are quickly herded off to a public pavilion in which we are quickly fed. Fried plantains, sea bass, and freshly harvested watermelon, eloquently rapped in a banana leaf. Simple and delicious. The chief of the tribe nobly greets us and quickly begins to tell us the history and current state of the tribe. 2 guest speakers arrive to describe the roles of the men and women of the tribe. All is spoken in the local language—Ambrial—then translated to Spanish, to English. The roles are typical segregation of outside-inside male-female roles. Interestingly, the role of child rearing is a group effort.
The 82 members of the tribe congregate to our location and organize themselves to perform a traditional dance. The men gather to the side, each picking up a musical instrument. The elder—a man of approximately 80 years—picks up a hand made flute. He has been featured in the likes of National Geographic, BBC, and the Travel Channel. The first few notes that escape his instrument, allows the other musicians to fall into step. The women dutifully and enthusiastically begin their dance. It’s simple, but beautiful. The first dance ends and the second one begins. We are then asked to join in on the third round. With gusto, we comply. Smiles, joy, music, and laughter abound.
We are then asked to shop the local crafts made by the families of the tribe. Everything is right up my alley—hand crafted by locals, never to be found in franchised stores. Each table represents the goods of a different family. In an effort to share the wealth, I shop slowly, wanting to purchase something from each family. Sadly, my suitcase does not have enough room, but I manage to purchase a beautifully carved canoe, oar, and stick—reminiscent of our mode of transportation—and a basket hand weaved of palm fronds. The basket took 6 weeks to make. It costs only $30 USD. Feeling guilty that I have not paid enough and not contributed to each family, I make a large donation to the chief. Feeling grateful for the time the tribe has given us, for sharing their way of life. Today was a gift.
Sadly, the late afternoon storms are quickly approaching and we decide it is best to leave. We canoe our way back to the “bus stop” and sadly say good-bye. The eyebrow raises on the road home do not exist. We are grateful for the experience, for the check mark on our bucket list. The beauty, the simplicity, the unbridled joy. Each of us find it difficult to contain the butterflies floating eloquently, softly throughout our bodies.
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