Simplicity in suburbia

I went for a walk to the local gardening store this afternoon - my first walk in this new neighbourhood through many cul-de-sac'ed streets.

I find myself feeling alien here, more often than not.

What is needed to create that elusive sense of home? Will the right welcome mat/garden pot/fridge magnet/comfy couch help me to feel like this is the place for me? Will I find the like minded change agents I seek at that yoga class/coffee shop/movie night/work place?

I am trying to ride out these waves of resistance, judgement, aversion and fear - fear that the many good, purposeful, well thought out reasons we are here, are not enough to help me feel like I belong.

Wondering at this sense of disorientation, I am reminded about...

1. Pre-School: "Mom, can I go to preschool - I need friends" says 4 year old, only child me. Always one to crave connection and the familiar friendliness of playmates, co-conspirators and inspiration I begged to go. The need for connection and community has indeed been a part of almost every decision in my life.

2. Cul-de-sac: My own suburbia experience growing up until the age of 8. Close by to my school, a local stream to catch cray fish and another Jenny up the street who would become my best friend. My parents planting an expansive garden- eating fresh peas off the vine. Even then I took the role of social convener - inviting in the neighbourhood and concocting elaborate games.

3. Town House: Our move to the city after my parents divorce, both my Mom and I feeling alien and a reluctant sense of place. I remember telling my Mom that we had to move because there was a cemetery down the street. I remember making friends with cats.

4. Character: Seeking heritage, personality, community, vibrancy, diversity, colour as I started to find my own way- my own sense of home into adulthood. These choices directed by proximity to connection, meaningful activities, and of course health food stores. Suites in houses on tree lined streets- old homes, many neighbours, large windows, gardens spilling over...

And what do I see now when I am walking in this new place under the late afternoon sky?

I am choosing to see only the 2 car garages full of stuff, recently rolled out sod lawns, huge homes, expensive cars, status quo, development. I know that partially this is a choice to see things this way- but nonetheless I long for the hippie kids on their bikes, the coffee shops spilling over with familiar faces, the chaos and beauty of easement gardens, the colourful homes brimming with character and history.

I am trying very hard to ride these waves of resistance- trying to bring another perspective to the life I have only barely begun to create here. I will sign up for the yoga class. I will return home to our "just right" co-op townhouse. I will re-find myself in journals and on meditation cushions.

I will go downstairs to our new full sized kitchen, chop veggies from the neighbourhood house community garden, make soup and share it with my love when he returns. Home.

Without All This Ado

Without All This Ado

Check out this blog post from Miss Minimalist-- it really spoke to me this morning...

Today...

I am stemming the tide of "stuff" that surrounds us as we create "home" again
I am dreaming up habits that will serve me to grow in the direction of dreams
I am writing list of the important things, to ensure that they stay present in my mind
I am going to take more clothes out of my closet so that I can feel more space in my life

Is a Monday morning in a new place where I have slept for (almost) 10 days in a row
Is a kitchen table with a cup of coffee in a mug I recognize
Is a to-do list longer than I could ever achieve in one day- and that is OK
Is a window of opportunity that I am choosing to take

I will walk down the streets of unfamiliar White Rock
I will sit down with a friend in support of each others vision
I will get a new library card and recycling bin
I will cut hawthorn branches and put them in a vase on my kitchen window sill

This seeking simple journey continues, with less palm trees and more cloudy skies
With more family and friends, more busyness, more opportunities in the creation of our daily life

This seeking simple journey continues...

Upon the evening before our return...

"The most important thing is to find out the most important thing." - Shunryu Suzuki

or said another way from the movie City Slickers:

Curly: Do you know what the secret of life is?
(holds up one finger] This.
Mitch: Your finger?
Curly: One thing. Just one thing. You stick to that and the rest don't mean s***.
Mitch: But, what is the "one thing?"

Curly: That's what you have to find out.

______________________________

It is 6:30pm in Alajuela, north of San Jose in Costa Rica. We are left with a few hours prior to sleep to tap away at keyboards, side by side, confirming our flights, perusing over journals from the last weeks and savouring the speedy internet connection that allows us to provide this update... We will fly out at 6:25am bound for home.

For the past 6 weeks we have been ensconsed in various forms of community, explores and reflection. It began with a glorious synchronicity that invited us into a small group of international friends (including an Australian Tibetan monk) to share a silent meditation retreat at the beautiful home lovingly created by Daniel at La Candela Retreat , where we got to watch lightning storms and lightning bugs, Resplendant Quetzals and virgin cloud forests. We were cared for and welcomed so warmly to this cozy haven of trees and stillness, plus the super blessings of skilled vegetarian chefs and 4 fabulous yoga teachers! The awe and gratefulness we feel to have had such an incredible time in meditation is H U G E indeed.

We then made our way to Rancho Mastatal environmental learning and sustainable living centre, high on a ridge in the humid tropical jungle. Our 12.5 hour journey to get there covered much terrain, from country side to city centre with a mandatory stop for the standard Costa Rican favourite- rice & beans. In the final bus ride, weaving through moutainous dirt roads past vast cattle pastures, we made friends with 2 little girls- copying each others actions, making silly faces and sharing laughing fits. Finally we arrived at Mastatal- at town with one Soda (restaurant), one bar, a community centre and (of essential note) the organic chocolate farm La Iguana! Our first night we had the pleasure (and slightly spooky 3am jungleness) to sleep on the upper floor of the open air bamboo´Hooch´ treehouse, pictured below:

Our time in Mastatal was full of friendly folks, fantastic food, tonnes of learning opportunities and much brainstorming about our lives to come upon our return. Playing with mosaics, cob building, barn raising, cooking, bread baking, writing, tending gardens, physical labour, big bugs and much more... Our time was rich with mentorship, gratitude and inspiration by a group of folks committed to ´walking their talk´around sustainability and continual learning. Plus we had lots of laughter and FUN!!!

On April 13, one of our final days in Mastatal, I sat down with my journal and wrote the following:

"We will be hugging our people at this time 2 weeks from now. We have been away, been in Central America for 3 months... What are my thoughts so far? Well, lets start with some alternate names for this trip: From NO to YES, 100 Days of Itching, Cabañas´R´Us, Finding Home From Abroad, Remembering-Forgetting-Remembering, I Should Have Learned Spanish, ´Veggies, Rice & Beans´, Vivero (plant nursery) for the Soul, and of course ´Who Knew I Could Like Guacamole More?´

"I am scared and excited to go home. Excited to create new ways to nurture our new roots, fearful of what might repulse me about our culture with these new eyes. I said in one of my facebook updates prior to our departue that this time was about pulling up our roots from familiar ground... in order to experience new ground, chart new territory - where does the light fall, where does the water pool, what flourishes, what wilts? So much fodder has grown up in the crevices over this time, so many plants reveal themselves right under our noses- ready to nurture us. So many tiny seedlings have been observed, nurtured, watered, transplanted. This trip has been a vivero for the seeds of our souls - outside much of what we typically know, do, use to fill our lives for, good or bad. Instead, again & again, we have had to generate our own direction, learned about what to listen for, what to watch out for, what to trust in order to direct us... many times floundering, often wondering: Why? Why here? What is our purpose?

"It had urged me to remember how deeply the river of meaning flows... I have learned-remembered that guidance, direction, purpose, value is almost always found in my perception rather than my actual experience... How am I viewing my experience'? What am I enacting? Can this change- moment to moment? Is this journey primarily a personal one, unique to each of us? Is the journey the same or different, wherever I am?

"Surprise! I did not become a different person through these various adventures. And yet I did too... I stayed with it even when it was hard and I wanted to run. I faced many unpleasant aspects of myself. I tapped more ways to hear myself and ask the important questions. I allowed myself to not have to "figure it all out".

And so... we arrive at the eve of April 25, about to head back to the world we left 3 and a half months ago, now with longer days and new shoots sprouting from the ground. We sit in a cozy skylit gardenside room in the cloud forest, put our socked feet up and ask ourselves "What is our most important thing, our ONE thing?"

Well, of course we had a hard time singling it down to one thing- and I will spare you the extended details here- but the summary that weaves throughout is GRATITUDE... remembering how blessed we are in each and every breath of our lives, learning to be ever more awake to our blessings: our legs that take us up ridges, our mouths that form words of connection, the abundant and resilient Nature that surrounds us, the silences we seek, the creativity that burbles up, the gracefulness of love, the blessings of this surreal time, the friends we have made, and of course the wonderful people we will soon be hugging!

See you all soon and be well! With all our love,

jenn & lee*

Hands

Once upon a city, where pinkies are polished, acrylic nails clack keyboards, and thumbs thumb intangible texts, touch is plastic, digital, artificial.

Now upon the land (of Rancho Mastatal), my fingers find the earth below our busy feet. The fine hair of roots, the symmetrical teeth of leaves, the cool scent of photosynthesis. Digits dig into fertile dirt, where bulbs are birthed and rhizomes rise. My palms hold the rich blood of Mother Earth. The work is raw and tactile, viscous and resonant with ancestral sweat and toil. Each cut and scrape is a needed reminder that our veins are filled by Her. Her bones of clay and skin of grass, scarred by machine and blade, craves the touch that too many fingers have forgotten.

My hands start to remember, what the deep roots, the supple stems, the green blades, and infinite seeds and spores already know.

My hands remember.

Books I Have Read this Year

Crossings by Betty Lambert
My aunt´s book. I read this when I was a teenager, but didn´t grasp all the tangles of sex, relationship and abuse. This is fiction, and yet it is not. Many of my relatives (prior to my birth) are in this. I am astounded by the power and truth in this prose. The writing is genius, in particular the dialogue. Being reprinted this year!

Between Planets by Robert Heinlein
A fun Heinlein juvenile. Starts on Earth, goes to Venus, ends up on Mars. Nothing profound, but plenty of momentum to keep me hooked throughout.

Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
Read this in a day. My first Steinbeck, with a foreboding sense of the inevitable tragic end. Carefully drawn characters and lots of mood. Fate is a major, if invisible, character. Even with good and simple intentions life can lead one to disaster.

The Stars My Destination by Alfred Bester
This book took me by complete surprise. Initially, I deemed this to be a revenge story set in the future where people can jaunte (ie. teleport). My interest waned. However, by the end my mind was sufficiently blown. This is a crazy book about (mis)perception, hate, love, wisdom and the final evolution of humankind. Strikingly imaginative.

Catch-22 by Joseph Heller
A wild read. Hilarious at times, sometimes infuriatingly repetitive, and a resounding argument about the mad absurdity of war. Laughed out loud without restraint, especially at key dialogue that goes hopelessly round and round and round.

Red Planet by Robert Heinlein
This book annoyed me. It feels like Heinlein got lazy here. A few interesting ideas but it felt like a prep novel for Stranger in a Strange Land. And the ending is somewhat abysmal. After a quick google, I'm not surprised that this was one of his first novels. Henceforth, I have decided to be done with the classic science fiction authors. Asimov, Bradbury, Clarke, Heinlein...I have read them thoroughly in the past, and have also read their best. I love them dearly but am ready for the next chapter.

The Geography of Bliss: One Grump's Search for the Happiest Places in the World (audiobook on ipod) by Eric Weiner
Never listened to a whole book before. An intriguing and often humorous take on how place and society affects our happiness. Iceland gets big points, maybe someday I'll go back. The author also discovers the importance of being creative, close to nature, resisting envy, and being embedded in culture. Yes, I took notes.

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (Original Swedish title: Men Who Hate Women) by Stieg Larsson
Compulsive reading. Sometimes felt like junk food, other times I was too engrossed to stop. Quite violent and disturbing at times. The mystery is told with finesse. The characters were intriguing, especially Lisbeth, though I seldom engaged with them emotionally. Perhaps because of the translation, I resonated much more with the rollicking story than the language of the prose. However, the next time I need a page-turner, I just need to pick up volume 2.

Martian Time-Slip by Philip K. Dick
Philip K. Dick passes the test. I'll still read him, even if he's old. Somehow his writings hold more resonance in the present than many other so-called grandmasters of science fiction. This book is about schizophrenia and society and the prejudices we hold towards both. Recommended.

Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman (currently reading)
This is entertaining. Myth and mayhem and a healthy dose of the bizarre. Not sure how much it will all add up to, but then, this book is about The Trickster, and by definition he is hard to pin down and define.

Weary or Wise? The backpackers' journey

Many people asked me what I was looking forward to the most about this trip. I spoke of treks amidst towering prehistoric ferns, experiencing new cultures and ways of being, constant inspiration for my writing, and rejuvenating my body and soul. But one reason resonated above the others: the sense of adventure. Not knowing where you will sleep the next night or how the hell you are going to get there. Carrying everything you need to survive on your back. Surprises both wondrous and unpleasant. Leaping out of the comfort zones. A discovery of the self.

It wasn't always this way.

When I was younger and dreadfully shy, my parents and I flew to London during, unbeknowest to us, the World Cup. We got off the airplane and suddenly everyone was screaming and jumping around. A bit jittery from the recent 9-11 attacks, we were understandably startled by this display--until we realized Beckham had just won a key game with a late goal kick. The streets were full of revelers, the buses packed, and every hotel booked solid.

We had no reservation. I vowed then and there never to arrive at a place without first planning transport and accommodation in advance.

Now, I prefer the exact opposite.

Sure, it took us awhile to find a place outside London with a vacancy. We also had to engage strangers in conversation to help us find our way, track down the right buses, and slog some miles after a sleepless red-eye flight to reach our out-of-the-way hotel. But when I flopped onto that bed, I experienced one of the best sleeps of my life. It felt earned. There was struggle, but personal growth requires struggle. Change is not something presented on a platter. You sometimes have to suffer for it, and in this way you grow.

Another benefit is that of surprise. Surprise, because of its relationship to uncertainty, can be intimidating. Yet at the same time I have found the most amazing places to stay or explore that--if I stuck to Lonely Planet and arranged everthing in advance--would prove impossible to find. I can think of a lovely guesthouse in Corsica, complete with swimming pool, and run by an elderly couple who endeared themselves to our hearts, that was discovered almost entirely due to my lack of preparation.

That being said, there are times where some pre-planning makes a world of difference. What I try to do is turn the stress of uncertainty into a discovery.

I should, at this point, distinguish vacation from travel. Cruise ships are a good example of vacation. You have your own room, meals are prepared regularly, your transport is, well, never far away. Every need is well tended, which is absolutely fine if such an experience is what you are after. To relax, leave worries behind, and let others stress over the details. And god knows there are days where I´d shell out big cash to rid my soul of stress.

Backpacking travel is, to me, a rather different journey. Struggle and hardship is inherently involved. I realize this sounds masochistic, as though I am eager to suffer. In reality, I am involved in a lifelong search for confidence and fortitude, to emerge from the shelter of shyness. To be a better person one must face challenges, of which travel provides ample opportunity.

This means preparing for some unpleasantness. For me, it's not the actual experience of missing the bus or going to four hotels to find a place to sleep that is stressful. It is my response to these unfortunate events that dampens the spirit. Travel demands patience, tolerance and flexibility beyond your capability. If I can say, "There goes our bus! Let's make a new plan. How about..." then a seed for stress germinates into a new source of adventure.

Of course, if you are hungry and hot and sweaty and exhausted and want nothing more than to curl up into a tiny ball and die, then you are bound to snap. Travel tests you, sometimes daily, often by the minute. These challenges can bring out the ugly, yet it is this tension that--if we are mindful--allows us to discover the hidden parts.

In other words, I try to embrace uncertainty. Not an easy thing for most people. The idea petrified my old self-conscious self, and still terrifies me today. Sort of like the giant cockroach that just emerged over the top of the computer monitor--I had no idea that would happen, could not really prepare for it, and yet I chose to laugh instead of scream.

I am reminded of something my mythology teacher once said about monks. "They have the easiest job in the world. Don't get me wrong. I like the monks. But all they have to do is show up."

A generalization, yes, but one that offers insight. Monks are living in a kind of all-inclusive resort, except they have prayer mats instead of a swim-up bar, and daily prostrations instead of Swedish massage. They have guidelines to follow, a way to exist, a schedule for their routines. You simply adhere to the rules, and you'll be fine. Yet life does not come with a guidebook. The more difficult journey is to navigate through life without the rulebook; or rather, determine your own set of beliefs and guidelines based on experience. The situations where you genuinely don't know what to do, where uncertainty hovers about like a demon on either shoulder, are the chance--I'll borrow a cliche--to build character.

Monks don't have to worry about relationships. Such an enterprise is one of life's most difficult pursuits, and they receive a "get out of marriage free" card. Relationships are work. They require effort, time, and energy, sometimes more frequently than you would like. And yet, a healthy relationship, perhaps because of the effort and challenge involved, is quite possibly life's greatest reward. My wife, at times, can be a source of frustration, yet she is undeniably my greatest source of happiness.

Your partner provides a mirror to the parts of yourself that you like, and more importantly those parts that you despise. You can't choose to hide when in relationship; or I suppose you can, but that means living in fear. Fear of rejection, fear of conflict, fear of being hurt. Fear of being in the wrong relationship. Thanks to previous relationships--all of which taught me key aspects about myself, for which I have my ex's to thank--I have firsthand experience with such fear. With Jenn, I am infinitely blessed in not having to entertain even a kernel of doubt, largely due to our policy of complete openness and utmost respect.

With your partner you get irritated, annoyed, flustered, aggravated and want to scream "Are those cucumbers in the salad? You're insane!" Yet with patience, trust and respect, I have learnt to appreciate this gift that she provides, the gift of insight into self. Murky stuff gets dug out that I might choose to ignore. My choice is to resent her for opening this window, or to recognize that no one else can give me this most precious illumination. Jenn is my best teacher.

A relationship without conflict is, I believe, a serious source of concern, and leads to one of two inevitable ends: failure or complacency. I refuse to accept either. Some simply choose not to engage in relationship. It is, like the monks, an easier path, if a lonely one. The rewards are fewer, while the only one to irritate you is yourself.

When I bear witness to my life, I realize I have blazed forth in stark contrast to how most people venture: the older I get, the more adventuresome I become. By the time I'm 80, I'll be bungee jumping naked. I missed out on some fun early on, yet the more I think about this, the more sense it seems to make for my journey from shy to (sometimes, I'm still working on this) assertive.

Considering that I am currently living day by day with my wife in Central America for nearly four months, there's bound to be some growing pains. But I would have it no other way. With Jenn, I share joy, wonder and the deepest kind of love, as well as the challenges that lead to insight. Relationships and travel are journeys both weary and wise, and the best discoveries are those I never knew existed.

What comes next? Perhaps--and this goes against every controlling instinct in my body--it is best for me not to know.

Portraits of Belize

In our travels in Belize we have come into contact with many diverse characters- so I thought it might be interesting to take a snapshot of some of the people from this unique country to hold them in our memory...

• Karen, the English retiree in a slouchy tank top who owns a homey guesthouse on Corozal Bay
  
• Venky, owner of 'Venky's Kebab Corner' the small Indian hole in the wall with the best Aloo Gobi ever
  
• Chris, the solo traveler with a snazzy camera who took amazing pictures going down the New River
• Ludwig, the friendly vet/poet/artist/carver/landlord who invited us into his unfinished art gallery & tea house in Punta Gorda, telling us stories of his creations and growing up Garifuna in Belize
• Francis, the knowledgeable and passionate vegetarian gallery/museum owner in Dangriga
• Jim & Jacqueline, who moved from Texas to the remote jungle outpost of Barton Creek to raise their family
• Nesh, the shuttle driver, using the back of his beat up Toyota truck to carry people & their backpacks around, who peeled a mean orange right off the tree
  
• Mrs. Guerra, the elderly hotel owner in San Igancio who asked after me each time Lee went out for reinforcements while I was feeling sick
• April at the Snack Shack, raised in Belize who moves fluidly between a clear American accent and a thick musical Belizean Kriol
• Ignacious Gomier Longville, our favourite vegetarian Rastafarian chef, with gray dreads down to the ground
• Will, the tall man who brings in a Mayan family to a local cafe introducing them as his friends, yet clearly trying hard to convert them to Jesus Christ
• Ellie and Leslie, warm and friendly ladies from Nelson, BC who can talk about birds, Belize & "the big stuff"
  
• Ruthie, our adopted Belizean grandmother, a brash and friendly host at her beach side cabanas
• Sabana and Chris, friendly laughing ladies of leisure at Lydia's just off Placencia beach
• Simon and Davog, ambitious longterm jungle volunteers escaped from the UK, trademark headlamps hanging around their necks
• Kathleen, a young volunteer from Washington D.C. diving into intense work with kids in schools
• Howard, the generous village school principal, who gave us a ride after our bus decided to skip the main stop, and shared his perspective on Mayan village life and the relationship with the Garifuna people
• Andy Palacio, the recently passed, but nationally adored Punta Rock artist who is largely responsible for bringing the musical culture of Belize alive on a international level
  

And of course there are the many who we are familiar with but didn't know more in depth or know their stories:

• the small Mayan ladies wearing their brass hooped earrings and hair tied high
• the dread locked wading fishermen and lolling sunset cyclists
• the single mother at the family owned hotel, reviewing spelling homework with her young daughter
• the ex-pat retiree, wearing an American flag sun visor and wildly colorful pant suit
• "Mr. Melvin" who just celebrated becoming a Belizean as announced on the local cafe chalk board
• children on their way back and forth to school - groups on the highway waiting for the bus, whizzing by on bikes, walking in gaggles
• the "sitters" that find shade in any public spot during the afternoon heat and watch the world go by with their friends
• the laughing women in the market stalls searching for fresh fruits and veggies and of course that small town chit chat that comes from knowing your neighbours...

Tomorrow we fly to Costa Rica. We have had a wonderful time here in Belize and will miss the friendly people, the Kriol lilt, bumping along to Punta & Reggae on the old school buses, watching the spectacular sunrises and sunsets, and of course the white bright clouds floating dreamily overhead. Thanks Belize!

Belize - a poem

Orange glow of setting sun on tall branches, palm fronds, coconuts, rooftops
Orange flowers shaped like bells, like antique gramophones, like trumpets
Orange hair braided loosely, falling around pink face, pink shoulders

Feeling motion where there is stillness
Feeling air rustling spirit - oscillating
Feeling nothing but the space

Space for wandering
Space for finding
Space for making do

Wandering through narrow streets
Wandering slowly down new shores
Wandering - when finding is as losing

Losing sight of time before this
Losing questions and gaining questions
Lost in what can only be discovered

Orange.Falling.Slowly
Glow.Motion.Through
Narrow.Finding.Losing
Wandering.Space


Feb. 7, 2011. Crooked Tree Wildlife Sanctuary

(Home)Sicky

Day 3 of feeling low and bit homesick. Seems I have some tummy trouble going on, no surprise really, just surprising it didn't happen sooner... We are now back in San Ignacio while I laze around and get better. Alas I have been hiding out for the last 24 hours in a room with one small window, watching cable TV and tentatively eating french fries and digestive biscuits.

I look up on the wall above the computer I'm using and see a poster for Barton Creek Outpost where we were staying for most of this week. Our own little cabana. It was like a living dream - in rain or shine, waking up to the scent of orange blossoms in the orchard, watching the bats and the lightning bugs in the twilight, surrounded by sheer mesh "windows" and a palapa roof, listening to the sounds of cicadas and the river rushing by. It was special and I miss it.



We are now exploring the next phase of our trip and foraging for our next inspiration - likely a flight to Costa Rica in the next week or two to begin our even more Southerly adventures. We are planning to spend approx 4 weeks between 2 volunteer placements in Costa Rica - one is Rancho Mastatal and the other is Finca Dos Lados. Between these two opportunities we will be doing anything from soapmaking, sustainable building, plant identification, community development, cooking etc. It will be a great opportunity to connect with inspiring folks and contribute to the community!

Meanwhile I will continue to take it easy, mending and resting, preparing for the next yet to be determined adventure.... Know that you are all loved and missed!

Of Rivers and Temples

We step into the boat with the promise of crocodiles, exotic birds, Fanta, and ancient Mayan temples. The speedboat is long and narrow, comfortable enough for the seven passengers. Our guide, Ignacio, stands at the stern. More than thirty miles distant lies the jungle ruins of Laminai. The wide, still river beckons us forward to untold discoveries. I think of Marlow, going upstream in search of Kurtz, but my journey is not toward madness, but wonder.

Our driver and tour guide informs us--in a well-rehearsed monotone--that he will be our driver and tour guide and thank you very much for choosing his company. My heart shudders. As safe as a robot driver might be, I want someone passionate about headbobbing iguanas and rufous-tailed hummingbirds.

Ignacio blasts the boat forward. Jenn and I hold on, binoculars and cameras gripped with white knuckles.

Each bend of the New River brings another natural treasure. Magnificent Guanacaste trees with feathery leaves and sprouting bromeliads, a young crocodile basking by the shore that slips into the water as we near, and a myriad of birds; small birds, big birds, billed birds, hunting birds, diving birds: some 600 species call Belize home, or at least visit once a year. The Belize Guide to Birds is passed around like the bible at Sunday church.

Ignacio scolds us as he slows the speedboat. "Watch where I point! Or you won't see it because you won't know where to look." He's right. I train my eyes to follow his precise finger. A yellow crowned night heron. Squirrel cuckoo. Black vulture. Yucatan Poorwill. In fear the boat will capsize, I resist doing a spontaneous happy dance.

Other, bigger boats roar by us every so often. I wave to them, secretly glad to be in a smaller group that stops for the lesser, quieter, more intimate thrills. We chase a black-collared hawk down several meanders.

At one point we are boarded by an unusual pair. Ignacio stops next to the shore where two lanky, black-haired spider monkeys eye us up as though we are McDonald's employees and they are hungry teenagers. Without warning they hop aboard. This is the first monkey--outside the Discovery channel--that Jenn has ever seen, and it nearly sits in her lap. Fortunately, two of our companions brought bananas, which are offered in exchange for safe passage. The ravenous monkeys leap back to the shore, then peel and gulp in a matter of seconds, glancing back at us in hopes of more potassium-laden fruit. But we have left monkey island behind.

It's not long before the boat churns, once more, to a halt. "Iguana," Ignacio points and I see.

"A green iguana?" I inquire.

"Yes. This is a male because he is orange and wants to attract females."

I know something about green iguanas. I once studied seventy-five of them (some of which were orange) at an exotic animal shelter. I watched them headbob, a form of ritualized communication for these nonvocal reptiles. Basically it's used--most effectively by males or large females--to say "here I am!" or "scram!". Picture former politician Joe Clark nodding his head up and down, huge jowls bobbing below his chin, and you get the idea.

All seventy-five of these captive iguanas were once pets. Now, finally, I see the green iguana in the wild. It's only annoyance is tourists snapping photos. This, to me, is a further indication of the dubious ethics behind keeping iguanas as pets, or the exotic pet trade in general. Even the most doting owner cannot provide a fraction of the environmental stimuli that is the vast, Belizean jungle. Visiting green iguanas in the wild should be a prerequisite for ownership.

A man of multi-talents, at one point Ignacio answers his cell phone, yells to a friend on the shore, points out a tiny nesting mangrove swallow, all the while steering the boat with a finger and thumb. Several soaring great white egrets, three water-skimming Jesus Christ lizards, two regal kingfishers, and one gigantic jabiru stork later, and we arrive at Laminai.

After a buffet lunch of rice, potato salad, regular salad, fried plantains, and orange Fanta, we learn from our guide that Laminai is supposed to mean "submerged crocodile" but was mistranslated into "submerged insect". The next tree down the path is filled with large, black-limbed bodies. Howler monkeys. A sign read moments before instructed us not to imitate their call, as it disturbs their rest and causes them undue stress. Ignacio puts his hands to his lips and proceeds to imitate their call. Long, low howls. The monkeys respond in kind, hooting and hollering and shaking the branches. The display is rather effective, as I would not climb their tree if its leaves were made of chicken veggie burgers. I wonder, if Ignacio persists, what bodily excretion the howlers might fling at us.

En route to the Mask Temple, past vines thicker than boa constrictors, and bugs that look like they could take a chunk out of your arm, Ignacio plucks a long, toothy thorn from the tree and asks for a volunteer. He mimes stabbing the young Utah woman's wrist and explains that in five minutes time a prick from this thorn will bring on severe fever and pain. He then casually mentions that virgins were sometimes sacrificed to bring on the rain; if the sacrifice were male, his penis would be pierced with this thorn seven different ways. I'm glad I no longer qualify.

Our first temple emerges from the jungle like a hidden jewel in an undiscovered country. Two huge, 13-foot stone masks of ancient Mayan kings stare back at us. Ignacio pulls out a binder and shows us the first, much smaller incarnation of the temple. "This is how it looked. Then a new ruler came and cancelled this building." He flips to the next page. "And it looked like this! More steps and another platform. Then came the next ruler..." and so on, until, half a dozen reigns later, and we have the current temple with two visible masks, and two completely covered over (maybe four was an unlucky number?).

We trek to the next excavated site: the High Temple. This one you can climb. Up I go, long legs relishing each steep step. Then I glance back down, sway with vertigo, and respect the temple's apt name. From the top, I gaze around and around in awe. Unbroken canopy stretches in all directions. The river stretches lazily to the horizon. A howler monkey hoots in the distance. I decide to translate. "Hey! Mr. Canadian! Get off our temple!" A few shutter clicks later, and I oblige.

Ignacio leads us to the ancient ball court, where the Mayan equivalent of the Superbowl was played at the end of each millennium--every 52 years, in the Mayan calendar. The court consists of two sloping sides of stone, two massive vertical hoops (missing at this site) which you tried to hit the ball through with, not your hands or feet, but your hips, and a skull carved into the rock near the center. "Archeologists are not sure if the loser or winner was killed, as it was a great honour." I wonder if any players ever threw their game.

The final temple belongs to the jaguar. Surrounded by a huge plaza of living quarters, I have trouble fitting all of the tiered, intimidating layers of stone into my wide-angle lens. Jenn poses in front of the van-sized, square-edged jaguar face cut into the stone. This unintentional caricature looks like it was made out of giant stone Legos.

The ride upstream feels longer on the way back. We stop less often and try to keep out of the afternoon sun's path. Rum punch from Ignacio smooths things over nicely. Somewhere over an hour later, I spot the dock of our morning departure just as Ignacio cuts the engine. We all look to him, wide-eyed, like well-trained puppies. "One last stop!" He grins.

Right alongside the river, eyeing us rather maliciously, is a sizable and beautiful crocodile. His scaly, spotted skin glistens in the sunlight. We take in our final gift, and approach the dock.

"Our tour has come to a close." Back to his monotone. In fact, he doesn't even look at us as he speaks, like a child forced to memorize a poem. "Thank you for choosing our company. I hope you enjoyed your day. Have a good stay in Belize."

Well, I can handle a robot at the start and end, since we got a passionate guide all in between.

Jenn and I step from the boat; the world sways with the river current for hours afterward, yet the wonders of the day still linger. Rare are the journeys that embrace a myriad of personal obsessions--rivers, wildlife, adventure, jungle, mythology--that my memories can`t help but smile in wondrous remembrance.

On adventure, anxiety and acceptance

Currently, I am sitting in an air-conditioned internet place, keeping up with the world of people and things- from where I have been, the folks at home, to where I am going- next Guatemala?

While I am doing this, my husband is climbing around inside a very large, very dark cave filled with Mayan artifacts and crystallized human remains.

This leaves me a full day to wash my clothes by hand, meander the Saturday market buying jewellery made of Guanacaste seeds and tropical fruit, and linger in a travelers cafe reading and writing. Taking it easy, at least by all appearances.

Lift the lid a little from what seems an ideal Saturday abroad and you will start to see the various parts of me squirming, quietly pondering the conundrum of anxiety versus adventure (i.e. caves versus internet cafes) and the niggling question of "What is my purpose here?" which pops up every few days and attempts to undermine my efforts at being the 'laid back-fiction reading-restaurant eating-tour taking-housekeeping receiving-traveling gal' I am trying to be. Geez!

Now I don't altogether resent these niggling questions, and in all fairness I would rather be entertaining them than not. In fact, the by product of these persistent questions is a hefty amount of reflectiveness- albeit not tremendously comfortable reflection- about the nature of myself, the world and my self's place in the world (which you all know I secretly love).

The truth is:
I am an anxious person. I am someone who likes to think about adventure, but can get pretty spooked when I get close to it. I want to embrace more of my nature-loving, bird watching, river swimming, jungle hiking self. I feel like I "should" be more courageous, risk taking and ballsy (if that is even how you spell that!). I am afraid, not so much that I will regret not exploring dark caves and human remains, but that the world will be disappointed by my fearfulness and therefore I will make demands on myself beyond my real desire to fulfill them. I am afraid that my fearfulness is shrinking my life unnecessarily and that I am allowing it to.

I want to honour and accept myself for who I really am, whoever that is.

As such, I find myself curiously interrogating other travelers, watching them in action, listening for themes in how they travel, where they go and most importantly how they negotiate the adventure of being in the unknown. I think in doing this I am trying to place myself in the unspoken "Hierarchy of The Traveler". Where do I fall into the varied landscape of bumblers, tour junkies, volunteers, beer drinkers, vagabonds, resort goers, Rastafarians, hippies, adrenaline junkies, retirees and families? What is my place of belonging in the ever changing sea of "passers through"?

What are my ways to connect,
to both the edges in myself and the people I meet there?

To see where Lee has been, visit: (www.belizex.com/tunichil_muknal.htm)

Homebodies abroad

Never underestimate the power of a sanctuary.

This is what I am learning today, as I sit feeling the ocean breeze across a tall wide veranda. Swinging in a cotton hammock, watching the clouds roll by in a bright blue sky. It seems the clouds must love to visit Belize... The endless sounds of palm leaves rustling, gracal birds chirriping, the occasional chime of the clock from inside our hosts home.

Indeed, today I am starkly reminded of 2 things...

1. The physics of the quest, as stated by Elizabeth Gilberts character in the film Eat Pray Love, which states:
"I've come to believe that there exists in the universe something I call 'The Physics of The Quest' -- a force of nature governed by laws as real as the laws of gravity or momentum. And the rule of Quest Physics maybe goes like this: 'If you are brave enough to leave behind everything familiar and comforting (which can be anything from your house to your bitter old resentments) and set out on a truth-seeking journey (either externally or internally), and if you are truly willing to regard everything that happens to you on that journey as a clue, and if you accept everyone you meet along the way as a teacher, and if you are prepared - most of all - to face (and forgive) some very difficult realities about yourself... then truth will not be withheld from you.' Or so I've come to believe. I can't help but believe it, given my experience."

Travelling is bringing into light, again and again, the invisible limits and perceived safety controls that I have convinced myself are useful, practical and "the way things are" - which of course may or may not be true at all. In this light, the questions then become: How do I entertain and open to the myriad other possibilities? How do I hold the doors and windows of my mind open for the unknown, for discovery, for the discomfort of uncertainty and the potential therein? How do I listen closely - ears open to self and spirit - and letting go into what I hear?

which leads me again to...

2. Everything is impermanent - Coming inevitably, as a jolt to the body with each remembering!
Currently, we are staying in the guest house of a retired couple from England. When we sat down over samosas yesterday evening I asked our hostess where her husband was, assuming that he was out in town doing chores as we had not met him yet . She responded, suprisingly smoothly, that he died 2 months ago. Encountering this woman who is living her dream on a veranda in Belize, yet without her life partner of 37 years, the quest physics stir me. Shaken and moved, I want to keep talking with her, I want to hear her stories and connect with the inspiration that moves her and their lives together.

She, poignantly and preciously, continues throughout our entire conversation to use the pronoun "we".

I hold Lee tightly as we fall to sleep in this sleepy Belizean town - carefully noting the rare and precious gift of this moment in my life, the blessing I am given in each breath, the true achy nature of change and loss and rebirth again and again.

Life is teaching me to open, to not wait, to ask the questions and leave space for the answers to reveal themselves. Together, today, I see options, adventures, choices and possibilities laid out before us. I am hopeful and terrified - both arriving more fully and longing to allow my life to fill more deeply with grace.

stumbling and soaring

Flying across ancient lagoons in a small speedboat - Floating down fresh water canals canoed by ancient Mayans - Watching out bus windows to miles and miles of low jungle dotted by cement buildings - Finding another place to sleep, and another, and another - Remembering to throw the toilet paper in the garbage can - Getting really familiar with feeling fumbly, stupid, awkward, lost and unfamiliar - Enjoying the occassional moment of pretending I am in a place I know - Feeling huge gratitude for my loveLee companion and divine champion - Riding waves of adventure, awe, sweetness, anxiety and salty Carribean waves -

Sharing both deep periods of silence
and unexpected cacophonies of sound

random Mexican mementos

Dinner with Jenn´s boss our last night in Isla Muheres (I owned that game of cards: ¨golf¨)

Wandering down a crocodile pier outside the Coba ruins (alas, I didn´t spot any of the 6 meter reptiles)

Bicycling around the Coba ruins, and being the first of the day (or in history, in my imagination) to conquer Nohoch Mul, the ¨big mound¨.

Trying to learn spanish on the fly, and the taxi driver having great fun with me when I tried to pay him instead of the bus guy (even though he had indicated earlier that was where to buy tickets...meanwhile the bus ticket guy decided to take a break minutes before the bus was scheduled to leave)

Wandering the streets of Coba at night, and feeling more like a traveller than a tourist (a guy getting a haircut from his buddy just outside his grocery shop, kids running down the street, dogs lolling about, a cake being prepared for someone´s birthday while I poked around their shop, and people generally doing what they normally do)

A bus almost hitting the dog that thought the middle of the highway would be the best place to defecate.

Reading voraciously and concluding that a direct relationship exists between reading time and happiness.

Playing in the surf with my Love, and jumping the Caribbean waves together!

Communing with basking iguanas.

Trailing hermit crab sand trails at night by flashlight.

Standing stunned as 10 tigers drove by as we tried to cross the road (of course, the tigers--most of which were white tigers--were not driving, they were in hitched cages)

Waking with the sun that rises outside our cabana in Tulum (and watching the moon rise later and later each evening)

On Tourism....

I realize it may seem strange to choose to comment on tourism when one is currently dunked into it in another country. Or maybe that is the exact right time to start to wonder more clearly: What are we doing to our worlds cultures, communities and places of belonging by flying large distances to stay behind walls, away from the people who live there? (Can you tell we spent the day on a bus travelling down the "Riviera Maya" past vast gates to mysterious resorts beyond?)

Who am I here?
I am a tourist - I resent it and of course, can´t deny it; I am a traveller - I want to know the reality of where I am, to go deeper; I am a person - who does not share the language, and therefore struggles to connect; I am a friend - through simple words, smiles, cookies, dog buddies, childrens laughter; I am invisible - both a stranger and an all-to-familiar sight to those who call this place home

Hmmmm, food for thought.

Sunset and moonrise

To my sweet Love, happy 24th moon day!

Shifting paradigms

If life is hectic long enough, busy becomes habitual. This past month I have moved cities, hauled everything from my office, tied up work threads, stuffed most possessions into two mobile cubes, and prepared to survive from a backpack for 3 and a half months. The storm of change crashes around me. I have chosen this. Through this storm lies the even sky of the equator. To disengage from my daily habits, to remove myself from expectation and the knots of responsibility, to discover what I did not know--that is the goal.

Each goodbye becomes a reminder of the adventure ahead.

And now, through the magic of physics, Jenn and I have soared from snow to summer.

I take a deep breath.

I am ready to embrace the unknown, to push beyond the zone of comfort, to push myself beyond the person I am today.

Time to let go...

Leaving the frosty wonderland...

Blessings-O-Rama to send us on our way...

12:12am, January 12th - the departure day of our grand adventure!

Walking in the snow
last vestiges of work finished
seemingly endless 'to-do's' crossed off the list
quiet hum of a familiar house, a familiar keyboard, a familiar self
4 hours to waking and off to another world...

Thank you Wade for sending us the blessings attached and for all the loving lovelies that have fanned the flames and carried us through this time of preparation, transition and take off.

YOU ARE LOVED.

Welcome!

Welcome to our travel blog!