Catch me if you can.

It seems winter has caught up with me.  Its friggin freezing out here and apparently it ain't gonna get any better where I'm heading.  Typhoon- and flood season is just kicking in in Louisiana, destination next.  Now there's a weather pattern we don't get to see in South Africa.

Since the snow I keep finding myself in bed staring at the tv screen, it's like my brain's leaked out the side of my head whilst I was sleeping.  You have no idea the amount of concentration it's taking for me to write this entry.  My "big plan" for the weekend is watching the entire original series of "V" this Sunday, starting at noon and ending round 11pm on the syfy channel...  Ambitious, I know.

I might also just have come out of a 4 hour stupor of watching "Yes to the dress," a show about women searching for their wedding gowns at a store in NYC that has the largest collection in the world.  This could have been accompanied by me eating a large number of Reese's peanut butter cups, but ofcourse this is all just speculation.  Damn this cold!

Winter.  I managed to out-run it when I left SA in June, but now, finally, it has caught up with me.

I miss my cousin in New York.  I miss home.  I can tell on Facebook that ya'll are just getting into the groove of summer and it's easy to imagine how wonderful it must be back home right now.  The African sun.  The mountain and the sea.

It's true what they say you know.  Somehow, you just feel closer to God in Africa.

Throw your dreams into space like a kite, and you do not know what it will bring back, a new life, a new friend, a new love, a new country.

                                         - Anais Nin

Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage.

                                                                - Anais Nin

Small town grace.

Life in Marfa is simple. 

The Police left last year, packed up and shipped out to other crime infested waters.  The jail also closed, both cells they had going in that small building on the corner. 

Besides for being %100 crime free, Marfa is also a cheap and beautiful place to hang out.  No movies to watch, real bars to frequent or clubs to shake your bootay at but endless skies and stars.  So after Vickee offered for me to stay as long as I like, I've decided to bunker down for the weekend and skip San Antonio altogether, heading straight for Lafayette on Monday. 

It seems I bring out the mother in my hosts.  Vickee came and stood in my door twice yesterday saying: "I don't know hon, are you sure you don't want to stay a bit longer?  Ah mean, whatsha gonna do in San Antonio?  You sure you don't want to stay?  You know you can stay you know, as long as you like...", frowning whilst talking, some hand wringing action going down.  This morning when her friend arrived I was introduced as her new adopted daughter, and I laughed and felt blessed to have so many mothers in America.  What a lucky girl I am.
Steve has now taken to calling me "Jumanji", I guess because there's a jungle connection or something, but it's kinda sweet.  He has the best belly laugh I've ever heard and it's obvious that even after 9 years of being together this couple are still very much in love.  What a lovely thing to witness.

I woke up to snow this morning, rolled out of bed and ran outside to be in it.  Then I ran back inside, hopped back into bed and pulled the covers as far over my face as I could till I could feel my nose again.  But it's beautiful.

I think I like Marfa.

Std Bank lost my money.

On a small excursion to Alpine I go to the ATM to draw some cash.  This is a good idea since I don't have none on me and feel kind of nekkid.  Soon however I feel more like a poepol because the only ATM in town happens to be a drive through and so I'm standing in line whilst everyone else are sitting in their big ole 4x4's.  And then there's me standing, like a poepol.  When I finally get to the front of the qeue with 5 gynormous cars waiting behind me I'm told by the machine that I don't have enough funds available to draw cash, but, you know, thanks for asking.  I swallow my tongue, then regurgitate it, then swallow it again.  Ouch.  If I wasn't staying with Vickee and had booked into a motel instead I would be sooo screwed right now.  I wouldn't have had anywhere to go.  I would be a lost little sheep in Texas.

Back in Marfa I go online to check my balance.  No wonder I couldn't draw money, according to Substandard Bank I have $73 left in my account.  $73!! I call The Parents.  The Parents call The Bank who eventually realise that they've made The Mistake.  And they're... sorry.  Well, let me tell you something Mister.  Mistakes aren't that funny when you're a 20 hour flight away from home and stuck in a town with no cellphone reception or funds.  I'm sooo over them. 

The Parents come to the rescue though, kicking some solid banking ass.  They are like superhero people.  Within a couple of hours most of my missing money has magically reappeared in my account, but SBank is still looking for some of it and my poor mother has to go to customer services tomorrow to figure out what the hell is happening there.    

Anyhoozle.  It's over now.  Moving right along:

South Africans!  They're everywhere.  Even in Marfa.

Vickee takes me out to lunch at the local Mexican restaurant and introduces me to all the staff and locals passing by.  "You know, your accent sounds just like that other one's... What's her name again?  That South African girlie..."  says Carmen the manager. 
"What?!" I say spitting food onto her wall.  "South African?  In Marfa??"
"Oh hell yeh," she says, chewing gum.  "Her and her husband run a gallery... somewhere in town..."
"Ain't they them folk in... San Antonio Street?" calls a balding man two tables down. 
"Well what dya know.  You're raht Harley.  That's them in San Antonio Street," says Carmen as she turns around to get our plates and slide them onto the table.  Vickee and I eat enchiladas with refried beans, rice, salad, lotsa cheese and each down about a litre of Coke after which I take a stroll down to the gallery in question.

Leana Clifton is indeed a South African, she's even Afrikaans.  She's been living in the States with her husband since 1994 and in Marfa since 2007.  She's an amazing artist and photographer, and strange as it may sound, meeting her is one of the most surreal moments of my travels.  South Africans, living in Marfa.

Here are some of her artworks.  The bad photograpy on my part is unfortunate:

For more about Leana's work you can visit www.leanaclifton.com

Texas in pictures.

The landscape.  Makes me think of the Karoo.

Look at the size of that thing!  They're all over town.

My wonderful hosts.  That's right people.  It turns out Father Christmas lives in Texas.

My hosts, the guy that  Steve works with, Frances and little Vega.  She is the daughter of a friend of theirs, we were babysitting for the day.

The Dance

"What matters it how far we go?" his scaly friend replied.
"There's another shore, you know, upon the other side.
The further off from England the nearer is to France,
Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance.

Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance?
Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance?

Grand Opening Party.

I had the best dream last night whilst sleeping under the Texas sky.

The details are hazy, but it comes down to this.

I dreamt that a man kissed me.  It was one of those "Congratulations! Let me kiss you" kind of things, and then we kissed and we kissed, and I remember clearly the part where electricity started shooting up and down my spine, and the realisation that neither one of us had the desire to pull away.  And even though it was an innocent kiss, and it was only a dream, I woke up this morning feeling like a part of me had opened up and put up Christmas lights to celebrate.

Marfa, Texas.

Here's why I keep planning to a minimum.

After 17 hours on an Amtrak train listening to David Sedaris and Ram Dass recordings on my netbook, I arrive in El Paso Texas and decide within the first 2 minutes of getting off the train that I don't really want to be there.  It's a hideous place.  Look, I'm not fussy, but this town is just awful, there is nothing redeeming about it and from the conversations around me I gather that I'm not the first person to have come to this conclusion.  I go into the train station and hang around there for awhile, trying to decide what to do next.  The train happens to be stopping for an hour in El Paso before continuing on its journey to New Orleans, so I have time.  As things go it's not long before I meet two people who are about to board the train.

In a previous post I mentioned that in El Paso you can walk across the border for a margarita in Mexico.  You don't want to do that.  Apparently there's been like 12 murders right on the other side of the border this month, which is just plain unpleasant and didn't make me feel the vacation vibe.  El Paso is dry, hell, the whole of Texas is dry.  My nose is bloody, my back is itching and moving my facial muscles is increasingly challenging. It's also cold but I'm not scared since Frances' jacket has turned me into the Abominable Snowman.  I just wish it had moisturiser lining the inside.

The two friendlies at the station tell me about their destination, Alpine, the next stop on the line and a place I heard of before through a friend of Frances'.  It's a small Texas town known for its artist community and so without thinking twice I walk up to the Amtrak reservations station, book a ticket to Alpine Texas and get back onto the train.  El Paso can kiss my ass.

The woman I've been speaking to is called Vickee.  She's been visiting her hubby who spends alot of time working in El Paso, and now she's heading back home whilst hubby stays behind.  We chat and I tell her what I've been up to and what my deal is.  "So what do you do for a living?" she asks before long.
"I run a theatre company," I say and smile. She seems impressed that I'm traveling on my own and that I run my own business back home and every now and again turns around and says things like "You go girl!" or "You tell um!" and then high fives me.   

It's not long before she suggests that I come and stay in her cottage in a town called Marfa, which is about 25 miles from Alpine and as it's against my religion to turn down free accommodation I hop in a car with her and her friend Fran who is waiting for us at the Alpine station 5 hours later (making my train ride 24 hours altogether).  It amazes me how asking a strange person to come and live in her house seems like the most natural thing in the world to her.  My first taste of Southern Hospitality.  "What's your name?" they ask in the car.  "Nell," I say, knowing this is Nell country.

We drive.  Texas reminds me of Bloemfontein.  LA is like Pretoria by the sea, but this place has Bloemfontein written all over it.  Big and vacant, conservative at heart, religious as hell and filled with colorful characters.  On riding into Alpine my two new hosts turn up the music, smoke a fattie and do a jigg in the car even though they're both in their 50's.  I like it.  Vickee has bright orange nails and her and Fran rant about the two guys that Fran is currently dating.  She can't seem to decide which of the two to keep. 

"Hey, that's Randy Quaid's truck," Vickee says as we drive down the main street of Marfa.  "There he is! Did you see him up front?  Him and that wife o his just bought up that property and turned it into an eyesore.  Did you know he was arrested like 3weeks ago for not paying for his hotel bill somewhere in California?"  As an avid reader of a tabloid site called dlisted.com I am aware of this fact, and slowly a realisation dawns on me.  

Randy is the brother of Dennis Quaid, by the looks of it the older of the two.  I read the article a couple of weeks ago, there was a picture attached, but Randy was barely recognisable, looking more like a bum with a big fat ole beard than the guy who played in movies like Independance Day and the like.  Then it hits me.  Obviously my spiritual path has lead me to the Quaid family for enlightenment.  I mean how often does this happen, running into both Quaid brothers in one week?  That's not just coincidence my friends, that's divine intervention.  I guess this is how most good stalkers start out.  Something like this happens and they just roll with it.

I make a mental note to come in search of  Randy and his wife tomorrow when I plan to investigate this little hamlet, but for now I need some rest and recuperation so I head home with Vickee to check out her cottage which turns out to be huge.  I have a kitchen, a bathroom, a double bed and a tv, probably the most privacy I've had on my entire trip.  The woman is amazing.  She's brought me food and expects nothing in return.  I'm so thankful I don't even know what to say.  After realising that there's wifi in here I kick back and decide to move in permanently.  Or at least stay till Thursday.

This is "There will be blood" country, "No country for old men,"  and although I've only met fabulous people my internal alarm tells me that I will have to stay well clear of psychos.  Yes my friends.  I'm in the heart of Texas and hell, who knows what will happen.

All I know is that I want to be in Lafayette Louisiana by Monday night. 

Other than that, I am open to suggestions.

(Randy and his wife.)

This one's for the ladies.

In the months before I left SA I was seeing a homeopath once a month to treat my case of candida which resulted in a lack of energy and hormone imbalances.  For most of my life I've had some serious issues with PMS.  Really.  Just lock me in a padded room for a week every month and stay away because I'm going to be crying and sore and tired and mostly just plain unpredictable.

She put me onto a herb called "Chaste Tree" which regulates your hormone production.  It doesn't prevent pregnancy or anything like that but increases the amount of progestorone  that your body is producing.  Well that stuff changed my life.  Although I still got a little crampy and sore it was nothing compared to what it was before.

When I came overseas I brought a 2 month supply with me.  I figured that was enough as I was never intended to stay on the pills - I was supposed to take it for about 6 months and then come off it.  Well let me tell you.  In the two months that I went off this stuff I had all the appropriate breakdowns on all the appropriate dates.  No fun.

Completely by chance I found a similar product about 2 weeks ago at Whole Foods in LA.  They make a mixture of Chaste Tree and Black Cohosh for the treatment of PMS and as I sit here this morning I know that those little brown tablets have saved my life today.  If I hadn't bee taking it I'm pretty sure that leaving LA would be a whole lot harder and more dramatic.  This might have caused a gap in my storyline but I don't care.

So that's my sales pitch.  If you suffer severe PMS symptoms get your hands on some Chaste Tree, now available from your local homeopath.

It will make your life a whole lot easier.

Endless possibilities.

Dear Universe,

When I arrived in the States the first place I wanted to see was to the South.  I wanted to go experience myself some Southern Hospitality and hear them folk speak their funny speak.  Things didn't quite work out that way but it's working out that way now.  I'm makin my way to the Deep South and I'm pretty darn excahted abaowt it.  After booking a hostel to stay in Lafayette Louisiana I sent an email to them requesting formal confirmation.  This is what I received back:

Hey Alice,

Yes mam we sure do have your reservation for The Couch dorm room from Nov 2-8.

We look forward to seeing you.

Poetry to my ears.  So this is it for the West Coast. It's been fun but I got mah boots on and places to go and people tah see!  I head back out into the wild feeling unstoppable, a crazy adventurer who can't get enough Travel pumping through my veins.  I clamber out of my comfy bed of delight (otherwise known as LA) and head back into the wild (otherwise known as the middle of the States).  I am Lara Croft only sexier and more dangerous.  Between me and the crazy-ass powers of Cellini Euroline the world holds its breath as we launch ourselves at whoever we might come across. 

We are rested.  We are ready.  We have very little money but are willing to slave for our room and board.  That's just the way we roll.

STOP 1
El Paso Texas.
An approximate 17 hour train ride crossing two timezones will land me slap bang in the middle of the US, right on the mexican border.  If I had that mexican visa I could walk across the border for a margarita on Monday night.  But I don't so I won't.  Actually I have no idea what I will be doing in El Paso as I know practically nothing about it besides for the distance between where the train drops me and where the Hostel is at.  I can't wait to find out though.

One thing Universe:
The last time I went on Amtrak I ended up cuddling with a sweet but strange black belt martial artist for warmth which ended up being a little weird.  Hey, it was his idea not mine.  Please ensure that I either sit alone or have the company of someone sane, interesting or very pre-occupied sitting next to me.  This is muchos importantos as 17 hours is a long-ass time.

Me?  I will be spending my time listening to David Sedaris reading his stories on me small notebook, staring out the window at the glorious scenery rolling by till night falls, and then yanking out my earplugs, eye mask and small red cushion friend to see me through the night.  This time I won't be cold.  My auntie Frances made sure of that when she sent me packing with her sleeping bag-coat.

I love the feeling of endless possibilities.
 Make my trip back a beautiful and epic journey Universe.

Respect,

Alice

I'm becoming a professional bowler and that's the end of it.

Elma invited Andre and I to go bowling last night, and as it qualifies as one of those things you simply have to do in America, (I still need to see some baseball as well) we agreed and got all excited about it.

Now I've been bowling maybe twice before in my life, once in Bellville and probably the other time at Northcliff Centre in Jozi at some point whilst growing up.  Both times the experience left me feeling a little sad.  Like I now qualified fully for reject status and could get my stamp whenever I felt ready.  Well.

Nothing could have prepared me for what happened last night.  I'm still trying to pick me jaw off the ground and get my eyes to stop rolling.  If I hadn't drunk all that tequila I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have slept at all last night.  How exhilirating!  Bowling in America is a full on rock and roll experience.  There's a DJ in the house spinning tunes, a huge bar, amazing food and kazillions of people chucking balls at pins and then screaming and hugging when they fall like they've just won the war.  People leave the bowling alley with a deeper love for one another, even more so when  Dennis Quaid and the Sharks make a guest appearance, but more because you're happy that you're not quite as high or drunk as Dennis Quaid is than the winning the war feeling.

At 11pm Dennis Quaid and his band popped out of nowhere and hopped onstage.  It soon became obvious that the man needed some help - he was flailing about like he was on fire and really needed someone to throw a bucket of cold water on him, but no one seemed to be able to help him out.  That would explain the screaming as well.  Terrible screaming.  Much more than singing and most of the time the audience seemed to stare in absolute amazement rather than grooving to the music.  This oke is crazy people.  He must be driving his wife nuts.  He's got "high maintenance and totally insane" written all over him and it aint pretty.  See picture below.  He got himself some crazy eyes people.  Craaaayzy eyes.  He snorted too much of the good shit yesterday me thinks.

I had the best time last night. What a great way to pay my final respects to LA. 

I think I'm going to miss this place.

"If there's no meaning in it," said the King, "that saves us a world of trouble, you know, as we needn't try to find any."

Itinerary

Here it is.  A rough outline of what the next couple of weeks holds for yours truly.  That's to say I don't get a job offer on my way cross country or get invited to live in someone's beach house for a week or two.  I'm open to doing either of those.  Yup.

Now you might think that some of my options for places to stay are kinda odd.  I literally found the cheapest places to stay on the Amtrak route and decided to stop there.  It's as simple as that.  Really excited about Lafayette and New Orleans.  It's going to be awe. some.

Sunday 25 October
Amtrak @ 14h30 LAX Union Square ($100)


Monday 26 October
Arrive El Paso Texas 08h16
Take a yellow cab (915 532 9999) to Gardner Hotel ($25):
311 E Franklin Avenue (915 532 3661)


Thurs 29 October
Amtrak @ 08h15 ($77)
Arrive San Antonio @ 21h30
Yellow cab service (210 222 2222)
Check into San Antonio International Hostel ($18):
621 Pierce Avenue (210 223 9426)


Monday 2 November
Amtrak @ 23h55 ($55)

Tuesday 3 November
Arrive Lafayette @ 10h12
Dixie Cab (337 237 3333)
Check into Blue Moon Hostel:
215 East Convent Street (1 877 766 BLUE) ($18)


Sunday 8 November
Amtrak @ 10h15
Arrive New Orleans @ 14h55 ($20)
American taxi (504 299 0386)
Book into India House backpackers Hostel:
(504 821 1904) ($17 - $20)


Sunday 15 November
Amtrak @ 07h05 ($125)


Monday 16 November
Arrive New York Penn Station @ 14h04

Drinks with Mr Dre at Laguna Beach

It's official!

I now have 30 people who are following this blog.  How awesome is that?
If you're reading but you haven't joined, check the column on the right and sign up, it makes me feel warm and fluffy to see all yer faces up there.

Now, if I can just get you guys to make comments...

Frances and her friend Suzie at the Farmer's Market.

This lady has like totally sorted me out.  She has lent me a coat that resembles a sleeping bag (and can easily double up as one), a hat, some gloves and she took me shopping at all the right places today to find some waterproof winter shoes for the rest of my trip.

Bring it on!

(Where am I going again?)

The great critique.

I'm a great critic.


I can pick the negative out of anything without batting an eyelid.  Introduce me to someone new and I will find their weakness within seconds.  So they've won awards and donate money to the orphanage, who cares?  What I'm going to remember is how they dropped out of high school and did that terrible thing with the boy down the street.  It's the way my mind's been programmed: dissectation and fault-finding.  Maybe you're the same to some extent.  Hell, we've all been raised in a scientific society that strives for perfection. It's the way of the world right now and there's no one to blame for it.


Two years ago I met an guy who doesn't operate like that.


It was on my vision quest, a retreat led by a South African man called Lance who now lives in Norway.  He was assisted by two woman deeply entrenched in wilderness and spirit work and between the three of them they held the space for the rest of us to let go of everything and plunge into nothingness.  Let me tell  you, that's no small feat.


The quest lasts for 10 days: the first two or three is spent with all participants becoming clear about their intentions for the quest and sharing with the group.  When I first met the other participants I immediately put them all into neat little boxes in my head, labelling them and berating them in my mind for being such weirdos.  What kind of flakes attend these retreats anyway, psh.  But Lance made a point of lifting out the positive attributes each person brought to the experience and dealt with everyone with great integrity and love.  I was waiting for him to get frustrated and start to find fault though.  Hey, it was bound to happen at some point and I was ready to put in my 2 cents worth when he got there.  I was  a beast waiting in the wings.


By day 3 we were all asked if we were ready to go into the wilderness to stay in seclusion for four days without food or shelter and we all agreed that we were ready.  The next morning we began.


My quest wasn't easy.  In fact besides for my initiation as a Sangoma it probably qualifies as one of the hardest things I've ever done.  Sangoma initiation is about community and being part of a group.  A vision quest is about being alone and facing yourself.


It's the last day of my quest.  It also happens to be my 32nd birthday.  I'm sitting in a kloof against a mountainside about an hour and a half's drive from Monteque and I'm completely overcome with fear.  I don't want the sun to set because I'm afraid.  I don't really know what I'm afraid of anymore, I just know that I'm absolutely petrified.  I also know that there's no longer any turning back. 


At sunset Lance comes to check on me like I've asked him to.  The other Questers have been living in solitude but I haven't been able to.  The fear has been too much.  So, as the sun dapples through the trees one last time before nightfall I see him gradually working his way up the mountainside towards me.  I wait clutching my knees and staring off into the distance.  How are you he asks when he finally reaches me and settles down on the ground.  I'm scared I say.  I don't think I can do this.  Lance is quiet for awhile and looks out over the small stream I'm sitting next to.  A frog on a rock croaks drily and a hot wind blows through the trees.  I'm filthy and covered in scratches and bites.  My tarp lies bundled to the side and there are prayer flags haphazardly sprawled overhead in a scew circle.  I believe they will protect me.  How about if I come and check on you tonight, he says leaning back on the ground.  Do you think you could stay up here if I checked on you once every hour?  It's my birthday and all I want is a cake with candles and people who care for me. It takes me awhile to answer him.  Ok I say, my voice dropping down into the mud.  But you have to come every hour.  Ok he says.  And then we sit in silence for awhile until he disappears between the trees and the rocks again. 


Night falls.  My heart is pounding like a drum and I put on my flashlight everytime I hear the crack of branches closeby.  I am stranded here till morning and there is nothing I can do about it.  But then I hear him.  I can hear him humming on his way up and finally he materialises out of the darkness and helps me to make a fire.  It's small but big enough to light up a little patch of ground, a small warm heart for me to hang onto.  The night is crazy dark.  I shuffle as close to the fire as I can, anxiously feeding it little pieces of wood to ensure its longevity.  The cold has plunged into the kloof and I now resemble some kind of alien mummy.  Maybe I think that the clothes will protect me from whatever I'm afraid of.  Later he leaves.  I cling to my fire, swaying a bit from time to time.  No sleep for 3 days and fasting makes for weakness and all my defenses are down.  I don't know how much time passes but a while later I hear the humming returning out of the nothing-ness.  A sound and then a face in the light.  He sits down  on a log and makes his small offering to the fire: sandalwood, tobacco. 


Hold this:


The dark, the small fire.  Endless stars.  Me filthy and all eyes.  Lance staring into the flames and singing me home.  (You don't know the song but it sounds like your heart.)  Him singing and my eyes full of water, not because I'm sad but because a song is holding me together. 


In the days that followed we all sat around telling of our seperate journeys and quests and he would find the good in each person and compose stories around it, like singing a hymn in honour of them.  It brought all of us to a place of humility and grace we didn't have before we came. 


In Zen Buddhism there are the three pure precepts and the ten grave precepts.  One of the ten grave precepts are this:


See the perfection.  Do not speak of others' errors and faults.


Maybe if I can stop seeing the faults in myself I will stop seeing the fault in others.  Maybe if I stop fixing me and just accept what and who I am today it will just fall away.


Maybe if I love myself unconditionally I will be able to do the same for others.


That's what those songs gave me on the mountain.

Happiness.

I'm hilarious.

Here's what I've realised about myself:

• I want to be in the States.
• I want to be in SA.
• I want to travel.
• I want some security and stability.
• I want a boyfriend.
• I want to be alone.
• I like my boyfriend.
• I don't like my boyfriend.
• I want to have a full time job.
• I want to have a part time job.
• I want to be in LA.
• I want to leave LA.
• I want to see as much of the States as I can.
• I want to stay in one place to get a deeper understanding of the people and the place.
• I want to be a Sangoma.
• I want to be a normal person.
• I want to live in SA.
• I want to live in the States.
• I want to live in Cape Town.
• I want to live in Gauteng.
• I want to work from home.
• I want to work in an office with other people.

Maybe you're starting to get the drift here. 

It doesn't matter what I have, inside of me there's always a part that believes that the exact opposite will be better somehow.  It doesn't matter how fabulous my life is.  Hell, I could be the Queen of Sheba and sit on my throne of gold and I'll wonder how blissful it must be to be a cleaner without responsibility. 

If I keep going on this way nothing will ever be good enough for me because I will always believe that what I don't have is better.

That means that I will always have a sense of inadequacy, no matter where I go.  I will be living in the past or the future and hoping to get the opposite of what I have and in the process LIFE WILL PASS ME BY and I won't be able to blame anyone for it but myself.

So:

• I devote myself to this journey 100%. 
• There is no better place for me to be right now than the place that I have consciously chosen for myself to be. 
• Everything else is illusion, and my ideas about it are lies.  
• I want to be here, completely, with no expectations. 

It takes a whole lot less energy to live that way.

You said it.

"Have you guessed the riddle yet?" the Hatter said, turning to Alice again.

"No, I give it up," Alice replied.  "What's the answer?"

"I haven't the slightest idea," said the Hatter.

"Nor I," said the March Hare.

Devotion

The most amazing thing people.  You're not going to believe it:

I'm in LA!  The warm beating heart of the entertainment industry.  Me, a chica from Africa, keep finding myself on alien ground and loving it.  The miracle of it, the new-ness doesn't die.  I've woken up to life again, and I liiike.

Went to have dinner at the suggestively titled Pink Taco Restaurant in Santa Monica Boulevard with Mr Dre last night.  It's a crazy place with loud music and good food, and all the waiters look either like models or space aliens.  One of the two.

Andre kicked us off with some good ole tequila and then the waiter felt compelled to buy us some more. By 7pm this chica was pretty hammered.  Correct, I'm a cheap date.

Understand though: tequila in America is a whole different deal to the crap you get in SA.  No wonder that stuff gives you such a hangover.  Tequila is actually supposed to go down pretty smooth it seems.  Anyhoozle.  We were going to watch "Where the wild things are" except that it was sold out, so instead we had some coffee which sobered me up and then went to watch "500 days of Summer", a sweet little Indie movie about a little thing called love, starring Zooey Deschanel.  It was too sweet.  Feel good and pretty to look at.

Spent today lazing by the pool with Frances who has returned from San Diego, swimming from time to time, napping and reading with Mortitia the cat and still trying to figure out what happens next.  Frances has been kind enough to offer for me to stay here for a couple of days more till I figure it out.  I don't want to go home yet but money is tight.  It's hard to know what to do.  At some point I'll just have to jump off the bridge and trust that everything will be fine.

I've got a couple days more to decide.

I've started to notice that I laugh more than I used to.  I just laugh.  Spontaneously.  I am amused by things.  I get involved and immersed in moments.  When I arrived I was completely pre-occupied with what I had left behind and where I wanted to go.  It seems like these days (except for occasional anxiety about where to next) I am slowly letting go and surrendering to my circumstances, not trying to manipulate it too much or spending hours and hours doing research about places and things online.  It feels kinda nice.

Ran out and bought "Wonderland: The Zen of Alice" yesterday.  Here's some:

To devote oneself body and soul to experiencing one's life and death is to live the life of a Buddha.  Devotion means not backing away from obstacles.  Devotion is throwing oneself into something completely.

So:

I devote myself to the rest of my journey, throwing myself into each moment, trusting that it will catch me and seeing the wonder and miraculousness in it.

Cheers to that!

From TS Eliot's "The four quartets".

V
What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make and end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from. And every phrase
And sentence that is right (where every word is at home,
Taking its place to support the others,
The word neither diffident nor ostentatious,
An easy commerce of the old and the new,
The common word exact without vulgarity,
The formal word precise but not pedantic,
The complete consort dancing together)
Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,
Every poem an epitaph. And any action
Is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea's throat
Or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start.
We die with the dying:
See, they depart, and we go with them.
We are born with the dead:
See, they return, and bring us with them.
The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree
Are of equal duration. A people without history
Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern
Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails
On a winter's afternoon, in a secluded chapel
History is now and England.



With the drawing of this Love and the voice of this
Calling



We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, unremembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always—
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.

www.onpilgrimage.com

What is a Pilgrimage?

In a nutshell, a pilgrimage is a journey inward as well as outward. Pilgrims seek to strengthen and renew their faith through travel.


Our working definition of pilgrimage is a transformative journey to a sacred center.


That’s what makes being a pilgrim different from being a tourist. For a tourist, travel is an end in itself. For a pilgrim, travel is a means to an end. Pilgrims travel with a clear intention, to draw closer to God. They make their journey with a heightened expectation.

And thus we expect to return transformed or changed or converted from the person we were when we began our journey. We will not return the same as we were when we left. Pilgrims return from their journey with a “boon,” something good that will enrich their lives in the everyday world back at home. We’ll experience life differently upon returning.

Walk until God tells you to stop.

Keep walking.  In the middle of the forest you can't see through the trees but beyond it is the sea, blue and deep. Look into the water Alice, and you'll see.  Things are churning, brewing and changing.  Hang around and you'll see it emerge. 
 
Don't worry too much, just trust and keep walking.  You'll know when you're done and ready to head home, but the time isn't now, you're still lost in the woods.
 
Keep walking, and follow your strength. 
Don't follow your fear, no, just keep walking.

Wherever you go, there is your heaven.
Wherever you go, there is your hell.
Don't shut your eyes, open them and see.
Keep walking Alice. 

Just
keep walking.

The Moby Man.

What a beautiful theatre!

What an amazing show.

Thanks Hotel Andre, it was awesome!

The Zen of Alice.

Fly

Twinkle twinkle little bat!

How I wonder what you're at!

Up above the world you fly

like a tea tray in the sky


                                 -    The Mad Hatter

Roll over.

It's a rainy day in LA, slow and continuous drops reminiscent of a Cape Town winter and I'm starting to look deeply into Cellini Euroline to see what warm things I brought.  Its not a hell of alot. Cellini Euroline did have a smaller sibling that I left in the care of my cousin in NY as I didn't feel like lugging two humungous bags cross country.  I might have a scarf in that bag in NY.  And I do believe some boots... At least my bag will be warm.

Frances has gone to visit family in San Diego for a couple of days so me and Morticia the 19 year old cat are getting down and catching up on some cable.   But that's not all we're doing.  Sometimes we roll over and eat something as well.  She has a little heated blanket and I have a big beautiful white bed of my own with a tv and there's a bookcase full of books in the lounge.  It's the simple things that bring me joy.

As my health and sense of humor has returned I'm once again doing some readings and making a bit of money which is awesome.  In the next couple of days I will make some final decisions about where to next and what I want to do with the rest of my trip.

You will be the first to know.

The Theaterrrrr

Met this lovely blue alien yesterday. 

Although she wasn't blue at the time. 

She's in a sci-fi show called "Farscape" and her name in the show is Zhaan. 

She is a friend of Elma's and we all went off to watch a musical called "Parade" at a big theatre in downtown LA reminiscent of Artscape in Cape Town.  We watched the matinee  with every person over 80 in a 50km radius which was sorta entertaining.  The blue lady seemed nice at first but then she started squeezing my cheeks and speaking in a really high pitched voice and calling me her little witchdoctor.  Then the friendship ended.

The show was about a jewish man in the 1920's who gets accused of killing a 13 year old girl who was working at his factory.  You know.  Just your average topic for a good musical.  You never really know whether he actually did it in the end or not and although the show was well produced and the actors were good I just didn't care about the story at all.  The one guy from Greys Anatomy was in it, TR Knight.  He irritates me on the show and he irritated me in the musical.  Conclusive evidence that he is just fucking irritating.

Then I moved out of Hotel Andre,  into Hotel Francis and swiftly on to the next theatre experience which was going to see the one and only Mr Pieter Dirk Uys in a show called "Elections and Erections".  The venue was tiny and intimate and nothing as glamorous as the first.  There was only a smattering of people at the show, maybe 30 altogether and mostly ex-pats.  When he came onto stage my heart almost popped and my body started shaking.  A tear quietly rolled down my cheek.

That's when it dawned on me.

I think I'm homesick.

Californication

Spent the day perusing Santa Monica and Venice Beach.  Saw a guy walking his iguana and a woman ambling about with a big ass snake around her neck.  Saw a man walking on glass with bare feet and guys doing skating tricks.  Saw the biggest widest whitest beach and it gave me expansiveness in my chest.  Yup yup yup.  Just another beautiful day in sunny California. 

My little vacation in the warm and comfy confines of Hotel Andre is quickly coming to a close.  On Monday night I'm going to be dropped off in Santa Monica where I will spend a couple of days with  my friend Roxanne's mom, Francis.  I guess I'll be there till around the weekend, at which point I'll have to tell her to drop me off somewhere to take some kind of transport somewhere else but I don't know what or where that place is yet. 

So this is what it comes down to.  Trust.  Before I came on this trip I knew that it would and now it has.  Gotta believe that regardless of everything I can look after myself and that the world will support me cause that's just what it does. 

There are options.  There are always options:

1. I could take the train to New Mexico and hang out there for awhile.  There's a chance that I could housesit for a woman there for a 4 or 5 days.
2. I could go to Austin Texas.  Sounds like a cool town and happens to be exactly halfway back to the east coast which makes it kinda convenient.
3. I could go to Chicago.  Like the musical.  Long way off and cold as hell, (try minus 18 degrees) but I actually know 4 great people there which is more than I can say for any other place in the US.
4. I could go and stay with a lovely lady in Hartford conneticut for a couple of weeks who has offered me a room for free in her house.
5. I could couchsurf my way across the US for the next two months.  Buy an Amtrak train pass and stay with all kinds of loons mahala and get back to the other side of the country all in one go.
6. I could shave my head, change my name to Katya and learn to juggle chairs.
7. I could get breast implants and become a porn star.  I hear that even in this ailing economy them folk make good cash.  I can feel those crinkly green notes between my breastes already!

So many choices. 

What would you do?

Mabel

I must be Mabel after all, and I shall have to go and live in that poky little house, and have next to no toys to play with, and oh, ever so many lessons to learn!  No, I've made up my mind about it: if I'm Mabel, I'll stay down here!  It'll be no use their putting their heads down and saying, "Come up again, dear!" I shall only look up and say "Who am I, then?  Tell me that first, and then, if I like being that person, I'll come up:  if not, I'll stay down here till I'm somebody else - but, oh dear!" cried Alice, with a sudden burst of tears, "I do wish they would put their heads down!  I am so very tired of being all alone here!"

Damn comments...

Howdee folks,

Let me know if you have any less trouble making comments etc on this template.

Just do it.

Armenian and Russian.

Sitting on the curb outside Trader Joe's with bags of groceries waiting for a cab.  After about 10 minutes he pulls up.  The door opens by itself (as doors do here) and I hop in.  In the front a grey wide-set man sits wearing a hat and khakis. 

me:    Hi.
him:  Gello where to lady?
me:  666 La la Land, Studio City please.
him:  Geow you spell dat?
(I spell. He shuffles about on the gps)
him:  So... gaow many languages you speak?
me:  (story of my life.) English and Afrikaans.  I'm from South Africa.
him:  (excited) Africans!  Dat is big language of South Africa?
me:  No no, there are 11 languages in South Africa. 
him: Oooh!  Aaaah!  11 languages?  I cannot believe this it is amazing blah blah blah.
me:  Where are you from?
him: (proudly) Armenia.  I speak Russian also.
(Spot my excitement at the prospect of more Russian.)
me: Do you miss Armenia sometimes?
him: Been here 10 years.  Only nostalgia.  (very excited) You know Boney M?
me:  The band?
him:  Yes band!
me:  Um.  Yes...?
(Slips something into radio.  Loud odd music, full blast.  Bobs his head and speeds up the hill.)
him:  Dis is nice area!  Studio City!  You nice lady!  Africans! He-he-he-he!
Me:  Boney M?
Him: Yes!  Boney M!! I like alot!  You nice lady!
Me: Can you slow down a bit??

He stops outside and helps me with my bags.  I hear him counting his money behind me and saying:

Nice lady, speaking Africans...

America is full of majorly diverse people.  Talking about Americans like they are all the same is a joke.  They have a whole lot more than 11 languages floating about, they're just not official. 

Armenian seems to be one of them.

Delivery requested.

Dear Universe,

I'm starting to feel like a single girl again!
(See me doing the jig, screaming "woohoo" and jumping up in the air.)

It took awhile but its finally happening.  Which means I'm totally available.  That's right Universe, the possibility of dating is now an option. Now lookie, it doesn't need to be this whole big serious thing.  It could be a bit of a travel companion.  It could be a weekend affair.  But just in case you have anything in store that I'm unawares of, you should you be considering your options in terms of what and who this new character in the tale should be like, I'm here to give you some pointers.

Here goes:

• Make sure English (or Afrikaans) is his first language.  Communication gaps are sucky.
• Make him sophisticated in an offbeat sort of way.  Think Hugh Laurie in "House".  Yup.  I have a thing for him.  I also had a thing for Jeremy Irons for years.  He's a bit on the old side now but you know what I mean.  Stop laughing.
• Intelligence is sooo sexy Universe.  Load him up.  But don't make him so clever that he can't function like a normal person.  Just clever enough to be quipy and funny, and from time to time damn insightful.
• Give him some kind of spiritual path or ideal, but please make sure that he's not a flake.  I can't deal with flakes.  I don't want to date a monk or someone who uses the word "energy" too much.
• He should be a tall oke.  (At least taller than me and not because he's wearing heels or standing on a brick.)  And dark.  And handsome.  Have you had this order before?
• I have a weakness for well-defined upper arms Universe.  Load him up.  Whenever I feel sad I can just glance over at those well defined arms and feel happy again.
• It would be lovely if he had a passion for something.  You know, a reason to get up in the morning.  Once again Universe, it's all about balance here.  Enthusiasm is good, obsession deeply unsexy.
• Make him a whole kind of person.  All his woundings should be pretty much in the bag, only leaving wisdom behind.  We all have issues Universe but make his issues bearable.  No OCD or bipolar.  In fact, no pill junkies of any kind.
• He should have experience.  Maybe he's well traveled.  Maybe he lived with the pygmies for 5 years to study their eating habits.  I don't know.  Experience is hot.
• Make sure he thinks that I'm the cat's whiskers, his muse, his favoritest person.
• It would be nice if he had enough money to take me out to dinner without it putting a dent in his budget.  He should have some clear financial goals and be good with money.  Weekends away would also be accepted with smiles and the like.
• Make him not want to get married or have babies.  Both make me feel like I can't breathe and want to throw up at the same time.  Sure, he can buy me a ring, heck, we could even throw a party, just don't ask me to sign my life away and we're good to go.
  

I hope this list clarifies any queries that you might have had.  Should you need more information, please do not hesitate to contact me.


I look forward to your feedback,

Yours truly,

Alice

The arms Universe.  Good arms.