tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79136762348159686532024-02-21T07:09:16.939-08:00WonderLustMayaBastihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05088888648134199611noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913676234815968653.post-46464640384007521922015-04-15T14:32:00.000-07:002018-08-03T17:01:58.670-07:00Gallery Haunt in Central London<br />
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The only thing to do in London is visit art galleries. At least that's what I do, every time I touch down. London is rife with galleries showcasing some of the best and brightest international artists and it doesn't cost a penny to view their work. This time around I visited some of my old standards, but also did some digging to find out where the best contemporary art is housed. I happened upon some beautiful pieces by my old favourites but also walked unknowingly into one of the best exhibits I've ever seen in my life. Ahh London, a fantastic place for an art adventure.<br />
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Nestled in a very tony part of town, <a href="http://www.saatchigallery.com/" target="_blank">Saatchi Gallery</a> is just a quick skip away from <a href="http://www.saatchigallery.com/visitor/visitor.htm" target="_blank">Sloane Square</a> tube station. This was the first gallery I visited and definitely one of the highlights. The gallery consists of several floors of airy rooms dedicated to an exhibit called '<i>Pangaea II: New Art From Africa and Latin America'</i>. The most powerful was a room filled with stunning <a href="http://www.artnet.com/artists/diego-mendoza-imbachi/graphis-natura-a-9UtaTOGMImiH-BW0GYx-Jg2" target="_blank">large-scale graphite drawings of trees by Diego Medoza Imbachi</a> intermixed with these delicate, little mixed media tree sculptures by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Jorge-Mayet/665141803547057?sk=timeline" target="_blank">Jorge Mayet</a>. His sculptures were suspended from invisible wire and they rotated ever so slightly in the breezy gallery air. As a lover of trees, this room took my breath away.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 15px;">De Mis Vivos y Mis Muertos - Jorge Mayet</span><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 15px;">Electrical Wire, Paper, Acrylics, Fabric</span></span></h3>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">For more on Jorge Mayet, check out this </span><a href="http://www.visualnews.com/2015/03/09/tiny-worlds-float-gallery-walls-sculptures-cuban-artist-jorge-mayet/" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" target="_blank">link</a></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Solitude - Eddy Ilunga Kamuanga<br />Acrylic on Canvas</span></h3>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Another welcome surprise came at the <a href="http://www.serpentinegalleries.org/" target="_blank">Serpentine Sackler Galler</a>y, which is situated in a beautiful stretch of Hyde park. We ventured into an exhibit called 'Boomerang' by <a href="http://www.pascalemarthinetayou.com/" target="_blank">Pascale Marthine Tayou</a>. This Cameroonian artist created a Central African-style marketplace feel with his installation-based art, which was impeccably curated throughout the main rooms of the gallery. From the minute we walked in, we were confronted with this fresh, luscious scent. Upon inquiry, it turns out that the largest installation which was situated by the front door was stuffed with fresh hay. It filled the air with emotion and sensation, which may have been an art-accident of sorts. Whether it was intentional or not, this scent followed us around and really created a wonderful sensory experience. At once both whimsical and profound, Tayou's artistry touched upon topical issues of war, weaponry and resource shortage while taking a uniquely textural approach. Unfortunately my camera died before I had a chance to take pics, but you can see some images from the exhibit <a href="http://www.inexhibit.com/marker/london-mysterious-objects-marthine-tayou-serpentine-sackler/" target="_blank">here</a>. One of the best exhibits I have seen all year and curiously, the artists' first solo exhibit. Very excited to see what he does next.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Art in unexpected places is always a true find. I stopped over at <a href="http://centuryclub.co.uk/" target="_blank">The Century Club</a> in Soho for a latte and stumbled upon these fantastic horse x-ray pieces by local artist <a href="http://www.tonigallagher.com/" target="_blank">Toni Gallagher</a>. Very happening, and big props to The Century Club for excellent curation.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Xanthe - Toni Gallagher<br />X-Ray/Digital Print Lightbox</span></h3>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Years ago, I had a very serious intro to London art purely by accident. My 20-something year old self went for a walk during a long layover and meandered into a hidden courtyard. I saw some interesting window art and ducked inside. The owner of the gallery, <a href="http://www.alanwheatleyart.com/" target="_blank">Alan Wheatley</a>, stopped me and said that I was not to go any further until I had checked out the gallery across the street. I obliged. That gallery turned out to be the very famous <a href="http://whitecube.com/" target="_blank">White Cube</a> and the exhibit at the time was by the incredible (and infamous) <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tracey_Emin" target="_blank">Tracy Emin.</a> It was a life-changing experience. I now go back to Alan Wheatley and White Cube every time I visit London. This time around, White Cube was a bit of a disappointment. At the moment they have an exhibit going by <a href="http://www.christianrosa.com/" target="_blank">Christian Rosa</a> called 'Put Your Eye in Your Mouth', which I was less than thrilled with. Christian Rosa is being hailed as the new surrealist visionary in London. I was excited to check him out, but frankly I couldn't see the appeal. Very basic drawings with little to no emotion behind them. The only thing that I found remotely worthwhile were the doodles in the downstairs lobby, something beautifully dark and unstructured about them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I stopped over at Alan Wheatley Art to have a chat. Alan was aimiable as always, ready to chat about the best exhibits in town and give advice on things that I had missed. Alan reps some great artists, one of which is the very famous <a href="http://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/clive-barker-693" target="_blank">British pop artist, Clive Barker</a>. I was seriously lucky this time, because Alan happened to have pulled out a few Clive Barker pieces from his private collection to show a buyer. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The Last Coke Bottle - Clive Barker<br />Polished Bronze</span></h3>
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<span style="font-size: small;">On my last day of gallery visits, I decided to hunt down Haunch of Venison which was an exquisitely curated gallery that I visited in London many years ago. It turns out that Haunch had been <a href="http://www.blouinartinfo.com/news/story/864003/what-happened-to-haunch-of-venison-christies-surprise-move#" target="_blank">repurposed by Christie's as a venue for private sales</a>, but during my internet research I discovered that the gallery owners had opened up a new venture in 2010 called <a href="http://www.blainsouthern.com/" target="_blank">Blain Southern</a>. An incredible find. Berlin-based multimedia artist <a href="http://www.nasantur.com/" target="_blank">Nassan Tur </a>has his first UK solo exhibit there, and it is an isolating source of immense beauty. At once both private and very public, the stoic messages of his pieces really resonated throughout this expansive space. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Crisis - Nassan Tur<br />Neon and Steel</span></h3>
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<span style="font-size: small;">One of the most powerful pieces of my trip thus far, was Tur's large-scale video work called 'First Shot'. Comprised of slow-motion footage, the piece shows various participants firing a gun for the first time. This video installation dominated the pitch black room. I love when art makes you unsure of what you are feeling. I was thrilled, haunted and passionately moved in equal parts. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">On the way out of Blaine Southern, I glimpsed a small gallery across the road which was showcasing some stark canvases. Stepping inside <a href="http://husgalleries.com/" target="_blank">Hus Gallery</a>, I was confronted with white on white panels of astounding depth by another Berlin-based artist, <a href="http://www.taccetti.com/" target="_blank">Santiago Taccetti</a></span><br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">ISO 9001 - Santiago Taccetti</span></h3>
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<span style="font-size: small;">London has this fascinating way of drawing you in, making you beg for more. I could spend months here and not even begin to touch the surface of art collections and exhibitions in this city. I find the gallery scene less pretentious than other cities, more welcoming to your average stranger. I like how it creates this atmosphere of inclusivity, somewhere where anyone can wander an art gallery and tempt the diverse facets of their own imagination.</span><br />
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<br />MayaBastihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05088888648134199611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913676234815968653.post-19222792336658956722012-01-28T02:54:00.000-08:002013-06-11T15:58:54.812-07:00The Weekender<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">We drove up to San Francisco in the middle of the night, the milky breathing of a sleeping babe providing our soundtrack. Our entrance to the bay was misty and mystical, we crossed the red bridge as languidly as possible. Two days spent lolling about Golden Gate Park and a quick afternoon of whimsy in The Castro and we were back on the road, heading to Big Sur.</span></div>
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Ahh Big Sur. The place of my dreams, the place of fantasy and fir trees and giant waves crashing against rock. So much beauty and always too little time. I picked up a copy of Jack Kerouac's Big Sur at the <a href="http://www.bigsurlodge.com/"><span class="s1">The Big Sur Lodge</span></a> gift shop. As always, Mr Kerouac had it right. Pristine silence and self-reflection followed me around, hidden in the beauty of this place. After a few hikes and some night-time single malt whiskey, we awoke groggy and giddy. Our trip back home began with a meal above the clouds at <a href="http://www.postranchinn.com/"><span class="s1">The Post Ranch Inn </span></a>. What a stunning view! And the most delicious lavender lemonade with fresh sprigs of lavender.</div>
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Driving back along the Pacific Coast Highway, Mister YaYa seemed to recall something about a pod of elephant seals along the way. We kept our eyes out and sure enough---the most surreal moment of our trip thus far. There were about a hundred of them, nestling and wrestling and snuggling one another. They made the most curious sounds, something out of a Ray Harryhausen underwater adventure flick. We gazed upon them for what seemed like forever, and I could have stayed for another forever. </div>
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The perfect end to the perfect weekender.</div>
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MayaBastihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05088888648134199611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913676234815968653.post-29564789474518949202011-12-04T19:17:00.000-08:002013-06-11T16:01:11.071-07:00The Act of Devotion<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT1KU4DcMYc7j6ySH0IkCBjBmrDzK60DffVKHA1JAUjfu6tUqiitLV0BTpTR5BUklYpZrSg-CVDdTrtr4iOyA53Gp5qgDeApuE-93QmzOUCOyKap2145pW0l3GcwhhiyV2AYqbEvSpmhoF/s1600/_42333774_sri_lan_jaffna_map203.gif"><br />
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</a>I haven't really written in a while because I haven't felt inspired. And it's not for lack of traveling, because we are on the move, as always. This summer has seen us in Cannes for the second time, sipping champagne with the strange beasts of Hollywood and catching midnight screenings on the beach, we had an epic cross-America road trip that lasted 10 days and included one dog and one 7 month old baby, we spent a few months back in Malibu enjoying the surf and wineries and placidity. All in all it has been a very, very busy few months. And yet I haven't written a stitch on my so-called travel blog. Actually I haven't been really writing at all. At least not for personal reasons. I'm completing a screenplay that I hope to be my first feature, but that doesn't count. I write proposals (and more proposals, and more proposals) but that's just grunt work. Nope, I haven't picked up a journal the entire summer. In fact I can't even find my purple bound leather one that has been with me this past year. I just haven't felt inspired.<br />
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I also haven't felt inspired to do yoga or meditate or any of the other things that help keep me sane. In my life I have always felt the urge, had a little tug on my heart when it was time to practice. But lately, it's simply vanished. I keep wondering when it will return, if it will return. So much has happened in this past year that I am a changed person. Very, very different from who I was a year ago today. I often catch myself staring into my own eyes in the mirror and trying to see who this new person is. It's like I don't recognize myself sometimes. Okay, a lot of the time. With all these thoughts swirling around in my head, you can imagine why I just assumed that I probably wasn't going to practice yoga or meditate anymore. The new me would have to find a new method of letting go. Maybe I wasn't even going to write in a journal anymore, I thought, even though I had been doing it since I learned how to write. So while I was proposing this whole new lifestyle of whoknowswhat to myself....months were slipping by. I started gaining weight, feeling extremely tired all of the time and eating a lot. Healthy food, mostly. But A LOT of healthy food. At every sitting. I couldn't drag myself out of bed in the morning and by 8pm I was ready to retire. I felt waves of anger and misery wash over me at irregular intervals. I felt ugly. That was the biggest thing. I felt so unattractive that it was causing me heartache. The cycle was unhealthy at best and dangerous at worst. And I have been there before.<br />
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</a>With all of this going on, we came back to Sri Lanka to run a film camp for teens. It was decided to set the camp in Jaffna this year, which is the war-ravaged Northern province of Sri Lanka. With the fighting finished, this sleepy little city has been experiencing a resurgence lately with southern tourists coming up in droves for festivals and the famous Jaffna crab curry. It is a beautiful place which has seen more trouble than any one area ever should. It is also the place of my ancestry, seeing as both my parents have roots in small villages outside of Jaffna town. I came once before with my family in 2001, during the wartime. I was terrified and overwhelmed and clinging to my western idealism. The trip radically changed my life. The day I stepped foot in my grandmother's bullet-ridden house was the day I started on a spiritual path, though I didn't know it at the time.<br />
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As I write this I sit under mosquito netting in our sparsely furnished room, 8 days into our 10 day trip. With the camp going on it has been intense and precious peppered with my usual bout of food-poisoning/dysentery that I am now becoming famous for. All I can say is that I now realize why my father is always getting sick when he comes to Jaffna. Between the murder-hot food, the crispy fried chickpea snacks and the alcohol that ferments inside of palm trees----it has been an adventure. And then I got sick. Really sick. I didn't eat for four days. But by the final day, after the fever had cleared...I noticed something. I had an immense amount of energy! Two days later I am eating less and feeling like I could run a marathon. Okay, not quite, There is still the little issue of my yoga-denial. Why could I just not find it in me to get on the mat?<br />
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This morning I was supposed to sleep in. I had worked until 4am and had every inclination of having a lazy day of lolling around bed, reading and eating the prickly covered, lychee-like fruit called Rambutan which we had just procured. When I stepped in the door, I heard the daily buddhist chanting start. Then at 5 am the babe awoke, accompanied by another musical call to prayer on the street--of which denomination I do not know. That's the thing about Sri Lanka. Religion is not a choice. It infiltrates every aspect of daily life, until you are forced to acknowledge it. Or question it. Or both. I think it's why I like it so much here.<br />
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9 am rolled around and I was having a fitful sleep. I could hear the others getting ready to go to the Nallur Kovil for the last day of the huge festival that had been happening all week. I suddenly realized that I would be remiss to not have gone and seen this event. Over half a million people have gathered from Sri Lanka and South India at the temple. I may not get a chance to see it again. So on day three of not showering due to work, work and more work, I threw on some sunglasses and waved the car down before it was leaving the guest house.<br />
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Needless to say, I'm glad I went. The festival was like something out of a story book or ancient text. Putting aside the crammed streets and the market vendors selling anything and everything you could possibly imagine. Putting aside the music and the colours and the various intoxicating smells. The thing that struck me most, the thing that was unbelievably fascinating was the devotion.This wasn't just a community event, although it was certainly a place to meet and socialize. The people were there to pray and give devotions to their God of choice. They were there to prove their faith, to proclaim it out in the most mystifying and humiliating ways possible. There were groups of villagers chanting and praying and playing drums. There were young children carrying heavy ornamental wooden structures on their backs, milk being poured over them, parading through the streets and stopping to dance every so often. We saw men who had chosen to roll on their backs in the street all the way from their villages, 20 km or more away.<br />
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But the most stunning display of devotion was not for the faint of heart. Several times we encountered men hung from hooks in their backs, suspended ten feet in the air off of a makeshift crane, traveling throughout the city. They carried flowers in their mouths and their family rode on the back of the truck, dressed in their best. Often times another man would be on the top of the crane, using his weight to bounce the suspended man up and down. The men looked blissed out and serene. It was completely surreal.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKos48oJsTelGBfqfavgWA8jnB-3F8loIKe2Gj31MyWnQdoCciYMMHWTCS6IcfstlOHIH_3mRyz1wyXsDbbzJLpskj1e_BAIKlpVasSBdXreye9Ml5wy16N23e7J_Gse50J1x6kbyHnJEd/s1600/IMG_2612.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" height="426" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5682509073752557202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKos48oJsTelGBfqfavgWA8jnB-3F8loIKe2Gj31MyWnQdoCciYMMHWTCS6IcfstlOHIH_3mRyz1wyXsDbbzJLpskj1e_BAIKlpVasSBdXreye9Ml5wy16N23e7J_Gse50J1x6kbyHnJEd/s640/IMG_2612.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a><br />
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What devotion they must have to practice such things! An emotion that we have certainly lost hold of in the West. For us, devotion means going to church every Sunday. My mother is the most devoted person I know. Between Catholic mass, Buddhist temple and Hindu temple, yoga and meditation, her week is full. It keeps her happy and peaceful and I often wish I could have as much dedication as she does. But I don't. And here I sit, trying to find a connection between me and the display of ego-lessness I saw today. Is it community that makes these people willing to donate body and soul to God? Maybe you have to be more than willing though. Maybe you have to be prescient. An unknowing way of doing things without strength of practice is not the answer. To maintain God, we must retain God. We must sustain God.<br />
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So this is the reason I forced myself to leave the house. I think something was calling me to be a witness to this incredible display of self-sacrifice. Self-sustenance. The thing I'm learning from this experience is that infinite love grows exponentially. To get we have to give. Giving makes us not only receive, but the act of giving creates more giving, and more and more and more. So, if I give love it will inevitably create more love. If I pay attention to myself, the universe will pay more attention to me as well.<br />
Love begets Love. It's as simple as 1+1.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8LYCzBoBAJG4Ko4IzgYer7RPgz3a7q7xh3IMDTvkf7vtb15as2z187IVpC9-NJ7MCg5KyY4VLfQ6vYZDslbs2EX8Ge5HUYYlGCD7iiH3j0PkwToUXOFU1O98cii_84d46gPXmkM6oob6m/s1600/IMG_2018.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="426" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5682504490380198546" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8LYCzBoBAJG4Ko4IzgYer7RPgz3a7q7xh3IMDTvkf7vtb15as2z187IVpC9-NJ7MCg5KyY4VLfQ6vYZDslbs2EX8Ge5HUYYlGCD7iiH3j0PkwToUXOFU1O98cii_84d46gPXmkM6oob6m/s640/IMG_2018.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a></div>
MayaBastihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05088888648134199611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913676234815968653.post-85569905333025417272011-09-26T16:46:00.001-07:002013-06-11T16:04:21.600-07:00My wandering heart<div style="text-align: left;">
This past summer has been a whirlwind of trips and gatherings, which is why I have not posted in some time. Without too much chatter (I'm trying to cut back) here is a sampling of what I've been up to.</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">CANNES</span></div>
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Beachside screening at the film festival</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSBEiVwJ_6q6jh84IMqpGucNZkGCV3UWn_cZLs0zpERPjij-_F96AAHRCq10KCkzuTgrdjgFQI0Ig1cla7Jkch9QV1cgCDp19uQ4KoxzsycVaTPD1793OEe2IsRTy2CgSPKmjpbiPQVI_2/s1600/P1020138.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656820381606810754" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSBEiVwJ_6q6jh84IMqpGucNZkGCV3UWn_cZLs0zpERPjij-_F96AAHRCq10KCkzuTgrdjgFQI0Ig1cla7Jkch9QV1cgCDp19uQ4KoxzsycVaTPD1793OEe2IsRTy2CgSPKmjpbiPQVI_2/s640/P1020138.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a><br />
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Tasty treats and celebrity sightings in Antibes at The Hotel Du Cap</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-FMdLu7Z0IjAZwCpExC8aZ3Gv2npAwQ6XmbGKRAIawtF0YbF1JLMXrqt3kD635U9vNbC7jnEQeUA6YdOfj8o-mh8e0KnflyejDepJ-pEGGNLE6uFGpP2HqsoGhn0wTtuwdVNGSnKL-vhK/s1600/P1020151.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656820387957860498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-FMdLu7Z0IjAZwCpExC8aZ3Gv2npAwQ6XmbGKRAIawtF0YbF1JLMXrqt3kD635U9vNbC7jnEQeUA6YdOfj8o-mh8e0KnflyejDepJ-pEGGNLE6uFGpP2HqsoGhn0wTtuwdVNGSnKL-vhK/s640/P1020151.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />CROSS-COUNTRY ROAD TRIP- -- Toronto - L.A.</span><br />
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The reason for the trip.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS82iXdcjukSNW-cXHVmQilGdwJcXzC1Vj_9j6RgHKNdYHjLgywl3acFjHMxwAYoXpul8jFP41EPNeQguGcfZ3D_D4CBHN2j0jKmduuTrh2X-ezWFtfvNFAhAU1ORr413ui3xGY2y0cmLx/s1600/P1020173.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656834039483800002" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS82iXdcjukSNW-cXHVmQilGdwJcXzC1Vj_9j6RgHKNdYHjLgywl3acFjHMxwAYoXpul8jFP41EPNeQguGcfZ3D_D4CBHN2j0jKmduuTrh2X-ezWFtfvNFAhAU1ORr413ui3xGY2y0cmLx/s640/P1020173.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a><br />
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UPSTATE NEW YORK</div>
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NEW YORK CITY</div>
Just in time to catch the Pride Parade in Manhattan, days after gay marriage was legalized.<br />
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Amazing vibe and celebrations.</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMwUOokN0ZCBKwfzxhUaaRPoo6VB4roLnEOPRY0BjqSh7g2kv5Xw58m238z_9TdO1Hu5rALt6TxJ060l2SjGP7B00ypMnkXgteaBAne150PgEvmCA2Mn5m51C5NNC2q-1LPbZqHrb8oQzT/s1600/P1020191.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656837383257278786" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMwUOokN0ZCBKwfzxhUaaRPoo6VB4roLnEOPRY0BjqSh7g2kv5Xw58m238z_9TdO1Hu5rALt6TxJ060l2SjGP7B00ypMnkXgteaBAne150PgEvmCA2Mn5m51C5NNC2q-1LPbZqHrb8oQzT/s640/P1020191.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLqccOMUyVAHI7MXNNDyrtY0WsrQVzl0sU3WZjzx922lJMdVOcrLTxyhRw1CCgZlncLg04nUM0iUNxCKiD1fCSLIhQoWxvDbDHJjy_xLwy16nAuIqFHWSFBfudgbb8NVtr48J5H2IMvYmN/s1600/P1020193.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656837386733895362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLqccOMUyVAHI7MXNNDyrtY0WsrQVzl0sU3WZjzx922lJMdVOcrLTxyhRw1CCgZlncLg04nUM0iUNxCKiD1fCSLIhQoWxvDbDHJjy_xLwy16nAuIqFHWSFBfudgbb8NVtr48J5H2IMvYmN/s640/P1020193.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a><br />
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WASHINGTON, D.C.</div>
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We arrived at midnight and checked into <a href="http://www.hayadams.com/">The Hay Adams</a> which is a fantastic hotel </div>
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with exceptional service. Luckily all of the monuments are accessible to the public throughout the night, so we toured around.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBKSjFwmZKYI8iIkNp6EVc53fALa2aevb910WkpNesmA0qYlHGTvbZDiDq4YmunxHn3Cw1sdceEjKbTZyPX4mUcwqeBWEVCE8GB8HpXteydmOQwuTGOMPd_wQSUE-BKH0yOYdRRLZWaBj1/s1600/P1020220.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656837390219149906" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBKSjFwmZKYI8iIkNp6EVc53fALa2aevb910WkpNesmA0qYlHGTvbZDiDq4YmunxHn3Cw1sdceEjKbTZyPX4mUcwqeBWEVCE8GB8HpXteydmOQwuTGOMPd_wQSUE-BKH0yOYdRRLZWaBj1/s640/P1020220.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee;"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDf4tn9fOJI7t4bB86DZoU7mCYjqltHGgp3VHPhaP22Mm9WDdZ3JitrWI0pRGFXnBrLJhO3yT3Fo4aeC-kP2i1eThEuaYP7H0rT5_CRW88lxgsSSdNdLYxkGXFMv1cVG2amIJO4UeVZHhe/s1600/P1020243.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656843112778742658" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDf4tn9fOJI7t4bB86DZoU7mCYjqltHGgp3VHPhaP22Mm9WDdZ3JitrWI0pRGFXnBrLJhO3yT3Fo4aeC-kP2i1eThEuaYP7H0rT5_CRW88lxgsSSdNdLYxkGXFMv1cVG2amIJO4UeVZHhe/s640/P1020243.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a></span></u></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;">Hiking the Appalachians in WEST VIRGINIA<br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee;"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee;"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhWgcrn56LEkelTzCTzGLzGgWdSuRo6_Vo8CJPMQMR9Xe_v-ykpGK8V2mb3s7E3TNMnzBxxXUm3yksmyeQAG7n-6sJMWjrmPpels7RgEX5oHW4lhX0XzxBq11tqWw7A-DK44Wt6BPoLjCr/s1600/P1020264.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656840254878713970" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhWgcrn56LEkelTzCTzGLzGgWdSuRo6_Vo8CJPMQMR9Xe_v-ykpGK8V2mb3s7E3TNMnzBxxXUm3yksmyeQAG7n-6sJMWjrmPpels7RgEX5oHW4lhX0XzxBq11tqWw7A-DK44Wt6BPoLjCr/s640/P1020264.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a></span></u></span></span></u></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee;"><u><span class="Apple-style-span"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee;"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0qfq-i7PjcXWik9__ZkSi7iQzApcXxV8y6jwwqOfR6RzjqebLuBuz0-szEFyMBRYswcQLBTF9AXhyphenhyphenEws1Ql7eT_IhpiZTFlbbYyb-9RRKzbGZgVFjUXM3d-xhgzn410lI2SAS0QTsJgAo/s1600/P1020272.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656843115051093218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0qfq-i7PjcXWik9__ZkSi7iQzApcXxV8y6jwwqOfR6RzjqebLuBuz0-szEFyMBRYswcQLBTF9AXhyphenhyphenEws1Ql7eT_IhpiZTFlbbYyb-9RRKzbGZgVFjUXM3d-xhgzn410lI2SAS0QTsJgAo/s640/P1020272.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a></span></u></span></span></u></span></u></span><br />
Roadside down home southern deliciousness somewhere in SOUTHERN GEORGIA</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTtaHFx_X7YXQVD8GcF64hChc15jnmnhepMXH1Zef6-V58sROhmwzqRAgAJZDhABiWK2xzzpeNHmCfvKdnYKtL2f7vFZCBQNSJY_NvOEipajf3emMhojZOetbAcSz1s3qckO0w5xHCn9WT/s1600/P1020277.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTtaHFx_X7YXQVD8GcF64hChc15jnmnhepMXH1Zef6-V58sROhmwzqRAgAJZDhABiWK2xzzpeNHmCfvKdnYKtL2f7vFZCBQNSJY_NvOEipajf3emMhojZOetbAcSz1s3qckO0w5xHCn9WT/s640/P1020277.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
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NEW ORLEANS<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN7ofQFyFeeRQQRndGa2bge9frJK2U33g3mWDDO_EMdLWj4ErmUpBB0NIs6gvbI0DdhrVWDBNVWyVehbOivHckcUdCA1b6-wZoEvD5SjAPhGe-kKqjdlvNoWwCbeCh8qPkuV8TvLfSaEyF/s1600/P1020298.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN7ofQFyFeeRQQRndGa2bge9frJK2U33g3mWDDO_EMdLWj4ErmUpBB0NIs6gvbI0DdhrVWDBNVWyVehbOivHckcUdCA1b6-wZoEvD5SjAPhGe-kKqjdlvNoWwCbeCh8qPkuV8TvLfSaEyF/s640/P1020298.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicTarUYvhWumInv_4ZlblmQF3mqFX4iUERZZXeTWbwE7vrhssDazihFxdHpQHnVCKpUiAa_yxUfE2JUcajWMEBuAqpRuFmVsBybu6l1zzXiY2Kk3K_LgihsZbQfS6S8-e0L3cLZC5ZcjdE/s1600/P1020287.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicTarUYvhWumInv_4ZlblmQF3mqFX4iUERZZXeTWbwE7vrhssDazihFxdHpQHnVCKpUiAa_yxUfE2JUcajWMEBuAqpRuFmVsBybu6l1zzXiY2Kk3K_LgihsZbQfS6S8-e0L3cLZC5ZcjdE/s640/P1020287.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
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Alligator Po-Boy<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAn_CEXss3M9JYVV9mkvmxIrSgGW1si3LykmdtOzQOO6Zjn_2nNasQaHqCRs2OLSj8RxRfuFG-LlsOu1RCodi6v_ldWbFtfCbkHK8YFnskIRIRIQa7itWmA2M0tp-RO9bbs5sfNCQ4FSyp/s1600/P1020290.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAn_CEXss3M9JYVV9mkvmxIrSgGW1si3LykmdtOzQOO6Zjn_2nNasQaHqCRs2OLSj8RxRfuFG-LlsOu1RCodi6v_ldWbFtfCbkHK8YFnskIRIRIQa7itWmA2M0tp-RO9bbs5sfNCQ4FSyp/s640/P1020290.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
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AUSTIN, TEXAS<br />
Texas was a surprisingly beautiful state.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg16XDbdSOe8S_ZTvtbC0YdMD0QCCghFiB5_8qub_ySK2tdSrHGnX2Aq82JBIVkE068f-gMrv31L5EyWdx8KTR4Zw-ut0SV9U7DCZIYu9_jpaFa8gRuy8NsylQgFBvCunzDGv-KXZS5zcHO/s1600/P1020328.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg16XDbdSOe8S_ZTvtbC0YdMD0QCCghFiB5_8qub_ySK2tdSrHGnX2Aq82JBIVkE068f-gMrv31L5EyWdx8KTR4Zw-ut0SV9U7DCZIYu9_jpaFa8gRuy8NsylQgFBvCunzDGv-KXZS5zcHO/s640/P1020328.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
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And finally, the desert.<br />
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NEW MEXICO<br />
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ARIZONA</div>
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LAS VEGAS, 4th of July</div>
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Road tripping across America was a great way to develop a deep love and genuine respect for this country. 10 days later, we came home to Malibu with a renewed sense of joy and wonderment towards the world.<br />
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SOON TO COME: Big Sur/San Francisco<br />
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<u><span class="Apple-style-span"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" cooking="" for="" georgiahref="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJnXRtwV19m7jwSfFIpOC8lSpKtecPtZqjn0RHoIPjMytUTJW-mIkX95VAlH_Sne5UuP7_hf5tB4MMc9sFHz0peK0SPCtdqtuZxCLwFPTtn0RW5rHOJGuW7GKwVr9vCEWIuj7YHoznYzQa/s1600/P1020277.JPG" home="" in="" some="" somewhere="" southern="" stopping=""><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0qfq-i7PjcXWik9__ZkSi7iQzApcXxV8y6jwwqOfR6RzjqebLuBuz0-szEFyMBRYswcQLBTF9AXhyphenhyphenEws1Ql7eT_IhpiZTFlbbYyb-9RRKzbGZgVFjUXM3d-xhgzn410lI2SAS0QTsJgAo/s1600/P1020272.JPG"></a></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0qfq-i7PjcXWik9__ZkSi7iQzApcXxV8y6jwwqOfR6RzjqebLuBuz0-szEFyMBRYswcQLBTF9AXhyphenhyphenEws1Ql7eT_IhpiZTFlbbYyb-9RRKzbGZgVFjUXM3d-xhgzn410lI2SAS0QTsJgAo/s1600/P1020272.JPG"></a></u><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0qfq-i7PjcXWik9__ZkSi7iQzApcXxV8y6jwwqOfR6RzjqebLuBuz0-szEFyMBRYswcQLBTF9AXhyphenhyphenEws1Ql7eT_IhpiZTFlbbYyb-9RRKzbGZgVFjUXM3d-xhgzn410lI2SAS0QTsJgAo/s1600/P1020272.JPG"></a></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0qfq-i7PjcXWik9__ZkSi7iQzApcXxV8y6jwwqOfR6RzjqebLuBuz0-szEFyMBRYswcQLBTF9AXhyphenhyphenEws1Ql7eT_IhpiZTFlbbYyb-9RRKzbGZgVFjUXM3d-xhgzn410lI2SAS0QTsJgAo/s1600/P1020272.JPG"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0qfq-i7PjcXWik9__ZkSi7iQzApcXxV8y6jwwqOfR6RzjqebLuBuz0-szEFyMBRYswcQLBTF9AXhyphenhyphenEws1Ql7eT_IhpiZTFlbbYyb-9RRKzbGZgVFjUXM3d-xhgzn410lI2SAS0QTsJgAo/s1600/P1020272.JPG"></a></u></div>
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MayaBastihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05088888648134199611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913676234815968653.post-59736455956547808052011-04-30T06:12:00.000-07:002015-03-21T17:07:16.916-07:00The spaces in between<div style="text-align: center;">
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<h3>
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Lately I've been obsessed with faces. At first I couldn't quite put my finger on it, what it was that was drawing me to stare at, photograph and draw face after face after face. I don't think that it's the half-crooked smiles that some people have, or the shiny depths of their eyes. It is not the colour or quality of their skin, nor is it crinkles that play out from their lashes. Rather it is the spaces between all that, the smooth apples of cheeks and the hills and mountains created by wrinkles and laugh lines. I like to watch the rise and fall of an elderly face as it contemplates something profound. I like to see the sun glint off of the reddened cheeks of a young one at play. Most beautifully, I think is the depth of character that one can surmise by studying these landscapes as they evolve and change with every passing emotion.</span></span></h3>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />I've had a chance to visit a local ghetto in Colombo. The thing that struck me most was how stunning the faces were. Everywhere I looked, beautiful, contented smiles shone back at me. These are people who live in 4ft x 4ft shacks, with very little food or amenities. There is garbage everywhere. Yet somehow the happiness they feel is infectious and I spent the whole day laughing and sharing and loving. </span></span></h3>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> In my last visit to Toronto, the one thing that struck me was how angry everyone was. People walked around muttering to themselves, ready to engage in any confrontation they could. Snarls, frowns and furrowed brows followed me everywhere I went. I kept asking myself "What do these people have to be so angry about?" Here, in Sri Lanka I have met some of the happiest people in my life. And most of them are incredibly impoverished. Struggling along, doing everything they can to make ends meet.</span></span></h3>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />I can't be sure, but I think that the difference is community. In Sri Lanka, community is king. Especially in these poorer areas, people all rely on one another to help in times of need. In the slum, everybody was out socializing at every hour of the day. All children were accepted in any house, all were known by their first and last names. There was an intricate web of support that was more complex than anything I could imagine. Having that, being a part of that, one must feel so safe. So loved.</span></span></h3>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />And that makes all the difference.</span></span></h3>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; color: #0000ee; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFS0BBQnttPDO2RMlwll7pyGktKB_x_1p1V_dmZjXq5gRknDgA25uQZgsN-2GYzPhYPrFb7Sz0oRjv2Xbue8xgGEAoZKFKeGg8YL2J5IFVJ_4W-V9qDVUu9lD_pVeOMRJp12rwjKSId67f/s400/P1010377.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5601395123244320722" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; color: #0000ee; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline;"> <br />
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MayaBastihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05088888648134199611noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913676234815968653.post-32961274165626865932011-04-07T23:35:00.000-07:002013-06-11T16:05:28.367-07:00On Love<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjFvRO7l1tawgisBThBLX8HyBL14uWaiv-ptR4zMZkLDdORB8u2qv-TjAxsztCNT8_dddiEHTtO7l7V-NduXqbfpHjnGG0XFHboV9iSWIQsOPsFYKlby0xKP-KH5spPjENY_AHftrjJ19z/s1600/love-at-first-sight.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="628" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593098139910459586" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjFvRO7l1tawgisBThBLX8HyBL14uWaiv-ptR4zMZkLDdORB8u2qv-TjAxsztCNT8_dddiEHTtO7l7V-NduXqbfpHjnGG0XFHboV9iSWIQsOPsFYKlby0xKP-KH5spPjENY_AHftrjJ19z/s640/love-at-first-sight.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"></span></span></span></i></span></div>
<blockquote>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">"Love is a temporary madness;</span></span></span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'helvetica neue', helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'helvetica neue', helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></span></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'helvetica neue', helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides.</span></span></span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'helvetica neue', helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">And when it subsides,</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">you have to make a decision. You have to work out </span></span></span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that </span></span></span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">you should ever part. Because this is what love is.</span></span></span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> Love is not </span></span></span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of </span></span></span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">promises </span></span></span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">of </span></span></span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">eternal passion. That is just being "in love", which any fool can </span></span></span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">do. </span></span></span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and </span></span></span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">this is </span></span></span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had </span></span></span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty </span></span></span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and</span></span></span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">not two."</span></span></span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"></span></span></span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #66cccc;"><br /></span></span></i></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffffcc;">Thank you, Louis de Bernieres</span></span></i></span></span></div>
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MayaBastihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05088888648134199611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913676234815968653.post-24625441651943183452011-03-19T09:17:00.000-07:002013-06-11T16:07:36.855-07:00A Holy Place<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica, serif;"><b><i>Rome, Italy</i></b></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The awesomeness and largesse of this city is really what impresses most. That and the ancient ruins that surprise you at every corner. We only had three days and I didn't want to spend them running from tourist trap to tourist trap. The only thing that was an absolute must on my list was The Sistine Chapel and Michaelangelo's famous painting therein. So, on the second day we cabbed it across the river to Vatican City, stopping on the way to see the Spanish Steps (unimpressive) and the Trevia Fountain (lavish beauty).</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Needless to say, the Vatican has never been on my number one list of things to visit. The Pope and all that he encompasses has always seemed like some kind of grand charade to me. Somewhat akin to a parade or a carnival. I was raised Roman Catholic, yet still somehow in my mind I've always seen Vatican City as a myth of something greater, a romantic idea of how it should work, but never could. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">So we step through the grand columns of the entrance to the city and head towards St. Peter's Basilica. My compatriot (the one who never asks for directions) is positive that the Sistine Chapel is inside. While I usually question his every move, I decide to give him a break and trust his instincts. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">There is a massive line awaiting entrance to the Basilica and it is raining. We trudge along silently, avoiding the furtive jabs of wayward teenage umbrellas. I must admit, my curiosity is peaked surrounding the interior of this lavish cathedral. Will it be magical? Holy? A discussion of holy places ensues. My sister and I both agree that Chichen It'za in Mexico had a holy feeling. She also discourses on the spiritual nature of Macchu Picchu, Peru. In Sri Lanka my most favorite of holy places is Dambulla, an ancient buddhist site. Every time I venture there, I feel lifted off my feet, as though I am floating instead of walking.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> As we walk through the doors of the Basilica, I anxiously await a seraphic experience. EPIC FAIL. What I encounter instead is extravagance upon heady extravagance building up to an anti-climactic almost-sighting of The Pope. It's not like I was dying to see The Pope anyway, rather I think I got caught up in the hysterical throng that was pushing and jostling behind a velvet rope.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> In fact, I was quite disgusted by the hedonistic display of wealth inside this church. Giant paintings, tapestries and statues of massive proportions were in every corner. It was a pure display of wealth, and nothing more. I found myself questioning why a religion needs to have such affluence? Give me a tree on a hill and I will be happy to show you the path to God.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Anyway, it turns out that the Sistine Chapel was nowhere to be found. My compatriot (who still never asks for directions) was mislead, yet again. We spent the entire afternoon wandering around a farce of virtuosity and I still hadn't seen Michaelangelo's famous painting.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The next day we returned and found The Sistine Chapel inside of the Vatican Museum. Again we had to traipse through room after room of the "treasures" of the Vatican. It all made me feel slightly uncomfortable. Looking at icons from Egypt, Greece and beyond, which I knew had been stolen or pillaged in the name of Christianity. My sister wondered aloud why the Catholic Church has so many religious icons from so-called "pagan" times. An apt point, I thought.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The Sistine Chapel was, as promised ethereal. Supreme beauty. As though The Archangels themselves resided upon it's very walls. There were no pictures allowed, as well as no talking, eating, coughing or staying too long. Of course I expected nothing less from a the spiritual travesty that is called The Vatican . Afterwards we visited the beautiful little village of Trastevere, not far from the Vatican City. It was all narrow alleyways and hidden shops. Stopping for some brilliant pizza, I wished that we had spent the whole day in this gem of a place.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">On our last day, I glanced out the window and noticed a stunningly beautiful artifact of religious history directly across the Piazza. It had been calling out to me the whole time, yet amidst the chaos I had barely noticed it. I begged my sister for us to take a detour on our way to our morning pastry shop. She relented, and we entered.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Our quest for spiritual purity was abated. It was a supremely holy space. As we entered, I felt a hush in my heart. I did not want to speak, or even whisper. A few people were praying, others were wandering about in peaceful contemplation. It felt ancient, as though the land itself were responsible for such messianic vibrations. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Lesson learned. Why journey to the divinity of the masses when you can discover individual piety on your doorstep? </span></div>
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MayaBastihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05088888648134199611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913676234815968653.post-20293409406623180402011-02-26T21:08:00.000-08:002015-03-22T10:52:17.688-07:00REVOLUTION<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC08_tVhQ4htJN7mPT7jNriDwJqKVeS3wnK4rikFDnqhfSKq-cJP77_Evx1HEh8lKaOZw9PoDKdajhFmspUoeAuvaCPXH5mZoMD97K1WcRM5dsiBodBheMBKIsE3Q0_GgL2XTjtih3Cidk/s1600/velvet-revolution.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC08_tVhQ4htJN7mPT7jNriDwJqKVeS3wnK4rikFDnqhfSKq-cJP77_Evx1HEh8lKaOZw9PoDKdajhFmspUoeAuvaCPXH5mZoMD97K1WcRM5dsiBodBheMBKIsE3Q0_GgL2XTjtih3Cidk/s640/velvet-revolution.jpg" height="479" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578232359270528306" width="640" /></a><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">A revolution is a full circle.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">This is the thought I had while watching hordes of protestors revel in their victory over Egypt's fallen leader, Hosni Mubarak. A revolution <i>is a full circle</i>. One end meets the other, one end ascends upon another after traveling an arc of time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The word "revolution" is derived from the latin word "volvere" which means to travel in a circle. In modern times we use the term to describe a victory of the masses. A complete change in the power dynamic that encircles our globe. Or that at least encircles a nation, or a town, or perhaps even a specific gender or caste of society. But what if it did traverse the globe? Then it would be a true revolution. From one point to the other, meeting up to match aims. An alliance of concentric lines. A circadian rhythm.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">These days, what you see is what you get. A firestorm is sweeping the land mass that we call the Middle East, with mirroring effects in China, the USA and the UK. All of us are awed, inspired and excited. My heart keeps beating out a tune: <i>"Change Is Coming" </i>thump, thump<i> "Change Is Coming</i>". A full continuum of the earth, spanning from one side to the other. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A revolution is a full circle.</span></div>
MayaBastihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05088888648134199611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913676234815968653.post-75948668875136823052011-02-14T23:24:00.000-08:002011-02-14T23:45:11.149-08:00Happy Love Day!<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:monospace, sans-serif;font-size:12px;"><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="640" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/lEgjsjlLoeo" frameborder="0"></iframe></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:monospace, sans-serif;font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;font-size:12px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:monospace, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>Let me not to the marriage of true minds,</i></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:monospace, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Admit impediments. Love is not love</i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:monospace, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Which alters when it alteration finds,</i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:monospace, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Or bends with the remover to remove.</i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:monospace, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>O no! It is an ever fixed mark,</i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:monospace, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>That looks on tempests and is never shaken.</i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:monospace, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>It is the star to every wandering bark,</i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:monospace, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.</i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:monospace, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks</i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:monospace, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Within his bending sickle's compass come;</i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:monospace, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Love alters not with brief hours and weeks,</i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:monospace, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>But bears it out even to the edge of doom.</i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:monospace, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>If this be error and upon me proved,</i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:monospace, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>I never writ, nor no man ever loved.</i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:monospace, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:monospace, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>William Shakespeare (1564-1616)</b></span></span></div>MayaBastihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05088888648134199611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913676234815968653.post-41180348653580596972011-01-21T09:17:00.000-08:002013-06-11T16:09:03.032-07:00My brother, the fish.<div style="text-align: center;">
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It's 5 am and I'm awake. The little one has me on a schedule that is a far cry from my party girl ways. I creep out to the verandah to watch the sun rise and read a book, but get lulled into a trance instead by the enormous sound of the waves crashing just several feet from our doorstep. The babe sleeping in my arms makes everything infinitely peaceful. I laugh quietly to myself as I remember that I used to be watching the sunrise as I stumbled home after many debaucherous nights out on the town.</div>
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As I drift into reverie, a myriad of voices jolts me awake. Shouting and yelping and dogs barking. I think that a fight must have broken out on the beach...but who would be fighting in this sleepy little town, so early in the morning? </div>
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"Can you hear the fisherman?"</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYkU1h5Y8tgZCDW_LJ1_BgJ1iYIqEJSFXfiSoxFjPBDfgMT3-ekWvcwitJi-TU4zjUZkteJiVvPf_lHRYSv1busWnAASQ7RZyH_DIhzNzISsi8obTImdOisKpaqVNRmUR9KSlGAyyRdIto/s1600/P1010046.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564703230653367442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYkU1h5Y8tgZCDW_LJ1_BgJ1iYIqEJSFXfiSoxFjPBDfgMT3-ekWvcwitJi-TU4zjUZkteJiVvPf_lHRYSv1busWnAASQ7RZyH_DIhzNzISsi8obTImdOisKpaqVNRmUR9KSlGAyyRdIto/s640/P1010046.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a></div>
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I jump, startled by this observation and realizing that The Boss has been standing next to me this whole time, probably embraced by the same tranquility I was.</div>
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By the time we venture seaside, there was no one there. </div>
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The next morning we all awaken early to catch the scene on the beach. 50, maybe 60 of the local village men are clear-eyed and ready for action as they mill about the shore. Within minutes a couple of boats appear and these long red nets surface. The men line up and heave, heave, heave, pulling the nets ashore. It takes 15 men to pull one net up. We wonder how many fish they will have caught as we hang about idly watching. Will it feed them all? Will there be enough to sell?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDmPiH9Jt17A3SVwQf4dkg7IdjBfzo3AvYofHgtEEm-vcXrDabykd7dtM69iQaELNi6maH9Tc3KkP9LcIakGqemDOPwavXDlG4sYClTSJElxvxxtlmLEt5cLgdauDZl6mHJuIJLxugFuyj/s1600/P1010066.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564713115590197634" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDmPiH9Jt17A3SVwQf4dkg7IdjBfzo3AvYofHgtEEm-vcXrDabykd7dtM69iQaELNi6maH9Tc3KkP9LcIakGqemDOPwavXDlG4sYClTSJElxvxxtlmLEt5cLgdauDZl6mHJuIJLxugFuyj/s640/P1010066.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqQAffWMcQ42rCPFgGw_nspDaqbjR2SeDkAn27zwPYqTs3BUgxM4-XNPOtZ4d3sn5gRGPsm2kBPdlxVUncVNR0Lix5vLh0M2jdyrM9VHYgkeeZynQed7hgpH8IGUQvusX_qnn_3s5ynbyc/s1600/P1010062.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564713108352124146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqQAffWMcQ42rCPFgGw_nspDaqbjR2SeDkAn27zwPYqTs3BUgxM4-XNPOtZ4d3sn5gRGPsm2kBPdlxVUncVNR0Lix5vLh0M2jdyrM9VHYgkeeZynQed7hgpH8IGUQvusX_qnn_3s5ynbyc/s640/P1010062.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a><br />
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At long last the net is reined in. Dozens of tiny white fish jump and sputter within, but I don't notice anything substantial. Then I see it. There is a large grey fish caught in the fold of the glistening red net. His eye is wide and frightened, his breathing laboured. I stare, transfixed as he struggles for life, watching his breath move steadily towards death. I am disturbed to say the least. I imagine that his eye is looking at me, I think that he has a sense of his own mortality. Maybe he does. Maybe animals are more aware, more conscious than we give them credit for. I don't know. All I know for sure is in that moment, that fish was dying and something in him was reaching out to me.</div>
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I turned away, unsettled. When the fisherman came to our table later offering the much anticipated fresh catch of the day, I had no words. They say that we should be able to catch and kill anything we eat. That it is important to know what it feels like to have taken a life. I have always known that this wasn't an option for me.</div>
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Instead I remember that the Buddhists practice a technique called mindfulness. It is a method in which you attempt to be fully aware of the choices you make. So when you eat something, you cultivate an awareness of what the object is and how it made it's way to your plate. What graces the universe had to convene in order to create that morsel. </div>
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When I ate the fish that night I thought about the salty-sweet taste of the ocean and about the hard soles and wiry arms of the fisherman. But most of all I thought about the rise and fall of it's breath, the red net that became it's prison and the way it looked at me, as though it knew.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiisFQSHOLY2PlhdM8zmK5toe9z0rhhAjYo9B1ebmEea8H7BcdyRNtRiTFzw8P3_yh6lfF4sK99-hQwI4I5p7BKVxZmfhk5vhpXxNzB1ohFrn8HYCwdKVCNSRzGcJVqlvuhyphenhyphenQ3mSNFV6DPS/s1600/P1010039.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564703217733648466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiisFQSHOLY2PlhdM8zmK5toe9z0rhhAjYo9B1ebmEea8H7BcdyRNtRiTFzw8P3_yh6lfF4sK99-hQwI4I5p7BKVxZmfhk5vhpXxNzB1ohFrn8HYCwdKVCNSRzGcJVqlvuhyphenhyphenQ3mSNFV6DPS/s640/P1010039.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a></div>
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxhYoPTaP2mjWan9uII59Q_d5A-ruZE8vYmoumjnrr6wu7Q05ZwtyzLy5A-Yo1NQshOVp3hUOJkjE_wn16_bA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>MayaBastihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05088888648134199611noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913676234815968653.post-20782719584450148822010-12-06T02:45:00.000-08:002013-06-11T16:09:36.620-07:00Man's Best Friend<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJQ-SPXr_46gmJ4L34tLuhyphenhyphenKeZWGPJVOH6MjGAK9HVV6h-V-4-pdlBOku08Es6qOiwy-qOhScMyK2gpLn204cxBLcG4-upAH4W3OS3-_jvm9uSWaJ-CnsCLCtDTPvBpTkdAPq-bLeG2BSn/s1600/P1000822.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547544651459819474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJQ-SPXr_46gmJ4L34tLuhyphenhyphenKeZWGPJVOH6MjGAK9HVV6h-V-4-pdlBOku08Es6qOiwy-qOhScMyK2gpLn204cxBLcG4-upAH4W3OS3-_jvm9uSWaJ-CnsCLCtDTPvBpTkdAPq-bLeG2BSn/s640/P1000822.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a><br />
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My mother once asked me why I don't come to church with her. It took me a while to get past my pre-ordained notions of contradiction and corruption within the Catholic Church, but once I did, I realized that for me, church is The Great Outdoors. It is the place I go when I am struggling, when I am joyous, when I want to make sense of life. It makes me feel whole, it pushes me to appreciate the bigger picture and it reaches down to the roots of my humility to present me with a sense of grace. Isn't that what any site of worship is supposed to be about? About community, communalism and a sense of peace? If so, then any one of us can take a walk outside, look up at the sky and bow down in prayer.</div>
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Trees are fascinating creatures. I have spent a lot of time sitting among them, lazing in their branches or leaned up against their roots. I find great comfort in the arms of trees, as friends, mentors and partners in this struggle of life. I grew up with a forest in my backyard, and later on in life spent years dawdling in parks through my profession. I can not imagine a life without the blessed oxygen that trees and green spaces provide. Yes, they help us breathe as a planet. But they also have the ability to teach us a great many things if we listen with an open heart. <br />
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From my first climb, I learned about perseverance and focus. Sitting in a grove of pines taught me about the importance of boundaries. Cutting down a treacherous vine that was killing my favorite tree, I was given a lesson in survival. <br />
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When I stand next to a tree, I recognize an elder. Something that is infinitely older and wiser than myself. A creature that understands adaptability and stillness as an effective mode of preservation. It has taken enlightened individuals years of meditation to understand these simple modes of being. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimJ3JaSeeIKVpVCNYyaZjpR-QHmZkdVjlxjhI_DFvrq2EI82C5SsEINgmnEEmQrKpWY1nng3DlBzX9BOU30G2rpZY4YPbL4HZAseDqotz2Dz0uujgRa4k7hWaNn9Qy2HHyiCbjIRk1eL9G/s1600/P1000796.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547544637988682738" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimJ3JaSeeIKVpVCNYyaZjpR-QHmZkdVjlxjhI_DFvrq2EI82C5SsEINgmnEEmQrKpWY1nng3DlBzX9BOU30G2rpZY4YPbL4HZAseDqotz2Dz0uujgRa4k7hWaNn9Qy2HHyiCbjIRk1eL9G/s640/P1000796.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a></div>
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And yet, something about a tree just knows. Innately, the way we probably would if we allowed ourselves the simple task of rooting down in the earth while at the same time, reaching for the sky.</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjias-z4ROCAEPEwvDiQizb0lKlyJT7B74ixme0tTf8U2FnwAXtCdzoEAJmCSducFAB5Y8OwJl2p4xxpXM9FK2u_yBEvmqaXqhHoV5IqkqILwz_9XPSGZCNuFl9-ILXFIZKR7fgg7foljG4/s1600/P1000787.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="640" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547529807286497154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjias-z4ROCAEPEwvDiQizb0lKlyJT7B74ixme0tTf8U2FnwAXtCdzoEAJmCSducFAB5Y8OwJl2p4xxpXM9FK2u_yBEvmqaXqhHoV5IqkqILwz_9XPSGZCNuFl9-ILXFIZKR7fgg7foljG4/s640/P1000787.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="480" /></a></div>
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All pics taken at Peradeniya Botanical Gardens, Kandy, Sri Lanka</div>
MayaBastihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05088888648134199611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913676234815968653.post-52457064809543226612010-10-19T05:28:00.000-07:002015-03-21T17:12:03.106-07:00Pinnawala Elephant Orphanage<div style="text-align: center;">
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<img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqrPpvXOQiXZPb3Wl94A4uUHmO7lb-WyxdQNrUhQ5Jgc3sHCnuJrNICw_oLB9q8iUnDShlDdPhwPsV3LdwK9WdO8BIslZWRqLdFnShCyCkwwLGRFIlonxLqCtoA6y3gKioRTRdRyPOqTQD/s640/P1000729.JPG" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529737877931722162" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnRyyqueCepETT4UtkGHNghYziC0QUPIia_UGS3GfIkDgtGa3uJWYlvhFaLSiMCmqPR6fGs6-77IWWA8UnMvaC6ng3FVNDgHykUlj8WhJs9ZUlwfLr458IWzVRyStok-ziBuiCuKo-kmN0/s1600/P1000738.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="text-decoration: none;"><br /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc2jRjmwREq8YVSF6opXsgNt3HiClCzsIAy0WvjHytlZOZA3EPR3pCFyJtowwNT5AEESh3YFkLbRG0SNgJEGOUOBbDR5j8NdmlN5bCV5jQDT8hvL_98u8FTDxdBOJABBmcbyOiZzU-IVYM/s1600/P1000732.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc2jRjmwREq8YVSF6opXsgNt3HiClCzsIAy0WvjHytlZOZA3EPR3pCFyJtowwNT5AEESh3YFkLbRG0SNgJEGOUOBbDR5j8NdmlN5bCV5jQDT8hvL_98u8FTDxdBOJABBmcbyOiZzU-IVYM/s640/P1000732.JPG" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529737888848619474" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnRyyqueCepETT4UtkGHNghYziC0QUPIia_UGS3GfIkDgtGa3uJWYlvhFaLSiMCmqPR6fGs6-77IWWA8UnMvaC6ng3FVNDgHykUlj8WhJs9ZUlwfLr458IWzVRyStok-ziBuiCuKo-kmN0/s1600/P1000738.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="text-decoration: none;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnRyyqueCepETT4UtkGHNghYziC0QUPIia_UGS3GfIkDgtGa3uJWYlvhFaLSiMCmqPR6fGs6-77IWWA8UnMvaC6ng3FVNDgHykUlj8WhJs9ZUlwfLr458IWzVRyStok-ziBuiCuKo-kmN0/s640/P1000738.JPG" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529737894968709202" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: left;" width="640" /></a><br />
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Her name was Noni</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaYrHCTxom3WvAGgz2D_oKeLO4QZXPY-pzrvuKAEOTIUTr6KSWeomCSTKN9U5VdZmM0-2teITVAdo_9XwtYpMCpXupFNBL37pnquQk7zIyhEno0CzsR0KKqWXCxpaxy9X93IhQyHEyctTv/s1600/P1000753.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaYrHCTxom3WvAGgz2D_oKeLO4QZXPY-pzrvuKAEOTIUTr6KSWeomCSTKN9U5VdZmM0-2teITVAdo_9XwtYpMCpXupFNBL37pnquQk7zIyhEno0CzsR0KKqWXCxpaxy9X93IhQyHEyctTv/s640/P1000753.JPG" height="640" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529785837795145778" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="480" /></a></div>
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MayaBastihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05088888648134199611noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913676234815968653.post-13177238881084915062010-09-30T15:18:00.001-07:002013-06-11T16:11:17.477-07:00Food, Glorious Food<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJCY1OqmBSd4arwrwz0tofcsSIWbs35ZARibnHUarjn_u0VK7QjVxst-qs5XWdIafe-rvS5vAQ_BbIGH9B6v3kWayV7SmMk9a9mZUeAEz7Bza4rnnXFZro1I3NLdE8wKkuW_KSNKu9HL6j/s1600/24497_383467571482_515476482_4090687_273990_n.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522844703846335586" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJCY1OqmBSd4arwrwz0tofcsSIWbs35ZARibnHUarjn_u0VK7QjVxst-qs5XWdIafe-rvS5vAQ_BbIGH9B6v3kWayV7SmMk9a9mZUeAEz7Bza4rnnXFZro1I3NLdE8wKkuW_KSNKu9HL6j/s1600/24497_383467571482_515476482_4090687_273990_n.jpg" style="float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;" /></a><br />
Back in London again for a short while. Spending more time here has given me a better scope and appreciation of the vast expanse of culture that exists here. The weather is still horrendous...but the food, ahhh the food makes up for it in spades. London can be a bit overwhelming for the epicurious as there is basically a new restaurant to discover every couple of steps. Restaurant review sites helped me at first, but I fast found out that (like any great city) word of mouth is where it's at.<br />
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So--I've got a few current favorites to share, places that make my mouth water at just the mention of their names. No pictures yet though. Every time we saunter off to one of these eateries I get so excited that I forget to bring my camera. My belly tends to take precedence over my artistic integrity. Go figure.</div>
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1. <a href="http://www.timeout.com/london/restaurants/venue/2:876/afghan-kitchen"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Afghan Kitchen</span></a> Just a hop, skip and a jump away from Big Poppa's flat in Islington is this fantastic, low-key Afghan gem. It is hard to identify, but well worth it. If you get lost just stop into a nearby pub and ask--it seems like everyone in the neighborhood knows about these digs.</div>
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Clean, basic decor and simple, fresh ingredients make me drool over this place as soon as I step on the plane to Heathrow Airport. In fact, it is usually the first meal we have in London and as soon as I'm done, I crave it again. Try the aubergines, the pumpkin and the fish stew, you won't be disappointed. Then a couple of pieces of house-made baklava to end with and some wonderfully refreshing spiced green tea and you will run home to tell all your friends. I'm not kidding, it's that good.</div>
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<b>Nearest tube stations: Highbury/Islington or Angel</b></div>
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2.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span><a href="http://www.gerrardscorner.co.uk/emain.htm"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Gerrard's Corner</span></a> I've been to Chinatown a few times and have never gotten it right. There are so many choices and my usual "just pick a place with lots of people in it" doesn't seem to work on London's crowded streets. So when Mr.Big Time took me to Gerrard's Corner...I wasn't expecting much. I was wrong. I guess my motto all this time should've been "just pick a place where all the <i>Chinese</i> people are eating". The food was authentic and flavorful and the service was fantastic. I just ordered basic chinese greens with ginger and fried egg noodles with bean sprouts, but it was packed with intense flavor. I can't imagine what their more complex dishes taste like but I'm gonna go back and let you know.</div>
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Stay away from the hot and sour soup though....serious disappointment.</div>
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<b>Nearest tube stations: Leicester Square, Piccadilly Circus</b></div>
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3.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span><a href="http://www.lahore-kebabhouse.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Lahore Kebab House</span></a> London is full to the brim with Indian restaurants. I've ordered delivery most often from <a href="http://www.masalazone.com/">Masala Zone</a> which never fails to disappoint when you're looking to watch bad reruns and eat some comfort food. However if you want a true Indian dining experience, then Lahore Kebab House in White Chapel is the place for you. The ambience is lacking but the kebabs are to die for. The way these people do meat is sinful. To be honest I had the food ordered for me by a seasoned foodie--so I can't even remember what I ate. All I can tell you is that every bite was juicy deliciousness. There are several restaurants in that area with the word "Lahore" in the name, so be sure to get the right one.</div>
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<b>Nearest Tube Stations: Aldgate East, WhiteChapel</b></div>
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That's it for now, but the hunt for mouth-watering nosh continues....</div>
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MayaBastihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05088888648134199611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913676234815968653.post-8348885133806963042010-09-15T20:55:00.000-07:002013-06-11T16:11:41.429-07:00Film Camp!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj507OJFNzBpgI6yRforW7F04jEQxkSehkWnSJ6lTF5pKmgCDqkqEaVuaIsUpnd1Ge_EUkzXAxhbvC2WSZDLBYloxlp9IjXDhyphenhyphen8nqms33zdBwmInnVlMdAEfJK2KUryawNWcZ4gsFZmhoPg/s1600/gff.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="427" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517366157275495154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj507OJFNzBpgI6yRforW7F04jEQxkSehkWnSJ6lTF5pKmgCDqkqEaVuaIsUpnd1Ge_EUkzXAxhbvC2WSZDLBYloxlp9IjXDhyphenhyphen8nqms33zdBwmInnVlMdAEfJK2KUryawNWcZ4gsFZmhoPg/s640/gff.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a><br />
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Sri Lanka</div>
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2 camps. 10 days each. 60 kids. 4 cameras.<br />
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In the end we laughed and cried and learned and grew.</div>
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8 short films were written, directed, acted and produced by teenagers between the ages of 13 and 17 who had never picked up a camera, had never really been encouraged to create.</div>
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They came from all over the island, from different ethnic backgrounds, religions and class systems.</div>
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They left with a new sense of direction and the ability to see past boundaries.</div>
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It was nothing short of majestic.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQU0CcV2JooNWQ1-NqJtTuEe83XOPi92NSGPKwZ4yXRwcj7oFYsTXqGPMapGtoXBq_DgW9K0jOSGZTdxuKfmKKvhFT5o3mU_dHCUaT160PDZdSVCfMMZnFujrlusv9sweHvGcJ-_EGG0iS/s1600/45411_461023512473_742117473_6347808_5420759_n.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517359514111159442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQU0CcV2JooNWQ1-NqJtTuEe83XOPi92NSGPKwZ4yXRwcj7oFYsTXqGPMapGtoXBq_DgW9K0jOSGZTdxuKfmKKvhFT5o3mU_dHCUaT160PDZdSVCfMMZnFujrlusv9sweHvGcJ-_EGG0iS/s320/45411_461023512473_742117473_6347808_5420759_n.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; height: 240px; width: 320px;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiu4ZPOxmyPR1CjhZXPXSMV1sHkfXeG-DNLLa2yJPrLhrfPP-2caD7eDrKzY3GQQxQtzofLvx6IofU3CyGvbO7B5OwWSUC_A-LP38NlEL4BZW00fj1Qah0hS0C39x_NgDftKD6CeDlChiz/s1600/kidscamp.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"> <img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517359509555550066" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiu4ZPOxmyPR1CjhZXPXSMV1sHkfXeG-DNLLa2yJPrLhrfPP-2caD7eDrKzY3GQQxQtzofLvx6IofU3CyGvbO7B5OwWSUC_A-LP38NlEL4BZW00fj1Qah0hS0C39x_NgDftKD6CeDlChiz/s320/kidscamp.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; height: 240px; width: 320px;" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7-9K5qOKV3SZ4yhiAWF0R6TeSQJAvOwaYdU0OMA26ZEZ-kYvPgeUf6bxgKj5P3sXDn3j-I6nNq5QFqWAhIgTeFlpGHsdP-HU99EYfidhBVO1ChZxsfnQjEB9anNZEbP11aRFHIOKgrra1/s1600/P1000556.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517363803193250658" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7-9K5qOKV3SZ4yhiAWF0R6TeSQJAvOwaYdU0OMA26ZEZ-kYvPgeUf6bxgKj5P3sXDn3j-I6nNq5QFqWAhIgTeFlpGHsdP-HU99EYfidhBVO1ChZxsfnQjEB9anNZEbP11aRFHIOKgrra1/s320/P1000556.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 240px; width: 320px;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg849wi8zi3S1xV1v4mdeeJ7fnE6WEHdiWuioFaZAsJXZ2QdpLk7XTzYCpAe2X-4K4xh8jEkN_C2m-oPk5tb1opy3MytMUsXP7dQtwMNje1NbxIgjQoBFum27rVuQyMrh5-GVjd5fBkSH_9/s1600/P1000563.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517363813528412450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg849wi8zi3S1xV1v4mdeeJ7fnE6WEHdiWuioFaZAsJXZ2QdpLk7XTzYCpAe2X-4K4xh8jEkN_C2m-oPk5tb1opy3MytMUsXP7dQtwMNje1NbxIgjQoBFum27rVuQyMrh5-GVjd5fBkSH_9/s320/P1000563.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 240px; width: 320px;" /></a></div>
MayaBastihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05088888648134199611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913676234815968653.post-5276190787430288592010-08-29T09:46:00.000-07:002013-06-11T16:12:04.375-07:00SYMBIOSIS<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2N5Bz8QqZ4jtPNm_BLzgb7vOihgkqEInLG1e4DUbiQX8up0jIBc8vd5T0GdnWxNAFi-WdBLdrCFzfjSR1gNYHUvGvUfNym1W0Bz5AtwW4EL5vOp8kmfRz2G1TvWA8rEFKtMcV8y072_4A/s1600/P1000467.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510910925348214114" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2N5Bz8QqZ4jtPNm_BLzgb7vOihgkqEInLG1e4DUbiQX8up0jIBc8vd5T0GdnWxNAFi-WdBLdrCFzfjSR1gNYHUvGvUfNym1W0Bz5AtwW4EL5vOp8kmfRz2G1TvWA8rEFKtMcV8y072_4A/s320/P1000467.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; height: 240px; width: 320px;" /></a> <img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510910916936978626" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1D4TDbsRlQV6ZgoeKrO2f2jQwL5oIIY9w7zKRHXg4zU8qBu9naOaLxfZAqzXQpUmrypjmN6BsWqB9s52zPjJkw3a86WPgyYFTi_ffFePVb-AqbNALdQeqJvwnca4MfvkMlF53X003mkz9/s320/P1000469.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; height: 240px; width: 320px;" /><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiICHukT975IfiVMaCTrwwwnB-62_HHsPcKaR967wchZ3J6CceMf2wbCZMXjvyZWmqEaz2PLkjcfCJSG0ZNqaihW1hWVO6OYN1Wjh5CBQNlVD1NV8Dl6sUHeOu-NFuO7UK2j8T28KROy8w2/s1600/P1000506.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510910908554295490" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiICHukT975IfiVMaCTrwwwnB-62_HHsPcKaR967wchZ3J6CceMf2wbCZMXjvyZWmqEaz2PLkjcfCJSG0ZNqaihW1hWVO6OYN1Wjh5CBQNlVD1NV8Dl6sUHeOu-NFuO7UK2j8T28KROy8w2/s320/P1000506.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; height: 240px; width: 320px;" /></a> <img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510880717635860642" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwFN_E6nNop02NlUmC0qZudhHWudlapJtv2Y4v59_3CZYEUsrGwG2rnnT7e216TqysAsrfo82nbOndb1M30pT2g0zy7zrsE3nHmxw3t25FY-os6VFXPWTerKPoWpJCMO6HUhG5zYXr_7Cp/s320/P1000444.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; height: 240px; width: 320px;" /><br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">sym-bi-o-sis:</span></b><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><i><b>1. The living together of two dissimilar organisms, as in mutualism, commensalism or amensalism.</b></i></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><i><b>2. Any interdependent or mutually beneficial relationship between two beings.</b></i></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Living in a tropical country can be an exercise in tolerance. On a daily basis I encounter some kind of insect or animal in various intimate places. Whether it be my bed, the shower, the garden or beyond, I am constantly being made aware of the fact that I'm sharing space with several other creatures. There's no point in screeching and pointing, as I would've done in Canada....these things are here to stay and are generally harmless providing you approach them armed with forethought and knowledge.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Stray dogs and mosquitos are to be expected--in fact strict daily measures are taken to make sure that neither of these beings bite you. Then there are the bats, the monkeys and the mongooses, the monitor lizards, the giant flying cockroaches, and a myriad of other things that scuttle around in the bushes making weird noises.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">It's got me thinking about symbiosis and the idea that every living being shares an interdependence which in turn serves to benefit creation. Exisiting in harmony with these animals is a kind of meditative practice, a way for me to extricate my fear of the unknown. By choosing to learn about their habits and limitations, I have also been developing a better grasp on the scope and breadth of nature. </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I sincerely doubt that the Thalagoya (monitor lizard) I just encountered is thinking deeply about my limitations though. I have a feeling his instincts are telling him everything he needs to know.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><b>I read somewhere that animals' senses are so heightened, so aware that they live completely in each and every moment.</b></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Might not be such a bad thing to live by instinct. Would definitely cut back on all the time spent blogging ;)</span></span></span></div>
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MayaBastihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05088888648134199611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913676234815968653.post-41293804983849406372010-08-29T09:36:00.000-07:002013-06-11T16:13:14.720-07:00With a deeper instinct...<br />
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<i style="color: #666666;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;">"I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman."</span></span></i><br />
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<span class="body"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia;">-Anais Nin-</span></span></i></span></span></div>
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MayaBastihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05088888648134199611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913676234815968653.post-42007706709375715242010-08-20T06:32:00.000-07:002013-06-11T16:14:39.042-07:00Colombo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Colombo is fast becoming one of my favorite cities in the world. It may be because I have a strong connection with the culture, having grown up surrounded by it's idiosyncracies for my entire life. It may be because it's in a tropical country, on the ocean--and we all know how happy that makes me. </div>
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But I think it's more than that. I think (and I'm still investigating this thought) that it's because it has a little bit of everything. The muslim call to prayer everyday reminds me that religion is the root of everything. The giant television screens in Cinnamon Gardens remind me that you can't stop progress. The three-wheeled taxis, called Tuk Tuks are an evolution of the rickshaw. They start by pulling a cord, much like starting a lawn-mower. The giant war memorials are a de-volution of progressive thought. There are trucks that drive around selling freshly baked bread and men pushing carts full of vegetables. Oxen share the street with SUVs, the air smells like coconut and burning garbage and ladies get manicures in lush salons while one-armed beggars call out for money to every passer-by. <br />
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It is strange and familiar all at the same time, and I completely adore it. It seems like there is no end to the mysteries of this city. It seems as though it will continually keep me guessing.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0mjJI6XFFjmwvnUQSHvfB86aLI4SF8Y_GAZRdJgA09MHB7LmwaPb5Zn45RPfrA888GToO2dAqXvrNiZzGjF99fO6eqdyk-Ov7Xesr-2AngO16-rNFhDCkzuBw9MT3kZ6gu0SYae_gKLiH/s1600/P1000366.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507507367896567074" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0mjJI6XFFjmwvnUQSHvfB86aLI4SF8Y_GAZRdJgA09MHB7LmwaPb5Zn45RPfrA888GToO2dAqXvrNiZzGjF99fO6eqdyk-Ov7Xesr-2AngO16-rNFhDCkzuBw9MT3kZ6gu0SYae_gKLiH/s320/P1000366.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 240px; width: 320px;" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwQyWQ3wEvDVsbAebOvgcQ5FS88nC7Cm0nbCb5aCe1-M25qYXTWk6XxtemhYGqhlLwagZbS3F1n48w79GEHJD-PI9QJFO5GaFN17syO6h_zIt86geRtkUCsHu7SdyE59m1NRWter6LVWqe/s1600/P1000403.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507507376744759186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwQyWQ3wEvDVsbAebOvgcQ5FS88nC7Cm0nbCb5aCe1-M25qYXTWk6XxtemhYGqhlLwagZbS3F1n48w79GEHJD-PI9QJFO5GaFN17syO6h_zIt86geRtkUCsHu7SdyE59m1NRWter6LVWqe/s320/P1000403.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 240px; width: 320px;" /></a></div>
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MayaBastihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05088888648134199611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913676234815968653.post-20399910188530462972010-08-14T10:33:00.000-07:002013-06-11T16:15:08.512-07:00For the love of something greater<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivOHXUxa75mNDM_QRea620k9ZgdHQg8fiL973OMfyoFQXpa7vuMCLmQZkKqd5E4gOZQa64ErrLusq2OYJyPafoEPuWeqGyhIiZwwY98Fft-TIknxWF3uhT3dwb__2LmGWqxMMVvH5nkyNx/s1600/P1000393.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505326258313976274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivOHXUxa75mNDM_QRea620k9ZgdHQg8fiL973OMfyoFQXpa7vuMCLmQZkKqd5E4gOZQa64ErrLusq2OYJyPafoEPuWeqGyhIiZwwY98Fft-TIknxWF3uhT3dwb__2LmGWqxMMVvH5nkyNx/s640/P1000393.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
The ocean is a marvelous wonder. I don't think anyone can deny this. We have all sat embraced by it's depth, entranced by it's mysteries. In the last few months I have had the pleasure of being near the ocean almost every day. It is not something that I have or will ever take for granted.<br />
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Growing up in Southern Ontario, we are surrounded by lakes. It's where we go to vacation, to get away, to swim. Lakes are nice in their own right...they are safe and comforting, wrapping around you like a well-worn sweater. The stillness of a lake has the ability to emanate peace and tranquility.</div>
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The ocean on the other hand, is a tormented, ferocious thing. It crashes and waves, it tumbles and falls. It claims lives, it destroys habitats, it is a supernatural force. And yet, it is also comforting, in it's own way. The vastness of it's depths gives us a sense of humility. Better than a well-worn sweater, it is a like an old friend. One you know and who knows you, without any words passing between you.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXMZN1cGbKMquUMSF3m57KxZX29jIJ1uNrfj1oHYraZAuKEksgVOpBwwL-_8dj7uN0DdF7nUApiPGBQzZ6rjWbBflRcFrVXFOV_2UY-7IJ0ypzOPbb0JJ1V_8nj0jDJMzYaSp-kMIDVtvu/s1600/P1000431.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505326271266871650" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXMZN1cGbKMquUMSF3m57KxZX29jIJ1uNrfj1oHYraZAuKEksgVOpBwwL-_8dj7uN0DdF7nUApiPGBQzZ6rjWbBflRcFrVXFOV_2UY-7IJ0ypzOPbb0JJ1V_8nj0jDJMzYaSp-kMIDVtvu/s640/P1000431.JPG" width="640" /> </a>This is why I love the ocean. Because I can stare at it for hours without understanding it, yet between us there is a shared sense of knowledge, of intuition. I know that I am part of something bigger, that I would be lacking without an innate natural force. And every drop of the ocean knows that too. </div>
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I love the dichotomy this presents, it is what keeps me there hour after hour, never wanting to leave.</div>
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I'm in Sri Lanka now and the ocean has never looked more beautiful. It is a torrid, passionate being--one that I have a deep respect for. I suppose that loving the ocean is a bit like loving oneself. Sharing in your own mysteries, adoring the things that make us unique and always bending to the will of something greater.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRy7Vp9qwG1R-ZMoY7pbtbJYPso0upmB3Y8TbB13ONaL6-rWFwY8njpiullnlvKfhpchkKrWdbLaZzWsgQ_S1scp2M1YlI2vuDsBfl5M1mxnQ1AIpE0nKW_82UrVAIjuqY6VeI_4EiJmVa/s1600/P1000397.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505326269654676290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRy7Vp9qwG1R-ZMoY7pbtbJYPso0upmB3Y8TbB13ONaL6-rWFwY8njpiullnlvKfhpchkKrWdbLaZzWsgQ_S1scp2M1YlI2vuDsBfl5M1mxnQ1AIpE0nKW_82UrVAIjuqY6VeI_4EiJmVa/s320/P1000397.JPG" style="height: 240px; width: 320px;" /></a></div>
MayaBastihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05088888648134199611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913676234815968653.post-9516365884663567732010-07-17T11:36:00.000-07:002013-06-11T16:15:56.861-07:00DESERT SKY<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBTBcEHwWCpD67LS8bUY0wEWDfGsffJm6KD0XJVWBX0kDR_lRgDn-VxKba-XqV_2q3RNFcUpJ-OXyqGdV7l0RHZ7sAXrDM36vR5221InQ_jfgB024keDk9dI3omzaNAg-svEB8GOt7jXI7/s1600/P1000286.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495083502911921538" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBTBcEHwWCpD67LS8bUY0wEWDfGsffJm6KD0XJVWBX0kDR_lRgDn-VxKba-XqV_2q3RNFcUpJ-OXyqGdV7l0RHZ7sAXrDM36vR5221InQ_jfgB024keDk9dI3omzaNAg-svEB8GOt7jXI7/s640/P1000286.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">The first thing that you notice about New Mexico is the sky.</span><br />
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Stretching across vast expanses of nothing, every breath I took felt like I was consuming the entire universe. We drove like this for three hours, from Albuquerque to Taos. You would think that staring at nothing would get boring, but in fact it was endlessly inspiring.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The second thing that you notice about New Mexico, are the people. </span></div>
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The warmth, the smiles all with a certainty of self. I've noticed that generally when you pay people to do something for you it is almost always followed with this disingenuous courtesy, as though they are secretly waiting to maul you when you turn your back. New Mexico was an exception to that rule. It's citizens seem to be genuinely happy, quite a rarity in the Western world. </div>
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Taos is a lovely little artist's community, with past residents as varied as D.H. Lawrence, Donald Rumsfeld and Dennis Hopper. We stayed at E<a href="http://http//www.elmontesagrado.com">l Monte Sagrado Living Resort and Spa</a>.</div>
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The decor was made from all natural materials and our terrace opened up to a view of "The Living Machine", a holistically designed eco-structure that incorporates recycled water, plants and rock formation into a self-sustaining ecosystem that flows throughout the resort and creates an enclosed sanctuary around the resort's pool<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351d0a; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 6px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 6px; font-size: small; line-height: 16px;">.</span></span></div>
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One of the highlights of the trip was a wedding ceremony that we attended at <a href="http://www.mabeldodgeluhan.com/">The Mabel Dodge Luhan House.</a> Mrs. Luhan was a writer and patroness of the arts that has played host to such luminaries as Georgia O'Keeffe, Carl Jung, Ansel Adams and D.H. Lawrence in her humble abode overlooking the Taos mountains. At a late night party on the third floor terrace, I fumbled my way into the loo and unexpectedly stumbled upon several windows that had been painted by D.H. Lawrence himself.</div>
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Our last destination for the weekend was the Taos Pueblo, a native reserve on the edge of town. It had been recommended by many people who used words such as "charming" to describe it, claiming that the crafts and artistry available for purchase were unparalleled. </div>
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Instead (and I'll be honest with you) I found it incredibly depressing. It's a symptom of the American condition when tourists can visit a forcefully segregated community and not open their eyes to the truth. What was once a designated holy place now looks like a desolate wasteland. The depth and value of ancient sites such as Chich'en Itza in Mexico is lost in the Pueblo, the land having been raped by explorers and conquerors of yore. The only beauty that I found there was the church, which we learned later, is actually a major symbol of oppression and angst for the natives.</div>
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All in all, it looked like an old western flick--somewhere that you'd expect to hear wolves howling in the distance while tumbleweeds blew past your feet.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuyIr4igdaxnKBSA9Ft46rFmk4kt3k6qbRruzZEsTD1zPaGkkJ-Z8giUa29Ll-ektbO6Cxl_b0mbZQOGHJJLwZTM4stiftt8qExh0qXHFDgbGdPAsncI8pm8tnYUlD2_Sj4V9zZev-0y6I/s1600/P1000324.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495079938116692930" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuyIr4igdaxnKBSA9Ft46rFmk4kt3k6qbRruzZEsTD1zPaGkkJ-Z8giUa29Ll-ektbO6Cxl_b0mbZQOGHJJLwZTM4stiftt8qExh0qXHFDgbGdPAsncI8pm8tnYUlD2_Sj4V9zZev-0y6I/s320/P1000324.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 240px; width: 320px;" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWiAF2AdJRy6tG3UfcAepLJRBByelq1CEShiehs_duirXHwil5TC57VcVB7po1bhvoOzmeKx2D4PffwnOuZ5_GTXr7EYySwO3AuwBOxdj_MyLLv5fwnP9Lg1T503t5E3XFh08DpdhVluRT/s1600/P1000320.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495079927900581906" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWiAF2AdJRy6tG3UfcAepLJRBByelq1CEShiehs_duirXHwil5TC57VcVB7po1bhvoOzmeKx2D4PffwnOuZ5_GTXr7EYySwO3AuwBOxdj_MyLLv5fwnP9Lg1T503t5E3XFh08DpdhVluRT/s320/P1000320.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 240px; width: 320px;" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaxL9AmMRPowKOsUybkgtBMq2wutU4w7XrLxIb8VRugMG2NPefaFUU_RbUNLWD32BPfTy1g3bMjsFppmLpEreV0t29yQfM6t6mPLQ1xj-g534JKjwADpUfOY3O0_oBL00q9fkIOFfvXtu-/s1600/P1000317.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495079916525661842" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaxL9AmMRPowKOsUybkgtBMq2wutU4w7XrLxIb8VRugMG2NPefaFUU_RbUNLWD32BPfTy1g3bMjsFppmLpEreV0t29yQfM6t6mPLQ1xj-g534JKjwADpUfOY3O0_oBL00q9fkIOFfvXtu-/s320/P1000317.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 240px; width: 320px;" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipopdh2q_DOC0wXnfLsdDboMzoFi_Rp9acwQ7meko3le3z3kkb6Suva8Mi3FNOYOcfYMmY6uQKRXWDd3QHrK9WlOr5yIiehDDtESRRHIhdLb4djIVxh6AFs0f4l7wAKEAkgst9O9Osah8O/s1600/P1000329.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495081452936514130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipopdh2q_DOC0wXnfLsdDboMzoFi_Rp9acwQ7meko3le3z3kkb6Suva8Mi3FNOYOcfYMmY6uQKRXWDd3QHrK9WlOr5yIiehDDtESRRHIhdLb4djIVxh6AFs0f4l7wAKEAkgst9O9Osah8O/s320/P1000329.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 240px; width: 320px;" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCIipJVymeZoq_rQVp86BG39IkPn7Vg0_ejnE81uVkBlU6nH_Y1YLSsTqfjS3AjSANT9ri3bE4kK1_ZdQiwMs4FVxQ8yJKnR6cQ6kYo1F-GIdNz5z2PR3X2t0yOF3gd6zt1x3SrNU28H0j/s1600/P1000326.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495081441655780242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCIipJVymeZoq_rQVp86BG39IkPn7Vg0_ejnE81uVkBlU6nH_Y1YLSsTqfjS3AjSANT9ri3bE4kK1_ZdQiwMs4FVxQ8yJKnR6cQ6kYo1F-GIdNz5z2PR3X2t0yOF3gd6zt1x3SrNU28H0j/s320/P1000326.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 240px; width: 320px;" /></a></div>
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Taos is an interesting place, somewhere that I wouldn't mind spending more time in. I'm learning that diversity comes in many forms, not just the usual cultural mish-mash of urban centers like Toronto. This new idea is intriguing to me, and it makes me want to explore more...if that's even possible.</div>
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On to the UK now, in preparation for my trip to South Asia. Excitement doesn't begin to explain my feelings about this long-awaited, long overdue adventure. I'll be sure to write more as the journey continues.....</div>
MayaBastihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05088888648134199611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913676234815968653.post-30584391859856845562010-05-31T05:19:00.000-07:002013-06-11T16:21:34.233-07:00The Sun Also Rises<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRhzSK9LPVic0WFkcXagL5arjAKxQv5F5JhCSheZNVmLs9YJlSqf-wxiwU3zoeg-W39owGBiB6VlbSeFaJHYWsA53Kgh1as3wYtquoxZxOsTpFTn5wXLOKdE2TDqpxdnKqR_yUQG8iuAk_/s1600/P1000258.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477893456899972850" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRhzSK9LPVic0WFkcXagL5arjAKxQv5F5JhCSheZNVmLs9YJlSqf-wxiwU3zoeg-W39owGBiB6VlbSeFaJHYWsA53Kgh1as3wYtquoxZxOsTpFTn5wXLOKdE2TDqpxdnKqR_yUQG8iuAk_/s320/P1000258.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 235px;" /></a><br />
5 am, Paris. Stumbling out of an apartment on the Left Bank after an incredible night of enlightening conversation, delicious wine and beautiful people, we somehow managed to hail an available cab. Huddling for warmth in the backseat, Mr.Hollywood tried to locate the address of our hotel on his Blackberry. The driver meandered through narrow streets, insisting the entire time that there was no Rue Christine, that Rue Christine simply <span style="font-style: italic;">did not exist</span>. Since I was the only sober one of the bunch, I made an executive decision. He was to drop us off at the last restaurant I could remember and we would find our way home from there. Almost too happily, he obliged. We waved goodbye and he sped away leaving us (or rather me, due to the total inebriation of my partner-in-crime) to navigate our way while the sky lightened subtly above us.<br />
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I began to walk in one direction, my Mr. Hollywood in the other. He insisted he knew the way, and rather than arguing into the abyss of his inebriation, I consented to let him try. Patience is a virtue, so they say. After many wrong turns and not a familiar landmark in site, I began to dream about our room. Not just because of the safety and warmth of the bed--which was reason enough to dream--but because it was the most exquisite room I have ever had the pleasure of staying in.<br />
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In St.Germain, the hotel named simply L'Hotel--a small boutique hotel that you could only really find if you knew where it was. When we arrived our room was not ready. Finally the concierge decided to give us the only available room, the Oscar Wilde room. I thought 'oh great, a theme room'. Visions of cheesy props and a full-framed picture of Oscar above the bed began to taunt me. On the way up to the room Mr.Hollywood and I got into a whopper of an argument, a must when any couple spends endless hours traveling together. I was seeing red, so upon entering the room I headed straight for the washroom to take a shower and calm myself down.<br />
Twenty minutes later I opened the door into this vision of a room. It was like emerging into a fairy tale, a magical wonderland. No theme room, this was<span style="font-style: italic;"> the actual</span> room that Oscar Wilde stayed in while in Paris, in fact it was also the room that he died in.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgXafb-feSO4JB77FspVnCtrLFynct-mvnD0y_Pz7h-JZ2SqsGJGjPqRCuBm70VIrhwgM9c6aVvECRWYVHA8yHstMgKpPK5ECkI2Zq_8X0fJbH74LA0wiv8o8oqLCfdYaOud6cQ66LWgDU/s1600/P1000234.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477891499078651202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgXafb-feSO4JB77FspVnCtrLFynct-mvnD0y_Pz7h-JZ2SqsGJGjPqRCuBm70VIrhwgM9c6aVvECRWYVHA8yHstMgKpPK5ECkI2Zq_8X0fJbH74LA0wiv8o8oqLCfdYaOud6cQ66LWgDU/s640/P1000234.JPG" style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt;" width="640" /></a>Hand-painted walls, antique mahogany furniture, a private garden terrace---all with this air of mystique that I could never adequately explain. In a word? Stunning.<br />
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Emerging from my reverie on the back roads of Paris, catching a chill and physically supporting Mr.Hollywood we bumbled lost on streets that all invariably looked the same--and you can imagine why I was yearning for some symmetry.<br />
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We found a patch of early-morning pigeons roosting in a doorway and I decided to create my own beauty. Hoping that he was drunk enough to oblige, I convinced Mr.Hollywood to chase the pigeons and make them fly. Without hesitation he ran at them full force and giggling like a schoolboy, swung his arms towards them. They all took flight into the early morning light and my heart expanded to three times it's size. I was in Paris. <span style="font-style: italic;">Paris.</span> A city I had dreamt about since I was 7 years old, sitting too close to the television, watching Gene Kelly woo Leslie Caron.<br />
If I had been in Toronto maybe it would have excused my ornery nature. But seeing the sun-rise in Paris after one of the most fulfilling nights of my life?<br />
Pure jubilation.<br />
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We cheered out loud when we found the hotel, the overnight concierge chuckling at our glee. Falling into bed exhausted, I couldn't help but wonder if the Gentleman Wilde was around.<br />
I called out his name. And to my surprise, he answered.<br />
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<b><i><span class="sqq" style="color: #999999;"><span style="color: #999999;">"Ordinary riches can be stolen, real riches cannot.</span></span></i></b><b><i><span class="sqq" style="color: #999999;"><span style="color: #999999;">In your soul are i</span></span><span class="sqq" style="color: black;"><span style="color: #999999;">nfinitely precious things that</span><span style="color: #999999;"> cannot be taken from you."</span><br /><span style="color: #999999;">-Oscar Wilde-</span></span></i></b></h2>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkFb75PQfeEhc_19t3yK_LsDAN8zio0ycCfK6kg3XK6ZMEv4TMs7ucxDkx12riVS_Javw4SqZ1uOwhZls7TEInaF1tTNQzzRYPlojOzaTXPIxwLi5sBXd45a8tz6YXlUDXLeJ96gkwqkC0/s1600/P1000250.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="color: #999999;"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477897198387682018" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkFb75PQfeEhc_19t3yK_LsDAN8zio0ycCfK6kg3XK6ZMEv4TMs7ucxDkx12riVS_Javw4SqZ1uOwhZls7TEInaF1tTNQzzRYPlojOzaTXPIxwLi5sBXd45a8tz6YXlUDXLeJ96gkwqkC0/s640/P1000250.JPG" style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px;" width="640" /></a><br />
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MayaBastihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05088888648134199611noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913676234815968653.post-43253232609331023512010-05-14T15:32:00.001-07:002013-06-11T16:20:07.302-07:00Home Is Where the Art Is<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpu4Vcc4hf1ceneLg7g4NFz-zAUs1YB1Y_BkMgml0wUEJvtm0PuGEjDV2iyAwQDwxKAPZtik2yHWfWY93i4xbC8W3D9mmI0neibq27jGH07ElNdS9v-I2GA43SdPBfK-KbGT89eIn40wNp/s1600/P1000124.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="640" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471269645023409890" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpu4Vcc4hf1ceneLg7g4NFz-zAUs1YB1Y_BkMgml0wUEJvtm0PuGEjDV2iyAwQDwxKAPZtik2yHWfWY93i4xbC8W3D9mmI0neibq27jGH07ElNdS9v-I2GA43SdPBfK-KbGT89eIn40wNp/s640/P1000124.JPG" style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px;" width="480" /></a> After my partner-in-crime left for Cannes, I spent a whole day moping around the flat. Didn't even leave the house! Then this morning I slapped myself (literally) out of my self-induced loneliness and realized that being the narcissist that I am I actually LOVE spending time with myself, especially in new cities.<br />
Woke up this morning, packed some yummy salami sandwiches and began the wander. One of the most brilliant things about central London is that all the museums and art galleries are %100 F-R-E-E. Completely amazing. And there are a million of them to choose from. So after debating between the <a href="http://www.vam.ac.uk/">Victoria & Albert</a>, <a href="http://www.nhm.ac.uk/">The</a><a href="http://www.nhm.ac.uk/"> Museum of Natural History</a> and the <a href="http://www.serpentinegallery.org/">Serpentine Gallery</a>, good old natural history won out. I'm a sucker for all things nature as evidenced by my mystifying ability to spend hours gazing at a tree in the backyard.<br />
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The building is quite old, yet the exhibits were modern and super fun. Here's a peek:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2H_gWeJGQjnjynfv31iZgWknFVTD0gukXxgY5sqXHOGTVHBfIujXKG1ArN2WRQ46_UJfL_DuINqxr_UphaUmr2K5MBNNKnC9pKMrinyaEfQmnqOKbAzsPXNSjpbAFJvLEFwfC0cI0uQ9Q/s1600/P1000096.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471265042575501218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2H_gWeJGQjnjynfv31iZgWknFVTD0gukXxgY5sqXHOGTVHBfIujXKG1ArN2WRQ46_UJfL_DuINqxr_UphaUmr2K5MBNNKnC9pKMrinyaEfQmnqOKbAzsPXNSjpbAFJvLEFwfC0cI0uQ9Q/s320/P1000096.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 240px;" /></a><br />
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Then met up with my new favorite cousin, ate some food, and went to a superbly hip bar called Mustard (which is oddly fitting because England has fantastic mustard, my favorite of which is Colman's).<br />
Our final destination was the Tate Modern which is celebrating it's 10 year anniversary this weekend with an exhibit called "No Soul for Sale". The museum is open until midnight and there's live gigs (tomorrow Sonic Youth's Thurston Moore will perform) and a ton of contemporary art garnered from galleries around the world.<br />
Like all contemporary art you take the good with the bad---but still the vibe was chaotic, communal and interactive. In other words, totally mind blasting. For the first time in a long while, I felt right at home.<br />
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MayaBastihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05088888648134199611noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913676234815968653.post-13592560739292166952010-05-11T05:30:00.000-07:002013-06-11T16:18:48.148-07:00Love and Hate<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYw4JAoCV4ojxZkANUu1GMLa9kYxtKVuRawj6SVhr87ecHFoYQ5Q5zgJ2N7kgIBvK0gay57TGFOAkFlQXwo7Tj4fmLVJrxwp0Jx6ADgBmRgnYNENcmVlBdX8QRyQg-ySgU6XtJvK4LG8zg/s1600/JohnAlcorn_TheScarletLetter.jpeg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="640" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469990822999052562" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYw4JAoCV4ojxZkANUu1GMLa9kYxtKVuRawj6SVhr87ecHFoYQ5Q5zgJ2N7kgIBvK0gay57TGFOAkFlQXwo7Tj4fmLVJrxwp0Jx6ADgBmRgnYNENcmVlBdX8QRyQg-ySgU6XtJvK4LG8zg/s640/JohnAlcorn_TheScarletLetter.jpeg" style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px;" width="476" /></a><br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">"It is a curious subject of observation and inquiry, whether hatred and love be not the same thing at bottom. Each, in it's utmost development, supposes a high degree of intimacy and heart-knowledge; each renders one individual dependent for the food of his affections and spiritual life upon another; each leaves the passionate lover, or the no less passionate hater, forlorn and desolate by the withdrawal of his object. Philosophically considered, therefore the two passions seem essentially the same, except that one happens to be seen in a celestial radiance and the other in a dusky and lurid glow."</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />-The Scarlet Letter, Nathaniel Hawthorne-</span><br />
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MayaBastihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05088888648134199611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913676234815968653.post-38441246429149015322010-05-10T16:53:00.001-07:002013-06-11T16:18:31.275-07:00The Path of Least Resistance<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 100%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpx4B3wmwb3Iwt7MDYMBmOBzkNuD7qNS0g8cxVDKJ0FWMszSATc_A8fUMDArzUluP8PExM6P4tFfecx3sVhoFTH4Mq2Q0dEtGkb34D5lSNtcwCpltfA8rQFoqWWrTDxN7PPo5UnTXu-4-D/s1600/westcoast+012.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469799674688841906" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpx4B3wmwb3Iwt7MDYMBmOBzkNuD7qNS0g8cxVDKJ0FWMszSATc_A8fUMDArzUluP8PExM6P4tFfecx3sVhoFTH4Mq2Q0dEtGkb34D5lSNtcwCpltfA8rQFoqWWrTDxN7PPo5UnTXu-4-D/s640/westcoast+012.jpg" style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt;" width="640" /></a></span><span style="font-size: 100%;"><span style="font-size: 130%;"> <br /><br /><br /></span><span style="font-size: 130%;"> Been thinking a lot about love lately</span>.<br /><br /><br />We spend our whole lives searching, talking about, thinking about and crying about love. We stay up late, can't sleep, bask in sunlight, talk </span><span style="font-size: 100%;">to ourselves. We want it but we don't need it, we need it but we don't want it. I think from a young age we are taught that it is something to procure, like going to the market for a loaf of bread. So we search and search almost always in vain, and when we do feel that spark of love's beauty it is so fleeting that we act like idiots, doing anything to hold on to it.</span></div>
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In the last few years I have come to view love differently, not as something to search for but almost as a container within which I live. It is soft and pliable, it molds to me and I to it. It is always there, no matter who comes and goes. It is there in my weakest moment just as much as in my strongest. And how I choose to live my life invariably adds or takes away from the strength of the vessel. Just like the heart acts as a chamber for our blood, love acts as chamber for our bodies. And in fact, maybe the reason that we are constantly seeking companionship is in a subconscious effort to add to the love that already surrounds us. I'd like to think that when I am in a relationship that I am existing "in love" with that other person. Meaning that we are both inside of love, adding to it with the compassion, forgiveness and sense of understanding that we show one another.</div>
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Was on the flight to London today via Air India. It was fantastic. Good food, real silverware and plenty of space to move around. But the best part about it was something so subtle that you could've missed it if you blinked. The service. The staff weren't overly accommod<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXk8MzTAgXg49kaRAGdToe_7IblxIrYDYUCq83qt5eqImRb_69HXKbVtiZ0Zm010dfgCs7tNdHPcPL2-ewbVmoi56nlhjThv_Y3wxLtbyR8bZDptsctJBpKQjIFxzq57JOnwbe165bGUNn/s1600/P1000087.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469801981301106658" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXk8MzTAgXg49kaRAGdToe_7IblxIrYDYUCq83qt5eqImRb_69HXKbVtiZ0Zm010dfgCs7tNdHPcPL2-ewbVmoi56nlhjThv_Y3wxLtbyR8bZDptsctJBpKQjIFxzq57JOnwbe165bGUNn/s320/P1000087.JPG" style="float: right; height: 318px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 424px;" /></a>ating or super kind....there was just a familiar way of being. During the dinner service the steward came over and chided us for not eating, saying 'you won't get another meal until breakfast, you'll get hungry'. Later he warned us not to hit our funny bone on the raised arm rest "or you'll be in a lot of pain'. I loved the way he felt like an uncle of mine, concerned for my safety.<br />
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On the way out I saw him assisting an elderly lady much like he would've done his own mother. With one arm around her firmly, he cleared the way, occasionally touching her gently on the face to ensure her well-being. It warmed my heart.<br />
Just by being an honest and kind human being, this man managed to create a whole plane-load<br />
of love.<br />
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MayaBastihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05088888648134199611noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913676234815968653.post-17901846318765723562010-05-07T20:05:00.000-07:002013-06-11T16:18:10.953-07:00M is for Malibu<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ-04jgAMOi3ftxH24DlkC3qyl0J_n2iKfL0VpJIhMOk48mLfKcy9mBOIUvpzI5LS7xFTIsfSwBD9kIrNp9JmoDSV44df38EtPDpTKD0r7rkAYyI5YBKZwq1OMrpsxTZ_APmT1Buis0Uyj/s1600/springbest.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468739516106748226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ-04jgAMOi3ftxH24DlkC3qyl0J_n2iKfL0VpJIhMOk48mLfKcy9mBOIUvpzI5LS7xFTIsfSwBD9kIrNp9JmoDSV44df38EtPDpTKD0r7rkAYyI5YBKZwq1OMrpsxTZ_APmT1Buis0Uyj/s640/springbest.JPG" style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt;" width="640" /></a><br />
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Leaving California tomorrow for London, England. This state is so relaxed, it tends to defer all my nasty feelings about America. Actually Americans are quite nice, despite the occasional ignorant comment that flees from their mouths. I actually had a guy tell me that the white man in America is a minority and that they should receive special treatment. It took all I could muster not to karate chop him! I politely informed him that until he tries to live life as a minority female in North America he needs to zip it. He did.<br />
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I'm staying at this beautiful house situated 2000 ft above sea level, in the mountains above Malibu. It's on 15 acres of land, the precipice of which drops off into a giant canyon <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI6e-RBXSR9txpdM2zUNS5P9EjaSIpiyt_AeBJnNyWrKtCIdi0pbTk37HiXBhzEIJGudA9RVgLQB-50k0PKw9V9_xNS8zqijvUrBCJwQY7E3Xc_7ekyZsNpEOyOZDg3dCAxartaLiDrzzG/s1600/railing.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468743384261381378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI6e-RBXSR9txpdM2zUNS5P9EjaSIpiyt_AeBJnNyWrKtCIdi0pbTk37HiXBhzEIJGudA9RVgLQB-50k0PKw9V9_xNS8zqijvUrBCJwQY7E3Xc_7ekyZsNpEOyOZDg3dCAxartaLiDrzzG/s320/railing.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 240px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 320px;" /></a>of pre-historic proportions. If I want to write, I sit on the edge of this canyon and stare at the ocean far, far in the distance. When I leave, the vast sense of being I feel there remains with me for several days afterwards.<br />
I haven't yet had the chance to sit by the ocean on this trip, as we've been busy celebrating my day of birth and imagining the future. Oh well, there's always next time.<br />
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I did head into Hollywood for a bit, wandered down the ritzier part of Melrose. Saw an amazing photo exhibit at <a href="http://www.paulsmith.co.uk/">Paul Sm</a><a href="http://www.paulsmith.co.uk/">ith</a>--the photog's name is<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lillian_Bassman"> Lillian Bas</a><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lillian_Bassman">sman</a>. Actually her pics caught my eye from the street. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5BxvT-1ZOfVCgb3YhPORA4Uh9ARG2GX8gAsXnHUkaiq0AHwWXZD6HIwJ2QcRx5oTfUerKtVGwNFi83qgjhVKEBqsGLWHB9rEukdal5AlKgWAQIac8QR8u-G1KCopXQWvIw1z5AHYQ-3_B/s1600/Bassman_5.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468735878909282818" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5BxvT-1ZOfVCgb3YhPORA4Uh9ARG2GX8gAsXnHUkaiq0AHwWXZD6HIwJ2QcRx5oTfUerKtVGwNFi83qgjhVKEBqsGLWHB9rEukdal5AlKgWAQIac8QR8u-G1KCopXQWvIw1z5AHYQ-3_B/s320/Bassman_5.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 236px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 320px;" /></a>Stark, elegant and beautiful.<br />
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Had dinner the other night at The Sunset Tower in West Hollywood. This place is most famous for housing the likes of Howard Hughes, John Wayne, Elizabeth Taylor, Bugsy Siegel and many, many others. Very old Hollywood. All the waiters were hot young men and the food was delicious. I looked around and found myself among many a movie star grazing on lobster tacos, tuna tartare and bacon-wrapped dates. It was a good night.<br />
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Just a few more pics below for your viewing pleasure. My favorite part about being out here is the foliage. Everything is in full bloom and teeming with life.California dreaming indeed...<br />
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MayaBastihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05088888648134199611noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7913676234815968653.post-91570720331644732382010-05-03T16:11:00.000-07:002013-06-11T16:16:21.168-07:00The eve of departure<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5qbu7En1CZaOHhAWvBk3moBG21vf8kRyLNOrYL9QuAYywc7V7qG0QHsPmmY8FLbLtGssAGxGdDmCzz5B16P402LsqmLHyyQh8MvD-Ev2yMFYnkCPyIECElRjlnnYlULs6_qOABnackZ87/s1600/lastdays+057.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467209693494921778" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5qbu7En1CZaOHhAWvBk3moBG21vf8kRyLNOrYL9QuAYywc7V7qG0QHsPmmY8FLbLtGssAGxGdDmCzz5B16P402LsqmLHyyQh8MvD-Ev2yMFYnkCPyIECElRjlnnYlULs6_qOABnackZ87/s320/lastdays+057.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 320px;" /></a>This time tomorrow I will be officially jet-set, hopping on several planes over the next few months.<br />
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It's been a long time coming, as I was scheduled to leave in December...but I'm glad that I've had this time to truly appreciate all the things that I'll be missing. In a couple of hours I will be dropping off the Kira-dog at her new home, a very warm and friendly place.<br />
I've shared six years with this little soul - and she's seen me through the worst of it with a loyal consistency and a mixture of concerned looks combined with gentle, comforting nudges.<br />
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There's a certain kind of bond that forms when a bachelorette owns a dog. Before her, I had never really known what it was like to nurture something. I'd kill every houseplant I touched, I owned a bird, a fish and a hamster that all turned up dead and I preferred to spend more time away from my boyfriends, then with them. In short, caring for Kira has made me a better person.<br />
I don't know how I will say goodbye, so I'm consoling myself with the fact that there will be a new life to nurture soon, my own.<br />
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First stop is Malibu, California. I've been spending a lot of time in this beautiful place and I can honestly say that I love it as much as I love the Eastern Hemisphere, if not more. California has an easy vibe that a gal could get used to, plus the oceans and mountains always give me a sense of how small I am in the bigger picture of things. Whenever I look at the ocean, tears automatically spring forth from my eyes and I feel so bewildered by the resplendent grace of nature. I can't wait to see it again.</div>
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MayaBastihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05088888648134199611noreply@blogger.com0