Author: Gracefully Global travels

Stepping Into Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera’s Mexico City

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It is hard to imagine that two artists alone could make an indelible mark on a city that would sustain for decades, a century, or more.  Yet Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo’s legacy in Mexico City – the fifth largest city in the world – is still very real and tangible.  As a photographer, theatre artist, and arts advocate, I feel at home in cities that embrace art, and Mexico City is no exception.  I relished every opportunity on my recent trip to experience the Mexico that Rivera and Kahlo knew and loved, taking in their art and visiting their homes and haunts.
In fact, I dedicated an entire day-and-a-half of my Mexico City vacation to my immersion into the world of Diego and Frida.  Here’s where I went:

Museo Estudio Diego Rivera y Frida Kahlo
Calle Diego Rivera 2, Álvaro Obregón, San Angel Inn, 01060
+52 55 8647 5470
The home and studio of Diego Rivera where Frida Kahlo also lived and worked for many years, famous for its incredible architecture by Juan O’Gorman.
Time needed: 1 to 2 hours

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San Ángel Inn
Calle Diego Rivera 50, Álvaro Obregón, San Ángel Inn, 01060
+52 55 5616 1402
Across the street from Diego Rivera’s home and studio, the pair were known regulars at the bar in this gorgeous inn.
Time needed: 1 to 2 hours



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Museo Frida Kahlo
Londres 247, Del Carmen, Coyoacán, 04100
+52 55 5554 5999
La Casa Azul, Frida’s childhood home and where she lived for much of her adult life, made famous by the film, Frida.
Time needed: 2 to 3 hours
Tip: Reserve your visit online in advance!  Otherwise, there is a good chance you won’t get in.

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Leon Trotsky Museum
Rio Churubusco 410, Coyoacán, Del Carmen, 04100
+52 55 5658 8732
Trotsky, a Soviet Marxist revolutionary, was granted political asylum in Mexico in 1936 due to his fans, Frida and Diego, urging the president of Mexico to do so.  He and his wife lived at Casa Azul until his affair with Frida made things dicey, at which time he bought his own house just a short walk from Casa Azul, which is now a museum.
Time needed: 1 to 2 hours

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Palacio Nacional
Plaza de la Constitución S/N, Centro, Cuauhtémoc, 06066
+52 55 3688 1255
The seat of the federal executive in Mexico, this gorgeous federal complex is worth a long visit.  Part of the visit will be to take in Diego Rivera’s famous murals adorning the exterior walls of a major stairwell and several hallways.
Time needed: 2 to 3 hours
Tip: Allow extra time to check in with security.  They require a picture ID.  It would be a good idea to combine this visit with your visit to the historic center, zócalo, and cathedral.

If you are interested in seeing more of Diego’s artwork, this blogger outlines where to find other Rivera murals in the city.  Another museum to check out is the Anahuacalli Museum, built after Rivera’s death to house his huge art collection.

Stay tuned for blog posts outlining each of my experiences.  I’ll be starting with the moments of my adventures that stood out the most at Diego and Frida’s home and studio.

Call me Jane: Adventures in the Los Tuxtlas jungle of Veracruz, Mexico

I woke up in Veracruz City on the second to last day of 2016 having no idea I’d be going to bed that night in a jungle.  Our hostel owner at the Oyster Hostel in Veracruz moonlights as a tour guide and is passionate about the many offerings of the dynamic state of Veracruz, especially the region of Los Tuxtlas around Laguna Catemaco which was our destination that day, compliments of his comfy mini-SUV.

We spent much of the day in the car, winding through the rural countryside of Veracruz on our journey to Catemaco, making pit stops along the way at a famous Cuban-style cigar factory, and a humongous waterfall.  The people-watching was as good as it gets.

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There was “animal watching” too, unfortunately.  I witnessed a group of turkeys standing in the rain along the road, very malnourished and somehow given up on life as their owner tried to hawk them to passing cars.  That was depressing.

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But Catemaco wasn’t.  We had no idea what to expect, which is somehow the best of ways to approach a new place. After arriving, we spent the rest of the late afternoon exploring Laguna Catemaco on a boat owned by a friend of our hostel owner.

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From land, the scale of the lake was impossible to recognize, as the lakeshore was lined by trees.  But when we actually got on the lake, I was overtaken by the size.  We sped along on the boat so quickly that the bumps of waves we hit started to feel like concrete speed bumps that sent us flying, over and over again.

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We explored every corner of the lake, from a lakeshore stop for volcanic mud face masks offered by the wife of our boat guide outside the vacation home of the owner of the cigar factory,

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to the sunset stop to drink water from a hole along the lake where naturally carbonated water comes up from the earth,

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and finally a pause in our boat to roll along the small waves of the lake for a few minutes and watch the monkeys on a small island.

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My favorite moment was turning the boat to the west and darting off into the sunset, as the least bashful of the monkeys watched us disappear while peeling a banana another boat had thrown at him.

We went to bed that night in one of the two guest rooms off of a coffee shop.

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I showered with no hot water and went to sleep hoping the thousands of birds that populated the trees along the shore wouldn’t wake us up too early.  Luckily, I woke up surprisingly refreshed the next morning, the last day of 2016, and enjoyed talking to the other guests over breakfast.  They asked what our plan was for the day, and I told him we were exploring the Reserva Ecológica de Nanciyaga, which is supposedly the most visited fee-based attraction in the region of Los Tuxtlas.  In other words, there weren’t many other options.

The reserve’s name, Nanciyaga, comes from the Nahuatl language and means “at the end of the Nance trees.”  I did some research on the area, and the discontinuous rainforest belt of Middle America reaches its northernmost extent on the mainland in southeastern Mexico.  Apparently, the forest in this region is not a rainforest, though, and is instead considered to be a moist forest.

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Ha!  Whatever that means.

We easily found a taxi to drive us the beautiful four-mile stretch along the lake to the reserve, the same route we had taken by boat yesterday.

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I was apprehensive about what we would find at the nature reserve, bracing myself for potential encounters with caged, unhappy animals, which happens sometimes when groups market themselves as sanctuaries to increase tourism.

When we arrived we were the only ones in sight other than the nice woman at the wooden ticket booth.  I don’t remember how much we paid to get in, but it was around five dollars each, and maybe even less.  After paying, the woman waved us toward a young man carrying a tall stick, who turned out to be our volunteer guide.  Instead of letting us wander around on our own and get ourselves into trouble, this young gentleman took us up and down the winding dirt paths and through a history of the ancient Olmec culture, and a bit of a background on the wildlife that call the Los Tuxtlas Biosphere Reserve home.   

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The ecological park is a self-sustaining property made up of ten acres along lake Catemaco including a mineral spring (Nipapaqui natural hot tub), a tiny lagoon for swimming, small bungalows that  accommodate overnight guests, and a wonderful open-air restaurant serving three meals a day to guests, but closing at sunset for those not staying on the property.

Really, though, there was so much more to the property than expected, which we discovered through our sweet young guide.   We stopped along the dirt path as we encountered random replicas of Olmec sculptures he used as talking points.  Highlights of the property included the temazcal (sweat lodge), which is actually functioning,  and group treatments are scheduled throughout the month.

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As a theatre person, I loved their outdoor amphitheater.  And then, of course, I was shocked-but-not-shocked at the wall of printed photos of guests in mud baths, mixed with pictures of celebrities.  Apparently, parts of Medicine Man (1992) with Sean Connery and Lorraine Bracco, and Apocalypto (2006) with Mel Gibson were filmed here.  The owner, a woman, is happily pictured in a photo with Mel Gibson.

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After enjoying the photo wall, we entered the wooden structure and found ourselves in a small but clean and lovely open-air salon.

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My friend enjoyed a mud face treatment, while I purchased the dried mud and some patchouli soap to take home.  Folklore claims a princess used to cross over from a neighboring island to use the mud in this region to beautify herself.  I took that as a strong hint I should be doing the same.

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Once my friend’s face was thoroughly green from this miracle mud, we left the salon to discover rows upon rows of tied leaves laid out for us to select from.  I was bewildered, as everything was in Spanish, so it was becoming a bit hard to keep up with all the surprises.  I followed my friend’s lead, green face and all, as he picked up a leaf and dipped it into a bucket of water.  To my surprise, the leaves were watertight, and the water was carbonated.  I took a gulp from my leaf cup: the water had a familiar taste, and I wondered if they pulled it from the same hole we had drunk from the evening before.  This was the first time, and possibly the last, I had drunk from a leaf. So far, so good.  I was thoroughly charmed by our jungle adventure.

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But the surprises didn’t end there. The handy leaf cup maker, a nice young woman, asked if we wanted to have a “White Magic” treatment.  I wasn’t aware of this at the time but later discovered from the mother of great friends of mine near Mexicali, Mexico, that this region of Veracruz was famous, or perhaps infamous, for its traditions of magic.  My friend and I decided to participate together, and we spent a thoroughly unusual but surprisingly pleasant five minutes being swept with leaves as our white magic doctor chanted and prayed around us.  At the end of the ceremony, he presented us with a clay ceramic face on a ribbon to wear around our necks, that he had blessed for us to ward off the spirits.  I keep it in my purse.  I figure I need all the help I can get. ;b

Our adventure continued alongside an algae-filled lagoon inhabited by more than a few crocodiles and turtles, with a fence separating us humans from these prehistoric-looking characters.  They were as still as statues.

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 And the turtles perched along the long wooden logs looked like a cartoon.

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Along with these guys, the area is apparently known for rich birdlife, including toucans and parrots, which we saw from a distance.

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In 2003, a few Howler monkeys were reintroduced in the reserve which apparently did well.  We saw a large iguana and babies.  And we didn’t see any unhappy animals.  I was relieved.

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Our tour wound down, and our guide showed my friend where to wash off his mask.

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Bowls of fresh patchouli leaves adorned the sinks, and our guide smiled and encouraged me to use them as my soap.

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I loved them: the fiber seemed to scrub my hands clean and left a wonderful scent.  We tipped our guide nicely as he handed me back my soap and mud that he’d carried, and we bid each other goodbye, at which point we were let loose in this little paradise!  I was thrilled.  It was lunchtime, and lunch at the open-air restaurant seemed like a perfect idea.

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We talked to a chef who managed the dessert bar, and she showed us some of the traditional cakes that they offer, tempting us to leave some room for later.

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We enjoyed a thoroughly relaxing, delicious lunch on the lakeshore, a beautiful piñata blowing in the wind above us.

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After lunch, we made our way back up the winding dirt paths to the wooden ticket booths and asked the woman to call us a taxi. While we waited, we chatted with the volunteer guides waiting for the next visitors to arrive. They were local students and all very proud to be a part of the reserve.

The visit couldn’t have gone better. I’ve promised myself I will return, and next time I will stay at the reserve. Full of good energy, happy people, and happy animals, this is the type of place I want to go to remind myself how much there is to appreciate in life, despite our everyday stresses and challenges.

And until my return, I luckily have quite a store of mud mask to tide me over. I put it on and pretend to be the princess of Catemaco. 🙂

For more information on Nanciyaga, visit this helpful website apparently maintained by an American ex-patriot not affiliated with the reserve.

Repurposing On The Right Side Of Travel And Fashion

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This week’s photo challenge, Repurpose, is inspiring me to share an object I’ve repurposed, and continue to use every day in my travels throughout the U.S. and Europe.

Traveling doesn’t afford the luxury of taking any object in your possession for granted.  Each and every piece that you carry with you is evaluated on the basis of size and weight.  And if either of those measurements outweighs its worth in any capacity, that object has got to go.

Until I began traveling full-time, I loved “stuff.”  While I wasn’t anywhere near the hoarder level of holding on to stuff, indeed, I couldn’t throw away a postcard or a receipt if my life depended on it. My idea of a fun weekend activity was going to a home-decor store and picking up a throw-pillow, or two.  Or maybe a doorstop.  Or a fruit bowl.

Nowadays, that life couldn’t be more foreign to me.  I don’t even own a pillow, let alone a closet.  I work as an educational travel coordinator, and I live from hotel room to hotel room, and when I’m lucky, my parent’s spare bedroom.  If I want it, I have to lug it.  But therein lies the rub: I can’t give up my passion for fashion.  So, despite the fact that I live on the road, I continue to have a lot of clothes, shoes and accessories.

My accessories were a mangled mess,  tangled and mixed up to the point that I was only wearing three or four pairs of my own earrings.  Yet, I continued to lug around the whole collection.  What a waste of energy, and potential fashion opportunity.

The solution came not a moment too soon from my pioneering, Pinterest-loving, high school friend Giovanna.  Over brunch one Saturday she said, “Peggy!  Haven’t you seen my travel board?  Pill organizers!”

And the rest, my friends, is history.  My ears are no longer neglected when I’m traveling.

Speak Out: How I Am Helping Make My Country Great, and How My Country is Making Me Greater

When I started this blog, Gracefully Global, I meant it as an evolving study on how to be a traveler, gracefully.  That is, to cherish and respect the cultures that we come upon as we learn about and interact with the world through our traveling ways.  Somehow, the political turmoil of this month has felt like a big slap in the face for many of us who value other cultures and exploration, no matter what our political identity.  In the face of the daily barrage of political news and the persistently changing landscape of our government, I almost feel like I should be cutting up my passport and never leaving my house again.
Luckily my passport is still intact, as, surprisingly, I’ve experienced some major positives as an outcome of the events over the last few weeks that I never would have seen coming.  Two positives, in particular, are keeping me motivated and steadfast in my beliefs and in working to maintain my optimism for whats to come.  So I’d like to share them with you.

I feel connected.

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Marching together and writing postcards together! The fight continues. 🙂

The fact that I am writing this post now is a testament to the higher engagement I’ve experienced online and in person over the last few weeks, connecting with friends, acquaintances, and strangers alike.  Not to say all of the connections have been positive, but they have all certainly been illuminating.  Life somehow feels more interesting when you delve down a bit deeper to what makes each other tick, doesn’t it?  And with connection, and a deeper understanding, it seems the sky is the limit on what could happen next.

The standout occasion for this connectedness was, of course, the women’s march, an incredible wash of positive energy, and a unique, historical moment of togetherness.  Peaceful and optimistic, women of all shapes, sizes, ages, religions, politics, you name it.  We were all there, and even better, we all seem to agree on the quality of this experience.  I made a video about our experience at the San Diego march.

And the connectedness continues.  I read a Vogue article about advocacy that I immediately trivialized as being too “beginner” in its advice.  But really, it was perfect.  It suggested that we organize groups of friends, colleagues, and acquaintances to work together on political advocacy goals.  I don’t know why I originally thought of the article as overly simplistic.  A few hours saturated with of frustrating political news later was all it took to change that thought, as I was fired up and the Vogue article suddenly seemed genius.  I reached out to some friends, and we’ve already had our first meeting!

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My college roomie holding up her stack of postcards.

The friends that agreed to participate in these meetings are the women from each of my life’s major adventures that have stood out as the no-nonsense, powerful, empathetic, energetic, intelligent people that made life feel better.  We met in a cozy, neighborhood café in San Diego.  There were a few new faces, friends of friends, who I was thrilled to welcome.  We enjoyed our food, and rolled up our sleeves and started writing Women’s March postcards to our political representatives.  We cracked jokes and strategised.  Laughed and shouted (the café staff were really patient with us, thankfully).  It was exactly what we needed, after starting the evening feeling rather helpless and overwhelmed, politically, and each leaving that evening with a stack of postcards covered in the ink of our thoughts and concerns, and addressed to each of our political representatives. If meeting together these ten times for the 10 Actions/100 Days movement serves only to give me a bellyache from a good laugh and some updates from my favorite people, then so be it.  That would still be a win in my book.  And, ironically, the action for the current 10 Days is forming huddles, just as we have done, which we realized on the night of our meeting.

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Writing postcards to our political reps!


The other equally significant outcome of this rollercoaster of a month is something that I never saw coming:
I feel comfortable calling myself a feminist again.  

As much as I’ve changed as a person over the last few decades, I’m realizing that I really haven’t changed that much.  I’m still that gal that took gender studies my freshman year of college, and started making my own t-shirts in the first versions of Photoshop with whatever deep feminist theory was on my mind at the time.  Which I wore to the annual feminist theatre production I produced at UCSD.  As I’ve increased in age, I’ve learned to “tone in down.”

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My beloved godmother. Let’s just say, this wasn’t even close to being her first march.

I can’t put my finger on exactly what caused my current change of heart. I surmise that Hillary, Pantsuit Nation, and our participation in the largest protest on American soil – a women’s march – has something to do with it.  I hope that feminism can now achieve for politics what it once was criticized for not achieving for itself: bringing together women of every background, united in our quest for ethically minded government leadership.

That’s the lemonade I’ve managed to squeeze so far, and I’m expecting a lot more of it to come.  So I hope to have many other positives to share, soon, as well as more reports from our meetings!  In the meantime, I’d love to hear from you.  Have you felt more connected, more feminist, or anything else that is personally positive?  Thanks in advance for your thoughts!

I wrote this piece to join others in the WordPress hosted conversation, Speak Out.

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My wonderful friend Lindsay, who made the trip to Washington.

Bologna: the city of nighttime.

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As the host of the oldest university in the western world, Bologna has been a second home for young people from across Europe for centuries. And with the saturation of young people comes the inevitable nightlife of those who don’t have morning meetings and people depending on them to make breakfast.
I’m one of those students that made my pilgrimage to Bologna, only to be charmed by the nighttime energy of this city. Only in Bologna does coming home at 3am on a Saturday night feel early.  After five years of this, I’ve finally learned to prioritize my favorite places, and cut my nights short so I actually come home before sunrise.  Sometimes.
The energy of the city is visceral, and therefore photographable.  Instead of always wasting my nights away in laughter and Italian wine, I’ve started shooting instead.  Or at least, taking a few minutes to shoot on my way home, ha!  My new lens is a f/1.8, and the results have been fantastic.  I hope you enjoy my meanderings through the streets of Bologna, seen below.  And stay tuned for a vlog coming soon, featuring interviews with Bologna’s best bartenders!
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Vlog: Country Mountain Getaway in Callicoon, NY

As I continue on with my late-summer East Coast travels – which will soon turn into my early-fall Italy travels – I’m barreling on with my vlog production, hoping to bring at least one of these to you per week.  This particular vlog is near and dear to my heart: it documents a special weekend trip to a family mountain home in the Catskills that has been an annual occasion for more than ten years.  But decades before this group made the tradition, it was the summer home of my friend’s great-grandparents, who were the matriarch and patriarch of a great family and legends in their own right.


I felt fortunate to be included this year with this group of friends, many who have known each other since childhood.  Some of them see each other regularly throughout the year, and some become reacquainted just once a year here in Callicoon.  I came to get to know them through a close friend from graduate school and his husband at the annual get-together this past Labor Day, and I felt both totally included and like an observer all at once.  Which makes for better vlogging, in the end.  Hope you enjoy our trip through Labor Day in the Catskills.

Experiments in Vlogging: Northampton, MA

I feel like I have nine lives on WordPress: I disappear for a while, but I always manage to make it back.  While some of my favorite alone time is spent reading blogs on WordPress, I’ve jumped into the world of education travel coordination with CISabroad, and coordinating faculty-led university student tours of Italy takes every last bit of energy out of me and leaves no time for blogging.  That being said, I love my new job, and as I travel I’m developing more perspective and knowledge on what’s out there to share with you all.


I’m elated that I’ve finally gotten a little break from work, and last week I went to visit the home office of CISabroad, which is located in the beautiful college town of Northampton, MA.  I have a beautiful new iPhone now with lots of memory (since I dropped the last one on its face and it lives no more), and I’m taking advantage of the great new lens on this iPhone and plenty of storage to start vlogging, as I’ve been aspiring to do for years.  So here it is, friends, my first vlog in several years.  Hope it takes you into the world of beautiful Northampton.  And I hope you enjoy it!  Here’s to many more…
 

Happy Mother’s Day to my mother, the artist

My mom sometimes worries – as many moms do – that she hasn’t been the best mom.  But “best” in this case, as in every case, is just relative.  Who in this case would be the definitive judge of all moms in terms of being “the best?”  Donna Reed? Michelle Obama? Angelina Jolie?  The idea of a “best mom contest” is kind of hilarious, maybe because it is such a personal role.

True, my mother was not waiting for me when I got home from school with freshly baked cookies.  Or tagging along on my school trips. Instead of living her life through me and my activities, my mom was pursuing her passion for art, and bringing me along on that ride of discovery.  I can think if no better way of learning about life and living than through art, and for that, my mom is the best mom, for me. 🙂

When I was in her belly in Togo, West Africa, she was scouring the African beaches for the most beautiful shells, and taking them home and sketching them.

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My mom with me as a newborn on the steps of our home in Lomé, Togo, West Africa.

When I was a toddler, she was pursuing her masters in photography at Indiana University and using me as her model as she experimented with large format photography.

When I was in grammar school, she was forging new artistic territory in our border home in Southern California, setting up photography exhibits of her hip-shots in Mexicali and large format photography of Mexican families.   She would often bring me with her to Mexico when she was shooting.  Even as a six-year-old I would get nervous crossing the border, and worry that I would forget where I was born when the border patrol agent asked me.  She would always patiently remind me.

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Another one of my mom’s classics, this one of me and my cousins.

When I was in high school, she was working long hours as a newspaper photographer, documenting the stories that needed to be told in our low-income community.  She would bring me along on stories she knew I would especially love, like watching baby pigs be born late one night, and visiting a buffalo farm.

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My mom shooting the desert outside my hometown.

She painted in the little spare time that she had.  Now, my mom’s art is sculpting the environment of her backyard, a garden oasis in the desert.

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A recent shot of this year’s spring blooms in my mom’s garden.

I thank my mom for giving me a love and ability for art both through nature, and nurture.

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One of my mom’s beautiful shots of her garden.

But better yet, the drive behind my mom’s pursuance of art is perhaps the best qualities she has – curiosity, passion, intelligence, and independence.  Having had a mom that waited for me to get home every day would have given me a lot of security, but instead I was given something that I think I needed more.  Independence and curiosity are instrumental qualities for being a successful traveler and photographer, and I don’t think I would have ever been able to realize my life of traveling without these skills my mom taught me as a role model and as her apprentice.

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My mom enjoying shooting for fun on a trip we took to London.

So on this day I hope my mom, and all moms, know how much they have given us, and can challenge themselves to enjoy that, without worry or doubt, for at least the twenty-four hours of this awesome day, Mother’s Day.  Happy Mother’s Day Mom!!

Italian Liberation Day in Bologna


Today is a special day in Italy. A holiday from work, a day spent relaxing with family and friends, enjoying the new season of warmer weather, and remembering the close of a dark period in Italian history.

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The Cineteca’s Instagram account from this week posted historical photos of these days 71 years ago, including this huge crowd on the streets in the center of Bologna.


April 25 is known in Italy as the Anniversario della Liberazione d’Italia, or the Anniversario della Resistenza. It was during these last weeks of April, 71 years ago, that one by one the cities of Northern Italy successfully renounced 20 years of fascist dictatorship, and five years of war. A friend of mine equated it to the 4th of July in the United States, as what was happening 71 years ago in Italy created the momentum for what would officially become Italy as we know it today, the Italian Republic, when the constitution was signed in 1948.

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A day of sunshine in Piazza Maggiore, Bologna. This is where some of today’s festivities take place, and where they took place the very first time.


As an ex-patriot living in Italy, these holidays always catch me by surprise. Growing up in your own culture, holidays are tied to so many memories and anticipating them is second nature. But when you are living outside of your culture, none of these triggers exist and life from one day to the next is just one huge learning lesson.

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Late afternoon sun in Piazza Maggiore.


Even though I’ve lived in Bologna for several years already, I’m still learning. I just found out from a friend that Bologna is an important destination for Italians celebrating this holiday. The city is full today – it is very exciting.



As an American, it is hard for me to understand the impact of a war happening in someone’s own backyard, and therefore, the significance of a holiday dedicated to the end of such a war.

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Another historical shot from Cineteca’s collection: A happy group celebrating 71 years ago in Piazza Maggiore.


I’ll never forget the afternoon that my English student, a Bologna police officer and a lover of history, showed me something in Bologna’s central square, Piazza Maggiore, that changed the way I look at this hub of activity and concentration of precious architecture in the center of the city.

We took a familiar path toward the piazza, one that I had walked hundreds of times, and he stopped me just as we were stepping up onto the center walkway.

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Piazza Maggiore during a night spring rain.


“See here? Where the stone is missing? Do you know why it looks like this?”

I looked around. Strange, he was totally right. There were chunks of stone missing along this shallow curb that I had never noticed. But it wasn’t like that around the whole walkway, as far as I could see.

“Weird, I never notice,” I responded. “Why is it like that?”

“The tanks,” he responded. “From the war. They would damage the stone when they were rolling up onto the curb to go to the center of the piazza.”

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From this photo posted by the Cineteca, you can see one of the tanks he must be referencing.


I was flabbergasted. The war seemed so long ago, but this visible damage to the piazza in front of me made it so tangible. “Why didn’t they ever fix it? It has been so long!”

“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “Maybe they want to remember…”

In honor of today, I paid a visit to that curb, and took this picture. Turns out I wasn’t the only one with this idea. The gentlemen on the left side of the photo were doing the same thing. You can see the same clock tower in the background here as is pictured above the tank in the historical shot.

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Visiting the broken curb in Piazza Maggiore today.


I’m discovering a little bit more every day how rich our pasts are, and how much there is to be found just below our footsteps.  And most of all, I’m grateful to be included in today’s important festivities on this day of liberation in Italy. Here’s to many more to come!

Traveling the Earth and Loving it.

I have a bit of a guilty conscience about the traveling I do.  I think about my carbon footprint growing each time I get on an airplane. Trips to protected national and state parks also weigh on my conscience, reminding me of how fragile these ecosystems are, as their protection comes for a reason.  In the same way, time spent on incredible beaches not yet visibly polluted by mankind feels like a luxury, yet at the same time, a responsibility.  On the other hand, I am grateful for improvements in transportation that not only help us but also help the environment, like the wonderful train system in Europe, where each train service has a way of reminding me how much more environmentally conscious train travel is in respect to other options.

Overwhelmingly, though, my travels give me a simple love for the world, which I am celebrating today on Earth Day along with many of my fellow bloggers.  The diversity and scope of this earth is hard to even compute in a logical way,  and I am grateful to have my camera lens to use as a way of sorting through and putting together all of the pieces of our wonderful world.

The first pieces of my discoveries are those moments in my travel adventures that have been so big that they’ve taken my breath away, such as the enormous mountain landscape in the Rocky Mountain National Park,

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and these giant trees that seem to almost dwarf the Washington Memorial,

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or me emerging from Piazza San Marco and taking in the Adriatic Sea in Venice,

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the valley that I love that falls below Assisi, which must have been such an inspiration for St. Francis,

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the feeling of seemingly being on top of Rome,

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the drama of the Italian Dolomiti,

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the landscape of Utah,

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or just a simple bend of the road on Highway 101 south of Santa Barbara that opens a whole other world.

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Along with the “wow” moments are the moments of serenity that have given me the time to reflect on just how amazing the world can be, like Ojai’s incredible “Pink Moment” that I’m lucky to witness every year at the Ojai Playwrights Conference,

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or the island of Ponza’s incredible sea,

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and the beautiful countryside in the center of Salzburg,

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and the equally enjoyable countryside just outside of Ben Wheeler, Texas,

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as well as at the Chiemsee lake in Germany,

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and Lake Como, Italy,

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and at home in El Centro, California.

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Perhaps my favorite moments on Earth are the ones that just grab me and make me happy to be alive, almost as if I’ve stepped into a bit of heaven, like here on the Lincoln Highway in Pennsylvania,

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and at these enchanting gardens outside of Castelfranco Veneto,

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and on my way down to the sea in Cinque Terre,

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enjoying lunch with some of my favorite people in the hills of Bologna,

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at the Mirabell Gardens in Salzburg,

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taking in mountains and public art in Trento, Italy,

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and the cherry blossoms blooming at Lake Como, Italy.

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In addition to all of the glee and appreciation that I get from discovering all there is to appreciate about the world, there are also a lot of times when I am saddened by what I’m seeing happening to the earth.  Luckily, I know I’m not alone in my frustration.  These moments really overtake me when I’m visiting the big cities on the sea like Naples, where so much of the beauty is obscured by smog and buildings,

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or when I’m reminded what’s happening under the sea,

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or finding trash covered beaches in Puglia that makes me wonder what our American beaches would look like without the great volunteers and public money that keep them in better shape,

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or finding big pieces of waste where you least expect them.

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But my travels also show me what we are doing right.  I am very respectful of the diligence that many Italians have with recycling all of their trash meticulously.  Or the absolute attention that the Austrians give their environments, inside and out.  And the hard work of architects to incorporate our necessary buildings into our beautiful environments. When it comes to architecture, I can think of no better example than Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater in Pennsylvania,

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and in Siena, Italy, I experienced a similar harmony which was gorgeous, whether purposeful or not,

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and not forgetting about the work of artists like this one on exhibit at Art Basel in Basel, Switzerland, who did such a great job of projecting our love and fascination with the creatures under the sea,

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or these locals in Cesenatico, Italy, who created their own respect for the sea – the city’s economic livelihood – as a public art display for all to enjoy.

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I hope that what has come through the lens of my camera has brought you a little bit of the emotion that these discoveries have brought to me…as well as a little reminder of what Earth Day means and the challenge in and importance of preserving these incredible places.  Thanks for reading. 🙂