Oh the places you will go!

"Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You're off to Great Places!
You're off and away!

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself 
any direction you choose.
You're on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the girl who'll decide where to go."

        Three years ago I made it a goal to see a wonder of the world every year.  It actually was a New Years Resolution.  It gave me a way to measure my progress and an easy way to choose the places that I would visit next.  So, of course, first up...?  The Colosseum in Rome.  This elliptical amphitheater made of stone, stands in (most) of its glory nestled in the center of a huge, bustling city....with a birth year of 80AD. Second up?  Macchu Picchu. And it was the mother of all trips in 2014.

         It started off as one of two options, Chichen Itza being the other because of proximity.  That was until he found roundtrip tickets for under $800 to Lima.  So that was that.  We were going to Peru and had 6 weeks to plan this trip.  Have you ever looked into traveling to Macchu Picchu and taking the trek?  To give you a little bit of an idea....they suggest to book SIX MONTHS out.  It was safe to say that the Classic Inca Trail was sold out.  We opted for the second most popular....Salkantay.  We had 16 days in Peru and decided to rough it for the first half and splurge for the second.  No point in staying in a resort to then go trekking for 5 days...you know what I mean?  Now the prep for trekking is an adventure all on it's own.  I had check lists on checklists: 50 liter bag, hiking boots, thermal socks...my gear went on and on.  I didn't even leave the country yet and I was a G in the hole...not including airfare and accommodations.  But boy was this going to be worth it....right?  Right.  I talked to as many people as I could regarding this trip.  People assured me that I would be able to do it....it wasn't easy, they said.  But they also didn't say it was HARD.

           Upon touch down in the capital Lima...I was welcomed into a grey city.  I must say, I was a bit underwhelmed.  None of the food wowed me, the pisco sours were a bit more sweet than sour and the culture was not as apparent in the city.  Sure, we found a good hole in the wall and an out of the ordinary, funky, hipster (not in a bad way) bar and hung out with some cool people that were also staying in the same hostel...but nothing so impressionable that I am running to head back.  After two nights, we make our way to Cusco which was much more colorful in culture, people and food.  Hot desert days and freezing cold nights.  The city is incredibly small and saturated with travel and adventure goers alike. But not in a bad way.  Cusco is the starting ground for the trek so you get a culmination of different types of people, with different backgrounds and very different lives...but there was one thing we all had in common, the open-mindedness to learn from the world.  A 4am wake up call to start the trek is rough...we climb into a van with a couple from Chicago who will also be doing the trek with us.  Then, we pick up a 21 year old guy from the Sweden who was simply wearing jeans, a sweater and a scarf.  It's snowing outside and we can't shut the car windows because it fogs up the windows.  So here I am, with 2 pairs of socks, two pairs of pants, a tank, tshirt, sweater, jacket, scarf AND a blanket wrapped around me...and Alex is chillen in a pair of jeans and loafers.  Wtf?  How cold is it in Sweden?  When we finally get to the starting point of the trek, it's beautiful.  So serene and natural.  Our mule drivers, which includes a 7 year old boy, load up our big packs and get ahead of us.  The six of us, two couples the guide and Alex, then begin an adventure on foot too late to back out on.

            The elevation affects almost me immediately.  I mean, what was I expecting?  I got altitude sickness in Denver.  I mean...DENVER.  C'mon. Shortness of breath was the first sign.  We climb, and climb, and climb...roughly about 15,000 feet above sea level.  And it gets significantly worse, significantly fast.  This was by far the hardest physical thing I have ever had to do, ever.  I couldn't breath and I felt like I had needles in my lungs.  So with every short breath I was able to take, it was paired with a pain in my lungs that caused a lightheadedness I've never known.  I was dizzy and nauseous.  Panic attacks shortly followed.  The combination was brutal.  All the while having to hike up, up and more up.  I lagged behind because I physically could not keep up.  I didn't want to keep up.  I wanted to quit.  and I cried.  Inside, at first.  Then, behind my sunglasses.  Then finally to him.  I cried because I was so frustrated with myself.  I cried because no matter how hard I wanted to do this, my body was telling me, "No, you can't".  I cried because I was not doing well....not only that but I was dead last.  It was discouraging.  I'm not saying that I am naturally good at everything that I do..but I am also NOT saying that.  And this was only the first day. Then, finally...I gave up.  I sat down crying and told him I didn't want to do it anymore.  Not only DID NOT....I COULD NOT.  I wanted a horse and I was going to wait right there until I got one.  He told me there was no horse...but he's crazy.  I read that  fuckin' contract and it said in an emergency they would provide a horse.  Well, this WAS a mother fucking emergency.  And in the middle of my ridiculousness...in that very moment and in all the moments to follow in that day, he couldn't be more loving, gentle and supportive.  With me the whole way, we took it 5 yards at a time, helped me thru my breathing when I couldn't do it myself, and with encouraging words I finally made it to camp. I could not have been more in love with him than in those moments.  I got to play the whole day back in my head and to myself.   I thought, "he would make a great coach".  Coach.  That was my first thought.  Not "father" or "life partner" but "coach".  Guess that says a lot.  Back at camp we slept between snow capped mountains on the plateau of someones land on yoga mats and in individual sleeping bags.  My day terror slowly turned into my nightmare.  I woke in the middle of the night and I could not breath.  Have you ever had that sensation before?  To open your eyes gasping for air....but no matter how hard you tried, you just could not get enough air in?  It's like being buried alive.  Or how I imagine it would feel.  He wakes and tries to talk me down from my hysteria.  I get my breathing back in order and I notice my feet were frozen solid.  I actually had to unzip my sleeping bag and hop into his.  Mind you, these were single person sleeping bags that I hardly fit in....let alone 2 people.  Then, wrap a sweater around my feet and throw my sleeping bag on top of us.  I was miserable and this was MY idea.  I paid over a thousand dollars to live like a homeless person when I could have paid half the amount to have a luxury bus with wifi take me all the way to the top.  I could not believe it.  But it's the journey.....not just the destination.  Wake up call for the consecutive days were roughly 5am.  We'd hike for about 10-12 hours a day.  We hiked in every climate and every season.  Descending a few thousand feet a day made all the difference in the world.  It was now easier for me to enjoy the nature around me and the adventure that I was on.  What an experience.  When we finally got to Macchu Picchu, it was all worth it.  Every step, every tear.  Watching the fog lift from this magical place was a dream.  I still can't believe I did it.  I fucking did it.

     The next day we fly up to Mancora, a beautiful beach town with French flair. The bed and breakfast, EcoLodge, is an oasis.  I can't believe I get to shower...in a open stone shower, at that.  I am not high maintenance by any means....but I did realize I am semi maintenance.  We have them do our laundry...not that I need any of my hiking clothes for this beautiful beach town.  Upon waking, they serve you a 3 course breakfast on the outdoor dining table next to the infinity pool.  We read our books and sip our coffee and basque in the sun.  We eat ceviche beach side everyday at Los Delfinas.  We wine at Atletier.  He surfs.  I swim.  We dive with tortoises.  And all is right in the world again.

      I never got to thank you for that day.  I was too busy hating you the other days (sorry about that).  So, thank you.  Thank you for being the coach I needed to achieve one of my 7 dreams.

So with 2 down and 5 more to go, the question is where to next?  Will I be able to stand in the ruins of Chichen Itza.  Or fall in love with the Taj Mahal.  Or walk any of the 5,500 miles of the Great Wall.  Will Christ the Redeemer welcome me with open arms? Perhaps, marvel amongst the rose stone walls of Petra.  One thing is for certain...I have exactly six months to figure it out.  And I don't plan on wasting anymore time.

  

April is a promise that May is bound to keep

     My birthday month has officially come to an end.  On the last day on April, I boarded a plane to return to my second home and revive my second soul.  When you travel alone, you have a lot of time to think.  To re-evaluate your life...what you did, what your doing and what you want to do.  I told myself that this trip would be a perfect time to reflect.  I'd be spending many hours alone and would be forced to organize this mess in my head. First, I am 32 now.  So what did 31 bring?  What have I learned and who taught me these lessons?  Did I teach anyone anything?

     I will say, 31 was a get back year.  It was first year home and I had reverse culture shock like a son-of-a-gun.  While I was busy traveling the world and falling in love with places and people, I was also exhausting my entire life savings.  Well spent, if you ask me.  So when I came home, I literally had $100 to my name and that was it.  I was living in my moms house, which has absolutely no space for me,  I no longer had a car and definitely no job and that meant no money.  And when you have no money, that means (almost) no fun.  So, first thing is first, find a job.  So I did that....and I hated it, so I quit.  Found another one.  Hated it more, so I quit.  Then I found another one...and I stayed. Stacked some bread so my savings account didn't feel lonely anymore.  I went back to school, too.  I learned that everyone stayed the same age, except for me. Second up, move back into the city.  Ok, check.  In the first 3 months that I was back and functioning like a normal human being.

     It also brought me a new relationship, which is now (already) over.  I now see how hard it was to teach someone about myself when I was still in limbo.  Even though I was back home in a place where I knew the streets, knew the people and was apart of the culture...I still dreamt of my other life.  I still dreamt in another language and still yearned for the newness of everything.  I was only half here.  I gave him 100% of that half...but it was still only half of me.  Will I ever get my other half back?  Probably not.  But I am ok with that now.  I am ok with knowing that this half of me is the new whole me.  I'm ok with teaching future partners that, yes, I do have multiple personalities.  I wear different hats.  I live in different ways.  I love in different ways.  And, someday, someone will fall in love with all of them.

     And of course, my month, my year and my life would not be complete without travel.  So 31 also brought me a new 7 wonder of the world.  Macchu Picchu.  That is a blog in itself so stay tuned for that incredible adventure.  It brought me Coachella for the first time. I mean, sure, I have to been to "music festivals" before but we called them raves..and they lasted a (whole) night instead of 3 days.  It was a girls trip, kinda.  I had a blast but I really don't think I would do it again.  Music festivals are FUN.  I mean, really really fun.  But damn, you need a vacation after coming back from one.  Palm Springs dessert and it was nice and hot.  The highlight of my trip was seeing Marvin Garrix.  I could feel the bass flowing through me and vibrating the tips of my fingers all the way down to my toes.  Standing in the middle of hundreds and hundreds of people moving at the same time on the same wave.  Eyes open, eyes closed...it's all the same.  That night, I decided to stay on campgrounds (even though I had a perfectly good bed and shower at the hotel) to get the full effect and experience of Coachella.  What can I say?  I do it for the ig cred.  The night met me with a sandstorm that ripped apart the site we were staying in.  I was baffled.  We were sleeping on air mattresses with one pillow and a sheet under a canopy.  When morning came, I hopped my semi-high maintenance ass back on the bus and showered the sand away.  While, again, I throughly enjoyed myself...I would much rather spend a thousand dollars on a plane ticket outta here...

  Then, I was able to go on my annual trip to Denver.  First night, I was able to go to the Bassnectar concert at the Red Rock Amphitheater. That place is AMAZING.  Being surrounded by the red rocks high above the city is unreal.  I got to buy some medicinal marijuana from a dispensary for the first time..completely legal.  They called it a "bar" and the people selling them inside were "bartenders".  It was an educational experience to say the least.  I got to go to a Rapids game where I fell in love with Kamani Hill and his 3 goals against the Dynamo. I got to meet my little nugget, Elli Lynn, who I fell in love with instantly.  I got to see my sister from another mister and brother from another mother, whom I miss dearly.  Hiking Red Rocks was a beautiful sight as well...too bad the pictures were taken by the ex.  Oh well, I'll just have to go back sometime soon.

 And of course, smaller trips were taken as well.  Me and 19 of my closest friends went to tahoe for a weekend and I must say, I don't know a group more fun then us.  And that is the truthiest truth you will ever hear. Last trip of the year, left a bad taste in my mouth.  I took a time out from Thanksgiving this year and decided to visit my, then, partners home town in Dana Point.  We arrived the day before Thanksgiving, right in time for his HS reunion.  And on that first night, I finally got confirmation on who I suspected he really was. I see your true colors shining through.  And boy, I not like them.  So there, at the reunion and on that first night....we broke up.  Made a helluva weekend tho.  Can you imagine?  Being far from home, away from family and friends, eating Thanksgiving dinner at a restaurant bar with a man who didn't deserve or appreciate you.  Joy.

And now I am welcoming 2015 with open arms and an open heart...and it hasn't been shaping up to be that bad either.  In the first two months, I ran away to Tahoe for a weekend, a couple of times.  I went to New York City to officially celebrate my birthday and to watch the oh so talented Mr. Stevie Wonder.  And I am closing my birthday month with a 16 day trip to Italy, Berlin and London.

So, thank you 31 for being my come back year but I much prefer 32.  And the best is yet to come....

  

    

The girl who reads

"Don’t date a girl who reads because girls who read are the storytellers. 

You with the Joyce, you with the Nabokov, you with the Woolf. 

You there in the library, on the platform of the metro, you in the corner of the café, you in the window of your room. 

You, who make my life so god damned difficult. 

 She insists that her narratives are rich, her supporting cast colorful, and her typeface bold. 

You, the girl who reads, make me want to be everything that I am not. 

But I am weak and I will fail you, because you have dreamed, properly, 

of someone who is better than I am. 

You will not accept the life that I told of at the beginning of this piece. 

You will accept nothing less than passion, and perfection, and a life worthy of being storied. 

So out with you, girl who reads. Take the next southbound train and take your Hemingway with you."

             Thank you Charles Warnke but I will keep my books and live out my fairy tale.  I will enjoy the sonnets of di Lentini and Shakespeare, the lyrical paintings of Austen and Dickens, and fantasize about characters who were my reality built by the likes of E.L James and S. Collins.  I will continue reading because dealing with reality is too much sometimes and I am much more comfortable when I am dancing around in my own head.  

             I don't regret reading fairytales that give me hope or encourage me to dream (and expect) big.  Because I have learned that I am worth it.  I give big.  I love big...and I love big back.  I don't think it's outlandish for a gal to think the chivalry is, in fact, not dead.  Because I witness it.  I'm lucky enough to know men who still open doors, still walk on the street side and still help their ladies put on their jackets.  And yes, I think that it is possible that friends become lovers and lovers become friends.  I enjoy the smitten, the glitter, the rainbows and the butterflies.  I love to hear about love...and I love loving even more. But I am also a realist and quite often times a cynic. Prince Florian may have given Snow White the true loves kiss but Anna and Elsa saved each other.  

       My story changes everyday.  The characters in my life change, sometimes, change more frequently than I would like.  My hearts been broken into a million pieces a million times....yet, I am still hopeful.  I still treat each new love as if the previous love didn't scar me.  Even though they have.  I still feel that romance is not dead, at least not with the right person.  I recently read, The Five Love Languages, by Dr. Gary Chapman.  It was prompted after a silly quiz I took on fb and in turn encouraged my, then, partner to take.  The idea was not received well, which sucked because we were already having problems in keeping each others love tank full.   After the break up, I decided to read the book anyway. I learned what went wrong in our relationship...why and how we were the cool couple who then became distant and nagging.  More importantly, I learned my language and dialect.  I learned that I have a secondary language and dialect.  I learned how I can better teach my partner on how to keep my love tank full. And in learning these things, I have also learned how I can be a better lover.  How to identify someone else's love language and keep their tank full as well.  

       So, Warnke, I'd advise the exact opposite.  Date a girl who reads....because a girl who reads is imaginative...in many ways.  She is adventurous.  She is ever growing and ever learning and will want the same for you.  She is not comfortable with the mundane or ordinary.  She will test her boundaries as well as yours.  She will keep you on your toes.  Keep you wild.  and keep you alive.  So, please, date a girl who reads and let her mind paint the most colorful stories for you.  Or better yet, go out and paint them together.

My challenge to you...

Benedetto sia 'l giorno, et 'l mese, et l'anno,
et la stagione, e 'l tempo, et l'ora, e 'l punto,
e 'l bel paese, e 'l loco ov'io fui giunto
da'duo begli occhi che legato m'anno;

et benedetto il primo dolce affanno
ch'i' ebbi ad esser con Amor congiunto,
et l'arco, et le saette ond'i' fui punto,
et le piaghe che 'nfin al cor mi vanno.

Benedette le voci tante ch'io
chiamando il nome de mia donna ò sparte,
e i sospiri, et le lagrime, e 'l desio;

et benedette sian tutte le carte
ov'io fama l'acquisto, e 'l pensier mio,
ch'è sol di lei, sí ch'altra non v'à parte.

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-Francesco Petrarca

This poem was written sometime in the 1300's by Francesco Petrarca to a woman named Laura.  He actually wrote 365 of them...about her.  Their eyes were the only thing that ever met. But in that instance, that split second....he saw her. 

Before leaving the states, I was told...DO.NOT.GET.MARRIED and come home soon.  Haha, I guess I am an obvious, hopeless, cynical romantic *shrug*.   So, roughly 10 months of me living in Firenze, I went on dates and dated because let's be honest....have you ever met an Italian man?  If you have, you know what I mean...and if you haven't, you should (or shouldn't.  I haven't made up my mind quite yet).  You are never actually sure about them but I guess that is the endearing part of it all.  Because, they are extremely truthful liars.  Oxymoron, yes, I understand.  It's one of those "you just gotta know" things.


Everything in Italy is a feeling.  I didn't get it at first...but now I do and it's hard to explain because...you just FEEL it.  The energy..the history...the beauty..the culture.  You can read as many books as you want about the place, shit, I did...but it will never prepare you for what you would actually experience while you are here.  Even if it is for a short period of time.  In every person I talk to...and let's face it, that is A LOT of people...you get a different interpretation of Italy.  The way they see their history and the leaders from past to current.You have the die hards that would never leave, you have the "wish-I-could's" and you have the ones with their plane ticket booked outta there.  I am lucky to know all three types of people. 

My girlfriend recently told me that she doesn't bode well with "surface level shit".  You know, the kind of conversation that you have with someone you just met.  Just some generic exchanges that help pass the time.  But now that I think of it actually, I guess it's not with just people you just met.  Have you ever known a person for awhile and one day it dawns on you....."I don't know one real thing about you"?  I feel like that happens more times than not.  But there...there, they asked me questions that knocked me off my feet.  On a first encounter, you can cover your hopes, your dreams, what frightens you the most.  Who are you?  Where did you come from?  And no, the answer was not: Nikko Bauti from San Francisco. I am a middle child and the only girl.  I come from a middle class, single parent, immigrant home.  I sat in cafes, sipping on espressos, opening my soul to a people who I have known for less than 6 months.  Watching this person...these people...cradle my soul carefully in their hands while I tell my version of my story.  Ever so carefully nodding with empathy and laughing when I got uncomfortable about certain things in my life so I made a joke of it. Everything is passionate here.  The need for human contact and real live conversations are just as vital as the air we breath.  When they spend time with you...THEY SPEND TIME WITH YOU.  They don't go to dinner to be on their phones.  They don't invite you over to browse facebook on their computers.  They don't have a deeper relationship with technology than they do with people.  And this is why I feel in love.

Coming back home, I made a valiant effort to not succumb to the overwhelming technology culture that we happily adopted.  I did well for awhile...even tried to ditch my phone.  But now, I sit here...typing away on my laptop about the love I have for making connections, organic connections, with real live people...all the while with facebook and gchat open on different tabs and my cell phone sitting next to me. I can't write you 365 love notes.  Or notes in general.  But I do yearn for the passion to WANT to do so.  What lit a fire in Francesco to do such a thing?  Because that's what I want again.

So my challenge to you is: Dump "how are you?" and adopt "When did you feel the most loved today?".  Don't let our interactions be generic.  Let me look into your soul and look into mine.  Tell me your nightmares so we can dream bigger together.