Travel Opinion

An Ode to Street Photography and How it Has Made Me a Better Traveler

My mother gave me perhaps the best photography advice I’ve ever received: “When you see everyone taking a photo in one direction, turn around and shoot in the opposite direction.”  She gave me that advice for a wedding I was about to photograph.  But my mother had become my photography teacher long before when we first started wandering the streets of Mexicali, Mexico together in the 1980s.

Peggy in the backyard in Bloomington, Indiana
My mom took this photo of me in our backyard in Bloomington, Indiana, when she was pursuing her master’s in photography.

We had fairly recently relocated to El Centro, California by way of Bloomington, Indiana, where my mother had gotten her master’s in photography. She was eager to keep practicing her craft, and the urban capital of Baja California, Mexico, just a few miles away across the border, was the perfect opportunity. It was an ideal setting for her to work on her hip shot photography, a technique in street photography where you “shoot from the hip” instead of putting the camera to your eye and alerting your subjects that you are taking a photo. Many of the famous street photographers at the time were known for their work in urban areas of the United States and Europe, but not so much in Mexico.

el-centro-yellow-cab
El Centro, California and neighboring Mexicali, Mexico may be neighbors, but are very different places. Mexicali has a population of 690,000 and El Centro has a population around 44,000.

I was very young at the time, around six, and neither my mother nor I spoke any Spanish. We would wander the streets of Mexicali in the daytime, me eying the many window displays we passed, hoping my mom would buy me a little gift in exchange for cooperating with our long walks, and my mother busily focusing on the often chaotic environment around us as she took her photos covertly. We crossed back and forth over the border on foot, lucky to have the privilege of our United States citizenship to cross with relative ease, and the assumed lack of threat or culpability of a young white American mother and her child were also on our side.

Mexicali, Mexico hip shots
This is one of my mother’s hip shots that she took in Mexicali. Click the photo to view the album.

It was meant to be that we were able to cross so easily into this city that was so close yet so different, because the work my mother did was very unusual at the time – and is now unusual again for different reasons – telling stories of the lives of citizens of Mexicali that had not often been told to a U.S. audience. Some days she’d also lug her large format camera across the border and wander into neighborhoods where my mother would charm her way into people’s homes and take their portraits. I would wait for her outside, and the children would try to talk to me, and then tease me when they realized I didn’t speak Spanish.

Simultaneous Moments
These are my mother’s large format photos. Click the photo to view the album.

When I look back on our mother-daughter adventures with ten years of solo travel under my belt, it dawns on me that those formative trips to Mexicali have probably affected my approach and passion for travel and photography more than I ever realized. Following in the spirit of my mother and her hip shot photography, my camera amplifies my curiosity about my environment, encouraging me to be content wandering a city instead of checking off a bucket list, and being drawn in not only by the buildings, art, and views that I pass, but also by the people around them and how they are interacting with each other in these spaces. I am so grateful to have had this rare opportunity as an American to acclimate to being comfortable outside of the U.S. at a young age, a gift that has supported me time and time again.

peg-and-mom-mexicali
My mom and I just a few years ago on a trip to Mexicali just for dinner – no long walks this time.

A great benefit of these uncertain times, where travel and exploration are indefinitely on hold, is the opportunity for artists to work on their craft and organize previous works.  My mother has happily embraced new technologies, and you can view her work on Flickr by clicking here or on the images above.  I’ve embraced a platform that is photographer-friendly called Steller, and have recently put together a collection of some of my favorite street photos in Italy.

Couple on the beach in Cervia, Italy
This is a photo I took on the beach in Cervia, Italy. Click on the photo to see the rest of the collection in my Steller story.

But my love of street photography isn’t just limited to my own work – I take great joy in taking in an exhibit or a book of street photography. Unlike other forms of art where composition can be a dominant element of the work, street photography’s dominant element is often storytelling. I love seeing a street photographer’s photo for the first time that appears, at first glance, forgettable, which is an alert for me that there’s a really good story there for the finding. And then I take the time to figure out what story the photographer found in this photo, and what story it is telling me. They often aren’t the same story, which is beautiful. Some of the most memorable street photography exhibitions I’ve seen have been at Fotografiska (The Swedish Museum of Photography), in Stockholm. But there is also a wonderful photography museum in my home base, the Museum of Photographic Arts, in San Diego, that exhibits incredible work.

One of my favorite street captures: A pair of girls on their way home from school, sharing gossip in front of the Ferragamo headquarters in Florence.

I wrote this article this week because the art of street photography is partially supported by the belief that everyone has a story to tell, so there are infinite quantities of stories to be found in every person we see when we are walking on the street. In this period of tumultuousness and disconnectedness, embracing an art like street photography and the idea that strangers, friends, and perceived enemies alike have an important story to tell, is a way that art can help bring us back together. I hope you’ll take some time to give some street photos a longer look. And maybe even give it a try yourself, when the time is right. Sometimes, shooting from the hip can be a good thing!

Finding Our Joy Until We Can Travel Again

One of the habits I’ve adopted in this strange period we are living through is daily mediations through an app called Insight Timer.  I was perplexed a few days ago by a meditation about joy, led by teacher Carrie Suwal.  She kept repeating, “joy is not conditional,” but I’ve always felt the opposite, feeling joy triggered by something beautiful, like a flower. Or a work of art like a song steeped in memories, an incredible painting, or a play.  And in my favorite way: traveling in a special place.

_MG_3583
Our charming Roman Guy guide at the Colosseum in Rome.

I trust that teacher Carrie is correct, and that with a good amount of work, I could find myself achieving joy someday no matter where I am or what I’m doing.  But even though joy shouldn’t be conditional, it usually is. And so I’m having a good deal of trouble finding joy without being able to rely on the triggers that aren’t so accessible now and for the forseeable future.  And with rumors flying, like one I heard about international travel to Europe not being expected to return to normal levels until 2023, my personal need to build new joy triggers – and I imagine yours, too – is acute.
Luckily, joy slapped me in the face yesterday, in the best of ways, by a premiere performance by The Old Globe, which was only accessible for a short period due to contractual obligations. Which has inspired me to curate this list of ways for those of us that love travel – especially cultural travel, and traveling in Italy – to find joy until we become fluent in creating it for ourselves.  I’ve focused this list on people, places, and things that you might not have already been exposed to, imagining you’ve already heard about major cultural outlets’ offerings, like the much-referenced Uffizi virtual tour.

1. Teleport yourself to London in Shakespeare’s time by joining in on The Old Globe’s artistic director’s weekly celebration of Shakespearean sonnets on YouTube.  He’s a Shakespeare scholar and these weekly talks have been generating quite a buzz.

2. Take part in the Italian Renaissance with Renaissance art historian Paola Vojnovic’s talks, interviews, and master classes! I got to know Paola in the year I lived in Florence, and she is someone adept at inspiring joy.  Learn more about everything she has coming up here.  And if reading is something that gives you much joy, take a look at Paola’s book recommendations (scroll through the photos for titles) that will surely make you feel like you are in Italy.

3. Next, head over to Venice with travel writer and longtime Venice expert Monica Cesarato’s Instagram live series called #VeniceMeets, usually held on various days at 6pm CET, noon EST and 9am PST.  Learn more on Monica’s Instagram profile.

4. Travel throughout Italy via Italian cinema and the well-curated selections of the San Diego Italian Film Festival.  They are hosting regular virtual discussions, and give detailed direction on accessing a great selection of Italian film (all offering English subtitles) via various streaming services.

5. I’m new to the app, Steller, even though it has been around a while.  It is giving me much joy perusing the stories from faraway places, like the Netherlands, or places that feel a bit closer to some of us, like the Muir Woods. And finally, my first story about my favorite city, Bologna.

6. Finally, how about something as simple as finding a way to incorporate music into your life more regularly? I’ve decided to cut down on listening to news broadcasts, and instead, spend  more time enjoying my favorite music.  I’ve dug up old playlists and albums that I listened to during different periods of my life.  The songs transport me to nights in Bologna, long walks in New York, and parties in Pittsburgh.  I forget how much joy good music gives me until it becomes an important part of my life again.

While those are my current favorite outlets for finding joy, I’m so interested in what you’ve found that is making you happy these days.  Please do share in the comments section so we can continue to grow this list!  In the meantime, take care of yourself, and enjoy!

Take a Chance on Bologna

A typical vacation in Italy is usually dominated by stops in Rome and Florence, and possibly Venice and the Amalfi Coast.  But Rick Steves offered some wise advice that inspired me to write this for you: if you only visit a country’s major (and popular) cities, you’ll miss a glimpse of what the culture of that country is truly like.  If I can convince you to amend your Italy travel plans to include at least one city that is not mentioned above, my work here is done.  And my first suggestion is Bologna.

Bologna, Italy's two towers.
The center of the historic center, below Bologna’s iconic “Two Towers.”

I’m slightly biased because Bologna was my home for nearly five years.  When my master’s program at Carnegie Mellon University offered me a chance at a second degree at the University of Bologna – touted as the oldest university in the world, but I’ve heard rumors that it is the second oldest – I jumped at it, which would mark the first time I was in Italy as an adult.

Bologna, Italy's two towers light up in the late afternoon sun.
A different perspective on the two towers in the late afternoon sun.

As an American, it was hard for me to grasp the size of Italy until I lived there.  Smaller than my home state of California, Italy’s geographic accessibility makes frequent travel very doable, especially because Bologna is in the north central part of the country, making it a major travel hub for accessing the east and west coasts, and for traveling north by train or bus into other European countries.  My numerous weekend trips exposed me to the striking diversity of culture and cuisine within the relatively small geographic area, a reminder of the youth of the nation, unified in 1861.  It was my travels to the towns, cities, and countryside of Italy that helped me understand what made Bologna so unique.

Bologna, Italy, alive with crowds enjoying the weekend.
Bologna becomes alive with crowds enjoying the weekend when the streets are closed to traffic in the historic center.

Boasting the world’s oldest university means Bologna is the world’s oldest college town, and if you’ve ever visited a college town, you know they often have a sort of different feel.  The university has affected Bologna more than we’ll ever know, from the arcades you walk under that were added to support the expansion of the upper levels of buildings toward the streets to provide more housing for the students, to the graffiti you see on the walls; so many of Bologna’s signature characteristics are byproducts of the college influence. 

A portico with graffiti of a hand in Bologna, Italy.
Creative graffiti in Bologna.

Bologna is known to Italians as the city of “la dotta, la grassa, e la rossa,” which translates to “the learned, the fat, and the red.” The politics stemming from the professors and students making up much of Bologna – “the learned” – differ from most of Italy, resisting fascism and supporting communism for many years.  This is where “the red” comes into play, but some believe “the red” also signifies the beautiful tone of the architecture of the city, which shines red if you ever look at photos taken from high above the city from one of its signature towers.  And “the fat” predictably signifies Bologna’s famous rich cuisine.

A woman takes a photo out the window of a cathedral tower with Bologna's historic buildings in the background.
Bologna’s historic buildings shine red.

As a vegetarian and not so inclined to Bologna’s typical meat-centric dishes, my favorite food memory in the city of “la grassa” is sitting outside on a sidewalk patio of the famous Tamburini along one of the tiny streets in the historic center on a Sunday, and enjoying people-watching, medieval architecture, a bottle of Lambrusco or Pignoletto, and a platter of regional cheeses (and cured meats and mortadella for my non-vegetarian friends), accompanied by tigelle, which are unique circle-shaped flat rolls typical to the region. 

Tigelle and meat on a platter, typical of Bologna cuisine.
My friend’s portion of tigelle and local cured meats and mortadella.

After dinner, there is no shortage of bars and clubs to fill up your night and into the wee hours of the morning if you so choose, as the large student population has also influenced nightlife, making Bologna known as the city of the night. 

Crowds fill up Bologna's historic center going to local restaurants and bars.
Crowds outside of the historic Osteria del Sole in Bologna’s historic center.

You can also just grab a bottle of wine or beer at a small market and join the students sitting and socializing in the gorgeous piazzas.

Two men walk through Bologna's Piazza San Francesco at night.
Piazza San Francesco is argued to be the most beautiful piazza in Bologna.

Ultimately, it is Bologna’s environment that won my heart over.  Bologna’s architecture is among the most beautiful I’ve experienced in Europe.  After living in Florence for a year and returning to Bologna, I found myself treasuring the portico (arcade) lined streets even more, marveling at the different styles of porticos. 

A man standing below a distant portico in Bologna looks up and away.
This photo is one of my favorite examples of the contrast of types of porticos in Bologna.

And even though I’ve passed them hundreds of times, I will still take the time to admire Bologna’s towers caught in perfect light. 

Tourists look up at Torre Prendiparte in Bologna, Italy, adorned with spring flowers.
Torre Prendiparte is now a B&B, and is tucked away in the heart of Bologna’s historic center. I sometimes change my route just so I can walk by it.

Some of the towers are open to the public, which give you a chance to catch a view of “la rossa” from high above the city. And the beautiful environment doesn’t stop at the city’s architecture.

Tourists and locals walk to and from the Santuario della Madonna di San Luca on the long set of steps adorned by porticos.
The final steps on the journey to the Santuario della Madonna di San Luca are the steepest.

Enjoying the famous hilled countryside is as easy as making the popular five-kilometer walk from the historic center on the winding, portico-lined sidewalk to the Santuario della Madonna di San Luca – an icon of the city of Bologna – where you can pay a small fee to enjoy the lookout from the back of the church over the stunning countryside.

Rolling green hills dotted with trees and a distant lake are just outside Bologna's urban historic center.
When standing in Bologna’s urban historic center, it is hard to believe that this beautiful hilled countryside is just a few kilometers away.

I hope this small introduction to Bologna will inspire you to pay a visit to this beautiful city, easily reached by plane, train, bus, or car.  If you are interested in learning more about specific destinations and activities to pursue in Bologna, try visiting the hyperlinks in the article to reach my Instagram and blog posts with more detailed descriptions, or visit one of my other posts linked below.

Traveling from Home

Our current homebound way of life is undeniably tainted with mystery.  I find myself questioning the end of quarantine as I wonder about reaching the end of a rainbow.  Above all, in these uncertain times, I can’t help but send my heart out to those that don’t have a home to retreat to, or those who have a home that poses a threat to them in some way.

Rainbow in North Park, San Diego
A rainbow after a recent rainstorm from a window in our condo complex in North Park, San Diego

I am grateful to be healthy, safe, and comfortable at home, as I hope all of you reading this are, as well.  And as many of you can probably also relate to, one of the biggest dampers on my spirit is not being able to travel, and even worse, not even being able to confidently plan future travels.
Italian pizza flag San Diego Siamo Napoli
Friends who run a local Italian restaurant, Siamo Napoli, made a pizza honoring Italy’s COVID-19 battle on the last night they were open to the public.

Each passing day seems to bring contradictory information from government officials and scientists alike, rumors, and worst of all, the turning over and over of my own mind, lost in the lack of distraction.  The “COVID-19 scare,” as my favorite morning radio host has been calling it lately, makes it uber-challenging to stay positive about the prospect of international travel in the foreseeable future.
North park bandanas
A nearby vintage shop in North Park with a sense of humor.

Instead, like many of my loved ones and probably many of you, I’m loving the delicate joys on my daily neighborhood walks,
Wildlife in North Park, San Diego
Wildlife around every corner.

including the bird that pooped on me mid-flight – I’ve heard it is good luck – and observing the subtle and not-so-subtle transformations of the neighborhood, North Park, San Diego, where I’m currently perched.
A North Park church offering drive-thru confessions.
A nearby church is offering drive-thru confessions.

I’ve dedicated myself to cooking my way through my new Indian cookbook, Fresh India by Meera Sodha, cleaning and organizing, daily meditating with my Insight Timer app,
Spring in North Park
Welcoming spring on my daily walks has been a great joy.

and tending to my new indoor plant friends, who are my only living company if you don’t count the occasional fly that makes it through the screen or the little worms that occasionally make a cameo in the fresh herbs from the market.
I often catch the bunnies sunbathing when I walk in our Old Town, once saturated with tourists and now empty.

I have to admit, guiltily, that with acknowledging the gravity of the deaths, sickness, sadness, isolation, despair, anxiety, fear, frustration, and boredom that have come with this pandemic, I am also grateful for this “pause” on life to catch my breath and check-in with myself.  I’ve pursued a double life for many years: two continents, Europe and North America, and two professions, travel and theatre.  Isn’t it easy to get caught in the current of life until you finally make it out and ask yourself, “Why did I get out?” or “Why did I stay in for so long?” and “By the way, where am I?” (A little existentialism never hurt on a Thursday morning in quarantine, right? Ha!)
San Diego Repertory Theatre COVID-19 closing
The theatre I worked at for many years ended performances and shut its doors.

Meanwhile, I’m taking the opportunity to dust off a myriad of memories and photos of adventures that were tucked away for safekeeping.  Some long ago, like magical Berlin, and others recent, like boisterous Puerto Vallarta.  I was caught in the current for a long time, moving too quickly to download these adventures, but I’m sitting on the shore now, enjoying the pause, and putting them back together.  Because, in actuality, we all really can travel now. With our imaginations. Anywhere we’d like to go.  No one can stop us from that – we are bound only by the limits of our own creativity.
Chalk painting in North Park
A family diligently and creatively paints a North Park sidewalk with optimistic chalk designs.

I hope a few anecdotes and intriguing snaps from my travels will inspire your traveling daydreams from the comfort of your own homes.  New adventures coming soon.  Hope to see you then.
In the meantime, if you have some extra time on your hands, start traveling now with a few of my most beloved travel adventures:

And a personal favorite of mine, especially for artists and lovers of art:

A White Florence

Today, on the first day of spring, Florence got its snow.
_MG_1220_reduced
Tuscany is not a region of Italy where snow falls very often, so the flurry of white flakes has brought a bit of uncertainty and a lot of joy to all of us.  Without much means for cleaning up after the snow, roads and sidewalks were slippery, and subsequently, schools and some public offices were closed.
IMG_1359
Walking through the city, it felt like a Saturday, with families and couples enjoying the day together.
_MG_1279_reduced
Children and dogs alike rejoiced in the snow;
_MG_1142_reduced
and parents offered their creative solutions for making the most of their children’s fun in the snow.
_MG_1167_reduced
Today was a long workday for me and my work partner,
IMG_1396
so we took advantage of being out and about
_MG_1128_reduced
and dodging snowballs
_MG_1304_reduced
on this special day in Florence, that gave us a new perspective on the sites we’ve become so accustomed to.
_MG_1080
The winter wonderland was fleeting, nearly all but disappeared before the sun went down.
IMG_1476
But the memories, and lots of photos, will last forever…

Vlog: Gracefully Global Goes to Ireland – A celebration of music on the Emerald Isle

My time in Ireland this year developed in me a love for the Irish that will never go away. Of the many qualities I fell in love with about the Irish is their love of music, poetry, and performance.  This was the connection to my family heritage that I subconsciously sought after.  My grandpa was a first-generation Irish-American and a paid actor in FDR’s Works Progress Administration.  This video prompted my dad to tell me for the first time that my grandpa had also been a singing waiter in Brooklyn.  The pieces of family history are slowly but surely coming together, and I thank my time in Ireland for a lot of that.

Since leaving Ireland, I’ve told so many stories of the special nights in the Irish pubs with locals singing and dancing, that I drove up a bit of demand for sharing the beautiful music and performance that I experienced. So, I decided to make my next vlog be a focus on the music I experienced during my trip.  This is my edit of the sounds from a few of my favorite performances I witnessed, which I paired with video I took on my phone of some of Ireland’s beautiful landscapes. I hope you enjoy, and I hope you make it to Ireland soon.

Oh, and don’t forget to turn your sound up!   🙂

My first backdoor experience at the Colosseum

I must admit, as far as travel experiences go, visiting the Colosseum never ranked highly on my list of favorites.   Until recently, that is.  The mass confusion entering the Colosseum and the stress of dealing with their stringent yet non-communicative ticket office, followed by feeling pretty much like one of a million sheep, and not much to do once inside other than take selfies or watch other people take selfies really downgraded the experience for me.
When my extended family came to visit Rome and asked me to help them organize their trip, I was struggling my way through the Colosseum website and thought, “There must be a better way.”  And entered, The Roman Guy.  But more on that later.

Frankly, Colosseum ticketing options are not ideal.  I’ve had first-hand experience through my work managing on-site logistics for groups of American and Australian university students with CISabroad.  Often we opt to pay the reserved group entry (which is an additional cost on top of the ticket to enter).  The group entry has its own entrance a bit closer to the metro stop than the single ticket entrance, but, ironically, there is always a line at the reserved group entry, and eventually, this “special” entrance converges with the non-reserved single ticket entry line.

A small part of the line to get into the Colosseum.


Being fairly disillusioned with the group entry options, I eventually decided to try arriving early with one of my groups and give the unreserved entry line a go, only to find out after waiting a half hour that I was prohibited from purchasing more than 12 tickets at a time.  I’m not sure how I would have known this rule in advance, but whatever the case, now I finally understood the need for reserving the otherwise unhelpful group entry in advance.
The final solution for entry into the Colosseum is to purchase your single tickets online in advance and print them out at home.  Then when you arrive at the single ticket entry line, you have access to a special line for people who purchased online, which moves a bit faster.

All that to say, there isn’t really an ideal solution.  Until I finally rolled up my sleeves and was determined to find a better way.  That’s when The Roman Guy came in.  The Roman Guy sounds like one guy, but it is actually a robust Italian tour company based in Rome.  They have a lot of different tour options for exploring the Colosseum with a guide such as Colosseum underground and floor tours.


The idea of having someone else manage the craziness of getting us into the Colosseum was reason enough for me to book, but the tour also resolved my other primary disappointment with visiting the Colosseum: the lack of information about Colosseum history available to visitors.  Having a trained guide would really open up the experience for us, giving us the narrative that would make the place come alive.
The day of our tour arrived, we met our Roman Guy guide, and everything started out smoothly and normally.  But then everything was suddenly different.

The backdoor entry to the Colosseum was empty other than us.

We passed the mobs of people waiting in the three lines I had mentioned, kept walking around to the back of the Colosseum, and stopped in front of a back gate.  I was flabbergasted.  There was no one at this back gate.  Our guide simply called the name of the guard, he came over, opened the door for us, and we walked into the Colosseum.

HALLELUJAH.
Instead of the typical mixture of stress, anxiety, and annoyance that I carry with me after finally getting through all of the hurdles to enter the Colosseum, we merely just walked in.  I was in heaven.

We then proceeded to walk onto a deck perched just above the floor of the Colosseum.  Every trip I’d made here, I’d seen people on this deck from the other side, and always wondered what this magic place was that was not accessible to us.  Well, now I finally understood.

The view I usually have, without a guided tour, of the exclusive access area to the Colosseum.


This area was regulated by Colosseum staff, and only a certain amount of visitors can be there for a given amount of time (20 minutes or so, maybe a half hour), meaning there was plenty of space to move around and take pictures.  Since The Roman Guy is registered with the Colosseum, they can reserve this special entrance onto the Colosseum floor (and other restricted access areas), and bring people in through the back entrance.

I was such a happy camper that I took a rare selfie.
My stepbrother with his wife, his brother-in-law, and his parents-in-law.


We had plenty of time (and space) to take photos, and then our sweet Roman Guy guide, an archaeologist, started explaining the highlights of the Colosseum history.

Our sweet and knowledgeable guide had great visuals to accompany her talks.

We walked around nearly the whole Colosseum together, up to the second level, then ducked here and there, finding shade, water, and places to rest, as she explained fun facts.  My favorite trivia was about the female gladiators.  I had no idea they existed!  We also learned that the ruins across the street were ruins of a gladiator training school.  So cool.

We had a lot of fun. 🙂


The second part of our tour took place across from the Colosseum at the Forum and Palatine Hill, where we learned about the fascinating Virgin Vessels, and our guide showed us where Caesar was cremated.  I’d been to the Forum many times but had never noticed the tiny sign that points out this incredible history of the temple, now partly in ruins.

The Roman Forum is so incredible it doesn’t seem real, but there are no historical explanations so we were so glad to have a guide.


I had a few favorite moments, including when she pointed out a piece of what would have been a massive statue, and now all that remains is a foot.  I wouldn’t have noticed it otherwise, and it is rumored to be good luck to touch the pinky so I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

Touching the toe for good luck.


The tour finally wound down, and our guide shared one last insight with us.  “Rome is like lasagna,” she said. “It is full of many layers, all of them worth discovering and savoring.”


I loved that moment, as it really made me think, and appreciate all the insight that this lovely archeologist guide brought to our experience that we would have missed if we had done it alone.  It is an experience that I won’t soon forget.

 
 
 

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.

img_5663_edited
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!

fullsizerender
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.

16299029_10104880780817971_1095230027063675986_n
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.”

img_6017
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.

img_5947
My wonderful friend Lindsay, who made the trip to Washington.

Being an American Abroad in 2017

I woke up New Year’s Eve day in a small guest room off of a coffee shop on the lakeshore of Catemaco, Veracruz (Mexico) to a large flock of birds chirping incessantly.

I decided to take advantage of my early rising and unusual lodging arrangement by sitting on the porch of the coffee shop and enjoying a cup of tea and the lake view (pity I don’t drink coffee because Veracruz is famous for delicious beans).  At the next table, a pair of men – also enjoying the porch – were switching their conversation between English and Spanish.  My German travel companion and I played the typical game of “guess the home country of the ex-pats/tourists without directly asking them.”  We thought they were German, as the owner of the coffee shop was a German ex-pat.

Eventually, my friend got up to use the restroom, at which point one of the men decided to introduce himself while his buddy was packing.  He was an organic pesticide salesman traveling for business, and taking a holiday break to visit the famous butterflies and this beautiful lake in Veracruz.  He was the sort of man who used a bad word every three sentences, but it didn’t bother me because someone once told me people who swear are more honest.  Which was ironic, considering our next topic of conversation, where the inevitable question arose:

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“El Centro, California,” I responded.  “You?”

“I’m Canadian!” he belted, his voice rising above the hundreds of chirping birds across the street.
Now, I’m no expert.  But this accent was not the accent of a Canadian.  Or rather, since I don’t know Canadian accents well but can certainly recognize an American accent, that was the sound of an American if I’d ever heard one.  Our conversation continued on into past experiences he had “visiting” Seattle, and how much his Mexican farmer clients supposedly “hated” Americans because of Trump.  Which was a bit of an “ah-ha” moment for me in deciphering the mystery of this man.  I had never experienced any animosity as an American abroad, but I was open to hearing his opinions.

We said a pleasant goodbye and my friend and I headed out to a jungle sanctuary for the afternoon, followed by a rambunctious New Year’s Eve celebration in Santiago Tuxtla, and finally, back to Mexico City.  God, I love that city.  I had such a great time in Mexico City (posts to come!), and truly enjoyed the Mexican people, above all else.  Often I felt safer as a solo female traveler than I do in big cities in Europe, as I was frequently surrounded by families, and felt a much more relaxed, considerate vibe.  That is, with one major exception.

_mg_9984_reduced
The famous fountain in the Anthropology Museum’s courtyard known as “el paraguas”, Spanish for “the umbrella”.

On my second-to-last day in Mexico, I found myself enjoying the Teotihuacan pyramids followed by an afternoon at the National Museum of Anthropology, one of the more respected museums in Mexico.  I was taking a rest at the museum’s restaurant, as I love myself a good museum café, when a bit of a ruckus fired up near me.  I don’t like to make assumptions, but what seemed to be a fairly affluent American family sitting at the next table was complaining about everything, and the restaurant management was making rounds to appease their barrage of complaints.  I was embarrassed, as I feel inherently linked to other Americans while abroad in a way I don’t when I’m in the United States.

Everyone sitting on the beautiful patio trying to enjoy their lunch heard the ruckus, and an English-speaking Mexican randomly spoke up: “Be careful,” she said.  “Stay in the museum.  There are riots, and they are after Americans.”
I heard her words, and I immediately went from trying to tune the scene out, to hanging on their every word. “My husband called me and warned me,” she went on.  “They are angry about the oil prices, and they are blaming Trump.  They are going after the Wal-Marts in the city, looting, because the store is American.”

As I quietly freaked out by slumping in my chair and frantically texting my German friend who works at the Goethe-Institut and is very connected to city happenings, the American family didn’t make any effort to hide their concern.  They went from table to table, asking for more information from anyone that would respond.  Nice Samaritans began googling local news sites, and a young man tried to calm them, “The United States Embassy is next door.  You couldn’t be in a safer place.  And if you want, you can call them, but you really don’t need to.”  The family spent the next half-hour on their cell phones, calling various people at the embassy.

_mg_0021_reduced
Hiding away in the Anthropology Museum, and watching other visitors take it all in.

Meanwhile, my German friend started getting answers.  The Mexican woman was right.  There was looting going on, and they were targeting Americans.  His local friends that knew he was hosting me had started to text him, worried about me and urging me to stay inside.  I spent a surreal few hours in the starkly quiet museum surrounded by ancient treasures, trying not to think about the potential chaos outside.  They finally closed and ushered us out, and I called an Uber to take me directly to meet my friend.  As we drove along, there were guards armed with semi-automatic weapons outside all of the stores we passed.

The night ended without incident, and I was even able to enjoy the historic center the next morning, despite the warnings of a few friends in the city.  I returned home to San Diego unscathed, but with a lot on my mind.
This was my first trip outside the United States where my president – or rather, the president on everyone’s minds – was not Obama, a president that I have never heard a negative word about in all my travels.  Admittedly, I have a limited perspective, as I didn’t travel much before the Obama administration.  Hiding away in the Anthropology museum that afternoon in Mexico City was the first time I’ve felt vulnerable due to my nationality and the international politics of my president.  And technically, Trump hadn’t even been inaugurated yet.  The words of the “Canadian” organic pesticide salesman began to resonate.

Whether we like it or not, however long or short our travels are, we are mini-ambassadors to the United States in every interaction we have.  Interactions that are now under the shadow of the Trump administration, an administration that has sent a clear message to the rest of the world that they are putting “America first.”  Whatever that really means – I don’t mean this to be a partisan issue – it is left to the interpretation of the receiver of that information, which we can’t control.  And in the case of the Mexicans, understandably angry about the rise in oil prices, the Trump administration was an easy bad-guy, a scapegoat for their woes.  But here I am, in their country, face-to-face with these angry people, and Trump is safely in the Whitehouse with men with semi-automatic weapons standing on his roof, protecting him.

I’m considering being “Canadian” as well in order to safely live my ex-pat life, the life that I’ve become so accustomed to over the last five years, a life I’m not ready to give up yet, but a life that has drastically changed shape within this new international political landscape.

I’m curious if any of you have had similar experiences abroad in the last few days, weeks, and months.  I would love to hear your thoughts, insights, and concerns.

Thanks for reading.

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.

Screen Shot 2016-04-25 at 12.37.18 PM
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.

all-imported-832_7431682422_o
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.

img_7235_7444542254_o
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.

Screen Shot 2016-04-25 at 12.37.44 PM
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.

saved-photos-307_8715266895_o
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.”

Screen Shot 2016-04-25 at 12.36.37 PM
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.

IMG_7393
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!