Stunning azure water, yachts gliding through the breeze, gated multi-million dollar estates balanced delicately above the sea. A place to aspire to, a place to be seen, Sintra's neighboring municipality of Cascais, is where Lisbon's high society spends luxurious summers and weekends.
What was once a small fishing village and summer vacation destination for the Portuguese Royal family was transformed in the 1930s when a casino was built. Perhaps you've heard of Casino Royale, as in Ian Fleming's James Bond novel? The book was based on this casino which subsequently turned Cascais into a playground for Portugal's high society and other European elite.
Portugal managed to remain neutral during WWII and as a result received many European exiles, particularly from Spain and Italy. In Casais, these former monarchs built sprawling seaside estates riding out the war in seaside luxury. With the beautiful weather and casinos, Cascais became Europe's new riviera.
Today, Cascais is full of luxury resorts and homes. Elaborate golf courses sit at the base of mountains, encircled by palm trees.
The descendants of the Portuguese aristocracy still call Cascais's 5th Quarter home.
Your sandals slide across the slick cobblestone. Navigating your way slowly uphill through narrow streets cast in mid-day shadows, you take in the sounds. From somewhere in the distance jazz music floats in the air, ethereal church bells trill, there is laughter.
Above, a piercing strip of blue cloudless sky. Flowers dangle from wrought iron balconies. Blue, white and yellow ceramic tile create an ornate and charming facade. You brush your fingers along the cool and surprisingly, not so smooth porcelain and smile- you've arrived.
With a name inspired by the Greek Goddess of the moon (usually pronounced Cynthia), Sintra, Portugal's second most populous municipality, with its high elevation in the mountains, seems the perfect monument to its namesake.
From your first moment there, breathing the crisp mountain air, taking in the stunning panoramic ocean views, it's clear that Sintra is a very special place.
Lush, green, vibrant and beautiful, Sintra was the summer home to Portugal's Royal family from the 13th century to the end of their reign in the 1930s. Palaces, stand as reminders. Pena Palace, a 19th century castle, built for Queen Maria II looms in the distance. In the center of town, the National Palace still stands as a monument.
In addition to hosting royalty, Sintra has the distinction of being the capital of the Portuguese Romantic Movement. During the end of the 18th century, Portuguese and European artists flocked to Sintra to draw creative inspiration. Among these artists were English poet Lord Byron and the Danish master of fairy tales Hans Christian Andersen.
Modern day Sintra holds tight to its aristocratic, literary and artistic past. Declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1995, one could get lost admiring the Moorish architecture and rich history. Wandering along narrow cobblestone paths, you'll find art galleries, ceramics studios, cafes, restaurants and wine bars.
If you're lucky, you'll be able to catch the Feira de Sao Pedro, a large market which occurs twice a month bringing together local artists, farmers and vendors. If you do happen to make the market, be sure to sample a queijada, a small cheese and cinnamon pastry torte, they're a tasty specialty in Sintra.
Sintra is a quick day trip from Lisbon. About 90 minutes by bus, it is well worth the visit.
One of the things I absolutely adore about travel is the likely hood that you'll run into something wonderful and unexpected. Such was the case, when we accidentally found ourselves smack dab in the middle of the Festival of the Iberian Masks.
The what?
The Festival of the Iberian Masks is relatively new, less than ten years old and is a joyous celebration of Portuguese culture.
Loud, bawdy and fun, it feels like a carnival of sorts. Participants dress in elaborate and colorful costumes and masks as they march, gyrate and holler in celebration of their shared story.
There were masks that resembled bull heads, there were masquerade style masks, and priest costumes. The masks and costumed dress served to preserve an individuals anonymity as they are allowed the freedom of expression. People used this to their full advantage as some marchers veered off the parade course interacting with spectators. One man, with a bull-horn mask, went so far as to head butt unsuspecting observers. It was all in good fun as he was met with shrieks of excitement and chuckles.
Even Ohm, who is afraid of clowns and big bird, laughed and clapped to the music and at the masks.
The parade marched down Terreiro do Paço, up Rua do Ouro (where we happened upon it), and into Praça do Rossio (one of Lisbon's main downtown squares).
What sorts of discoveries have you happened upon on your travels?
In a city bursting with restaurants, bakeries and cafes, the worst part about eating in Lisbon was deciding where and what to eat.
I had a horrible cold the entire time I was there (of course) which made tasting and smelling almost impossible. My senses were restored my last two days and I did as much snacking and eating as humanly possible to make up for everything. Here are some of the great things we sampled.
Lisbon is welcoming us with twinkling eyes. We've hit somewhat of a winning streak, particularly when it comes to this unseasonably warm and sunny weather. In a city that is gray and sodden a typical 138 days out of the year (June-August are supposed to be lovely), Lisbon, with its perfect Mediterranean summer weather is a city of extremes.
For us, Lisbon is revealing nothing of her dark dreary side. Clean, beautiful, ornate and charming, this city of surprises can add gritty and edgy to its virtues.
I'm awed by the graffiti street art that sprinkles many of Lisbon's old historic buildings. The city at times reminds me of an elegant older lady, sophisticated and dressed to the nines with both arms full of shocking colorful tattoos.
I recently stumbled across these photos from my first trip to England- my first trip outside of North America.
It was the summer of 2002, I had just finished my graduate work at NYU and had six weeks to kill before I was set to begin my first job. My friend Robin was in London studying at the University of Westminster and invited me to stay with her during my six weeks of freedom.
I jumped at the opportunity. I had always liked the idea of travel. I had always wanted to see the world. I just hadn't gotten around to it between my conservatory style undergrad training that bled directly into fast paced and all-consuming grad school. There seemed to be a million distractions and traveling was simply a dream deferred.
Then I took the leap.
Something happened to me during those six weeks in London. The once deferred dream, was a dream realized and the dream was turning into somewhat of an obsession.
I tasted every new thing I could. I drank pints even though I wasn't a beer drinker, just because that was what was done. I visited the countryside, stared, mouth agape at the crowned jewels and the latest exhibits at the Tate. I went shopping at Harrods, Top Shop and Hadleys. I drank tea and indulged in scones and crumpets with clotted cream. I stood at the gates of Buckingham and Kensington Palace. I walked the banks of the River Thames and marveled at Westminster Abby and the Tower Bridge. I cheered at football matches, rode double-decker buses, splashed through puddles, and gave silver pounds to the street performers at Piccadilly Circus. I ate curry and shepherds pies, I tried marmalade and digestive biscuits. I sat in pubs, cafes and gardens and wrote for hours.
It was the summer I contracted the travel bug. The summer I stepped outside and into myself. It was perfect and it was imperfect.
It was the summer I got lost trying to navigate my way from central London to the outer zone of Dulwich (long before google maps had been invented to save us from ourselves). It was the summer my credit card was stolen at a pub while I sat working on a story enjoying some fish and chips. It was the summer I saw how Americans were sometimes perceived negatively abroad. It was the summer I saw the frustrations of many of England's immigrants living and striving to achieve the "English Dream" (if you will) in Outer London.
It was the summer of a powerful awakening.
Though the photos are somewhat blurry as they were taken on a fun-saver camera, long before my DSLR would become the standard and though many of the photos are missing, I still feel the hope and optimism of that summer.
Throughout my last decade of international travel, I haven't spent much time in Europe (barring brief trips to Paris and Amsterdam).
As I pack my bags, I'm excited to return, if only for a little while, to England before I move on to explore Portugal. It has been a little over a decade. So much has happened. There is so much more yet to come!
You're jolted out of your sleep. The rusty cargo van, which has been converted into a city bus is airborne. There's a collective gasp. You claw for the seat in front of you. The van lands hard and skids to a stop. Even though it's dark, even though there are no lights, you can make out the faint wisps of smoke rising from the rear of the van. There is a commotion. Dialects you can't decipher circle around you. Your two friends, who were seated in front of you, motion for you to get up. You grab for each other as people push and shove their way out of the burning cramped space. You notice your foot is bleeding as you step into the chilly night. Bags are being thrown from the smoking vehicle. You grab yours and blink disoriented at the sky above- Orion's belt, so close, it seems you could be lassoed away. Your friends are grabbing you, you're brought back. You watch as the other passengers scatter and disappear between blades of tall grass, off into the night. There will be no rescue van, panic sets in.
You're a two hour drive from your destination. At least, you tell each other, at least you're together. Mosquitoes hover, the high pitched wine is driving you mad. You curse yourself for not taking your malaria medication. On the edge of the road, thumbs in the air, two Americans and a Canadian are stranded in rural Mozambique.
It is impossible to control our experiences on the road. Travel is a colossal enigma, perhaps that, in and of itself, is its major lure. We are forced to live in the moment, to bravely face the present with a fresh perspective. Romantic at times, often exciting, travel is rarely an immaculate and effortless path; it can be dangerous, downright frightening, yet off we go, pushing the boundaries of our comfort zones, the safety of the familiar, the ease of our loved ones and friends. Off we go into the great unknown, and why?
We travel to understand
We travel to taste
We travel to be moved
We travel to help
We travel to connect
We travel for the momentos
We travel to get lost, if only for a little while
We travel to be found
We travel to try new things
We travel to turn the faces of strangers into the faces of friends
We travel so that we can arm ourselves with memories, recollections that grow more beautiful and layered with time.
You pace back and forth, breath escaping in white clouds. You have to go to the bathroom. Your friend Tamika is seated on her suitcase, she looks defeated, close to tears. To your right, your friend Lynne speaks with the driver in fluent Portuguese. Bell frogs color the night with their chimes. You can do nothing but wait. Wait for daylight, wait for another bus, a passing car, wait to be eaten alive by mosquitoes or wild dogs- wait.
At last, a set of headlights approach, Tamika jumps up extending her thumb. You join her with Lynne close behind. A large black Escalade rolls to a cautious stop. The driver, a young South African man, offers heartily to drop you home, it's on the way after all. Jumping from the SUV, he places your bags in the trunk.
Two girls and a guy are inside. They make room for you, offer everyone a Hansa beer. You sink into the incredibly plush white leather seats. The windows are down, the air sweet and crisp. Techno music pulses from the speakers.
The two hours with your new friends pass quickly. Before you know it, you're dragging your suitcase down the old familiar path home. Weary, but upbeat, you're ready for your next weekend trip, perhaps Swaziland, Johannesburg, Nelspruit, or Chimoio?
What unexpected surprises have you encountered on the road?
The aroma of Berbere is heavy in the air. It is a modest space, tables, chairs, a buffet table.
On the wall, Ethipian prints have been hung and framed. Couples, friends, sit quietly as they enjoy the delicious food.
This is my first Ethiopian Buffet. The food, is vegan, satvic, delicious. The food is local and organic. Hot injera is folded in a basket beneath a cloth napkin. It is a simple spread. Rice that looks to be seasoned with saffron, collard greens, lentils, cabbage and beets.
Despite the simplicity, the buffet is aromatic, complex.
I pull apart the spongy injera bread and scoop up a pinch of Gomen (collard greens). I scoop and scoop, each bite is refreshingly mild, balanced and mysteriously savory. Delicious.
Sated, I lean back watching Ohm tinker away at the piano lining the far wall. Natural Oasis is a welcoming tot friendly establishment. One of the bonuses when it comes to vegetarian Ethiopian food, is that it is baby friendly. The food at Natural Oasis it is not spicy, making the perfect meal for beginning and emerging eaters.
Natural Oasis is so much more than a restaurant, it’s a community wellness center. Just through the front doors, you’ll find a herb shop, where you can pick up Ayurvedic products, tinctures, teas, and other wellness products.
Upstairs, you can receive Ayurvedic treatments, take a Kundalini Yoga class, get a massage, and be treated with herbal medicine.
Rochester, New York is a suburban city, with its fair share of chain restaurants and food options, but if you know where to look, you’ll find a vast and diverse selection of local restaurants and alternative offerings. If you’ve never had Ethiopian food before and you’re curious, go to Natural Oasis. If you’re a vegetarian or a vegan in search of a new place to eat, go to Natural Oasis. If you love Ethiopian food, but always order the same items on the menu (guilty as charged), try the buffet at Natural Oasis and feel free to explore. If you live in or are passing through the Rochester area and are in search of a healthy plate of food from a locally owned establishment, go, go, go, to Natural Oasis.
Natural Oasis’ Vegan Ethiopian Buffet is open Monday through Saturday from 1pm-4pm and 5pm-8pm.
Are there hidden health food or Ethnic restaurants in your neighborhood that you’d like to shout out? Let us know about them in the comments section!
The moment, we stepped through the glass doors, he was off.
Flip-clop flip-clop, sticky fingers and a nose pressed against a 1,700 gallon aquarium.
Flip-clop, flip-clop, climbing, problem solving, exploring, a toddler sized puzzle.
“Wow!”
Eyes wide, finger pointing, at a wide mouthed, wild eyed, golden pony aboard a Victorian carousel.
Ohm moved non-stop for over three hours. He explored through his nap, and played through lunch.
The National Museum of Play in Rochester, New York is an extreme kiddie wonderland.
On a recent visit home, after dragging my poor 20 month old all over the Rochester/Buffalo region to visit relatives, old friends from high school and my best college buddies, I made sure to plan a special trip for Ohm. I guess I shouldn’t say plan. I didn’t actually have to do anything except show up, pay the admission fee and ta-da! The perfect afternoon found us.
I’d heard people sing the praises of the National Museum of Play, I’d listened to the proclamations of greatness, but I honestly wasn’t expecting much more than a few brightly colored rooms of engaging fun to fill the space before nap-time.
I stand corrected.
Rochester’s National Museum of Play is a world class museum, with more nooks and crannies and educational programs to experience than one has time to explore during one visit.
Priding itself as being the only collections-based museum in the world dedicated entirely to play. The National Museum of Play is massive. After three hours and consequently missing nap-time, we only saw about a quarter of the offerings.
Full of stimulating hands-on exhibits, Ohm was off and engaged from the onset. Wiggling out of my hand, he ran ahead of me, capitalizing on every opportunity to twist,turn, press buttons, and climb anything and everything.
We ducked into toddler playrooms, where he socialized with the other kiddies and played dress-up.
Attracted like a moth to the shiny golden ponies, we took a turn on the beautiful working carousel from 1918.
It was all-aboard, as we chugged along the track through a simulated village on the kiddie passenger train.
There were science displays, collections of old fashioned teddy bears and dolls. There were tea-party sets and pianos to play.
The National Museum of Play is truly an experience. Home to the world’s largest and most comprehensive collection of dolls, toys and games, one can enjoy a life-sized doll house then walk down memory lane at a 1980’s style arcade full of vintage video games.
This is a place tobuild memories.
We didn’t make it to the indoor butterfly garden, or to the life sized Bernstein Bears exhibit, or to the American Comic Book Heroes display. There just wasn’t enough time.
We did make it to the life sized Sesame Street exhibit, featuring the characters, scenes and experiences from the show.
Ohm got to meet his best friend Elmo, drove Cookie Monster around in a taxi and screamed in mortal fear at a ten foot tall big bird (those eyes were creepy).
We played supermarket in the life-sized simulated Wegmans Supermarket, where kids push mini carts down tiny isles, where they can grab their favorite food. The piece de resistance, is when they get to send their purchases down a conveyer belt where they can scan and bag their items. Ohm was focused. When he realized it was time to leave, he almost had a meltdown. I had to distract and trick him to get him to leave mini-supermarket land.
Luckily there are plenty of distractions.
Story Time is announced over an intercom and occurs several times a day.
A 1950’s style dinner near the lobby serves up tasty soda shop style snacks and meals.
Ohm and I had a ridiculously good time at the National Museum of Play. If you live near the Rochester, New York area or are traveling through with a child, this is a stop you MUST make.
Last week, a Reiki client of mine who recently moved to New York from the Bay Area voiced frustration over trying to locate a good holistic store in her neighborhood.
"All I want are some essential oils, crystals and books."
I could empathize with her frustrations. It took me several years in New York to form relationships with my favorite holistic and spiritual shops. It was also much easier in 2001, a time when there seemed to me a lot more independent spiritual shops in the city and surrounding areas. From 2001 to 2013, four of my favorites closed down.
So where is one to go?
While I agree, that New York is not as abundant as it could be with holistic and spiritual shops, bookstores and herb shops, there is definitely a spiritual and holistic sub-culture and a few great stores that cater to it.
While working with my clients, I am regularly asked about places to buy books, mala beads, sage, meditation cd's, etc. This post is my answer to these questions.
You'll find row upon row of medicinal herbs, tea infusions and spices at Brooklyn's charming little gem, the Herb Shoppe. I love this place! They have a great selection of tinctures, salves and essential oils as well and bonus points, there is a naturopathic doctor on hand to answer questions.
One could get lost in Namaste for a very long time, a very, very long time indeed. It is hard to have a single focus when you enter Namaste because there is just so much to experience. Namaste has an extensive book collection, one of the best in the city as far as holistic and spiritual books are concerned. Also extensive, is their crystal collection, jewelry selection, and menagerie of altar worthy statues and carvings.
The New York Open Center, in and of itself is a magnificent resource. Its bookstore is a wonderful resource as well. The New York Open Center Bookstore has a great selection of books. You'll also find a variety of goodies here from fragrance oils, reiki candles, incense, sage and mala beads.
Quest hosts an extensive collection of books. I love the quaint feel. This is another store where you could easily spend hours and not realize how much time has elapsed. In addition to a large variety of books, Quest sells candles, essential oils, crystals and incense.
*Also, Botanicas, depending on your neighborhood, can prove to be phenomenal holistic resources.
Whenever I miss the flavors and sounds from the “good ole’ days” in Mozambique, South Africa and Swaziland, I take myself to Ft. Greene, Brooklyn’s Madiba Restaurant.
Named after Nelson Mandela, Madiba is a portal from Brooklyn to South Africa. Specializing in South African cuisine with all of its unique influences from traditional Zulu dishes like Uputhu/Pap (boiled ground cornmeal with tomato-onion gravy) to Voortrekker inspired dishes like Boerwors Roll (herbed beef sausage with gravy on a hot dog bun) and Indian inspired dishes featuring an assorted variety of succulent curries and chutney, Madiba takes me on a journey of the senses each time I step inside. Some of the dishes draw inspiration from the tastes of Mozambique (South Africa’s next door neighbor). I can honestly say that I have never had a bad meal here. Never!
The food is always fresh, all-natural and served up gourmet style. Vegetarians and vegans rejoice, there are plenty of options for you. If you come for brunch, the coffee is excellent- nice and rich. If you come for dinner, Madiba boasts an extensive South African wine list, and they even import my favorite liquor- Amarula!
I love the attentive yet slow service. You are not rushed in Madiba, one can enjoy a slow brunch or a slow dinner. You’re encouraged to taste your food, draw energy from the atmosphere and enjoy the people in your company.
At Madiba there is an immaculate attention to detail. The décor is distinctly reminiscent of South Africa, much of the music played is African.
One can even purchase South African goodies from the shop at the front of the store. The selection of quirky imports brings me back to my days in Mozambique (much of the food in Mozambique was imported from South Africa) from the Jungle Oats Oatmeal, that I ate for breakfast to the Ramany Cream biscuits I splurged on every pay-day, to the Ceres boxed juice that kept me going beneath the hot sun; Madiba brings the tastes, sounds and charms of Southern Africa to Ft. Greene, Brooklyn.
For a refreshing spin on breakfast, try Madiba’s Sunday Brunch, which starts at ten am.
Okay Sojourner, so what are you getting out of this promotion? Nothing! Just the satisfaction of sharing one of my favorite Brooklyn restaurants with you, my readers.
I hope you get to experience Madiba. I know you'll enjoy it as much as I do.
My Unlikely Introduction to Shea Butter at the Cape Coast Castle
"So-jah!"
I glanced up from my orange Fanta. I had just become used to the fact that my name, when spoken, sounded like soldier.
Seeing no-one in my immediate space, I continued to nurse my soda. Seated at the Cape Coast Cafe, I had the perfect view. I watched the waves of the Atlantic crash against the brown boulders that encircled the Cape Coast Castle. Gray tufts of sea mist rose as a result of the spectacle. The salt of the ocean lingered on my lips. My book was purposely left behind, I promised myself I would watch, listen and take in this experience my first experience of Africa, traveling solo in Ghana, and accepting without distraction the beauty around me.
"So-jah!" I heard it again. Closer this time. Turning my back to the Atlantic, I spotted a remotely familiar face in this new and still foreign space.
"Can I sit?"
I shifted nervously trying to recall his name, place his face. He made himself comfortable before I had the time to reply.
"You look well So-jah. Ghana is agreeing with you."
"Thank you."
I searched my head for his name. The details were filling in slowly. He was a drummer, a Rastafarian, we'd met before here at the castle. He owned a shop with his brothers. They sold drums, gave drumming and dance lessons mostly to British and French tourists. We'd talked a few weeks ago when I visited the castle to buy souvenirs after work with some of the other volunteers at the orphanage. He asked me where I was from, grew excited when I said New York. He had just been there, had some cousins and a favorite uncle who lived in the Bronx. We talked about being vegetarians, about cooking with coconut oil. How could I have forgotten, it had only been about two weeks ago. He, like most of the people I'd encountered in Ghana remembered my name, looked me in the eyes with a warm smile while addressing me by name. I, like many Americans, like many Westerners, let names roll in one ear and out the other, became embarrassed and apologetic when confronted by my instinctive and dismissive behavior.
"I'm so sorry," I finally managed. "What is your name again?"
His name was Elaji. He lived in town. He was the youngest of seven siblings, four boys and two girls. His mother and grandmother owned the shop next to his. His father was from Burkina Faso.
We began to talk. Elaji ordered a bottled water. I had another Fanta. The waves crashed. Flies buzzed. Skinny stray dogs settled at our feet.
"How is business?" I asked.
The long breaks in our conversation unnerved me.
"Business for me is very good. " Elaji smiled.
His teeth were pointy. He slightly resembled a fox.
"So many English this time of year. They all want lessons. We have drumming and dance circles when the moon is full. You should come, they're here in front of the castle." He pointed with his water bottle to the open space before the castle.
"I'm not much of a dancer, but I'll come. I'd love to watch."
"You'll watch, but then you'll dance. You won't be able to stop yourself."
A hearty chuckle escaped my gut as I imagined myself gyrating and spastic, dressed in kente cloth, backlit by the glow of the full moon. It wasn't a pretty vision.
"I want to show you something." Elaji grew earnest.
"Yes?"
"Your face," he reached forward and touched my nose causing me to recoil alarmed.
"I"m sorry. Did that hurt?"
"No, I'm sorry. No, you didn't hurt me."
"I was saying your face is too dry. Your skin is peeling."
I gaped at his blunt observation.I touched my nose.
"I'm peeling because I lost my sunscreen in Accra before I came here and I haven't been able to find any more."
"Sunscreen?" Elaji's face wrinkled.
"You know, cream that protects your face and skin from the sun."
"That's what I want to show you." Elaji was all smiles. "My mother's shop has the cream for your face. Shea butter. In Ghana, we use Shea butter."
"Shea butter? I can't put shea butter on my face?"
"Of course. Why not?"
"It's too heavy. My skin will break-out."
"You don't have to worry about that. Shea butter removes blemishes."
"But it's greasy."
"Not at all."
"No, it's definitely greasy."
"Come, lets go to my mom's shop."
Skeptically, I followed Elaji's quick gait across the cobblestone road, through the gates of the Cape Coast Castle and into the shady courtyard that housed the artisan shops. I was led by hand into a small dimly lit nook. The three walls were lined with rickety shelves and stacked high with tubs of white, yellow and brown.
An attractive dark-skinned woman, popped out from behind a pile of cardboard boxes. She moved quickly, stepping forward and offering a greeting I didn't understand.
"Mama Sophia." Elaji proudly announced wrapping his arm around her shoulder.
I smiled. Mama Sophia wrapped me in a warm hug. She was simply stunning. Surprisingly petite, I was drawn in by her bright eyes and shining skin. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall. Her eyes danced with childlike joy.
Elaji exchanged slow words with his mother in Fante as she nodded and clicked her tongue in my direction.
"Sit." Sophia led me to a stool in the center of the room.
She had a metal basin of water. Using a cloth, she wiped at my face. I gripped the edge of my stool. Elaji appeared cradling a marble sized amber ball.
"This is black soap. It's good for your skin. You should use this. It works very well."
Before I had time to respond, Sophia was rubbing the black soap in enthusiastic circles around my face. She rinsed the suds then patted my skin dry with a towel.
"Feels good, doesn't it?" Elaji was beaming.
It did feel good. My skin, heavy with humidity and sweat was breathing. It felt alive and light.
"Close your eyes." Elaji said, motioning to Sophia.
I did what I was told. Shea butter was massaged into my face under the direction of Sophia's firm hands. When she finished, I ran my fingertips across my forehead, swept them down my right cheek. My face wasn't greasy. My skin wasn't sticky, or heavy, it didn't feel clogged.
I watched for hours as Sophia packaged tubs of Shea butter, some prepared with a turmeric mixture others pure. Elaji translated as I fired away with questions. I stayed until the shop closed and left that evening with a tub of shea butter and a tub of black soap.
Figuring I had nothing to loose, I set whatever facial cleanser I brought with me aside and began my black soap and shea butter regimen.
I stopped peeling and didn't burn as badly. I didn't experience a single nasty blemish. Shea butter provided a layer of protection beneath the harsh Ghanaian sun.
I visited Mamma Sophia almost every day from that point forward. My serendipitous and unlikely introduction to Shea butter marked the beginning of my shift towards all natural and organic bath and body products and eventually fueled Touch of Ohm.
What discoveries have you happened upon on your travels?
Memory, all alone in the moonlight, I can smile at the old days I was beautiful then. I remember the time I knew what happiness was let the memory live again. "- Musical "Cats" (sorry, was a theatre major, it won't happen again- at least not for a while)
Sharp green blades of grass prick your ankles. You're not quite certain how you came to be on the side of a small mountain. It is so green, the greenest green. Crayola hasn't even begun to capture green the way you see it. Standing amongst the hundreds of acres of wide open countryside you feel small and ethereal.
If waking up in charming historic Stone Town is a shock, finding yourself rambling meditatively through miles of some of the richest spice plantations the world has to offer, is astonishing.
This was where I found myself, three years ago, when a group of friends and I embarked on a Spice Tour in Zanzibar led by Eco and Culture Tours.
There are many spice tours in Zanzibar. Few of those tours rival the experience of Eco and Culture.
We were whisked away in an immaculate white van for an hours ride out of the city of Stone Town into what seemed the heart of the earth. The reddest roads, the greenest trees, the smell of fresh rain in the air revealed themselves in layers as our van plop, plop, plopped over potholes and rivets.
In a large open field we gathered. Our small tour was led through a cacophony of colors and textures. Cinnamon, black pepper, jasmine and cardamom scented the air. We rambled through forests and villages. We met smiling short haired children. We saw the most beguiling brown eyes, watched amazed as butterflies landed on our hands, sampled tropical passion fruit, jackfruit, star fruit, and the fabled durian- have you ever tasted a gym sock?
Between stops beneath large shade trees, we learned of the many medicinal, culinary and traditional uses of the spices grown and harvested in the great green fields. We learned of Arab traders and African healers, of European exploration and the infusion of spices from India.
Three hours later, looking out over the distant hills and green spaces, a meal was prepared for us by local village woman. Shoes off, seated on colorful patterned blankets we filled ourselves with savory spiced beans, vegetables and squash until our fingers were tinged yellow with tumeric.
After lunch, a makeshift market was set up so we could purchase (very reasonably priced) spices, essential oils, and fruit. And before we could so much as look back, we were off. Downhill, our van sputtered, over red red roads, past green green vines, towards the narrow ancient charm of Stone Town.
As mosques signaled the call to evening prayer, we stepped from the van, havaianas meeting cobblestone, stars still in our eyes.
The setting sun illuminated our backs as we made our way down narrow slate streets, towards our small hotel with the iron balcony and tall blue doors. It had been a good day. A very good day indeed.
Info:
The BEST Zanzibar Spice Tours are through Eco and Culture Tours
The tours are a half-day event and cost around $50.00 (this includes transport and a great meal you won't soon forget).
The air is musty, almost minty and decidedly green. A row of silver machetes hang above a circular wicker basket containing Nag Champa soap. Along the far wall are endless shelves of colorful candles adorned with images of patron saints and the deities of the Orishas. Herbal bath packets and glass tincture bottles fill tubs on the floor alongside statues of Ganesh, Buddha, the Virgin Mary, Yemaya and Jesus. At the checkout counter are endless herbal sachets promising wealth, health, beauty, and various other wishes. African masks with cowrie shells for eyes and ox fur for hair, some with mouth's sewn shut, others with, wait, are those human teeth?!?, leer at you from the wall behind the register.
Botanicas have become staples in New York's Afro-Latino Caribbean communities. Sanctuaries of healing, Botanicas are a place to find medicines, novelties and comforts from the old country. Every Botanica is slightly different depending on the origin of the owner and community, but for the most part, Botanicas are small unassuming stores that stock alternative products such as herbal oils, ceremonial candles, herbs, amulets, ritual baths and plants often associated with Santeria and its many rituals.
A direct product of the African diaspora, Santeria is a fascinating belief system that combines the Yoruba religion of West Africa, Roman Catholicism and Native American healing traditions.
The herbal practices specific to Santeria have evolved from the indigenous healing practices of West Africa and from the Native Americans. In Santeria, the two traditions are merged to create a powerful system of alternative medicine. At a Botanica you can find salves and teas, tinctures, oils and healing baths. There is a tremendous wealth of herbal knowledge in these unobtrusive storefronts.
The Afro-Latino communities in New York, mostly hailing from Cuba, Puerto Rico, the Dominican Republic, Panama, Columbia and Venezuela have been relying on Botanicas for generations to assist with matters such as the common cold, arthritis, high blood pressure, hair loss, fertility issues, and issues related to love, finances, death and divorce. Botanicas are centers of hope and healing in these communities and provide a way for people to maintain a connection to the natural healing traditions from their homelands.
In a world where people are quick to pop a pill for every minor ailment, it's refreshing to see a return to tradition a return to the basics.
“You have any sugar?”
“No, no baby, I don’t got any sugar, but you can check next door. I got a good relationship with them.”
“How about honey?”
“Yeah, I got it. Just a second.”
“I’m in no hurry, take your time.”
The woman holding the white paper cup of tea, leans against some boxes beneath a row of alligator claws. Steam rises slowly and swirls before her face causing her black framed glasses to fog. She makes no attempt to wipe the lens.
“Can I help you?” The man in the white t-shirt says, eying me over quickly.
Beads of sweat have formed on the top of his bald head.
“I’m just looking.” I glance around hesitantly.
“Take your time.” He says before disappearing behind a dull red patterned curtain leading to a back room.
I walk by shelves stacked with china bowls and boxes of feathers. Drums and dried herbs hang above my head.
Having made my way to the back of the store, I try to take everything in, the amulets, talismans and masks.
The woman, whose long black hair is tied into a tight ponytail, breaks a leaf off of a nearby aloe plant allowing the clear slimy liquid inside to slowly drip into her cup.
Within seconds the man emerges with a plastic bottle of honey.
“A little more.” She directs as he squeezes the honey into her cup.
“That’s good.” She takes a small sip. “Thank you.”
The man disappears once more behind the curtain.
“I need some of that stuff for a sore throat. That powdered stuff you got. I think I’m coming down with something.” She calls towards the curtain.
The man returns with an amber jar and scoops a heaping tablespoon of what looks like ash into the woman’s tea.
“Thanks.” She smiles, swirling the wooden stir stick.
“Any questions?” The man looks at me.
“Yes,” I feel emboldened. “What remedies do you have for stress?”
Of course, there is a controversial side to Santeria, a world of ritual and conjuring, but as I have not been exposed to it, it is not my place to judge. I am however in absolute admiration of the herbal traditions of the faith and will make it my business to explore and support the Botanicas in my community regularly.
Below is a list of the Botanicas I visited for this post.
Botanica Universal
376 5th Ave, Brooklyn NY 11215 (718) 832-3606
C&G Botanical Inc.
1467 Nostrand Ave, Brooklyn NY 11226 (718) 282-9022
Between my trips, adventures and sojourns, great inspiration is drawn through the exploration of travel writing.
Travel memoir, where I have the honor to intimately experience a place, culture and space through the unique lens of another, is one of my favorite forms. Since it is not possible for me to be continuously on the road, travel memoirs allow my mind to travel freely while my legs are grounded.
When I approach the form, I look for pieces that shrink the world and provide inspiration for my dream journeys and voyages through sensory details.
Below are my recommendations for travel memoirs. All of the pieces are written by women. This was not intentional, it merely turned out this way. My suggestions are not meant to be book reviews, merely snapshots. For your convenience I've included links if you want to explore.
Tharps, determined and unyielding in her memoir, explores the boundaries (perceived and blatant) of race in America and in Spain as she details her experiences studying in Spain as a teenager. Humorous and at times heartbreaking, this coming of age piece is about exploring the limits of our comfort zones in order to see ourselves more clearly.
This straightforward and honest portrait of Marie Javin's solo travels around southern and eastern Africa is brilliant. Javins is refreshingly honest as she chronicles her perceptions of a continent few are familiar with. Javin's descriptions of the landscape of Southern Africa made me yearn for Mozambique. The humorous situations she finds herself in made me laugh out loud often.
I'm infinitely inspired by this personal journey of Rita Gelman, a who sold her belongings, rented a storage unit and set off to travel the world. With an acute interest in culture, Gelman dives right in to the very core of the communities she visits. This piece is a window into the art of humility and self-reinvention. Gelman's writing is wonderfully reflective and lyric.
Lispectors moving and strange piece reads at times like a guided meditation, at others like a meandering narrative poem, and at others like a letter focusing on the importance of feeling, being, and experiencing life in the present moment. Stunningly descriptive and fluid, Lispector draws you into her world and experiences in a way that I've never been invited into the personal story of another. More of a journey into the self rather than a direct exploration of other places, Lispector is a lyric shaman.
I love Alice Walker. My first introduction to her non-fiction, I found myself possessed by Walker's keen insight, humor, activism and passion for cultural travel, writing and all things chicken. This piece is a love story; love of self, love of and respect for the earth and our connection to it and love, quite literally for a group of chickens. All over the place, yes, but trust me, it makes sense and you won't want to put this book down.
Spring break is approaching. If you find yourself in the comfort of your home, pick up a good travel memoir, find a quiet place, and allow yourself to roam.
There is a place in the mountains where the air is refreshingly crisp. Yesterday's snow lingers forming crunchy banks that glisten in the sun. It is a quiet place, a creative space, where one can withdraw from the outside world and engage their senses. It's a place of brooks and streams and nature trails; where the stars weave an elaborate story as they beam down from the velvety midnight sky. They call this place the Full Moon Resort.
I doubt I would have found my way here, high up in the Catskill mountains, miles past Woodstock on my own. While open to individuals in search of a relaxing weekend or week, the Full Moon Resort is best known as a place for retreats, workshops, music festivals, and weddings. I made my way up the side of the snowy mountain as a guest at a fabulous winter wedding.
My good friend and fellow blogger Tracy (of the IICD and Mozambican posts) chose the Full Moon Resort as the setting for one of the most beautiful weddings I've ever had the pleasure of attending. It was a full weekend affair, that began on a Friday with a bonfire and barbecue, continued on Saturday with the lovely nuptials in a beautiful converted barn, and culminated on Sunday with an afternoon brunch.
The intimate weekend was a special way to celebrate Tracy and her new hubby Mike.
Cell phones do not work at the Full Moon, there are no televisions in the country bed and breakfast style rooms. Guests were out and about, feet crunching through the snow, communing in nature, and catching quiet writing, reading and photography breaks. It was a weekend of love, friendship, and abundant creative inspiration.
With the snow-covered mountains in the close distance, the sound of babbling brooks, and the beautiful wintry scenery, the Full Moon Resort forms an ideal backdrop for winter nuptials beneath the stars.
Congrats - James, Krista, and Fred!!!! Tea is coming your way!!!
Dear Readers,
I've got a giveaway for you! This one is months overdue, as it was supposed to correlate with my Alaska posts in September, but I forgot. I put the goodies away, and as they say "out of sight, out of mind..." until now.
When I was in Alaska this Fall, I encountered a rich cranberry tea that is popular with locals. Cranberry's are abundant in Alaska during the warmer months and have been used for centuries to make aromatic teas that soothe the digestive system and cleanse the blood while providing tons of antioxidants and vitamin C. Most importantly, Alaskan Cranberry Tea is tasty and is a soothing way to begin or end your day (caffeine free).
I've got three packets to give away. All you have to do is answer the following question:
What is the most memorable thing you've gulped down on your travels?
Although it is tasty, the Alaskan Cranberry Tea isn't the most memorable thing I've ever gulped down during my travels. I think my favorite beverage was the warm mulled apple cider that I had while visiting my friend Lynne in Montreal. It was freezing cold outside and we entered the Jean-Talon market which smelled so amazing. Everywhere I went, my nostrils were met with the aroma of clove and cinnamon. Finally I asked Lynne what I was smelling and she told me it was a local cider. We popped into a shop, ordered a cup and it was unbelievably amazing. The apple cider was almost buttery, it was so rich and layered and mmmm.... I think about that cider often.
Driving down the dusty dirt roads of Brandywine, Maryland, one gets the impression that not much happens here.
Established in 1873 as a railroad town, not much has changed since. It's a slow place, decidedly rural, sandwiched between two suburbs, one affluent, the other declining.
The Village of Brandywine, once defined by the railroad and a vast expanse of tobacco plantations, is undergoing a transformation. Once barren plantations are being developed into gated housing communities. Grandiose mansions adorn sprawling land that once housed modest farmhouses, barns, and shacks.
Brandywine is well on its way to becoming a mega-suburb. However beneath all of the new development and suburban shine, there lies a deeper story. Brandywine is home to historic sites and landmarks that bear testament to its founding and early vision.
The site of a bloody slave rebellion in 1739, home to Francis Scott Key and John Wilkes Booth, Brandywine, Maryland has played host to a slew of significant historic moments and individuals.
If you should find yourself in Brandywine, Maryland, off of US route 5 and 301, you may find these sites fascinating:
Woodville Colored School
21500 Aquasco Road, Brandywine, MD
Built on two acres of land purchased by James Gray, a former slave, this one story, three room school served as the first school open to blacks in the area. Built by the Freedmen's Bureau in 1868, the Woodville Colored School was in operation until 1955.
Hidden behind two country homes, the school and its surrounding land is eerily vacant. I was free to explore and poke around. I was disturbed that this historic landmark was left unkempt and unguarded. A piece of history like this should most definitely be preserved and perhaps turned into a museum.
St. Thomas Methodist Church
18810 Aquasco Road, Brandywine, MD
Built in 1868, the St. Thomas Methodist church is a single story rural meeting house style church. I really had to search to find this property. It was down a winding dirt road, behind a farmhouse. There was no marker on the main road. How this structure is still standing, I have no idea.
It is dilapidated but completely beautiful with it's still intact stained glass and immaculate detailing (particularly around the windows). Why this church isn't preserved and used as a museum or presently as a church I completely don't understand. Come on Brandywine, where is your historical preservation society?
To the left of the church is an old cemetery with tiny headstones dating back to the early 1800's. It was a sacred quiet place that seemed forgotten by time. Standing on the property, you can almost imagine how it must have looked in the late 1800's, with the rolling green hills in the back and the clear blue sky above.
Chapel of the Incarnation
14070 Brandywine Road, Brandywine, MD
Built in 1916 by architect William J. Palmer, the Chapel of the Incarnation functions today as a church. It is a stunning Spanish colonial structure, slightly out of place amongst the old Victorian farm homes that stand guard over much of Brandywine Road.
You really can find some beautiful gems in the most unexpected of places. Brandywine, Maryland is one such unsuspecting locale. This post is for Brandywine, a town in the midst of transition from rural to suburban, a town in need of historical preservation to ensure that her special places and quiet beauty are celebrated and appreciated.
Do you know of a small town with unsuspected history and charm?
I am charmed by details. The subtle nuances that differentiate one place from another, one space, one moment from the next.
In many ways Old Town Alexandria, Virginia is a charming Southern colonial city, not unlike others. Upon closer inspection however, one notices the deep red brick of the row homes, the fading red brick of the road, the immaculate attention to detail- black iron sconces, olive-green window shutters, starched American flags billowing in the wind, and you realize you're in a very unique and special place; a tiny, sophisticated, literary, nautical, colonial city draped in red brick and set on the water.
About 30 minutes from my home in Maryland, Old Town Alexandria is one of my favorite places to spend a weekend afternoon. Old Town Alexandria has all the sophisticated perks of a city, beautiful boutiques, shops, restaurants, yoga studios, art, and parks, without the hassle and clamor of urban living. Old Town Alexandria is small, neat, quiet, and mannerly. There is always parking. It's the kind of place that makes me smile.
The afternoon was brisk, naked trees swayed, the water at the pier was still, almost black. Vapor billowed from the mouths of obediently tied Labrador Retrievers as they kept guard of their humans from their lamp posts, as they waited for them to finish fetching their morning tea or croissant.
This Sunday, I was in Old Town to meet my friend Tamika (the same Tamika from the Mozambique posts) for brunch. Arriving early, Ohm and I took a stroll to explore. Ohm hobbled along obediently for two blocks before dancing on his toes, hands raised above his head, imploring to be lifted. He was not in the mood to walk. I wanted to take pictures and he wanted to be carried. He got his way.
Old Town Alexandria is full of families. Baby buggies and dogs ruled the cobblestone streets. Couples walked hand in hand with their little-ones strapped close in their baby bjorns and ergos.
We met Tamika by the dock on The Strand, one of Old Town's main drags. After eying our brunch options, we settled on the Union Street Public House, it was lovely. I loved the mahogany wood interior and the brunch bread basket (piping hot buttermilk biscuits, sweet cornbread, and muffins). Restaurants in Old Town are ready for their tiniest diners. Union Street Public House was no exception. They had a simple children's menu, crayons and coloring books. Ohm was a happy little guy, which means I was a happy mommy. We took our time eating brunch and enjoyed a wonderful afternoon in Old Town Alexandria.
If you're planning a trip to D.C., Old Town Alexandria, Virginia (located right across the Potomac- approx. 10 minutes away) is worth a stop.
Stunning azure water, yachts gliding through the breeze, gated multi-million dollar estates balanced delicately above the sea. A place to aspire to, a place to be seen, Sintra's neighboring municipality of Cascais, is where Lisbon's high society spends luxurious summers and weekends. 
