Journey Juju

On Making Art

I set myself up for this one. Plan a trip, tell everyone your mission is to make art, pack way too many notebooks and supplies, and then try to actually produce something. This has happened before. When I went to Paris in 2003, friends and family commissioned me to make postcards for them. (Okay, I did it as a fund raiser – I told my peeps that if they contributed to my trip, I would send them a hand painted postcard.)

Every time I went to make a postcard – seventeen of them – that crappy voice crept in. “What’s this? That stinks! You’re no good. Just stop now. Who are you to draw Notre Dame?” Postcard after postcard taught me to keep going, to persist despite that first negative vibe. And people love the postcards. And so do I.

Now, performance anxiety is creeping up like bad panties. What if my art stinks? I’m dismayed that I have to go through the same process over and over – hearing the voices, telling them to mind their own business, arting on.

The other day, in Café A Brasiliera, I shared my table with two consecutive groups. The first, a pair of Englishwomen here for an Erasmus conference. Then, a group of women from Belgium. (I wonder if they know Martine!) I was at the café to fortify myself with coffee and pastel de natal, the Portuguese custard pastry. I also planned to work in my sketchbook.

I’d been inspired by Danny Gregory and the notion of an illustrated journal. I’ve read Gwen Diehn’s books and love the multi-textured illustrated journal. And I’ve got my Moleskine notebook and I’m ready to go.

And I’m scared.

Familiar? How many of you have the inspiration, the notebook, the materials and the surrounding inspiration to create, only to be beleaguered by those voices?

I know. All of you. That’s why I have a job – to nudge people past those voices. And I love doing it. And I write about it. And I should know better, right?

Sigh.

So at that cool Art Nouveau café, I open my notebook, get out my fancy beautiful pen and miniature colored pencils and I just start. Whatever impulse I get, I put on the page. When I run out of steam, I stop and look around. I put things on the page and the women from Belgium watch. I like that but don’t pay much attention. I just keep playing in my notebook. The voices are still there, but I just keep going.

Here's the beginning of my Lisbon page. (If anyone knows how to get the photo to not be wonked out like this, let me know. I rotated it in iPhoto but then here it is on its side. A perfect reminder to not worry about perfection.)

You may be reading this and thinking about your own art that you are working on (or avoiding) right now. If that’s you, finish reading and then go to your writing, your drawing, your painting, your whatever, and just do one thing. One sentence, one stroke, one dab of color. Remember yourself as a kid and let yourself play. Don’t worry about ‘good enough’. Just play. That’s what I’ll be doing – playing with materials as I wend my way through Europe.

Here I go, one dab of color at a time.

Real Fado in Lisbon

Going to hear a Fado concert was high on my list of things to do in Lisbon, so I was delighted when the Lisbon couchsurfing group organized a Fado outing a few nights after I arrived. I signed up to join in and met Rafa and Selete at the largo de Camoes, right near my place.

The restaurant was also a few streets away, on Bica, a severely steep hill with a yellow tram parked at the top. I haven’t seen much action on the tram except for people photographing it.

The restaurant was already crowded, but Rafa had reserved a table for us. Vai Tu is a total mom and pop kind of place. I was grateful for the CS community, for I would never have found this place on my own.

We were fourteen or so, mostly Portuguese except for me and two German women, also couchsurfing. Our local friends ordered for us and the food started arriving instantly. Thank god, because I was starving. Here’s what we ate:

A bowl of soup – cabbage and beans mostly, with a hearty roll of bread.
Cod: fried cod cutlets, cod swimming in garlic and olive oil and moored by chunks of boiled potatoes, raw cod served with garlic, onions and olive oil, and another kind of shrimp cutlet.
A plate of sausage slices and olives.
Endless pitchers of wine, poured into small terra cotta mugs.

All for seven euros each. That’s right. That reminded me why I am in Portugal. One of the reasons.

It was pretty good – my first Portuguese meal.

Then the soccer game was turned off of the TV and the lights we lowered. Red lanterns dotted the walls and the candles on each table were lit. Two guitarists took up a spot in the middle of the room under a painting. Then, for the next few hours, different singers took the stage. Each singer was allotted two songs, except for the last guy who was so good he got to sing three.

These were your ordinary people belting out beautiful melodies. Eighty-four year old men in flannel shirts and sweaters, a woman who took off her apron and shifted from waitress to singer with grace and style. This was the people’s Fado, not the tourist’s Fado. I had been apprehensive about Fado – somewhere I had heard that the music was dolorous, sad and melancholy. But it wasn’t. Maybe it’s because I don’t understand the lyrics.

I loved it. Selete gave me recommendations of Fado artists to buy on CD. The guitar solos were particularly haunting.

I'll be exploring more art in Lisbon's many museums. The abundance of contemporary art is why the NY TImes named Lisbon number two on their list of 53 places to visit this year.

Exploring Lisboa

My first day in Lisbon was great. I set aside concerns about my lodging situation and set out to explore the city. I walked and trammed the city for nine hours. I have mastered bom (pronounced bon) dia and obrigada - hello and thank you. I need to learn excuse me as well.

This is an interesting place. If the buildings aren't tiled, the plaster has peeled away in big chunks or the walls are designed with graffiti. The sidewalks are paved with small cobblestones and pity the fool wearing heels. I bought a five-day pass for all public transportation, which I recommend to anyone traveling - find the non-stop all-around pass and then use it to continue to see the city when your dogs are barking.

The best part of the city so far are the trolleys, or trams. Up and down the hills I lurched in the trams, window open, hanging out. Once two girls rode on the back, clinging to the doors. The trams squeak and ring their way through streets just narrow enough to let them pass. They're mostly packed with tourists and I felt bad when a little old Portuguese lady wanted on and there was no room. I rode from one end of the city to another. And again.

At one point we were stopped for a long time, log jammed behind an ambulance. What a way to clear a crowded tram. I divined that a lady had been hit on the head by something falling off the building. The medics used gauze to partition off that part of the sidewalk. I think we sat there for at least 15 minutes. I relished the feeling of not being in a hurry, not being irritated, not worrying about anything. I made a list of things I need to do for work and just when I started to draw the inside of the tram, the ambulance took the victim away and we creaked onward.

Palm trees and tile and tourists, oh my. The views of the river from up high are stunning. I know why I'm here - to be by water. I look forward to discovering more about Lisbon and Portugal. Stay tuned!

As the Juju Turns

What is Journey Juju? Why am I on this trip?

I think I will ask myself those questions a million times before all is said and done.

Journey juju, as I know it, is the magic of life while traveling. It’s those connections and sparks that help make your journey remarkable. Here’s an example.

When I arrived in Milan from London, I knew to get the #73 bus to downtown, where I’d take the metro. I had 23 euros with me from the last trip (tip – always keep some cash on hand for the next trip) so I thought the bus wasn’t a problem.

But when I hauled myself and my gear onto the bus, I noticed that other people already had tickets and were punching them into the controller machine (whatever that’s called). Shize! I didn’t have a ticket. I knew I needed to ask for help, which is how to initiate journey juju.

I turned to the man sitting nearest me. “Parle inglese?” He shook his head. “Non, je parle francais.” French! Just as good! Juju in action.

He explained that yes, I did need a ticket. I made to schlep back off the bus but he reached into his pocket and found a ticket for me. I offered him a euro but he refused. Journey juju to the nth degree! We chatted during the bus ride and I felt welcomed to Milan.

Then I went to Lisbon and my whole concept of Journey Juju started to shift.

Is Journey Juju all about good luck? Is it only about things going your way? Maybe not.

Flying into Lisbon was magical – juju for sure. It’s like San Francisco, on the water, cresting a hill. The sky was dotted with fluffy white clouds and a rainbow arched over the city. Glorious. I couldn’t wait to touch down. Which was when it all started going downhill.

I’d been told that a taxi ride was 10-12 euros. Worth it, right? I am always willing to pay more to get me and my stuff to my location when I don’t know where I’m going. It’s so worth it.

But traffic stunk, the ride was long and the driver surly. We got to my destination and he stopped at the end of the street and pointed up the hill. “Your street is up there.” It’s annoying to me when drivers can’t get me close to my destination. If I’m paying for a taxi, I want to be delivered to my door. Am I wrong?

When I asked him to confirm the directions, he started yelling. This guy had a short fuse, let me tell you. I told him he didn’t have to yell, but that didn’t stop him.

Then he told me the ride would cost 20 euro. I protested, he went on about the traffic, the baggage fee, etc. I looked for a meter in the cab and there wasn’t one. I recalled having read that one should look for a meter before getting in. Doh!

Whatever. I got out, got my luggage out, gave him the money and ignored his abusive ranting. I started the schlep up the hill.

Now, I had heard that my street was in the nightclub scene. But I wasn’t sure what that meant. Here’s what it meant:

Broken glass, crushed cups and pecking pigeons littered the street. Walls decorated in graffiti. At 8:00 pm, not a lot of people around, except for a handful of shady characters at the top of the street, watching me drag my baggage up.

There’s nothing more vulnerable than a woman dragging her luggage through the streets. I’d been warned about pickpockets in Lisbon, so despite the fact that I feel pretty safe in the world, at this moment, sweating and frustrated, I didn’t feel so great.

I got to the top of the street, and found that my place was the only one with no address above the door. I had to invoke the juju again and ask. I rang the bell, my new roommate Angel leaned out the window, and I was in. Phew.

Then the four flights of stairs. Then the chaotic apartment. It turns out that Angel is moving to Berlin on the 19th and a new group of people will be in the apartment. And they’ve already moved their stuff in and my room is fully full of someone else’s stuff. And the place has a bit of a doggy smell and… well, you get the picture. I’m not staying here.

So does this mean I have bad Journey Juju? Or does it mean that good Journey Juju is the external luck and the way you look at things? I’m not sure. I know that I am not terribly freaked out. I have several options for finding a place to stay for the last two weeks in May in Lisbon. It will work out.

And maybe that’s Journey Juju – faith that it’s all happening exactly as it should be.

Stay tuned for more Lisbon adventures. Will she find a better place to stay? Will she just go to a beach town and drop out, lying on the beach and eating seafood all day? Will she bail entirely on Portugal and split for familiar Paris? Stay tuned!

Dorothy Siaw - Kiva Entrepreneur

Before I left, I tallied the sales from the shrines. Just over $1,000 came in from Shrine Sales. That left me with $200 to loan to a Kiva entrepreneur. If you’ve been to the Kiva site, you know that there are many people to whom you could lend. I had to narrow it down.

I decided on someone in Africa. I decided on a woman. I decided that this woman should have something to do with food. With those criteria, I found Dorothy Siaw. Here’s her profile on Kiva:

Dorothy is thirty years old and the mother of three children. Two of the children are in school. Dorothy sells vegetables, such as tomatoes, garden eggs (eggplant), and peppers, and vegetable oil and palm oil. She wants to use her loan to buy more oil and fresh vegetables to avoid price hikes and to increase her inventory.

Dorothy is member of the group called "Commitment." Members agree to guarantee for each other as social collateral to repay the loan.

Dorothy needed $425 and she already had $100 raised. I lent $225. Within minutes, she had the remaining money from three other people. It was so exciting to help someone in this way. Thank you to everyone who bought a shrine - $5.00 of your money went to help Dorothy. Check out Dorothy's profile.

Stay tuned – I’ll report in on the loan repayment and plan to lend the money to another entrepreneur. It can keep giving!

Milanese Happy Hour

Do all cultures have their own version of happy hour? In Italy, it’s aperitivo, or APE for short. My couchsurfing host Maurizio put the word out that he was taking me to Hora Feliz (happy hour?!) and over a dozen couchsurfers showed up to join the fun. Here’s how it works at HF:

Two buffet tables are set up. You pay 5 euros and that gets you a drink and all you can eat. Yea! The kitchen staff kept bringing food out like some kind of Italian wedding. Some things I saw and ate:

• Mozzerella and tomato salad
• Fried potatoes
• Pasta with tuna, I think
• Greens
• Rice pilaf with squid
• Crostini
• Sliced peaches
• Some fried things
• And much much more.

While these kind of spreads at first seem great – woo! – look at all that food on offer – they can actually be kinda bad. You don’t really know what you’re eating, you don’t know how much you’re eating, and let’s not even talk about a balanced meal or proper food combining. Let’s just not go there.

Ivana and I with our hair garnishes.

I did well, I think. I didn’t eat too much. I met a handful of couchsurfers and we chatted about life. I learned that there would be a transportation strike in the morning, until 1:00. I asked what I should do with a morning in Milano. A Francis Bacon exhibit was recommended, which I wasn’t too terribly interested in. Is FB morose or what?

At 9:30, then 9:50, a bell rang and there was shouting, indicating that the happy hour was almost over. The place was packed with people taking full advantage of the buffet. The CS party left and here’s where Group Mind kicked in.

You know Group Mind. No one is in charge and so it takes a long time to do anything. It had been decided that we would go to the San Lorenzo church and see the columns. So we stood in front of the restaurant for awhile. Then headed toward the church.

Then stopped at a playground and played on the swings and the monkey bars for 30 minutes. Then walked. Then stopped to say goodbye to a few who were peeling away. Kisses for everyone. Then a drink from the fountain for everyone. Then the moon showed up, a sliver between the roofs of the church. Then, finally, the columns that were once part of the original church. There we took up residence with all the other people hanging around chatting and drinking beer.

By then I was tired so I walked to the metro with Roberta. She’s a food writer, a food stylist and the producer of a web site devoted to food and literature. The company she works for has published several books about the food life of literary notables. Think Emma Bovary, Alice in Wonderland, Ernest Hemingway.

Roberta was great and I hope to see her again when I come to Milano in June for Radiohead.

Today I decided to go to the exhibit but the metro was closed and I was saved from a bleak art show. But I tried. I had an open mind. Instead I went to the outdoor market near where I was staying where I had a run-in with the Italian police. Let’s just say I’m lucky they didn’t kick me out of the country.

There are some serious crimes in Italy and touching the fruit is one of them. I chose a basket of strawberries and picked it up to give to the vendor. He yelled at me and I knew I'd crossed a boundary. Doh! Then a policewoman showed me her polizia badge and told me that touching the fruit was a no-no. At first it was a bit scary and then it was funny. I had to keep a straight face as she explained what I had done wrong. You don’t need a lot of Italian to figure it out. Can you imagine if I were put in jail for choosing my strawberries? I laugh now. OMG.

But I escaped and made it to Lisbon. More on that later!

I need to recalibrate my schedule so I can stay up late with all these Euro-partiers!

No Agenda in Milano

What a day. It was bizarre to wander around Milan with no agenda, no plan, no need to even think about what time it was. When have I ever been like that? Even when traveling, I have a mission of sorts - see this neighborhood, visit that monument. Today, none of that. Just wander around Milano. I have to say that I took to it well. I easily stepped off the track of my life – going, going, going, doing, doing, doing, and slipped into the agenda-free zone. Join me on this beautiful and perfectly sunny May day:

I bought a day pass for the transit system - metro, bus, trolley. I headed toward the Duomo and feasted on a marmalade croissant while standing in the middle of the Galleria, a beautiful Art Nouveau shopping gallery. A small band played music. A man wearing a pink suit and a long white pony tail stood and listened.

Cool outdoor book stall.

Then I did what I always do - trek around. I headed toward Brera, a neighborhood with pedestrian streets, cafes and shops. Wander, wander. People watch. The people are gorgeous here. So many suits and well dressed women. It's a treat to see so much beauty. I focus on the people because Milan's architecture isn't so overwhelmingly beautiful. Not like Paris at least. I did see a fabulous Deco building erected in 1935. I thought of Mussolini.

An outdoor market announced by the smell of fish. I went out of my comfort zone and actually looked at the squid, the octupi, the giant fish with gaping mouths. Usually I avert my gaze from the meat and fish stalls.

Lunch: a salad and glass of white wine at an outdoor cafe in Brera. I savor the luxury of sitting in the shade.

More wandering, taking in Italian words and playing my Italian lessons in my head. I'm happy to see that I recognize the sentence structure and parts of speech even if I don't know what all the words mean. Reading signs and billboards is great practice.

The Castello Sforzesco and the park around the castle. The castle was part of the fortified city walls. Don't ask me any more about that - I don't know. I wasn't so keen on information gathering today and you'll be forewarned that dates and historical notes are not my forte. Mi scusi!

Nap on a bench. I'm so relaxed, no worries, nothing to do, nothing to think about. I'm not feeling jet lagged, which is wonderful. The lack of concern or thought may be jet lag, and if so, I'll take it.

Walk through the park. African men have tables made of cardboard set up, displaying sunglasses, jewelry and purses. I walk past them and into the castle. A minute later they are all running past me, clutching their wares. I watch as another one folds up his table. It all folds into a kind of portfolio, like an artist's portfolio, with tape for handles. A chase ensues - what I assume to be a cop running hard after a couple of them. The vendors are faster and get away. The cop gets on his cell phone. I wonder what they do if/when they catch the street vendors. A little drama.

Stroll along the Foro Buonaparte and stop in a cafe for a macchiato. I try to pay and the barista waves no, no. It's a little strange to not understand when people are talking to me but as I mentioned, there are no worries. I down the espresso with a dollop of milk. With sugar, it's delicioso. I find out that you pay after you drink. Not while drinking. Okay.

I climb on an orange trolley. I don't know where it's going and I don't care. I want to see the city without having to walk it. There are open-topped sightseeing bus es. Why don't the riders just get on the trolleys? With their open windows, wooden seats and squeaky turns, they're so much more interesting. I ride and ride until I see an art and office supply store, then I get off and go in. I know I'm a paper and art supply nerd, but this is what I do when in a new place: check out the stationary and art supply stores.

Another trolley takes me to the Giardini Publici, where I wander around the pebbled paths, watching couples making out and children toddling ahead of their parents. This is another thing I like to do - hit the gardens in a city. It's a great way to release urban stress from pavement, people and pressure.

I really want a gelato by now and when I leave the gardens and find the metro, there's a gelateria right there waiting for me. 1.80 euros gets me two flavors and I choose caffe and macchino (?) which is chocolate with chocolate -- what -- not chunks like in the states, more like smears or smooth chunks of chocolate. It's a good thing. I think about doing exercise when I get home so I can get away with this kind of feasting.

Tonight Maurizio and I are going to happy hour to meet some other couchsurfing peeps. It's amazing how a community of people builds up around this couchsurfing thing. I think about what it would be like to have a home where I could host guests from around the world. I like that idea. For now, I will be the one hitting the couches.

Ciao for now!

Cinzia

Packing Clothes for Six Months

First, let me say that I am a function over fashion person. It’s more important to me to feel good than to look good while traveling, so I’m not schlepping a ton of stuff. A reader asked me to write about the clothes I pack for a long trip so here goes.

It helps to be going abroad during the summer, so less clothing is lighter and easier. Here’s what’s in my suitcase:

Jeans
Black cargo pants
Yoga pants
Yoga top
Bathing suit
Purple shirt x2
Black tshirt
charcoal lace top
Two tank tops
Nightie
Cute white pants and top I bought in Arles last year
Black mary janes
Flip flops for the beach
Lavender linen dress
Orange and green dress
Black lace dress
Green skirt
Undies and bras, of course

I had to buy the nighty and the yoga clothes before I left. I don’t wear clothes while sleeping but perhaps I should when couchsurfing.

Clothes are less the issue that supplements and beauty supplies. And I’m not even a huge beauty supply user. But once you get the moisturizers, the hair goo, the toothpaste, etc, it all adds up. And I do bring vitamins and protein powder and other stuff to stay healthy. There’s more in there but it’s good to leave a small sliver of mystery.

So there you have it. Have I forgotten anything? What would you pack for six months that I didn’t?

Bien Arrivé

This is just to say that I arrived well. I think that was the best trans-Atlantic trip I’ve ever made!

The flight to London was only 8 hours and I slept for five of them. I also tried a homeopathic remedy, No Jet Lag  that seemed to work quite well. The woman who sold it to me told me that she took it for a whirlwind weekend fling in Paris with her lover. I thought, hey, maybe it has extra powers. There were a lot of men on the flight from London to Milan. Wearing suits. Wielding cell phones. Looking sexy. But that’s another post. In my novel, my character time travels while flying over the Atlantic.

All of this is to say that my trip was fabulous. I arrived in Milan and took the metro to my couchsurfing  friend’s apartment. I got to use my new Italian a few times. It was fun to see how easily the few things I know work. Add a smile to a few broken phrases and it’s amazing how helpful people are. (I better get going on my Portuguese!)

Maurizio is the CS ambassador for Milan and a wonderful host. He showed me my room, got me a beer and we talked all evening with his other guest Danny from Vienna. He also fixed the bungee cord on my new luggage trolley, which had worn away during transit. My first meal in Italy was rigatoni with pesto and tiramisu for dessert. I told Mau that I was going to gain weight and he said “So?” Welcome to Italy!

I have one day in Milan before I fly to Lisbon tomorrow. What to do? What I always do – wander around, explore, and make art. I’ve packed the Creative Travel Tools in my bag. I printed them on business cards and attached the stack to a key ring, so they’re easily accessible. More on that later.

For now, ciao! I’m heading into Milan for the first day of my Creative Odyssey!

Launching!

The apartment is packed up, emptied and cleaned. All the details have been sorted out and all I need to do now is wait until 5:00 when I head to the airport. My flight leaves at 8:00. Usually these flights leave midday.
I arrive in London Heathrow tomorrow midday then fly to Milan. I'll repose there for a few days to ease off the jet lag, then fly to Lisbon where I'll be for the rest of May.
As I head into the travel loop, the loop of schlepping luggage, powering through airports, praying that my luggage isn't too heavy or too big, I will take you with me. I'm grateful for your attention and support and you should be grateful that for today at least you are not schlepping six months' worth of stuff across the world. I'll have to find a Turkish hammam when I arrive.
Stay tuned for more journey juju!