Personally, in a very heartfelt way- I sincerely believe this is the best photograph I have ever taken. Its a painting.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
I went all the way to Manitoba and all I got was 23 photos
I few weeks back, I went to Manitoba in search of my past. I didn't find it, but I did find 23 wonderful photos.
You can see the set here.
You can see the set here.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Bob
This is Bob.
I met Bob, I think the first time way back when I was 19 or so. He was the drummer in a band I liked to go see play at the Commercial Hotel in Edmonton. Back then, I kind of lived in that hotel. I spent my time dancing the nights away plenty of nights back then. My entire view of the band was eclipsed by the bass player though, so I don't muchly remember Bob, except back then he had his own car, and was well, the drummer in the band.
Fast forward 8 yrs and Bob turned up again, being a drummer in a band. This time it was a kind of country band that played a weird basement bar with velvet wallpaper. I remember someone trying to teach me to line dance while I laughed my head off to Bob's beats. I liked Bob, so I lingered a lot and hung around. I wish I could say more* about Bob, but I don't really know more than he's one of those characters that meanders on and comes round and we have a friendship that is nearly effortless. I like Bob and he likes me - I think. Ha!
Bob vanished again for many, many moons. I think he was adrift at sea or something. Then, one day the great equalizer known as Facebook reunited Bob and I again. He found himself in geographical proximity to me and I wandered over to Nanaimo to see him for the day. We should have gone canoeing but we didn't. Instead we went on a 5k hike and I pulled a muscle in my bum. Somewhere along the line, I've pulled a muscle in my bum because of Bob more than once- I'm sure.
Bob came to town. He showed up with his salmon colored canoe and parked it in my backyard. It was good timing because I had tickets to some concerts at Stanley Park's Malkin Bowl. Good concerts too (Elvis Costello and The Pretenders with Cat Power and Juliette Lewis and the Licks opening) and was grateful for the company. That's where I took these 2 photos.
Bob can come and stay at mine anytime he wants to. He was the perfect house guest. He didn't pee in the corners, he made food, he didn't drool on my pillows and most of all he kept me laughing when I kind of needed to be laughing. He makes a mean cornbread too. And, when he left there were flowers and a note. He's like the lover that never was.
*(Oh..but I can say more about Bob. He's generous and funny. Very kind and thoughtful. A talented trumpet player and drummer and of course, an effortless friend of almost 20 yrs and he doesn't snore at night.)
I love you, Bob.
I met Bob, I think the first time way back when I was 19 or so. He was the drummer in a band I liked to go see play at the Commercial Hotel in Edmonton. Back then, I kind of lived in that hotel. I spent my time dancing the nights away plenty of nights back then. My entire view of the band was eclipsed by the bass player though, so I don't muchly remember Bob, except back then he had his own car, and was well, the drummer in the band.
Fast forward 8 yrs and Bob turned up again, being a drummer in a band. This time it was a kind of country band that played a weird basement bar with velvet wallpaper. I remember someone trying to teach me to line dance while I laughed my head off to Bob's beats. I liked Bob, so I lingered a lot and hung around. I wish I could say more* about Bob, but I don't really know more than he's one of those characters that meanders on and comes round and we have a friendship that is nearly effortless. I like Bob and he likes me - I think. Ha!
Bob vanished again for many, many moons. I think he was adrift at sea or something. Then, one day the great equalizer known as Facebook reunited Bob and I again. He found himself in geographical proximity to me and I wandered over to Nanaimo to see him for the day. We should have gone canoeing but we didn't. Instead we went on a 5k hike and I pulled a muscle in my bum. Somewhere along the line, I've pulled a muscle in my bum because of Bob more than once- I'm sure.
Bob came to town. He showed up with his salmon colored canoe and parked it in my backyard. It was good timing because I had tickets to some concerts at Stanley Park's Malkin Bowl. Good concerts too (Elvis Costello and The Pretenders with Cat Power and Juliette Lewis and the Licks opening) and was grateful for the company. That's where I took these 2 photos.
Bob can come and stay at mine anytime he wants to. He was the perfect house guest. He didn't pee in the corners, he made food, he didn't drool on my pillows and most of all he kept me laughing when I kind of needed to be laughing. He makes a mean cornbread too. And, when he left there were flowers and a note. He's like the lover that never was.
*(Oh..but I can say more about Bob. He's generous and funny. Very kind and thoughtful. A talented trumpet player and drummer and of course, an effortless friend of almost 20 yrs and he doesn't snore at night.)
I love you, Bob.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
rapeseed
I know I have been away. I took a little trip and then I had to recover and then I had to go to 2 rocking concerts.
This is canola. I like to call it rapeseed. Some people think that's wrong. Get over it people. Calling it rapeseed is not offensive.
Speaking of politically correct crap.. apparently 'brainstorm' is no longer acceptable. It should be a 'brain shower''. Oh brother.
I'm back. More to follow...sometime.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Monday, August 10, 2009
Friday, August 7, 2009
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
just sayin..
Aries Horoscope for week of July 30, 2009
Are you a gelatinous pool of longing yet? Are you a perfumed garden of madly blooming purple explosions? Are you throbbing and gooey and half-nauseous with that delicious sickness some people called love? If not, I don't know what to tell you. By all astrological reckoning your gut should be swarming with drunk butterflies and the clouds should be taking on the shapes of mating horses. If you're not half-drowning in these symptoms, I implore you to find a way to pry open the floodgates.
Are you a gelatinous pool of longing yet? Are you a perfumed garden of madly blooming purple explosions? Are you throbbing and gooey and half-nauseous with that delicious sickness some people called love? If not, I don't know what to tell you. By all astrological reckoning your gut should be swarming with drunk butterflies and the clouds should be taking on the shapes of mating horses. If you're not half-drowning in these symptoms, I implore you to find a way to pry open the floodgates.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
liquidating
I've been on a bit of a health thing since I came back from Cuba in May. Maybe it was the rum? maybe it was hauling around the extra poundage in the tropical heat. It's possible that the swim in the dolphin pool and the resulting heftiness forever memoralized in video pushed me over the edge?
I killed all flours, sugar and dairy from my diet on May 15. Now, that's not to say I haven't cheated. I've sneaked bits and pieces of all the foods i swore off. There was that trip to Mennonite country and the land of perogies and cream sauce that was, come on do you blame me- unavoidable.
But, I've kicked it up a notch and I've started a 3 day (nice and moderate) juice cleanse. There is a sink full of organic carrots, broccoli, beets, radish, celery, parsley, kale and cabbage waiting to be drunk.
I have a big old glass of fresh juice for breakfast, tomato cocktail for lunch, fresh veggie juice for dinner and a glass of prune juice for dessert. Yum.
I killed all flours, sugar and dairy from my diet on May 15. Now, that's not to say I haven't cheated. I've sneaked bits and pieces of all the foods i swore off. There was that trip to Mennonite country and the land of perogies and cream sauce that was, come on do you blame me- unavoidable.
But, I've kicked it up a notch and I've started a 3 day (nice and moderate) juice cleanse. There is a sink full of organic carrots, broccoli, beets, radish, celery, parsley, kale and cabbage waiting to be drunk.
I have a big old glass of fresh juice for breakfast, tomato cocktail for lunch, fresh veggie juice for dinner and a glass of prune juice for dessert. Yum.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Last Chance Lantern Saloon
Wonder why I haven't said much over here lately? It's because a bomb of tissue paper, glue, and baloons went off in my apt. I haven't done much of anything except make lanterns, eat, sleep and procrastinate about making lanterns.
At the end of the last 10 days, I made 70 lanterns. I stung them up outside tonight for the 21 annual Illumanaires lantern festival in Trout Lake. I strung them all and then the weirdest thing happened.
It rained. Not only did it rain, there was lightning and thunder as well. Which is a rare phenomenon here. It rains alot but with no show. Tonight, even the sun shone under the rain. The sky was a pinking orange, like it was the planet mars. the rain came down like tiny boulders of wetness. Heavy and damp.
Out came the tarps to cover the lanterns made out of dried glue and paper. Brave souls took pity in me and walked away with my labored over pods of light. It was a steal at 5 buck with a stick, a soggy pack of matches and a wet tea light.
I made 70, and sold 33 and got a $1 tip. Best part was people taking them to their cars to take home!
At the end of the last 10 days, I made 70 lanterns. I stung them up outside tonight for the 21 annual Illumanaires lantern festival in Trout Lake. I strung them all and then the weirdest thing happened.
It rained. Not only did it rain, there was lightning and thunder as well. Which is a rare phenomenon here. It rains alot but with no show. Tonight, even the sun shone under the rain. The sky was a pinking orange, like it was the planet mars. the rain came down like tiny boulders of wetness. Heavy and damp.
Out came the tarps to cover the lanterns made out of dried glue and paper. Brave souls took pity in me and walked away with my labored over pods of light. It was a steal at 5 buck with a stick, a soggy pack of matches and a wet tea light.
I made 70, and sold 33 and got a $1 tip. Best part was people taking them to their cars to take home!
Friday, July 24, 2009
Friday, July 17, 2009
gasoline and grass
Once there was a girl who was kind of an introvert in an extroverted way. She liked to watch people more than she liked to talk to them. When she was 5, her best friend died and no one really explained it to her because she was only just only a young thing who they were sure would not understand. After that and to this day, the smell of gasoline and grass makes her feel as though something is missing in her life.
The little girl grew up. All along the way, it was as though there was no one else who would ever feel like she did or do the things that she was doing. She stared and stared and said nothing. She blindly continued on in her search for the source of the gasoline and grass, mostly unknowingly. Along the way, she stumbled and fell more than once into the arms that could not hold her.
If only the man with the weathered hands and plaid farmers shirts would come back and say goodbye before he left. "Be a good girl and keep your chin up. You’re a pretty girl" he would say- that and "you’re my girl". He would explain to her why others wouldn’t sometimes care and he would say it in a way that even her tiny heart would understand. If only he hadn’t died; things would have been different.
The little girl would not have been left alone to stare at the others and wonder where the smell of gasoline and grass comes from.
The little girl grew up. All along the way, it was as though there was no one else who would ever feel like she did or do the things that she was doing. She stared and stared and said nothing. She blindly continued on in her search for the source of the gasoline and grass, mostly unknowingly. Along the way, she stumbled and fell more than once into the arms that could not hold her.
If only the man with the weathered hands and plaid farmers shirts would come back and say goodbye before he left. "Be a good girl and keep your chin up. You’re a pretty girl" he would say- that and "you’re my girl". He would explain to her why others wouldn’t sometimes care and he would say it in a way that even her tiny heart would understand. If only he hadn’t died; things would have been different.
The little girl would not have been left alone to stare at the others and wonder where the smell of gasoline and grass comes from.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
2 weeks and then 2 weeks
In 2 weeks I'll be headed home to spend some time in the beautiful Alberta prairies. I'm really looking forward to a long weekend with my mum and getting to see some family. Do a little driving, take a few pictures, get some good prairie air in my lungs. There's something weirdly calming about puffy white clouds, blue skies and weather storms that can take your roof off. Big thundering cracks of lightning is the kind of thing you don't get in Vancouver. There's something horribly wrong with rain with no thunder.
2 weeks after that, I'll be headed back to the plains of Manitoba. Somewhere I've caught a fondness for, There's mysteries and past wants creeping through the coulees of southern Manitoba. There's also some really fond friends that I lost touch with until recently. I am immensely grateful for finding them again for they are the kind of folks who I immediately feel at ease with. People I know in my heart we are friends and the kind of people you just pick up where you left off. My heart nearly exploded from my refound joy and delight in my lost friendships.
The prairies hold a special place in my heart. They are magical and mysterius plains of Western Canada. They are as exotic as foreign beaches and extravagent museums. As unique as the worn cobblestone of any european city and as rich with heritage and fable as the dark corners of the parisian acfes of philosphers past. I am a prairie girl at heart. I am old barn wood and abandoned houses filled with grain. I am the smell of trackers, oil and gasoline. I am the smell of fresh baked bread on a sunny window ledge. I am old and weathered skin and plaid farmer shirts. I am a storm cloud looking for my lightning bolt.
14 days and counting
28 days and waiting
till I get back.
Jill
2 weeks after that, I'll be headed back to the plains of Manitoba. Somewhere I've caught a fondness for, There's mysteries and past wants creeping through the coulees of southern Manitoba. There's also some really fond friends that I lost touch with until recently. I am immensely grateful for finding them again for they are the kind of folks who I immediately feel at ease with. People I know in my heart we are friends and the kind of people you just pick up where you left off. My heart nearly exploded from my refound joy and delight in my lost friendships.
The prairies hold a special place in my heart. They are magical and mysterius plains of Western Canada. They are as exotic as foreign beaches and extravagent museums. As unique as the worn cobblestone of any european city and as rich with heritage and fable as the dark corners of the parisian acfes of philosphers past. I am a prairie girl at heart. I am old barn wood and abandoned houses filled with grain. I am the smell of trackers, oil and gasoline. I am the smell of fresh baked bread on a sunny window ledge. I am old and weathered skin and plaid farmer shirts. I am a storm cloud looking for my lightning bolt.
14 days and counting
28 days and waiting
till I get back.
Jill
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
32 days
What could one do in 32 days. What will I do in 32 days?
1. make cd's
2. ride 300 km
3. sew a patch on my jeans
4. look for jeans fr a friend
5. loose 15 pounds
6. drink 32 litres of water
7. eat 20 salads, at least
8. drink 32 cups of tea
9. make 100 lanterns and sell them for $500
10. have a street photo show
11. go to Alberta
12. answer 3200 emails
13. eat in a restaurant at least twice
14. will not eat any sugar, flour or dairy
15. go to at least 2 Car free Days
16. get tattooed
17. do the dishes at least 20 times
18. sell my cds
19. buy more music.
20. sleep on the couch maybe half a dozen time.
21. take 2.5 baths.
22. Take out the recycling 3 times.
23. print a photograph
24. will try and make changes
25. clear my head
1. make cd's
2. ride 300 km
3. sew a patch on my jeans
4. look for jeans fr a friend
5. loose 15 pounds
6. drink 32 litres of water
7. eat 20 salads, at least
8. drink 32 cups of tea
9. make 100 lanterns and sell them for $500
10. have a street photo show
11. go to Alberta
12. answer 3200 emails
13. eat in a restaurant at least twice
14. will not eat any sugar, flour or dairy
15. go to at least 2 Car free Days
16. get tattooed
17. do the dishes at least 20 times
18. sell my cds
19. buy more music.
20. sleep on the couch maybe half a dozen time.
21. take 2.5 baths.
22. Take out the recycling 3 times.
23. print a photograph
24. will try and make changes
25. clear my head
Monday, July 13, 2009
Sunday, July 12, 2009
waterfall
my emotions run thick and dry
through coulee on a hot summer day
the river of my feelings tear through it
carving patterns, an unpaved highway
rips the green carpet countryside
slow shards of grass cut the birds that land
my affections and agitations collide
the past and the future intersect
crash head first into one another
scorched by the sun and shipwrecked
my heart floats the blue clear water crawl
bursting through past lovers and pain
to the change of the waterfall
I spilled alot of stuff tonight. All my pains, all my wants, all my desires, all the conflicts of my heart. All the past that shapes me and confuses me now. All of it. It all collided with the future. One door is shut and I broke open the door to my gilded cage. I'm standing at the doorway of something changing but I don't know what.
through coulee on a hot summer day
the river of my feelings tear through it
carving patterns, an unpaved highway
rips the green carpet countryside
slow shards of grass cut the birds that land
my affections and agitations collide
the past and the future intersect
crash head first into one another
scorched by the sun and shipwrecked
my heart floats the blue clear water crawl
bursting through past lovers and pain
to the change of the waterfall
I spilled alot of stuff tonight. All my pains, all my wants, all my desires, all the conflicts of my heart. All the past that shapes me and confuses me now. All of it. It all collided with the future. One door is shut and I broke open the door to my gilded cage. I'm standing at the doorway of something changing but I don't know what.
get put the glue, we're gonna have a party
It's only 2 weeks until the annual Lantern Fest in Trout Lake. The lantern production is coming out again this year. Somewhere I have a bucket of glue and a bunch of tissue paper in storage. If I can make a labourious 100 lanterns, I can sell them for $5 easy. What else do i have going on for the next 14 days but to turn the kitchen into a lantern assembly line.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Friday, July 10, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
one of these days
I'll update the sorry state of this blog. Is it just me, or are you bored too?
I've been really busy, doing nothing really.
I went to Manitoba and saw 3 people I hadn't seen in 15-20 years. This was, um.. kind of startling to discover I'm basically in love with all of them. It's a funny thing seeing someone again you used to have a lot of fun with. I just opened the door to my heart for them to come back and it all translates into this warm squishy feeling of "Holy shit, I MISSED you and I didn't even know HOW MUCH and don't you DARE skip out of town again" And you know, life's short. So, just tell people you love them. I just have a wee bit of difficulty not inviting myself to hug them all night. Is that a bad thing?
I took some amazing shots that I'm just chucked to have in my collection. There are seriously, some old abandoned trucks out there. I saw a cluster of old fords in a field that I couldn't quite get to unless I got out and walked. If I wasn't on my way to the airport, I would've schlepped out there. I'm going back to get that shot.
I went thrifting and found the most ridiculously beautiful handbag for 45 cents and then noticed it's mate for 40 cents. The Mennonites really get down to thrifting. They also have change rooms made for 2. It gave me curious ideas. I did come away with the obligatory knit Mennonite slippers. I couldn't find any matching pot holders.
The best part was the Saskatoon berry perogies with white sauce in the middle of a no flour, dairy, or sugar cleanse. Way to stick it to me. It wasn't actually the best best part. That was any number of things..
-sitting at Denise's kitchen table after 20 yrs
-her party to introduce me to her friends
-knocking on the door of an handsome ex- fella and the gift of a really beautiful farm jacket- it inspired a poem
-seeing an old friend and finding them sad and staying the night to curl up
-dropping in on another old friend and their new bar and remembering how much the light in their eye's danced
-bar hopping with a friend in Winnipeg and sneaking them into my hotel room to stay up too late drinking beer and eating pizza.
I'm wondering now, how many years left do I have to pretend that I'm still 20?? Boy did I have fun.
I've been really busy, doing nothing really.
I went to Manitoba and saw 3 people I hadn't seen in 15-20 years. This was, um.. kind of startling to discover I'm basically in love with all of them. It's a funny thing seeing someone again you used to have a lot of fun with. I just opened the door to my heart for them to come back and it all translates into this warm squishy feeling of "Holy shit, I MISSED you and I didn't even know HOW MUCH and don't you DARE skip out of town again" And you know, life's short. So, just tell people you love them. I just have a wee bit of difficulty not inviting myself to hug them all night. Is that a bad thing?
I took some amazing shots that I'm just chucked to have in my collection. There are seriously, some old abandoned trucks out there. I saw a cluster of old fords in a field that I couldn't quite get to unless I got out and walked. If I wasn't on my way to the airport, I would've schlepped out there. I'm going back to get that shot.
I went thrifting and found the most ridiculously beautiful handbag for 45 cents and then noticed it's mate for 40 cents. The Mennonites really get down to thrifting. They also have change rooms made for 2. It gave me curious ideas. I did come away with the obligatory knit Mennonite slippers. I couldn't find any matching pot holders.
The best part was the Saskatoon berry perogies with white sauce in the middle of a no flour, dairy, or sugar cleanse. Way to stick it to me. It wasn't actually the best best part. That was any number of things..
-sitting at Denise's kitchen table after 20 yrs
-her party to introduce me to her friends
-knocking on the door of an handsome ex- fella and the gift of a really beautiful farm jacket- it inspired a poem
-seeing an old friend and finding them sad and staying the night to curl up
-dropping in on another old friend and their new bar and remembering how much the light in their eye's danced
-bar hopping with a friend in Winnipeg and sneaking them into my hotel room to stay up too late drinking beer and eating pizza.
I'm wondering now, how many years left do I have to pretend that I'm still 20?? Boy did I have fun.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
poem for you
You walked into a bar one night, on the south-side of the city
and said to your brother, 'look at that girl, isn't she so pretty'.
My doubts about that night are so, but you assured me it was true
It began the summer that shimmered gold before it turned dark blue.
You said we spent that summer talking, that we were surely dating
But I remember scowls and silence and silly awkward moments of mating.
A lifetime and one day later, I went knocking on your door
to find that you had all grown up, you'd had children and even more.
You aren't the same man that left that town so many years ago
instead you seemed the same but changed but how would I to know.
To make amends and bridge the past, you offered up your jacket
I wear it now with you inside, just like a little packet.
I wonder now, as I wondered then if our paths would cross again
with many letters of many words we put our thoughts down, without a pen.
To think of ways to travel near for picnics in the wheat
where we can remember what we forgot when the heart begins to beat.
So, while some will say 'don't look back', sometimes it's not the plan
but to turn around once more again to finish what has began.
I bet once more our journeys will bring us not far but near
Where we can laugh again and rekindle friendships, all within the year.
and said to your brother, 'look at that girl, isn't she so pretty'.
My doubts about that night are so, but you assured me it was true
It began the summer that shimmered gold before it turned dark blue.
You said we spent that summer talking, that we were surely dating
But I remember scowls and silence and silly awkward moments of mating.
A lifetime and one day later, I went knocking on your door
to find that you had all grown up, you'd had children and even more.
You aren't the same man that left that town so many years ago
instead you seemed the same but changed but how would I to know.
To make amends and bridge the past, you offered up your jacket
I wear it now with you inside, just like a little packet.
I wonder now, as I wondered then if our paths would cross again
with many letters of many words we put our thoughts down, without a pen.
To think of ways to travel near for picnics in the wheat
where we can remember what we forgot when the heart begins to beat.
So, while some will say 'don't look back', sometimes it's not the plan
but to turn around once more again to finish what has began.
I bet once more our journeys will bring us not far but near
Where we can laugh again and rekindle friendships, all within the year.
photos of my trip to the grassy green plains of Manitoba
you can see the whole lot here. I think I better plan to go back.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
currency
Today I stood in the middle of my ill-spent youth.
By the hockey benches
and green grass rinks
where I smoked illicit cigarettes
after school
and played truth or dare with boys.
I walked down the alley's of my adolescence
and stole the sweet and tender young raspberries
from the bushes that defiantly taken root
on the wrong side of the fence.
Riding by a park,
I remembered the day when my friend told me
she lost her virginity in a hotel room
to a man she met in a bar.
We swung high on the swing sets,
our converse sneakers and feet dangling.
Kicking at the dust of our childhood
while we spent the shiny coins of our youth.
By the hockey benches
and green grass rinks
where I smoked illicit cigarettes
after school
and played truth or dare with boys.
I walked down the alley's of my adolescence
and stole the sweet and tender young raspberries
from the bushes that defiantly taken root
on the wrong side of the fence.
Riding by a park,
I remembered the day when my friend told me
she lost her virginity in a hotel room
to a man she met in a bar.
We swung high on the swing sets,
our converse sneakers and feet dangling.
Kicking at the dust of our childhood
while we spent the shiny coins of our youth.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
bust loose
I'm going to Winnipeg tomorrow to see some old friends I haven't seen in nearly 20 years.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
in my quest
For a better digestive tract.. I have recently eliminated all forms of sugar, flours and dairy products. This hasn't always been easy and has been somewhat boring. I pick up that soy alternative to cream cheese and notice lurking in the ingredients is the dreaded "cane sugar". As if the word cane in front makes it any less of a sugar. Hurrumph.
But behold.. the Manna Bread.. it's like a gift from heaven. Literally. I bought the bread today and enjoyed my 1st slice of sheer breadlike goodness..
My little loaf only has these ingredients:
Sprouted organic wheat kernels, filtered water, organic raisins, organic dates, organic almonds, organic cashews, organic hazelnuts, organic cinnamon, organic nutmeg, organic oatmeal.
That's it. No sugar (ok dates and raisins- but do they really count?), no salt, no flour, no yeast, no preservatives, no dairy, no crap, no nothing but allowed goodies.
If I could find a reasonable facsimile of applewood smoked cheddar, I would gently weep over my plain un-brown-sugared, no condensed milk breakfast knowing there was a better day ahead.
But behold.. the Manna Bread.. it's like a gift from heaven. Literally. I bought the bread today and enjoyed my 1st slice of sheer breadlike goodness..
My little loaf only has these ingredients:
Sprouted organic wheat kernels, filtered water, organic raisins, organic dates, organic almonds, organic cashews, organic hazelnuts, organic cinnamon, organic nutmeg, organic oatmeal.
That's it. No sugar (ok dates and raisins- but do they really count?), no salt, no flour, no yeast, no preservatives, no dairy, no crap, no nothing but allowed goodies.
If I could find a reasonable facsimile of applewood smoked cheddar, I would gently weep over my plain un-brown-sugared, no condensed milk breakfast knowing there was a better day ahead.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
gig poster
I saw this on a wall in Santiago de Cuba. I tried to steal it. At first I asked if I could take it and someone said- after 9 o'clock, So I went back after 9 and tried to take it and was stopped. I guess someone saw an opportunity because they made me pay for it. I think it cost me $10. Tricky part was getting it back to Canada.
I managed to get it back to Havana and to my casa. I managed to get it to the Havana airport when I was headed home and through security I went and left it on the other side of immigration. It's not fun being fed up, tired and hungry trying to negotiate with border guards in a communist country that you left behind a piece of cardboard.
I believe I pleaded, then got angry and then cried out of shear frustration with it all. They simply would not let me return to the other side of the line of customs AND I had spent all my money except for the taxi fare an didn't have 2 pesos to rub together for a mohito.
But.. luck rained down on me somehow as somewhere in the middle of all the people I talked to, I was able to get the darn thing back and now it hangs in my apt. A hand painted gig poster on cardboard- all the way from Santiago de Cuba. Best-souvenir-ever
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Sunday, June 7, 2009
salad creation
Maybe I should share all the wacky recipes I have created in my quest for wheat/ dairy/ sugar free diet? I warn you ahead of time.. it's a lot of salad. In various forms..
Todays creation:
1 head of iceberg lettuce- chopped
1/4 cup sundried tomatoes
1/2 small red onion, finely chopped
1 can of tuna, drained
1 red pepper, finely chopped
Mix throughly.
In a small glass:
Juice of 1/2 lemon
2-3 tbsp olive oil
tsp dried basil
salt & pepper
Toss salad with dressing and add 1/2 avocado, cubed to top of salad.
Todays creation:
1 head of iceberg lettuce- chopped
1/4 cup sundried tomatoes
1/2 small red onion, finely chopped
1 can of tuna, drained
1 red pepper, finely chopped
Mix throughly.
In a small glass:
Juice of 1/2 lemon
2-3 tbsp olive oil
tsp dried basil
salt & pepper
Toss salad with dressing and add 1/2 avocado, cubed to top of salad.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
lately..there's been an upheaval
27 days ago I changed my life in a small and tiny but significant way. I started a 100 day challenge to eliminate all grain flours, yeast, sugar and dairy from my diet. On May 15 was the last day I ate any of these items. I have also not had anything fermented- no vinegar or soy sauce. No black tea. No artificial sweeteners, no Cuban honey. No milk in my coffee. No pasta. No tropical fruit. No toast with my eggs. No cheese or yogurt. No ice cream in the heat. No- I have not had wheat, dairy or sugar in 27 days. Every day is 1% closer to the goal of 100 days.
I have had:
Glorious green salads with lemon juice and olive oil dressing
beautiful broiled wild salmon with butter, garlic and thyme
rice cakes with almond butter and apple
mixed grain oatmeal with fresh berries
hot strong and black Cuban coffee
hard boiled organic eggs with salt and pepper
steamed broccoli with butter and garlic
black beans with stir fried peppers, onions and bacon
better fitting clothes and more energy
Edit: Thanks for the feedback, Mom & Catherine. It's not as hard as I thought it would be. Today I found chocolate almond milk with no sugar. Crackers and pita bread has been tough though. (and cheddar..)
I have had:
Glorious green salads with lemon juice and olive oil dressing
beautiful broiled wild salmon with butter, garlic and thyme
rice cakes with almond butter and apple
mixed grain oatmeal with fresh berries
hot strong and black Cuban coffee
hard boiled organic eggs with salt and pepper
steamed broccoli with butter and garlic
black beans with stir fried peppers, onions and bacon
better fitting clothes and more energy
Edit: Thanks for the feedback, Mom & Catherine. It's not as hard as I thought it would be. Today I found chocolate almond milk with no sugar. Crackers and pita bread has been tough though. (and cheddar..)
Friday, June 5, 2009
serene is not an adjective that fits
I was in a little village outside of Gibara, Cuba when I snapped this. The water really is that color and it really was that close to the house. It was amazing. Do you see that little lagoon on the map? I spent a day there, wading in the crystal turquoise water. Rubbing my feet with soft white sand and generally not doing much except being amazed that people flock to the beaches of Varadero and here I was on my own private beach of Cuba. There's a little fishing village there. Last year a few visitors- Ike, Fay, Gustav and Hanna rolled through town and tore the place up.. literally. And it was in shambles. Beautiful, peaceful and serene shambles.
View Larger Map
I rented a car in nearby Holguin and drove to a little remote beach with the help of some locals. They knew some people in the village. We were the only ones on the beach all day. Totally remote. Totally secluded. Later, in a home (a shack really- pieced together from salvaged plywood, corrugated steel and plastic) we had the most delicious dinner of fresh caught fish, plantains, rice and a salad of fresh tomatoes and onions and finished off with a strong coffee. The hosts requested 7 CUC (about 9 CAD) for lunch and I paid them 20- which was nearly a small fortune- but so delicious..and so remote and special.
It was a perfect day.
You can see more of the day here.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
The rally on May 1 in Havana
One of the wildest things I have ever been a part of. A major highlight of my trip to Cuba.
Monday, May 25, 2009
the weekend that went by in a week
I went to the island. The one off the coast of BC. The big one that you can fit 3 England's into. We left on Friday and made the 6:00 ferry and sat on the windy but sunny sun deck and I took pictures of people close up but from far away. Sneaky me. We drove to Metchosin and dropped off 2 water barrels and trailer, ate and apple and drank some wine and headed in search of our hiding spot for the night. We were staying "in our vehicle". Which isn't as bad as it sounds when it's a Delica with a mattress and 4 pillows and a huge feather duvet. Just as long as you're parked on flat ground- you're good.
Up and around a snaky road called Kangaroo Road and over a bend and through a thicket we found Sooke and the Whiffin Spit. We parked where we shouldn't have and fell asleep listening to the water rush up on the rocks. When the dawn broke through the windows, we got up and walked the Whiffin Spit I once walked with my mom and grandmother. The town of Sooke isn't much, but we found a funny little place for coffee and a recommendation for breakfast- The Alternative Cafe. Very good ham & eggs, by the way. We wandered into a house masquerading as a gallery and the following exchange..
"Are you an artist?"
"Well, no, I take photographs though."
"They don't sell. Get into something else."
pause...
"Where are you staying?"
"In our vehicle." I said with a odd sense of "so there."
She recommended the drive to French Beach, gave me her card and I walked away saying thanks.. "Maybe you'll sell my photos one day." She laughed.
So we went to French Beach and if you look at the link and see the picture with the giant upturned tree.. it's still there.
We drove back to Victoria and pottered around. We were unimpressed with our lunch at Rebar, especially as we happened to come in when they were changing menus and were rather ceremoniously told of our inconvenient timing. They did have some lovely salads that supported my newly acquired wheat, dairy and sugar free diet so we stayed. The cookbook looks better though.
We talked to the locals, with a craving for beef, we got recommendations from a vegetarian for a lovely restaurant named Spinnakers that required a 20 minute walk along the water front. The food could have been better but they did use locally grown, produced and raised ingredients. It made up for the fact that they overcooked the greens and veggies that the menu said was steamed and tossed in butter. We saw the veg-head on our way back which was odd since he seemed so vague about the place. Maybe he secretly grows their herbs.
Saturday night and the hunt was one for a superior or equal hiding spot to the one we found in Sooke. We ended up on a tiny strip of land crossing a tiny bit of the outer Victoria harbour called Ocean Blvd. A beautiful view of the harbour and Fisgard Lighthouse was there like warm croissants and coffee in the morning. Except I'm still on my cleanse, so no croissants for me.
We ended up at some cafe on Cook St called Rosie's Diner. When we were greeted at the door with a sign that said "no Chinese Food today" I had grave misgivings about Rosie, but we ventured forward. In hopes of recreating the ham steak at the breakfast in Sooke, I ordered the same again. But, let this be a lesson to you- you can not recreate the same meal with a different menu. The ham steak was reconstituted ham "bologna"- fried. While Michael slathered his buttery rye toast with peanut butter, I began to feel foul and then the waitress came and took our paper off our table without warning. Cook St Rosie Diner- I won't be back.
But while sitting there I saw an add for a shoe company with a rather dapper pair of sandals that enamored me so, and our next adventure was set. Later, with sandals on my feet we ventured further into dietary restrictions..
"Can I have the burger without the bun, mayo, or cheese please?" That was somewhat painful.
"Could I have the salad bare, with no dressing, but could you bring me a small amount of oil and some lemon?" The waitress looked confused.
"Is it possible to buy 1/2 and avocado?"
"Do you have any desserts that do not have sugar, wheat or dairy?" just as a joke.
Later, before we had to go, we rewarded ourselves with a trip to Fisgard Lighthouse and came nearly face to face with a deer in exchange.
So and there it goes, our excellent adventure of dietary restrictions, finding places to peacefully pee and sleep, retail therapy, and a historical rendezvous or two..
Up and around a snaky road called Kangaroo Road and over a bend and through a thicket we found Sooke and the Whiffin Spit. We parked where we shouldn't have and fell asleep listening to the water rush up on the rocks. When the dawn broke through the windows, we got up and walked the Whiffin Spit I once walked with my mom and grandmother. The town of Sooke isn't much, but we found a funny little place for coffee and a recommendation for breakfast- The Alternative Cafe. Very good ham & eggs, by the way. We wandered into a house masquerading as a gallery and the following exchange..
"Are you an artist?"
"Well, no, I take photographs though."
"They don't sell. Get into something else."
pause...
"Where are you staying?"
"In our vehicle." I said with a odd sense of "so there."
She recommended the drive to French Beach, gave me her card and I walked away saying thanks.. "Maybe you'll sell my photos one day." She laughed.
So we went to French Beach and if you look at the link and see the picture with the giant upturned tree.. it's still there.
We drove back to Victoria and pottered around. We were unimpressed with our lunch at Rebar, especially as we happened to come in when they were changing menus and were rather ceremoniously told of our inconvenient timing. They did have some lovely salads that supported my newly acquired wheat, dairy and sugar free diet so we stayed. The cookbook looks better though.
We talked to the locals, with a craving for beef, we got recommendations from a vegetarian for a lovely restaurant named Spinnakers that required a 20 minute walk along the water front. The food could have been better but they did use locally grown, produced and raised ingredients. It made up for the fact that they overcooked the greens and veggies that the menu said was steamed and tossed in butter. We saw the veg-head on our way back which was odd since he seemed so vague about the place. Maybe he secretly grows their herbs.
Saturday night and the hunt was one for a superior or equal hiding spot to the one we found in Sooke. We ended up on a tiny strip of land crossing a tiny bit of the outer Victoria harbour called Ocean Blvd. A beautiful view of the harbour and Fisgard Lighthouse was there like warm croissants and coffee in the morning. Except I'm still on my cleanse, so no croissants for me.
We ended up at some cafe on Cook St called Rosie's Diner. When we were greeted at the door with a sign that said "no Chinese Food today" I had grave misgivings about Rosie, but we ventured forward. In hopes of recreating the ham steak at the breakfast in Sooke, I ordered the same again. But, let this be a lesson to you- you can not recreate the same meal with a different menu. The ham steak was reconstituted ham "bologna"- fried. While Michael slathered his buttery rye toast with peanut butter, I began to feel foul and then the waitress came and took our paper off our table without warning. Cook St Rosie Diner- I won't be back.
But while sitting there I saw an add for a shoe company with a rather dapper pair of sandals that enamored me so, and our next adventure was set. Later, with sandals on my feet we ventured further into dietary restrictions..
"Can I have the burger without the bun, mayo, or cheese please?" That was somewhat painful.
"Could I have the salad bare, with no dressing, but could you bring me a small amount of oil and some lemon?" The waitress looked confused.
"Is it possible to buy 1/2 and avocado?"
"Do you have any desserts that do not have sugar, wheat or dairy?" just as a joke.
Later, before we had to go, we rewarded ourselves with a trip to Fisgard Lighthouse and came nearly face to face with a deer in exchange.
So and there it goes, our excellent adventure of dietary restrictions, finding places to peacefully pee and sleep, retail therapy, and a historical rendezvous or two..
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
This humanity is craving for justice. -Fidel
When I walked in the May Day Rally in Havana I walked for a while behind this man. His shirt reads "This humanity is craving for justice." This is highly ironic to me for Havana was once one of the most important Latin American cities and it's renowned Baroque, Neo- Classical, Art Nouveau and Art Deco architecture lies in near ruins.
Hemingway who spent 22 years living in Havana off and on once said "in terms of beauty, only Venice and Paris have surpassed Havana" and at one time the city had more theatres than Paris or NYC. But, it also had that American influence; the gambling and the Mafia. Of course, Fidel put a stop to all of that after the revolution and kicked everyone out taking back all private enterprise.
The communists said they would improve everything. They would fix the social services and repair the buildings and then they shacked up with the USSR and the famous US embargo tightened all the purse strings. When the fall of communist Russia happened.. well we don't even want to get into what they call the "Special Period" but death rates among the elderly went up 20% and animals at the zoo went missing.
Now, the country has gotten into bed with Chavez, trading doctors for oil and welcomed tourism (bringing in a reported 2 billion annually). They've fixed up the "historic" areas for the tourists.. allowed some 'brands' (Coca Cola, Nike, Nestle, Adidas and even United Colors of Benetton) and yet the Cubans who walk in the rally earn a pittance for their hard work, live in a city largely dilapidated, can not leave the island and continue to show support for the government responsible for this beautiful calamity and wear t shirts that say.. this humanity is craving justice.
I'll say.
Hemingway who spent 22 years living in Havana off and on once said "in terms of beauty, only Venice and Paris have surpassed Havana" and at one time the city had more theatres than Paris or NYC. But, it also had that American influence; the gambling and the Mafia. Of course, Fidel put a stop to all of that after the revolution and kicked everyone out taking back all private enterprise.
The communists said they would improve everything. They would fix the social services and repair the buildings and then they shacked up with the USSR and the famous US embargo tightened all the purse strings. When the fall of communist Russia happened.. well we don't even want to get into what they call the "Special Period" but death rates among the elderly went up 20% and animals at the zoo went missing.
Now, the country has gotten into bed with Chavez, trading doctors for oil and welcomed tourism (bringing in a reported 2 billion annually). They've fixed up the "historic" areas for the tourists.. allowed some 'brands' (Coca Cola, Nike, Nestle, Adidas and even United Colors of Benetton) and yet the Cubans who walk in the rally earn a pittance for their hard work, live in a city largely dilapidated, can not leave the island and continue to show support for the government responsible for this beautiful calamity and wear t shirts that say.. this humanity is craving justice.
I'll say.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
The most peirced man in Cuba
I don't really know what to say about this guy except I came around a corner in Havana and there he was in all his glory. It was an outstanding display of individualism by a local- yes he was a local artist. I'm sure he gets stopped all the time by someone asking to take his photo for a peso.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
"Dear God," she prayed, "let me be something every minute of every hour of my life. Let me be gay; let me be sad. Let me be cold; let me be warm. Let me be hungry...have too much to eat. Let me be ragged or well dressed. Let me be sincere- be deceitful. Let me be truthful; let me be a liar. Let me be honorable and let me sin. Only let me be something every blessed minute. And when I sleep, let me dream all the time so that not one little piece of living is ever lost."
pg 421, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Betty Smith; published 1943
pg 421, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Betty Smith; published 1943
Saturday, May 9, 2009
ready to come home
I've been in Cuba for 14 days. I am now tanned and my feet no longer hurt. I have almost gotten used to the near constant and immediate condensation upon my flesh the minute I drink water and the way sweat pools into any available crevice.
I am bringing home:
20 Cuban movie posters
439 photos
2 jars of Cuban honey
2 bottles of 3yr old Havana club
1kg Serrano brand coffee
2x 454g Cubanita brand coffee
a handful of necklaces from Manzanillo seeds and a crotcheted shawl.
I have:
Been shit faced drunk 4 times
had dinner in 2 illegal restaurants and one private home
been sunburned on a remote beach
taken 2 collectivo taxis and 4 bici- taxis and a horse drawn carriage
woke up with a cockroach in bed
taken 2 bus trips and a flight
had 0 wedding invitations
marched with 3 million Habaneros to wave to Raul
fended off many many jinteros
swam with dolphins
ripped the ass out of my jeans twice
spent an eavening in a cuban music house
and almost got a tattoo
I'm ready to come home..
I am bringing home:
20 Cuban movie posters
439 photos
2 jars of Cuban honey
2 bottles of 3yr old Havana club
1kg Serrano brand coffee
2x 454g Cubanita brand coffee
a handful of necklaces from Manzanillo seeds and a crotcheted shawl.
I have:
Been shit faced drunk 4 times
had dinner in 2 illegal restaurants and one private home
been sunburned on a remote beach
taken 2 collectivo taxis and 4 bici- taxis and a horse drawn carriage
woke up with a cockroach in bed
taken 2 bus trips and a flight
had 0 wedding invitations
marched with 3 million Habaneros to wave to Raul
fended off many many jinteros
swam with dolphins
ripped the ass out of my jeans twice
spent an eavening in a cuban music house
and almost got a tattoo
I'm ready to come home..
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
tourist vs. visitor
Tourists stay in hotels and resorts. They want everything to be the same as it is at home, including their coffee and they tend to get easily upset by the lack of services, conveniences and effort needed in travelling from their country to another.
Visitors stay in private homes, explore strange streets, meet the locals, take the local transport and take on the customs and the food of the area willingly.
I tend to be the latter. I don´t think you will ever find me on a resort with it´s all inclusiveness. I like getting the local money and bartering. I like meeting the locals and taking their pictures for a few coins. I´ll drink rum in a dark park with strange men if it means a few laughs and an adventure unknown. And I´ll gladly eat dinner in a tin shack pieced together after the devestating hurricanes and have the most delicious fresh fish I have ever had.
But, I will also take the organized tour when they spoon feed you the sights. It´s sometimes impossible to see anything otherwise you rent a car and hire a guide.
Today, I will visit El Cobre. Apparently the room of miracles contains among it´s 1000´s of offerings, a small golden guerilla fighter donated by Lina Ruz, Fidel´s mother. Hemingway´s Nobel prize for The Old Manand the Sea was there until it was stolen (and later recovered).
Tomorrow, I will go on a tour to Baconoa, which is in a natural park and down the coast. I will see more of the Sierra Mountains and the coast line. There will be a dolphin show and for extra you can swim with them. Ya, it´s cheesy.. but I have always wanted to swim with dolphins so I will.
But, despite my touristic ways.. I am a visitor to Cuba. I love the gritty pissy bits and the beautiful polished bits just the same. I´m just more likely to eat in a local dive than a shiny hotel restaurant. And I´m more likely to stumble through a conversation with hand signals and pictures than not.
Visitors stay in private homes, explore strange streets, meet the locals, take the local transport and take on the customs and the food of the area willingly.
I tend to be the latter. I don´t think you will ever find me on a resort with it´s all inclusiveness. I like getting the local money and bartering. I like meeting the locals and taking their pictures for a few coins. I´ll drink rum in a dark park with strange men if it means a few laughs and an adventure unknown. And I´ll gladly eat dinner in a tin shack pieced together after the devestating hurricanes and have the most delicious fresh fish I have ever had.
But, I will also take the organized tour when they spoon feed you the sights. It´s sometimes impossible to see anything otherwise you rent a car and hire a guide.
Today, I will visit El Cobre. Apparently the room of miracles contains among it´s 1000´s of offerings, a small golden guerilla fighter donated by Lina Ruz, Fidel´s mother. Hemingway´s Nobel prize for The Old Manand the Sea was there until it was stolen (and later recovered).
Tomorrow, I will go on a tour to Baconoa, which is in a natural park and down the coast. I will see more of the Sierra Mountains and the coast line. There will be a dolphin show and for extra you can swim with them. Ya, it´s cheesy.. but I have always wanted to swim with dolphins so I will.
But, despite my touristic ways.. I am a visitor to Cuba. I love the gritty pissy bits and the beautiful polished bits just the same. I´m just more likely to eat in a local dive than a shiny hotel restaurant. And I´m more likely to stumble through a conversation with hand signals and pictures than not.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Viazul
You suck.
You are one of 2 bus lines in Cuba. The better one, I thought.
My 1st trip, I was surprised when you turned out all the light and even the personal little ones and prevented me from reading. I was alarmed at your insistance to keep the air condistioning at full blast until you felt like you were inside a travelling refridgerator.
But seriously, when I wait at 2 am at the Holguin bus station fighting off the bici' taxi hustlers and painfully sit through the blasting of melodramatic Cuban love songs while I wait ´One hour in advance¨ and you turn up an hour late...I was not thrilled.
Yes, the ticket was only 11 dollars, but the overwhelming smell of piss that I´m pretty sure was coming from the water bottles left behind and the occasional cock roach sauntering down the window ledge made for a pretty grim trip.
I fear for you Viazul and more so for myself and the 16 hr trip back to Habana.
Please turn down bad vibe and turn up the heat and promise me it´s true that you are better than the train. God forbid, I may leave Santaigo as soon as I have arrive just because the only flight back leaves tonight.
Jill
You are one of 2 bus lines in Cuba. The better one, I thought.
My 1st trip, I was surprised when you turned out all the light and even the personal little ones and prevented me from reading. I was alarmed at your insistance to keep the air condistioning at full blast until you felt like you were inside a travelling refridgerator.
But seriously, when I wait at 2 am at the Holguin bus station fighting off the bici' taxi hustlers and painfully sit through the blasting of melodramatic Cuban love songs while I wait ´One hour in advance¨ and you turn up an hour late...I was not thrilled.
Yes, the ticket was only 11 dollars, but the overwhelming smell of piss that I´m pretty sure was coming from the water bottles left behind and the occasional cock roach sauntering down the window ledge made for a pretty grim trip.
I fear for you Viazul and more so for myself and the 16 hr trip back to Habana.
Please turn down bad vibe and turn up the heat and promise me it´s true that you are better than the train. God forbid, I may leave Santaigo as soon as I have arrive just because the only flight back leaves tonight.
Jill
Holguin to Santiago de Cuba
I got off the bus in Holguin thinking maybe I would wait a minute or 2 before I took a taxi to my prearranged Casa. I walked by someone who said something to me in spanish. I politely explained I did not understand and he pulled out a paper with my name in huge letters. I started to laugh. My casa had changed plans and I had been redirected to a new casa.
The neighbours in Holguin spoke very well and they took me to a remote beach on the northern coast. I rented a car and they drove. They arranged a lunch with a local friend. The area had been devestated by the hurricanes and people were living in literally' tin shacks pieced together by bits of wood and scraps. They made rice and beans, plantains and fresh fried white fish. It was unbelieveable. Just outside the ¨window- the rest of the family was cleaning the daily catch.
Unfortunately, I have been sunburned. The water was torquoise, the sand silky soft and the beach as remote as you could get.
I walked up the hill in Holguin to make my pilgramage and the start of the Romerios de Mayo. 459 steep steps. I saw a man doing it with a bottle of rum on his head. Somewhere along the way, I hurt my foot.
Last night I decided to ditch on my 2 previous paid for nights in Holguin and get the bus to Santiago. Now, I am sore from the burn and sore from the foot. I am trying to get a flight back to Havana, but it may not be possible. I may have to get the bus-see another entry.
Santiago is in the Sierra Mountains and where the revolution started. It´s busy and lots of motorbikes swarm the narrow streets. It reminds me of Morocco and Barcelona rolled into one. Lots and lots of jinteros, or hustlers. I have been harassed for something nearly a dozen time in the 3 hrs I have been here.
The weather is perfect and I´m loving my time despite the hurts..
xoJill
The neighbours in Holguin spoke very well and they took me to a remote beach on the northern coast. I rented a car and they drove. They arranged a lunch with a local friend. The area had been devestated by the hurricanes and people were living in literally' tin shacks pieced together by bits of wood and scraps. They made rice and beans, plantains and fresh fried white fish. It was unbelieveable. Just outside the ¨window- the rest of the family was cleaning the daily catch.
Unfortunately, I have been sunburned. The water was torquoise, the sand silky soft and the beach as remote as you could get.
I walked up the hill in Holguin to make my pilgramage and the start of the Romerios de Mayo. 459 steep steps. I saw a man doing it with a bottle of rum on his head. Somewhere along the way, I hurt my foot.
Last night I decided to ditch on my 2 previous paid for nights in Holguin and get the bus to Santiago. Now, I am sore from the burn and sore from the foot. I am trying to get a flight back to Havana, but it may not be possible. I may have to get the bus-see another entry.
Santiago is in the Sierra Mountains and where the revolution started. It´s busy and lots of motorbikes swarm the narrow streets. It reminds me of Morocco and Barcelona rolled into one. Lots and lots of jinteros, or hustlers. I have been harassed for something nearly a dozen time in the 3 hrs I have been here.
The weather is perfect and I´m loving my time despite the hurts..
xoJill
Saturday, May 2, 2009
I was there!!
http://www.cubanews.ain.cu/2009/0501desfile1mayo.htm
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/gallery/2009/may/01/cuba-may-day-celebration-photos
I wish I could upload my photos or find better pictures. But yesterday was really something to be at that rally.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/gallery/2009/may/01/cuba-may-day-celebration-photos
I wish I could upload my photos or find better pictures. But yesterday was really something to be at that rally.
Friday, May 1, 2009
the revolution
Today I got up at 5:30 am and snuck quietly out of my Casa and up the street to the Capitolio and marked with the workers of Cuba to the Plaza de Revolution. Along the way were speakers and people rousing the crowds into song and chants of Viva Fidel! Viva la Revolution! Viva Raul!!
We marched along the streets and the streams of red and flags and people carrying pictures of Che Guevara and Jose Marti was intoxicating. The crowds truned the road to the long procession to the plaza. I was in the thick of it and wondering how I would get out. I walked when I could and got ahead of the crowds when I was able. We passed the Plaza monuments and everyone waved to Raul and the flags blazed.
The heat was unbearable but it was an incredible experience to be a part of 1 million Habaneros marching on behalf of the Cuban worker. The 50th anniversary of the creation of the labour union.
Tomorrow, I will take an overnight bus trip to Holguin and get out of this little city, it's familiar paths and faces. On a side note.. I have found a tattoo artist and spent a long time discussing possibilities. I may come home with a wee bit of ink.....do you think I'm crazy???
xoxoJill
Thursday, April 30, 2009
portal to another world
I found these doors yesterday. I was walking and I wondered if I would see them again. My heart jumped to see them. I feel as though I love these doors. I met the family behind the closed one. I told them of how I took the photo before and blew it up. I told them of how it hangs framed in my life and I look at it often and how I love the door and the mysteriousness of the darkness beyond the one. (Ok. Well maybe I didn't say all of that, but I'm sure my eyes did.) I took their photo sitting on the stoop. They gave me the address and I promised to send them the photo.
Havana is peacful and chaotic. Sleepy and full of spice. My Casa is beautiful and they feed me the same thing every morning. 1/2 banana, pineapple, ornage, papaya, passionfruit, coffee, juice, and an omlette with cheese.
Tonight I will go to the home of a friend I have made in an old Collectivo taxi and see how the real Cuban lives. Tomorrow we will meet with some more people and we'll walk to the Plaza de Revolution for the big rally. It is the 50th anniversary of the Cuban worker. (I think).
xoJill
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
you can smell it in the air
and it's not the exhaust of the collectivo taxi's...Socialism is in the air.
The Cuban flag's are flying everywhere. I woke up the other morning to fins the street of my Casa had the curbes white washed and something announcing 01 May was written across the road.
Today, I went to the bust station to buy my ticket to Holguin and went past the Plaza de Revolution and they were testing the speakers and sound system and benches were set up. Rumor is you must leave very early to go to the Rally as all of Havana will be there. It is required of the 'workers'. No one will tell me if Fidel will be there. I make the joke that he is dead, and I am told to shhh. Raul will be there and I will be there with the rest of Havana. I am excited.
I met some photographers by coming across their studio. We spent the evening sitting on the Malecon drinking rum from the bottle and getting very drunk. Yesterday the 3 of us went for a walk with our cameras looking like the unofficial paparazzi. They said they will take me to the rally. The do documentaries in their other time to make money.
I have bought many Cuban movie posters, but have not found the place where th3ey do the silkscreening. I give up trying to get that project.
Havana's poem for me is slowly being written. But my time on the crappy crapastic internet is comeing to an end and it will take nearly 10 minutes to publish this...
So, one last thing, if you are reading... my feet hurt so much that I have learned to ignore it.
Love, Jill
The Cuban flag's are flying everywhere. I woke up the other morning to fins the street of my Casa had the curbes white washed and something announcing 01 May was written across the road.
Today, I went to the bust station to buy my ticket to Holguin and went past the Plaza de Revolution and they were testing the speakers and sound system and benches were set up. Rumor is you must leave very early to go to the Rally as all of Havana will be there. It is required of the 'workers'. No one will tell me if Fidel will be there. I make the joke that he is dead, and I am told to shhh. Raul will be there and I will be there with the rest of Havana. I am excited.
I met some photographers by coming across their studio. We spent the evening sitting on the Malecon drinking rum from the bottle and getting very drunk. Yesterday the 3 of us went for a walk with our cameras looking like the unofficial paparazzi. They said they will take me to the rally. The do documentaries in their other time to make money.
I have bought many Cuban movie posters, but have not found the place where th3ey do the silkscreening. I give up trying to get that project.
Havana's poem for me is slowly being written. But my time on the crappy crapastic internet is comeing to an end and it will take nearly 10 minutes to publish this...
So, one last thing, if you are reading... my feet hurt so much that I have learned to ignore it.
Love, Jill
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Today I bought 3 stems of gladiolas.
Last night I arrived in Havana and breathed in agian the hot sticky air marinated in 50 years of carburator exhaust.
This morning after a welcome breakfast of fruit (banana, pineapple, papya, orange, watermelon) bread & butter, scrambled eggs with cheese and coffee with cuban honey- I strolled down the familair streets and bought 3 rosey gladiolas from a flower cart for my new Casa and remembered this photo.
I paid for my beautiful Art Nouveau Casa until May 2. I will take an overnight bus to Holguin and can explore some of the southern cities and the beach from there.
On May 1, there is the big labour day rally at the Plaza de la Revolucion and Raul Castro will make a grand speech to the people. I would be crazy to miss it. There are signs and flags up in the streeets to promote it.
Havana is a poem unwritten. Melodies belch from the old Chevy and Buicks. Children yell songs in the streets and nearby the horses hooves tap out a sombre beat. The men whistle and hiss to the tune while the Hemingway lookalike's sitting at the sleepy bars, keep time jostling their pocket coins to the fans beating the air. All of it under the dark pages of the night, barely recognizable if not for a few flickering lights.
xoJill
Saturday, April 18, 2009
one of the beautiful things
About Cuba is that they have a rich history of poster arts. The Instituto Cubano del Arte e Industria Cinematográficos (ICAIC) creates posters in a standard size to fit the movie marquees, all hand screen printed one color at a time. The colors are added in thick coats, usually taking a day to dry each layer and each one is hand done.
They are amazing and I was lucky enough to stumble upon them when I went to Cuba last year.
I have found them again, with a little research on line. So I'll share the one's I have.
This one hangs in my bedroom. I adore it for it's art nouveau style and cream and red coloring. It's sits nicely against this Mucha .
and here are the other one's I have brought back. They are brilliant, with a kind of Monty Python type quality to them. I absolutely adore them. They were $10 each, if you can believe it. I am taking a large art tube to Cuba with me. Can you guess why??
They are amazing and I was lucky enough to stumble upon them when I went to Cuba last year.
I have found them again, with a little research on line. So I'll share the one's I have.
This one hangs in my bedroom. I adore it for it's art nouveau style and cream and red coloring. It's sits nicely against this Mucha .
and here are the other one's I have brought back. They are brilliant, with a kind of Monty Python type quality to them. I absolutely adore them. They were $10 each, if you can believe it. I am taking a large art tube to Cuba with me. Can you guess why??
023, originally uploaded by jill y.
205, originally uploaded by jill y.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Holland is only a few hours away
Catherine and I went to the Skagit County Tulip Festival to find that no tulips were in bloom. The "Daffs" were out in full force though. Fields and fields and fields. I'd love to go back next weekend and see if the tulips come out to play. There was only a sparse sprinkling of pink in a few fields and the weather was hesitant. I was lucky to get this shot with a blue sky.
La Conner was a yawn. It's way too polished and slick. The wannabe artists and their mass produced sculptures had moved in. The "antique" shops carried a lot of reproduced items masquerading as the real thing and it was all sort of "high end" . I was like being on Edmonton's Whyte Ave for the day. Charming little town though, with it's heritage buildings.
What was really really something was the wee little hamlet towns nearby- with the artisan bakeries and curios shops with sculptures made of tiny bones, vintage mannequins, hand made lavender and spruce soaps and beautiful old turn of the century buildings turned into sparse art galleries catering to edgier and less commercial art.
Another trip is definitely needed..but I'll avoid La Conner and stick to the less traveled back roads.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Friday, April 10, 2009
things to do on a boring Saturday if you live on the northwest coast of North America
You can pretend you are in Holland and check out the Skagit County Tulip Festival. I'm definitely headed down there in hopes of lots of flower pictures!!
There's a little town called La Conner that sounds pretty charming according to the Vancouver Courier:
"...a charming little town about 150 kilometres south of Vancouver via Interstate 5, was founded in the 1860s, making it the oldest town in Skagit County. La Conner's natural scenic beauty and large number of Victorian-era buildings has attracted many writers and artists over the years and many galleries have since opened."
".. the centre of the U.S. tulip bulb industry, over 15 square miles of farms in Skagit County dedicated to tulips (and daffodils) burst into a riot of colour."
"..main street of La Conner, Wash. is five blocks of boutiques, cafes, restaurants and galleries..is an easy five-block walk full of boutiques, cafes, restaurants and galleries."
"..Getting there can be a lot of fun, too. You can blast down the I-5 in an hour, or take the scenic route via Bellingham and Chuckanut Drive."
There's a little town called La Conner that sounds pretty charming according to the Vancouver Courier:
"...a charming little town about 150 kilometres south of Vancouver via Interstate 5, was founded in the 1860s, making it the oldest town in Skagit County. La Conner's natural scenic beauty and large number of Victorian-era buildings has attracted many writers and artists over the years and many galleries have since opened."
".. the centre of the U.S. tulip bulb industry, over 15 square miles of farms in Skagit County dedicated to tulips (and daffodils) burst into a riot of colour."
"..main street of La Conner, Wash. is five blocks of boutiques, cafes, restaurants and galleries..is an easy five-block walk full of boutiques, cafes, restaurants and galleries."
"..Getting there can be a lot of fun, too. You can blast down the I-5 in an hour, or take the scenic route via Bellingham and Chuckanut Drive."
Thursday, April 9, 2009
it's 1 am and I should be sleeping
But I thought I'd tell you a bedtime story.
The linoleum floor in the kitchen was probably orange and maybe made up of geometric squares. It was in the early 1970's. The yellow (probably) formite counter top was a far way away. The woman swept the corners that collected dust bunnies and secret cobwebs. Back then, it was an corn straw broom that left little shards of splintered sticks behind, sometimes. Moving the chairs and collecting the crumbs from the toast that had been dropped on the floor earlier, she swept the pile near where the small baby was sitting. Too close. The child investigated with it's tiny fingers. Curious at the soft brown pile.
"No, Jill. Dirt."
"Dirt", the mother repeated and pointed at the pile.
"Dirt?" I mimicked, too tiny to know that was my first word legibly spoken.
My mother laughed and picked me up and said, "Yes, dirt."
Still today, it's one of my favorite words.
The linoleum floor in the kitchen was probably orange and maybe made up of geometric squares. It was in the early 1970's. The yellow (probably) formite counter top was a far way away. The woman swept the corners that collected dust bunnies and secret cobwebs. Back then, it was an corn straw broom that left little shards of splintered sticks behind, sometimes. Moving the chairs and collecting the crumbs from the toast that had been dropped on the floor earlier, she swept the pile near where the small baby was sitting. Too close. The child investigated with it's tiny fingers. Curious at the soft brown pile.
"No, Jill. Dirt."
"Dirt", the mother repeated and pointed at the pile.
"Dirt?" I mimicked, too tiny to know that was my first word legibly spoken.
My mother laughed and picked me up and said, "Yes, dirt."
Still today, it's one of my favorite words.
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