Boredom Medicine

Tonight, I'm allowing something that too often I avoid: being bored. I thought about a movie. I scrolled on Facebook. I started glancing at my bookshelf for titles I hadn't yet read. Then it hit me: I'm bored.

And I smiled.

This doesn't generally happen.

I don't generally allow this to happen.

I'm as adept as anyone at packing my minutes with tasks. My attention is consistently spoken for. When I remember boredom, remember it's space and promise, everything changes. When I allow my eyes to dart, looking for their next point of focus, my mind to soften, my fingers to drum... I remember. I remember aimless nights as a teenager when I discovered the pack of JD Salinger novels. Or the Rolling Stones catalog. Or made endless mix tapes. And then wrote some stories. I remember zines. I remember the trouble I get into when I don't schedule what I'm going to get into.

Tonight, I got into my bookshelf.

Next week, Kevin and I are hitting the road. To me, this feels like a big trip. It's domestic, to places new-to-me, and significant to my lineage. More on that later.

A trip means books. Kevin and I travel well together because we know one of the greatest treats of a vacation is ample reading. A week generally means at least 4 books each. I prefer books set in our destination, or somewhat related. It keeps with the mood, sometimes inspires a side trip, or at least an otherwise unlikely plant identification or meal choice.

We're headed south, deep south, which means great literature. Somehow, my shelves aren't teeming with the southern classics at the moment but there's enough. I have a Ron Rash novel I've been meaning to get to. This should be good timing. I haven't picked up Flannery O'Connor since I was a teenager, and she meant a great deal to me. She's in the stack.

And then there's the medicine book. I don't know how else to describe it but it's the book I take that I know won't be the page-turner, it won't be my first pick, and if anything, I may only glance at it. It's the medicine. If I find myself with a new perspective I'm struggling to integrate or I feel I'm finally in a place to hear the message, I pick it up. In Crestone, Colorado, it was Women Who Run With Wolves. In the Catskills, it was Yoko Ono's Grapefruit. In Portugal, Leonard Cohen's poetry. Sometimes it's a mystic or a poet. I take a voice who I often long to hear. In reality, it usually feels like a voice whispers to me from the shelf, and says you'll be able to hear. You will be ready.

I'll be in some cabins. I'll have some time. Nights accompanied by crickets stretch the longest. I tend to pass them wandering in and out of books. Bored. Waiting. Magic.

The Knights Templar of Tomar

From our quiet sojourn in the Portuguese country-side, we began to gather ourselves. I had booked two nights in Fatima in honor of the Centennial sighting. More on that to come.

As we consulted the map, we saw that as we were in the northwest mountains of Portugal heading southwest towards Fatima, we would pass through Tomar. Kevin petitioned for a stop. This, after all, is home of the Knights Templar. 

A castle wall surrounds the Convent of Christ, the Knights Templar home built in the early 12th century. 

Every inch of the Convent of Christ has mystical symbolism. Esoteric symbols intermix with Christianity. Rooms were circular, well protected, and basically every guy's wet dream.

Kevin kept looking in the forests outside of the castle walls. Apparently that's where really super secret weird rites went down.

The Templar Knights were ultimately banned but their burial site remains in view of the Convent of Christ. Kevin and I drove down away from the church fortress on the hill through the beautiful town of Tomar to Igreja do Maria do Olivais. Kevin got super excited finding the circular rose window above the entry. Standing with your back to the church, you have a clear view of the Convent of Christ high on the hill ahead.

This church was perhaps the most fascinating in all of Portugal. Entering, above the altar a window with a pentagram surrounded by interlocking circles. So much esoteric symbolism! No cross! As I walked down the steps I saw flyers advertising normal church events for the community. This church, more than any other we visited, seemed most in use and loved by its community. The Virgin Mary was centered below as a point of worship with Jesus off to her left. To the right of the church and all along the side were small tombs containing the remains of the 12th century Knights Templar. This church felt like the quiet, breathing home of the strange, esoteric protectors of medieval treasure.

Guarda: Portugal's staring contest with Spain

We woke in a sagging bed facing a stone framed window over the Portuguese hills. The sheep bells clanged as the animals marched around the property. A few cats climbed the window ledges.

I thought about home and how easy it is to get a cup of coffee. How many cafes I can drive to. And saw the cost of that convenience.

It was quiet and still.

We ultimately did decide to venture out. We got back on the highway continuing towards the Spanish border to the medieval outpost of Guarda. 

This imposing cathedral faces the Spanish border, an architectural "come at me!" 

There's a theater in town, shops, and restaurants, but it's small. This is a bit of the last frontier in cooler, mountainous Portugal.

This beautiful old church, like so many in Portugal, had spaces for anchorites, or Catholic renunciates. These spiritual seekers were built into solitary cells in the church. Sometimes they could view the regular church services and sometimes not. Food was delivered to them like they were a death row inmate in modern day prisons. 

The larger communities recognized that these people might be more able to hear spirit and would sometimes come to their windows and ask for counsel.

The church was filled with spaces that whispered secrets-- passageways for clandestine purposes, ways to renounce the world, guarded treasures hidden from sight.

A Quinta on the Roman Road

As much as I love humans, I really love solitude.

I am an introvert. Meaning, I get my energy from time by myself, when I can hear myself think, know what I feel, feel it all fully, and let myself slow into presence.

I'm working on keeping that integration in good company but it's something I have to really pay attention to. It's a retraining of sorts and kinda wears me out.

So. I run away sometimes.

Take a breath.

I had heard about a lot of various country hovels in Portugal. My introvert ears perked. I love hiding in mountains.

With the momentum of the retreat, I had sort of dropped the ball on travel planning a rural stint while in Portugal. The wifi was a bit unpredictable and I had a hard time connecting with a couple of leads I had found prior to travel. Ultimately, I found a Quinta, or a little medieval villa, somewhere in the countryside. It looked to be maybe 3 hours east from Porto, near the Spanish border.

We went for it.

As we got deeper into the Portuguese mountains-- more accurately steppes?-- wifi got less predictable. Ultimately, our GPS threw in the towel, which was great. We were winding our way on highway switchbacks and had no idea where we were going. The further you move from Portuguese cities the less English you hear spoken too. And DO NOT try to speak Spanish. They totally speak Spanish. But not with you. English. Thanks.

We pulled off. I readied myself for some solid charades at a gas station. I wrote stuff down. I drew maps. The amused country folks around me drank their beers, midday, at a gas station. Because, Portugal. When you pull off to get gas why not drink a beer or glass of wine?

Finally, I wrote down the name of the Quinta. Um. Everyone totally knew it. There were no labelled ROADS around there but they knew the names of estates.

They tried to give me directions, which was also awesome. They wanted to give me landmarks, like, over the hill, follow the river, when we didn't share a common language and I'm a very street sign oriented person. But you know. For my way that would mean there would have to be labelled roads and street signs.

Somehow, it worked! Further up the highway there was even a sign for our sweet little Quinta!

Dogs barked and chased our Algarve-dusted car. As we emerged from the car we smelled rosemary and the heavy sweetness of conchords overhead. A sweet older Portuguese woman emerged who happily spoke Spanish with me! I think she may have originally been from over the border!

She escorted us into our suite near her own living quarters. As we settled into the stone nooks and crannies of the Quinta, she rolled in a cart with cookies and port wine.

She told us there is nothing around here. You could see the valley through the window. A sprinkling of houses and a river. Farm estates between. I asked her where to go to breakfast. She shrugged and suggested we buy some rolls to tide us over. Or drive the half hour into Guarda. We asked her if anywhere served vegetarian meals for dinner. She looked nervous but said an estate down by the river might. 

It's a good adventure.

We went back in time.

It got very still.

Something about sitting on a stone sill and watching the sheep go by. Nothing feels quite so important.

We read awhile. We shifted to slower, softer paced books.

Expectations lowered. A walk would be good.

Our host urged us to follow the old Roman road. Kevin was PSYCHED. As we set out, one of the dogs named Honey, accompanied us. Every now and then she would dart away and we thought she'd find her way home. Nope. She was a kind host and stayed with us every step of the journey.

Kevin tried to recall the purpose behind these old Roman roads. His understanding was that they guided merchants and troops so that navigation was unnecessary. Also, wheels could move faster over the cobblestones. 

For us, it helped us not get lost. Down the hill to the river. Up the hill back to the Quinta. 

The river felt like a sanctuary. We dipped in and said thanks for allowing us to be here. The trees arched over quietly.

Two nights in Porto

After exchanging big happy hugs with the attendees of the Longing Retreat in the Algarve, Kevin and I loaded in our dusty rental car. (Everything in the Algarve is dusty. Beautiful and dusty. Thankfully the rental car warned us and said as long as the inside of the car was clean we're good!) Kevin and I had been thinking through what to do after the retreat. We loved the Algarve and somehow had managed to see most of it in the week! We could certainly spend endless time in southern Portugal but we found ourselves curious to see more of the country.

We decided to basically drive the whole thing.

We set north for one of the northern-most coastal cities, Porto. It took about 7 hours to drive up there from Carrapateira. As we told people our destination they were aghast! What a journey! We're like... we're from the US. We drive these kind of distances all the time.

The Portuguese generally do not.

Having spent about four (magnificent!) days in Lisbon prior to the retreat, we decided to skip a stop in Lisbon on our way back north. Instead, we opted for Coimbra for a lunch break.

The hilly, sober city of Coimbra is only about an hour and a half north of Lisbon but it's totally the anal, high achieving older sibling. Coimbra is the intellectual capital of Portugal and home of its oldest university. In Lisbon, Fado is working class music sung mournfully by both men and women, and exuberant applause is expected from the enraptured audience. In Coimbra, only men sing Fado. Traditionally, celibate male students sang doleful Fado beneath women's balconies. As such, to this day applause is uncommon. Instead, polite coughing acknowledges the music.

Coimbra is intellectual, repressed, and super weird.

Students still wear robes, which inspired JK Rowling who wrote Harry Potter in this city. Coimbra is Hogwarts.

Kevin was obviously ready to enroll in a course in medieval studies, given he could basically live quasi-medieval. I urged us back onto the road.

We arrived in Porto around rush hour. Kevin navigated the traffic and a European stick with aplomb to get us to our little airbnb flat in tact.

After settling in and making out with a big fluffy cat, we headed down to the river.

Porto is fun! From the banks of the river the city sweeps up two steep cliffs. Porto felt more British than other parts of the country. This could have been in part due to the noticeably cooler climate 7 hours north of the hot and dry Algarve. I think it's also simple British influence as Brits have long come down to Porto to enjoy Port.

Along the river banks, tables were set up by big heaters, musicians played music, and magicians entertained. Big, whole fish were served up after appetizers of olives and crusty bread. Barrels of port and olives were hidden in the stone caves along the river banks.

We wandered through the cool night before returning back to the amorous cat at our flat. We slept long and well before venturing out again. We went back to the fun river banks and climbed higher into the sleepy city. Portugal does not do mornings. In the mornings, most Portuguese seem to want only coffee and quiet. It took some searching but we found a little cafe that would prepare eggs. Everyone else in the cafe was British. Go figure.

We climbed the steep cobblestone streets finding tons of art, cafes, bookstores, and of course, churches. The city definitely has a distinct personality from its southern neighbor, Lisbon. Maybe something like Lisbon is San Francisco to Porto being Seattle. The more northern city being less obvious but very cool in an underground way.

Anyway.

We loved it. 

Travel Tips

I've had this post on my webpage for a few years now. I'm sliding it over to the blog.

This is my recipe for comfortable travel. Am I missing anything? What are your go-to's to happily travel?

Flight Purchasing

Travel Sites 

In an incognito window, go to www.google.com/flights. Input your point of departure and destination. Then open up the calendar. Look at price trends around when you'd like to go. This will let you know what your flight is averaging and also if there are more advantageous days to travel. I do this mainly to get a sense of the general price of my flight. It's hard to shop well until you know realistic amounts to budget!

Some savvy travelers do the same with the https://matrix.itasoftware.com/. This will also give flight trends and prices.

I personally don't book through these sites. I find it a little confusing. I find the dates, prices, and travel times that look best and then book directly through the airline.

Pay attention to travel time! If you have a 24 hour lay-over calculate how much you might spend on a hotel room, food, or trying to pop off in the lay-over city. If it's worth it to you go for it! For me, the price has to be REALLY good for a lay-over beyond 4 hours. I like less travel time and more time in my destination. 

When to Buy 

Search for flights Tuesdays at 3 pm. Airlines sell the most flights on weekends. It's kind of a lottery-- they're charging what they can. Every Monday they assess what seats are left.The most discounts are available Tuesday afternoons. I like to watch my flight on a few successive Tuesdays (maybe on google.com/flights) from an incognito window. This let's my know if rates are dropping or potentially elevating so I can hopefully purchase at the most opportune moment.

Alternate Airports 

Price compare various airports for departure. I live nearest Philadelphia International Airport but often depart from Newark International Airport. I’ve found that flights to Central America are often direct and far less expensive from Newark. However, when I’ve flown to Asia and have to transfer domestically regardless, flights from Philadelphia were more convenient and comparably priced.

Discount Airlines

What everyone says about Spirit is absolutely true. There are a lot of discount airlines these days like WOW and Frontier. Some are better than others. Pretty much everything is reviewed these days so google what people are saying and believe them. Remember to factor in the additional costs that reviewers warn you about. Sometimes all those baggage and amenity fees actually bring your real cost closer to flying with a more reputable airline. I've done it. I've flown with Spirit. I won't be doing that again.

While traveling

Jetlag prevention

I am NOT a doctor so please understand this is simply what has worked for me! Consult your medical professional to best plan ahead.

That said, when traveling to a different time zone I take the following as directed while flying:

-Homeopathic Jetzone

-Chinese herb Yin Chiao

-Grapefruit seed extract

The grapefruit seed extract and Yin Chiao boost vitamin C to help prevent getting sick and worn down. The Jetzone works some homeopathic magic.

Upon landing, if possible, lie down on the earth. Get grounded. If you can, get body work done. Let your body feel really earthy again.

Sleep when it’s time to sleep. If you’re not tired, try eating dried cherries and taking melatonin. In the morning, drink coffee or something to give you a boost. Get on the schedule of your location as soon as you can.

I often find that I don’t experience severe jetlag on my trip but it will get me when I come home. I think it may be the timezone shifts in quick succession compounded with grief over the end of a trip!

What to pack

A good backpack 

Remember that most airlines now charge for checked luggage. I purchased the Rincon 65L Travel backpack a few years ago (I’m not getting a sales commission from them!).

The front backpack unzips to slide under the seat in front of you. The main backpack fits in most overhead bins. Double check with your airline to see if this pack, or one similar, will save you baggage costs. Otherwise, budget for additional airline charges. Also factor in convenience. If you have a connecting flight or a tight schedule, it may be worthwhile to travel with this type of luggage that precludes you from having to check in and go through baggage claim.

You may want to pack a second, easily folded duffle bag. I usually travel with an additional pack to bring home gifts. Remember that you may be charged a baggage fee for checking this luggage on your return flight.

Packing Cubes

Especially if you are #teamcarryon, use PACKING CUBES! Look for sales at places like the Container Store. These travel gems help you effectively pack more than you would think possible. And it's neat. Amazing and so worth it!

Good traction shoes 

This is mainly for those who like being outside and hiking. I suggest Keen Waterproof Sandals. They are not at all sexy, but will protect your feet. These waterproof sandals transition easily from city sight-seeing to lounging on a beach. Your feet will be supported, with traction, for activities ranging from hiking to cycling.

A light rain jacket 

Not only are rain jackets useful while traveling, but they also ease the transition when flying between hot and cold climates. Layer sweatshirts under the rain jacket, socks under your Keen sandals, and wear comfortable yoga pants while flying. In hot climates you can shed the socks and outer layers; in cold climates add these items.

A flashlight 

I have always found a flashlight essential. Always. Headlamps are ridiculous, but even more useful.

Before you depart

Converting Currency 

I usually convert about $200 into the currency of my destination in advance of traveling. Generally, your local bank will give you a more preferable rate of exchange than an airport. Allow them at least two weeks to secure the foreign currency. Keep some USD on you for snacks and magazines while in US airports. Having the foreign currency will give you a window to get your bearings in your destination.

Some folks prefer using an ATM upon arrival at their destination to get foreign currency. Know your tendencies. Years ago, I arrived late at night at Siem Reap airport without any Cambodian currency. The ATMS were all out. Thankfully, I had booked a ride from the airport through the hostel where we were staying that night. The driver kindly took me to another ATM but it was a little sketchy (he was nice, Siem Reap can just get sketchy at times) and it was late and I didn't yet have my bearings. This is less likely in a larger city but it's possible. I know how I am and what makes me comfortable. Having some currency until I get my bearings feels really helpful.

Using a Cellphone 

Travel with your cellphone, but consider turning it off for the duration of international travel. Always check with your cellphone provider before departure about the costs of roaming abroad. If you’re offered a fair rate, by all means, use your cellphone abroad. I’ve always found that the charges would be exorbitant. I bring my cellphone and leave it on while in the US in case I need to communicate with a ride. As soon as I’m airborne, the phone goes off and stays off. I provide my family with the phone numbers for my hotels in the case of an emergency. I check in with them via Facetime when I have wifi. When I land in the US I turn the cellphone back on to let my ride know I’ve arrived.

I know some people who purchase SIM cards once abroad. This way you can communicate easily within your destination country.

And Finally 

In advance of travel, call your bank and credit card providers to tell them of your destination. Banks and credit card companies appreciate the head’s up. This should save you the hassle of finding your accounts frozen when it’s assumed your cards were stolen!

Allow Yourself: Longing Retreat to Portugal

I have a database of thousands of retreat centers all over the world. I consult it when a client asks me to scout a retreat for them. I filter through their perimeters to find an ideal fit.

I also have a short list of my own ideal fits.

Monte Velho Retreat on the Western Algarve, Portugal was a short list. People always want to go to to Europe. I'm down but people often don't want to pay European prices. Portugal and Greece are currently two of the most affordable destinations (for unfortunate reasons to do with the Euro and economic destabilization).

Portugal is safe and an easy connect for US travelers.

It was also the last retreat I have planned for myself for the foreseeable future.

When Yogawood transitioned ownership this past year there was a lot of work to do. I usually plan retreats well over a year out to secure best dates, negotiate rates, budget tuitions, and set a marketing strategy. I couldn't do it all. There was enough change in the air so I decided to let it happen. Let this be my last retreat for the foreseeable future and see where there was flow, movement, and growth.

I don't ever feel like you should do something because you do it.

Do it because it's aligned. Do it because it serves. Do it because it works.

When I do plan a retreat I look at what I know of that particular place or what that place tells of itself. Costa Rica has an environmental tourism campaign around reanimating the world-- reminding visitors that the land needs to rest, that animals need a break from human interference. Cuba tells the story of the joy of rebellion. Alaska reminds humans that we are small in the perspective of nature's grandeur.

Places have an identity.

I look at the place and where it might illuminate a facet of yoga. We practice yoga all over the world. What is the intersection of place and practice? What do we learn? How does yoga help us land where we are? How does yoga help us see a place as it is and not be blinded by our own expectations? How does yoga help us see ourselves and not be blinded by our own delusions?

As I started learning about this windswept coast of Portugal I read about the cliffs sailors saw before they sailed away and the songs of lament and longing both they and their loved ones sang. I listened to Fado, birthed in fishing villages and working class neighborhoods of Lisbon, and sung in very ritualized ways to lean into our own longing.

Saudade. Longing. Yoga works with longing. Bhaktis use yearning to reach for God, worshipping God, singing to God. The stories of Radha and Krishna in Vrindavan are filled with reaching.

After having such a wonderful time working with Colleen Seng for the Belize retreat, I worked with her again to develop material for this retreat. We filled it with poems from Leonard Cohen, Sanskrit yogic chants, traditional Portuguese Fado lyrics, meditations from Tara Brach and Thich Nhat Hanh, and notes from Rumi, Hafez and more. I created meditations and consciousness practices to use the retreat to work with place, practice, and feeling.

And we went in.

You can plan retreats until you're blue in the face but like any yoga class, it is co-creative. Any retreat worth it's salt will shift to meet the participants where they are.

In yoga we work with our bodies and our thoughts. Longing, bhakti, reminds us to work with the material of our feelings. Follow the feeling. What is the information?

The beautiful experience was a group of people who were willing. Who didn't feel ashamed of taking a break to step into their own experience. They didn't apologize for going on retreat-- instead, they excitedly talked about other ways to build in breaks, experiences, and celebrations. While we tuned in to events at home and with our loved ones, there was equal space to turn in to the breadth of our own experience.

Allowing joy, allowing longing-- where we reach towards integration-- allows ourselves. It means we're not banishing a part of ourselves as unacceptable, thereby giving it the power to control and influence us in unforeseen ways. Allowing our desires, our feelings, the scope of who we are allows us. Allows us to be. To exist.

So we lived. Together. In a very beautiful place.

Allow Joy

Let yourself enjoy it.

Everything.

I lingered over coffee and watched the light. I did nothing with my time. It felt still and luxurious. Some little thought nagged at me-- "I should apologize for this." Or, "I should justify this." "This relaxation will produce some later writing. Or it will prompt an idea. For work."

Because everything is work.

I know people who won't share the joy in their life. If they take a vacation, they keep it quiet to not seem to brag, or to not seem to ignore the problems of the world.

Post-empire Portugal reminded me that it all ends. Enjoy it.

I lingered over coffee in cafes with reminders of Portugal's one time power. I'm not trying to romanticize nor justify that power but it was there. Influence and wealth that seemed permanent. I sat in the ruins of Portuguese power watching my birth place, the United States, dissolve in its own pool of unrestrained grasping. For awhile now I've been reading historians who chart the US rise and fall of power and comparing it to other fallen empires, like that of Rome for example. Many signals point to those of us living in the US living through it's decline. The future will confirm which prophets got it right.

We know that some people survive empire's collapse. Portugal is an example of that. What is life like after empire?

Detroit.

There is so much I love about Portugal. One big piece: enjoy it.

It's a very European attitude to prioritize one's life potentially more than one's work. The United States tends to produce the opposite affect: work justifies your life.

Again and again, we learned Portuguese history of slave trade, navel power, colonization, conquest, without apology. The monks who sought to atone, the Templar Knights who avenged the church, the white knuckled explorers sailing uncharted seas. Their descendents pour coffee and live in the ruins. They live in life's inevitable cycle. And they do not apologize for their joy.

I often wonder about that-- why do we have to hide our joy? Does our joy exacerbate another's suffering? Is my suffering soothed by other's shared suffering? Isn't the cycle about the whole of it? Do we get to have capacity to allow ourselves it all?

Not all of us gets to travel. I readily acknowledge the realities of privilege and access.

We all get range. Within our experiences, there is a range of feeling and experience.

I want to live it all. I'm not going to apologize for it.

I wish you all the experiences. I wish you thrills, sunsets, late nights with friends. I wish you the big mile stone moments and the small gentle ones. And I don't need your apologies. Your existence entitles you to it all.

Comfort's Discomfort

Kevin loves landscaping long, muddy days in pouring rain. Bonus if it's cold. He's obviously a weirdo but he actually has some reasons for his preference-- among them, days like that make him more easily satisfied.

It seems counter-intuitive, but I've learned this to be more universal than his personal quirk. When he comes home soaked to the bone, cold, mud plastered to his boots, his hot shower feels like manna from heaven. Sitting, doing nothing, eating some food is a miracle.

When I've comfortably worked inside the shelter of my home, my shower, meal, and sitting are far less noticeable.

Recently, whenever possible, I go as remote as possible. It's hard to find truly uncultivated places these days, but I try. West Virginia is always a strong candidate. There are parts of West Virginia that are largely undeveloped, in fact, seem practically impossible to develop. I sat outside under a cool drizzle watching state park workers. Kids had set off fireworks from a trail and kicked off a fire. which closed the trail. No trail, no sun, no problem. I bummed about, ultimately swimming in an unlabeled swimming hole, found after multiple queries. I watched the workers reestablish the trail. I watched the workers navigating traffic, in the rain. Everything felt quiet. Our expectations, collectively, were pretty low.

I'm curious what happens to your mind and outlook in those environments. I drove through more Christianity than I can remember. Christianity of every sort but Catholic! Tons of Baptist, even Mennonite. I saw country stores hanging fox skins and signs that said, "We're broke, we believe in Jesus, we know who we're voting for, leave us alone." There were proud Trump signs next to iconography and symbols of Indigenous people. Not one country store had any cheese apart from American though goats would be grazing nearby. There were plenty of jars of pickles and mayonnaise next to the white bread.

I've written before about how in these environments I get read as a WASP really quickly. I've also had a year. During it, I've sort of shifted how I encounter others and it's working better. I used to trust first and be surprised later. My current mantra is "trust no one and love everyone." I know it sounds dark, but it actually works way better. It means I'm more self-protective and more at home with myself. I'm responsible for myself and aware.

I saw a flicker of recognition in this worldview. I started noticing that with this as my outlook, I fit in better. In this neck of the woods, being polite doesn't mean being stupid.

I saw sign after sign urging us to humble ourselves before God as mountains soared overhead and trucks nearly ran me off curving mountain highways. This is a part of the country where humans are in context and proportion. Human power is very clearly limited.

I have various fantasies about living in the country but also an ethic that says, "don't move there unless you have a remote job." Jobs are hard to come by in all parts of the country. Moving to a poor part of the country and taking work is poor form.

Kevin and I were fantasizing about living somewhere rural and I confessed that I'd likely want to build cabins to rent on airbnb and various projects like that. "I'd be developing what I love for being undeveloped." Kevin paused, "It's a bit different here. Yes, you're developing, but on that scale the forest takes it back quick. At home, when you build, it's permanent. No one is under that illusion here."

Life is a mandala, a moment of impermanence. Standing in the rain, under the shade of tremendous cliffs, directing traffic through nowhere.

The poet Morgan Parker wrote a beautiful book called Other People's Comfort Keeps Me Up At Night. A Black poet, Parker writes clearly about race relations in the US. Many of her poems illuminate the priority many white people place on their comfort and sense of well-being over truly understanding the functioning of racism in the US. I've had more conversations than I care to remember with fellow white people, trying to work through race, and hearing, "It's uncomfortable."

Yes, it is.

It's also more uncomfortable to brutalized or discriminated against.

When I travel, my comfort becomes significantly less important. I go longer without eating, I curl myself into tiny bus seats, I pack layers. My excitement over the adventure outweighs any temporary discomfort.

I've watched this tendency and tried to transfer it to my daily life. Why do I need to be so controlled by access to the food I want, when I want it? The sleep I want, when I want it? Why is my contentment so conditional?

Kevin's theory is that we need to be far less comfortable. He thinks the modern priority of convenience and comfort is making us sicker and sadder. Anytime he's by a body of water, in any season, he jumps in and swims in it. I've seen him swim in water with ice on the surface. He'll lose his breath and gasp for a minute, but as he recovers himself he smiles broadly.

I used to be very hesitant about getting into water. I'd walk very slowly. I wanted my body to gently acclimate.

This past winter in Mexico, I stopped that. I started jumping in without hesitation. It's better. My body is rushed by the surrounding water and then I surrender.

I'm curious: the more uncomfortable I am with myself, do I seek proportionally greater comfort in the world? And inverse: the more comfortable I am with myself am I then more willing to let the world be no matter my perceptions of how it affects me?

I'm watching out for where else I resist.

In the jungle, you can lie down and be claimed

Leading upto the Belize retreat, I didn't do my normal obsessive levels of research but I did some. While I was leafing through Lonely Planet I remember getting a sense of three Belizes: Belize City, the Cayes, and everywhere else.

Everywhere else is most of Belize. While in most of Central America, like Mexico, Guatemala, and Costa Rica, it's pretty simple to hop on a bus, land in a new town, and get a room in a small hotel. In Belize things felt... different. More remote. The majority of Belize's land is undeveloped. Tourists generally stay in a few ecoresorts spread out through the countryside. That's not arrive-in-town-and-see-where-it-takes-you traveling. That's planning-ahead-to-be-at-a-resort travel.

Kevin and I have never stayed at a resort and honestly have never been drawn to that. Resorts always make me feel like I'll be secluded away from where I actually am. While I can see the allure if you only have a weekend and want to relax, I generally travel to experience a new place so I want to be in the thick of it.

And I wanted to experience Belize. We had spent time in the Cayes (and loved it even beyond what we expected) so I figured we'd finish our time in Belize in the countryside. If you're going to book a resort it might as well be an ecoresort. I had read about Chaa Creek in San Ignacio. The resorts, including Chaa Creek, generally exceeded my budget, but Chaa Creek had a campground for budget travelers. You had access to the resort facilities when you hiked in from the cabins. I booked it.

When we arrived at Chaa Creek it felt fancy. Generally, on a graph of increasing fanciness my satisfaction decreases. I was a little nervous. Reception gave us a slip to give to the campsite director alerting him that I was vegetarian. Then they sat us down to wait by the manicured lawns to be driven to the campsite.

As we waited an older couple from New York passed us. They asked us if we were going to the campsite and we confirmed that we were. "It's rustic out there! There's NO electricity!" They told us in shock. We said, "We know." And nodded politely. Satisfied that they'd warned us they moved on.

Shortly afterwards, a big gregarious Mayan man showed up in a pick-up truck. Docio runs the campsite with his family. I showed him my slip of vegetarianism. He sized me up and said, "We don't do this." I shrank a little. He roared with laughter, "I'm just kidding! Get in."

I love Docio.

As soon as we climbed the hill to the little campsite we were happy. We gazed down on a few tarp-roofed, screened-in cabins. There was a shared outdoor bathroom and shower hall. A small kitchen and dining room were fully stocked with potable water and bug spray. As you climbed down the trail you were at an access to swim in the river. To the right was the Medicine Trail that lead back to the resort.

Kevin and I quickly climbed down to the Macal River and swam. Being in water felt very important during that time. We made it happen daily.

The water was cool and the river very quiet. There's not much around there. We listened to birds. We were nibbled on by a few fish. Docio's wife and son boarded a canoe at the far bank. They crossed the river and passed us as they climbed up to prepare dinner.

Dinner was summer camp style. We quickly made friends with a few other travelers. During our short time we'd catch up on their days over breakfast and dinner. Docio did indeed prepare me delicious vegetarian food. 

Over dinner the sky got dark quickly. We used flashlights to pass slowly from the dining hall to the bathroom and then back to the cabin. While we ate, Docio's family had lit kerosene lanterns in each of our cabins. We returned to soft light.

While we read in bed the nighttime outside our cabin grew noisy. Each night I revelled at how the jungle came alive. The howlers around San Ignacio sound immensely more monstrous than howlers I had heard in Costa Rica. I don't know what it is but I wonder about their echoes over the river? It almost sounded like a band of ghost cows. Seriously. Cows because there was a mooing at times. Ghostly because it took on this echoed quality. It sounded and felt like rushing wind. It was so loud it woke me up every night. I loved hearing it because it reminded me that nature is not quiet but it is peaceful. The sound wasn't manmade and it affected me differently. It brought me proportionally into that environment.

And I won't lie-- it scared me too. I was 99% sure that the sound I was hearing was howler monkeys, which I know are no threat to me. However, it did sound kind of otherwordly so parts of me wondered about some type of zombie panther? I did bravely go to the outhouse. That involved leaving the cabin and walking a ways in the pitch black dark. I think I win at jungle survival.

After breakfast we walked the Medicine Trail back to the resort, which is about a 10 minute hike. This was so exciting to me! Kevin and I had read about Dr Rosita Arvigo who studied under Mayan Medicine Man Dr Elijio Panti. Together, they created the Medicine Trail as well as protecting huge swaths of Belizean jungle for old growth medicinals. I loved walking the path labelled with various plants and trees, watching birds and animals, and gazing down at the Macal River.

Back at the resort things were resort-y. I took advantage! I spent a whole day at the Infinity pool where I could order delicious drinks and eat at the really good restaurant. Certainly expensive food for Belize, but pretty sweet!

We started to understand the allure of a resort! Most guests would book these expensive tours each day. They spent a lot of money going around to the various temples (you could go to Guatemala for Tikal!) and ruins or caving or any other adventure. I mean, it's cool! BUT Chaa Creek sat on acres of FREE hiking trails. The trails wound through a working farm (that you could visit), the Medicine Trail and associated history, a natural museum, the pool, the river, canoes, and plenty else.

We did all the free thangs.

Kevin and I canoed up and down the Macal River, or more accurately, Kevin canoed and I watched toucans and all types of fantastic birds. We woke up early one morning for a free guided bird tour with the best Tanzanian guide who gleefully shouted "Excellent!" every time he found a bird. We visited the butterfly reserve and were surrounded by blue wonder. We hiked and hiked and hiked and read and swam and relaxed.

One morning I thought I woke to rain. I heard big plops on the tarp roof of our endearing cabin. I went onto the porch and saw a band of howler monkeys. What I was hearing was the sound of the nuts they were discarding and throwing onto our roof. I love monkeys. They give no fucks at all.

A friend at the campsite suggested a lovely and very discounted DIY day. We arranged to canoe down to San Ignacio and have Chaa Creek pick us up a few hours later. We assumed our known arrangement: Kevin took the oar and I proceeded to enterain him with stories. We rowed 5 miles down the Macal, through territories of birds of every conceivable color. I don't think I've ever seen nor heard as many birds in my life. I felt like I floated through worlds before slowly encountering the small town that is the city of San Ignacio. 

As promised, a Chaa Creek employee met us and took up the canoe (fancy resort!). We walked into dusty San Ignacio, through the fruit vendors at the flea market, and wove into a few shops. It's a sort of rough and tumble town. A lot of travelers don't like it but use it as a base camp for adventures in caves and ruins. I could definitely see doing that.

Kevin loved it. It felt like the perfect balance of grit and skepticism of outsiders.

We decided that next time we're in Belize we'll likely stay there to do the tours that interest us--like the ATM caves-- through independent providers (which is less expensive than booking at Chaa Creek). Then we'd go back to Chaa Creek. The peace of the jungle had a hold on us.

We hailed a taxi to take us to the Mayan ruins located in San Ignacio, called Cahal Pech. The museum is one of the better I've seen and the ruins are practically empty of visitors. As opposed to the dense crowds of Chichen Itza and Tikal, here you get a very personal and calm visit to beautiful ruins.

Some of the museum exhibits we've encountered at ruin sites speak of Mayan people as though they no longer exist. Any trip through Mexico, Guatemala, Belize, or elsewhere in Central America shows what a lie that is-- Mayan people are everywhere. Cahal Pech did a much better job of acknowledging the continuity and lineage. I also came to better understand Belize's history.

I had been reading census figures of Belize's diverse population. The literature kept talking about various groups coming to Belize maybe a hundred or two hundred years prior. The ruins date human presence much earlier than that! The exhibit at Cahal Pech explained that Belize's population at the height of Mayan civilization was three times what it is today. When the inexplicable event happened that dashed Mayan populations, Belize was practically empty of humans. The jungle overtook many of the ruin sites. Many have still not been uncovered, or uncovered by people outside of Mayan lineage. Mayans and other groups began coming back to Belize in the last few hundred years.

Kevin and I have happily visited many Mayan ruins. This particular portal was a first! I shared this photo on social media just thinking it was kind of cool. My friends alerted me to the "feminine" quality!

That night, we decided to do one last Chaa Creek tour by signing up for the night hike. A few other campers joined us in shining our flashlights on the Medicine Trail as we hiked back to the resort after dark. We met our guide at the bar. Having been at the campsite we had no idea that it was a party down there! Our guide gave us each a head lamp so we could be the cool kids at the happening bar.

We set off as he shone his light at the lawn just feet from the bar. The whole lawn sparkled with THOUSANDS OF SPIDER EYES. Immediately, I saw what we had gotten ourselves into. This was a "things that go bump in the night tour." It was so funny because the guide was totally spooked by any type of creepy crawley-- he'd had a lifetime of experiences of bites and near misses. I understood why we'd been asked to wear socks.

As we walked quietly deeper into the woods, I fell in love. We saw scorpions, tarantulas, every type of spider, possums, snakes, and all the stuff of nightmares. We all learned to quickly train our lights, to walk softly, and carry no sticks.

Kevin was the first to spot the snake on the rail post. Apparently this guy is a fast mover and poisonous. The guide was very cautious. The snake was so beautiful!

After the hike, we sat at the bar with our friends. I felt sleepy and so happy. The jungle is so alive. Kevin kept talking about something sort of unnerving and also really liberating-- in the jungle, you could lie down and be claimed. If you waited long enough, you wouldn't exist anymore. The density of the jungle would absolve and dissolve and be with and use every bit of you. There was something weighty and beautiful in that.

As with the whole of our trip to Belize, I was surprised. Honestly, I didn't think I'd like it that much. From afar, I couldn't get a read on Belize's personality or way of being. I think that's because Belize has nothing to prove. It is. It's a sense. It's a feeling. It pulled me in. I love it.