My 28 days on a RAW Plant-Based Journey

How did an omnivore, actually more like the carnivore, decide to dive into the RAW plant-based journey?

I had not been feeling well since last spring.
My energy was droopy.
My digestive system felt like misery.
I wasn't sleeping well.
I took naps whenever I could to make up for the lack of sleep.
I exercised but even then, I wasn't feeling the benefits of the
fitness path.
I had mood swings and tears.
I felt overwhelmed most days.
I was having a difficult time keeping track of things.
I found myself having to jot down information when once upon a time, mental notes did the trick.

I knew this was not the best of ME.

Doctor visits, blood tests, and an osteopath later, nothing seemed to get me out of this funk.
Fast forward this past  January, three vehicle accidents in 14 days raised my stress level to an all time high.

Now I am experiencing hypoglycaemia.

This was not the path I wanted for myself, especially at this point in my life.

About a year ago, my kid sister told me about an author who diagnosed medical conditions in today's world. You could say it's an other worldly book with a plethora of information to create shifts with various medical conditions, by using food as medicine. His advice is far from researched and tested formally by science.

Once I noticed I was diagnosed with hypoglycaemia, I decided to read up Anthony William's first book entitled Secrets Behind Mystery Illnesses and How to Finally Heal.

He explained the reasons why hypoglycaemia occurred, how it begins in the liver, how a diet primarily made up of animal protein and minimal amounts of fruits will keep the individual struggling with the illness and make it worse along the way. I had spent the better part of my years eating a high protein diet and fearing bananas.

To reverse the symptoms meant to adopt a Raw plant-based journey for 28 days where animal and plant protein, dairy, grains, and fat were to be removed. Instead, meals were meant to be an abundance of fruits and vegetables until satiation. This was not meant to be deprivation. This was meant to be tasty and abundant while nourishing the internal organs with much needed minerals, vitamins, phytonutrients, antioxidant and so much more.
This was also meant to give the internal organs a break while breaking down food, to allow the internal healing process to begin. After all, the body is CAPABLE of healing itself.

And so began my Raw plant-based journey on February 5, 2017.
Interestingly enough, a few days later, an ultrasound confirmed what Anthony Williams had said about the link between hypoglycaemia and the liver.
My liver was showing signs.

The journey was a no-brainer.
I figured I will give it my full attention and observe the changes, if any, on my state and my overall health. If all else fails, I can head to my doctor and begin medicating the issues.

I was expecting a rough ride.
Give up my morning lattes, give wine, give up MEAT and my sweet treats.

Instead, I had to learn to start my day with a 16 ounce fresh celery juice.
I would say that was the hardest part of the process.
The juice, on an empty stomach, helps heal the gut, according to Anthony William.
Well it took a few days for my body to enjoy this beverage.
I experienced tingling on my face and was concerned I was having an allergic reaction to it.
By the third day, it had to be violently expelled as soon as I drank it.
I did not give up. I re-read the benefits in his book.
Day four, I gave it one last chance and the gut was able to handle it and ENJOY IT!!!

Second challenge was staying warm.
In hindsight, perhaps choosing to begin a raw journey in the winter was not the smartest approach.
The body needs warming foods like root veggies, oats etc.
This is where herbal teas, ginger root and hot peppers came in handy to warm the bones up.

As far as my mental state was, I was BLISSED out, despite the cold and celery issues.

Through an Instagram account, I photographed my journey and my new rituals.
Celery juice, followed by a delicious smoothie bowl, a salad, more fruits, another salad or cut up veggies, lots of lime, dates or mangoes at night time before bed as it helped calm the nerves he says.

Things tasted good.
Preparation was fun.
I looked forward to grocery shopping and discovering new items I knew little about.

Today is the end of my 28 day Raw Reset My Organs Cleanse.
I feel more VIBRANT!

I sleep more soundly.
My mood has improved.
I have disengaged from certain foods that no longer control me.
I say that, as I do have two sons who still eat like most kids do. Being around the food has zero impact on me. I make it, I serve it and I create my New Meals.
No hunger. Ever. A sense of fullness.

I have stopped the see-saw ways of salt and sweet.
Cravings are no longer dominant.
Although, throughout the process, I was craving Indian Dahl.
I don't even know how to cook it and I think I have eaten it only three times in my life.
But something about the spices and texture was what I was craving.

It's nice not to have to NEED a cup of coffee to place one's eyes in front of the socket.
It's nice not to have a bloated stomach as a result of food combinations that no longer seem to work.
Most of all, it's nice to have a glow in one's skin and peace of mind.

Some followers have asked about weight, and yes one side effect is weight loss.
But not as dramatic as one would think.

As I ponder on what is next, I see myself continuing to somewhat a Raw lifestyle.
My body is handling the breaking down of raw food more gracefully than cooked.
That being said, I still like protein and grains. I was raised on it after all. I am also fully aware that all these protein HYPE is just that....HYPE.

Anthony, has no hard rules about how to start back other than avoiding some foods forever( namely processed foods)

He does, however, asks that each person look within to check in and see what the body feels like eating. I have to say, I check-in regularly now and I see what he means about this NEW awareness. It's a knowing and the mindless eating is no longer there.

I don't expect that my friends and family will all embrace Anthony William's or AKA the Medical Medium's advice to heart. I invite you to recognize that our bodies are GENIUS vessels that are still a mystery to the Western Medical World and that perhaps, the current path we are all on with food choices, diets, trends, procedures and medications may not be anymore sound than the other worldly advice. After all, so much is unknown about the wonder of our bodies and our organs. What if foods can create the health shifts to beat all these ailments?

Food for thought: Let Thy Food be your Medicine.....

How do you feel fear but not become it?

F.E.A.R.S

We all have them. 
A sense of intense worry.
Facing the unknown.
The what ifs and the regrets. 
The physical stress it creates.
Tears. 
Lack of breath. 
Paralysis. 
Masking it all. 
Numbing the pain by drowning in "busy-ness" or unhealthy habits.
Disengaging.
The what ifs. 
The racing mind.
Restlessness.
….and the waves of emotional outbursts that flow.

Fear is a natural emotion.
That is a given.
Question remains how do you feel FEAR but not become it?
How do you acknowledge it but not wear it?
How do you allow it to be but not let it dominate?

I suspect fear and self-love go hand in hand.
Love from within generates a solid life compass which grounds our physical body and mind to deal with emotional winds.
Life happens. Challenges too. 
Experiences shape our lives. Some great ones and some painful ones. 
Through it all, the mind and heart need to radiate to "embrace" life's blessings and hurdles.
                                                                                  
So then, how does one build that self-love?
Forgiveness. Kindness. Patience. Acceptance. 
Though we are all perfectly imperfect beings wandering the earth, we have to accept that perfection and control are futile attempts to live a fulfilling life. 
Allow moments to flow. 
Let things land where they may. 
Allow situations to unfold. 
Watch it and recognize it, but ultimately let things be. When hardships do hit, be kind, LOVING and forgiving to yourself. 
You deserve it.

Love begins from within...

Are some cities better than others for singles?

A sewer drain in Brussels! A work of art! 2012

Almost five days in Paris, and this Princess has been asked to go dancing, share a Bordeaux, sip a café on a terrace and never mind random smiles, flirty exchanges, and savored compliments by the locals.

Which brings me to my questions. Is it easier being single in some cities over others? Could the streets in Paris offer more opportunities to flirt, receive delightful smiles, or witness chivalrous gestures by members of the opposite sex? Why are these opportunities less present back home?

It seems in Montreal, my single friends and I in our forties rely on online dating, meets ups or special singles activities like Cook and Dates or Speed Dating.
Could the European culture and mindset be all that different from the North American one? Are we wired differently?

Perhaps, the vacation mindset of a single traveler is different than when he/she is back home, with the weight of the world on each shoulder.

I know my vibe is different when I embark on a solo journey. I become footloose and fancy free. I feel more confident, and extroverted than my usual self. I happily wear lipstick every morning, as I have the time to doll up and not tend to other members of my family.

But then I wonder. Should I be dolling up for morning carpool and running errands? Will I have a flirty exchange with a gentleman in aisle four at the local grocery store?

While roaming a cobblestone road this morning at 8am, no less, a handsomely suited gentleman (minus his Marlboro would have been nicer), who was about to step in to an office building, stops me to say "you have a beautiful smile", to which I respond "was I smiling?" The gentleman follows up in French with "Oui et vos yeux pétillent" ( Yes and your eyes sparkle).

So, how does one bottle that footloose and fancy free aura and bring some back to one's hometown?

Being single for the last little while and having been blessed with amazing travels, I have always had the pleasure of meeting interesting people from around the world. As for members of the opposite sex, I have met some interesting individuals where we have shared a meal, a drink, a walk/hike, or toured the city discovering hidden gems. The cultural differences make for an interesting dynamic; their accents always hit high on the sexy meter; the topics of conversation are original and varied, as opposed to "first date banter" back home. A tiny reference to dress code: European men rule when it comes to clothing, I think back to my travels to Italy, Scandinavia, France and Belgium, these men make it easy to ogle. I will admit to being shallow at times! Sue me.

To being flirty, footloose and fancy free in Montreal! Should I be contemplating moving to Europe, once my sons are all grown up?
Food for thought, that is for sure!

Vibrant Paris!

If one is looking for a heightened, multi-sensory approach to one's travels, then one should head to Paris!

From the moment my Thalys train from Brussels arrived speedily to La Gare du Nord, in Paris, the experience began instantly.

It took over half an hour to get a cab driver willing to take me to my destination. A group of drivers were arguing over their disinterest to "pick me up" and drive me to La Place de L'Opéra. Just hearing them converse would make one think that I was asking them to drive me to some hell hole on earth! Granted I did arrive on le 14 juillet, also known as French National Day (Bastille), where streets and major arteries were closed down for parades and celebrations.

One brave cabdriver, outside of the ones arguing, walked over to me and offered to take me. Wow! I quickly understood why. He had set up a live feed of the parade on one of his many smart phones. No, I didn't ask any questions! As it turned out, he knew which streets were open and which remained closed.

I thanked him for his bravery, quick thinking and dropped off my luggage, in my closet, also known as my hotel room, complete with a bathroom with no shower curtain or glass. I knew what it was like to be Moses parting the sea after my shower! What a disastrous mess.

So now, I am in Paris again after close to ten years, maybe twelve years. Having walked around what I knew well, namely Place Vendôme, Place de la Concorde, Place de l'Opéra and le Jardin des Tuileries, I was happy to see that many of my favorite eateries and shops were still there. It was comforting to see. My all time favorite Salon de Thé Angelina was still there, on rue de Rivoli. Much like Schwartz's in Montreal, the line ups outside this coffee shop/pastry store are surreal.

Toward late afternoon, I had noticed throngs of people gathered at the majestic Opera House, with busts of the many great composers of times gone by. I made my way to see a busker perform for what seemed like a thousand gathered people, from all walks of life. Tourists or locals, elderly or young, ultra religious or not, rich or poor, drunk or not found themselves standing or sitting side by side, listening to Youri from Capri, Italy sing originals as well as covers from Adele to Freddie Mercury.

I found myself a spot on the steps of the Opera House and basked in his rendition of songs. I listened to what brought this man to leave his "Mama and pasta" and travel the world to find himself. He connected with the crowd through his usage of multiple languages, his tales and his music, which explained how all these differences stood side by side.

A great first day in Paris!

Picturesque Bruges and its Lake of Love

Bruges looks like a fairy tale, complete with meandering canals, narrow cobblestone streets, gabled homes, a charming market square and a tranquil Lake of Love, first founded in 1245 by the Countess Margaret of Constantinople.

The tour guide explained that this Countess was a begijns, a religious woman, similar to a nun, in that these women accepted vows of chastity and obedience but preferred to earn a living by looking after the sick and making lace.

These religious women are no longer around and Benedictine Nuns continue the begijns traditions. The beguine courtyard is a tranquil zone and the Lake of Love is a peaceful place to roam and ponder.

Within my tour group, I befriended a gentleman, an avid photographer, from Quebec City no less. We both happened to be trapped in a mostly German group. It didn't take long for both of us to escape and discover Bruges with our lenses in tow.

We meandered through the tranquil oasis of the Lake of Love and its garden and walked the narrow cobblestone roads. Note to self, runners next time to handle the uneven grounds with less plantar pain.

Early afternoon, we took a canal ride along the river to see Bruges through a different angle. The landscape was magical!

We ended our jaunt at the market square, sat at a terrace and savored Belgian beer, as I was still on a mission to try out their other delightful labels. Not sure my luggage can handle these beer bottles! What to do? Perhaps, ship them?

Blessed in Brussels

This Caspian Jewess was blessed today, in a church in Brussels, by a man, with his hands dipped in blessed water which he in turn used to touch my forehead and either shoulders.
The odd part isn't that this man reached out to me, or that I found peace in a church; rather the peculiar thing was more when it happened. I was leaving the church and throngs of people were entering at that same moment. When the last person entered, he stared at me, dipped his fingers in the holy water and began the ritual.

Why?
Did he sense I was a member of another tribe? Did he feel I needed a blessing? Is this customary in a church to enter and bless the person leaving?
One thing for sure, we both held each other's gaze.

With that in mind, I felt blessed for a variety of reasons. I discovered a cute little organic bakery, Le Pain Quotidien, which offered a variety of organic breads and viennoiseries for breakfast in a family style atmosphere. Huge farmer style dining tables, an array of sour cherry jam jars, churned butter and other spreads. It was a great way to mingle with the locals and start up conversation or sit back quietly and read the local paper.

I also feel blessed for being at ease to roam the winding, cobblestone roads map free! It is a great feeling to know that you can make your way in a foreign city. I know some of my friends will be amused with this particular section of the blog, as they know that there are certain zones in my hometown where I require the use of my handy dandy Tom Tom. Perhaps the pedestrian lifestyle is more my calling?

Last but not least, I feel blessed to be in a foodie's paradise, in Brussels. Surrounded by delicious beers, chocolatiers galore, baked goods and waffle central, I am grateful to be car less, and aimlessly walking about to burn some semblance of these delicious calories!

Pilatus Kulm

As a seasoned traveler, I try my best to avoid tour companies. Over time, I have come to discover, that even as a solo traveler, I am not a huge fan of big groups, obnoxious people in droves, and tired tour guides who have perhaps done the tour one too many times.

That being said, every once in a while, I cave and join a tour company for the day when I wish to discover a place far enough that requires some explaining and some transportation.

Which brings me to Pilatus Kulm, not far from Lucerne. In 2009, I had done Rigi Kulm with this same tour company and was immensely pleased. I was hoping for the same wow factor. Needless to say, the people in the group can make the experience worth while or break it.

Pilatus in itself was a beautiful mountain, at about 7000 feet above sea level. Long time ago, the clergy believed that the mountain was demonized with dragons. It took the clergy a few attempts to trust that the great Pilatus was a safe place and so it was re-opened, once again to the general public.

To get to the top of this mountain, there are two gondola rides which bring tourists to bask in the views of Swiss Alps.
I failed to mention that while on the bus, there was a huge Iranian group from California. I am not proud to say that they were fellow Caspian Sea dwellers. I am also sad to say that understanding every word that came out of their mouths was embarrassing at best.

I guess the buck stopped when this one couple and a silver haired gentleman, all decked in designer labels and heavy perfume began to speak behind my back as we were lined up for a four seater gondola ride.
I was lined up ahead of them and overheard Agha Smelly Pants (Agha meaning Mister) say to his travel buddies that I hope to god we are not going to be stuck with that loner on the bus....we won't be able to be just us.

And so what do you think This Caspian Princess spewed? Take a wild guess? Please.

In a stiff Farsi, (their mother tongue), I said: did you maybe think I may not want to be stuck with the three of you on this Gondola? But seeing as my mother raised me well, please won't you step in?

I love the shock factor. For one, I don't look my heritage. Two, it is quite handy to have a semblance of language in a functional state for that special moment.

Well, needless to say, they climbed aboard and I surprisingly made friends.
At least, they thought so. They even had me sit next to Mister Smelly Pants and took our picture for posterity sake.
Obviously what followed was idle chit chat about my genealogy and the excitement ended once my mother was from Haifa. Mister Smelly Pants quickly mentioned that in the 16 Iranian couples, there was a token Jew amongst them. It's your family, you should meet them,he said.

Oh boy!
How to loose them on The Great Mount Pilatus?

Scheuble Hotel and the Red Light District

Scheuble Hotel is a delightful, three star Boutique hotel, centrally located in Old Town Zurich. At the time of booking it online, I had read the reviews, and was pleased with the appearance, location and value. Breakfast and Internet included, what more would The Caspian Princess need, after all?

My room is on the third floor of this beautiful building. My room is a trapezoid, complete with a balcony and a huge window. No need for air conditioning, as there is a lovely breeze coming through.

The pièce de resistance is the evening entertainment from my "Juliette" balcony. At about 7pm, the sun has yet to set, and stunning Romanian young women, in sexy dresses and killer heels make their way a few feet away from my balcony. And so begins the strutting.

Contrary to other Red Light Districts in various cities, the sleaze factor has been removed. Perhaps, this Red Light District is not as entertaining as the one in Amsterdam, as the ladies are not sitting in store windows, in a boudoir state.

The Swiss experience is somewhat classy. I laugh as I am typing this, as the ladies are quite classy looking, complete with mani/pedi, matching shoes and clutch, blow dried hair and scents of freshness. Don't get any crazy ideas, as the only way to get to one's hotel is through this sexy, classy maze.

Clearly, one can see the benefit of legalizing Hookerville! Oddly enough, the Swiss Polizei circulate to protect the Johns. These classy broads are known to be aggressive!

Don't let Hookerville deter you from staying at Scheuble Hotel, as to balance it all there is a delightful church that rings its bells every hour on the nose!
Amen!

Wanderlust

The desire to travel, blend in with the locals, to bathe in the local culture, to taste the culinary delights are all ingredients for my perfect wanderlust.

It takes me close to a year to plan my summer trips. The ten days to two weeks, where my sons are off with their father, enable me to escape and wander off in hope for adventure, a little bit of a creative outlet, meeting new faces and hearing their stories, all the while hoping to learn something new.

Which brings me to the start of this summer's adventure, Switzerland! The flight in was pleasant and surprisingly restful. I shockingly napped. In best of circumstances, I sleep poorly back home, and yet the plane ride lulled me to sleep.

Once I landed in Zurich's Flughafen, I walked over to the rail way station to purchase a ticket to Old Town Zurich. Somewhere between buying the ticket and closely watching two young lovers reunite near an escalator, I got lost.

I chose to follow the lovers, who amused me immensely, instead of getting on my specific train, heading to my hotel. En effect, j'ai pris le chemin des écoliers! What if I said, it was well worth it, even in my semi jet lagged self?

This couple, in their twenties, had just caught up at the train station. The young man appeared to be living in Zurich, even though he appeared far from being a local. He seemed to be an English speaking foreigner.

The young lady flew from Toronto, spoke English decently, French barely and hints of German as it was far from fluid.

He greeted her with a multi-colored bouquet of roses and they shared a tender moment...and so began my journey with this couple.

Throughout the train ride, they spoke of oddities, in a broken version of English, French, and German. Neither accents were well respected and a few times, I had to hold back from asking them what is their actual mother tongue.

In Quebec, I had heard of Franglais, a mangled version of French and English; alas, their version was foreign to me.
These two managed to bastardize all three languages in a delightful, bemusing way. One couldn't help but be drawn and entertained...until of course, one realized one's train was heading the wrong way.

It took me forty minutes to make my way back to Old Town Zurich, a train, two buses and a tram plus a lot of walking with luggage, up a cobblestone, winding road.
Welcome to Zurich!

Ode to Technology!!

I found myself pondering about technology.
Perhaps it had something to do with my twitter post, this morning.
It appears I lost 7 pounds.
Did I? When did that happen?
My account was hacked.
Seems to be a common occurrence these days when one juggles email accounts, twitter, Facebook,  LinkedIn and so on and so forth.

Over a delightful morning brew with Baileys, I began thinking about when did I get all involved with technology.
My earliest memory of technology brings me back to my tween years, visiting San Diego, roaming the aisles of Price Club (now Costco). My uncle and my father were looking through the "computer" aisles and hearing them both chime in that "these look like the wave of the future".
They were staring at a Commodore 64.

We brought one home that summer.
We plugged it in.
We patiently waited for something to start.
Yet the screen was lit. The cursor was blinking.
But now what.

It took my father a while to realize we had no softwares installed on the unit.
And yet the manufacturer's box advertised all sorts of "nifty"things this Commodore 64 could do.
But now what?

My dad hired a son's friend who was ten or so years older than I.
He was a university computer science student.
He had a friendly disposition.
He taught my sister and I the basics of programming and algorythms.

It got boring.
In fact, it got to a point where I would look forward to his visits solely to bask in his scent.
AZARRO!!
Were it not for his weekly visits, I wouldn't have the need to pick up the keyboard and sniff out his scented fingertips all over the keys.

Yup that novelty wore off fast!

The next computer to enter the home was in my teens.
It was a PC.
One software for word processing was installed and it was, indeed, a primitive one at that.
This was the start of typing school work, and later on in university typing all projects, essays and proposals.

I would have to say that computers took on a whole new purpose once internet became available.
I remember the day I had attended a workshop on internet usage.
I was working with my (then) husband and we needed to upgrade the computer system at work.
The technician was insisting that we attend this workshop that will change the way we see communication.
At the time, listening to the droning of this GURU about the internet, made my husband and I immensely uncomfortable. The talk seemed vague and we couldn't see clearly what the future held for us.

Today, I can't imagine life without it.
I use it daily for pleasure, for work and for boredom!
Google has become my dictionary.
Itunes is my life line.
Facebook is my social life, albeit a virtual one.

My sons take ALL this for granted, in that they do not realize the extent to which information is readily available to them.
I am fully aware that I sound like some elderly person, recapping how it used to be.
That being said, I recall the countless hours of sitting at school and university libraries, sifting through books to search for the knowledge.
Today, one GOOGLES it.

Which brings me back to losing weight on my Twitter account....

Dear Hacker,
You have such wonderful strengths in technology and science.
Can you not use your strengths to better this planet and continue the paths that the JOBS and GATES of this world have done to improve and ease our way in and around this place?

Remembering a Tyrant

My Grand-parents with their three out of four children.

My maternal grand-father.

He passed away a few days ago, in a hospital bed, facing Mount-Royal and the famous cross.

He was 93.

He wasn't an easy man.

He didn't give you warm fuzzies.

If anything, you feared him.

Most of his existence, he lived a reclusive life.

He had no friends.

Towards the last two decades of his life, HE managed to alienate each and every one of his children, his grand-children and shockingly his GREAT-grand-children ( He had three).

Up until my parents became grand-parents to my sons, I really didn't have a healthy concept of what it meant to boast the joys of grand-parenting. Witnessing my parents cuddle, play, feed, read, wipe away tears and kiss "boo boos" away, made me aware that grand-parenting is a blessing and not some curse.

My sons are lucky!

They are loved.

Most importantly, my sons feel the love.

I didn't feel the love.

I feared my grand-father instead.

I tip toed around him.

Most times, I even hated him.

My Grand-father with his four children, wife and a mystery person

Our family celebrations usually involved someone cursing someone, someone crying, someone YELLING, followed by months of silence and then the YOUNG usually would have to meander their way back, pleading for forgiveness from the GRAND POUBA. Never mind memories of Brit Milas and Bar Mitzvahs with some dramatic twist, thanks to none other than my grand-father.

My perception of him?

 A tyrant.

Most often, he would sit at the head of the table and dictate.

No one dared sit on Archie Bunker's chair.

He ordered his wife around.

He ordered his four children around.

He demeaned, berated and scolded his children, as if they were still five.

He was fond of "threatening his grand-children" with belts. Naively, I would stare at his belt, as he snapped it like some animal trainer. I won't mention how docile we were, as grand-children.

As long his grand-children didn't make too much noise, didn't create too much mess and stayed somehow "out of the way", and enjoyed watching countless hours of world news, all was well in his home. If you liked Walter (Cronkite, for you neophytes), you were in my grand-father's good books...for a few seconds, at least.

If he visited us in our home, my parents began to nervously circulate around their very own space.

My dad would automatically be "de-throned" from his usual seat at the table.

The menu in our home would reflect this tyrant's NEEDS.

And this heaviness would enter our space...all in the name of FAMILY.

Rosh Hashana and Passover celebrations (euphemism for torture) usually entailed HIM leading the entire service. I recall this one time, my father, in his late forties, barely gained courage to inform the Tyrant that he would like to start having the celebrations at his home, as he would like to officiate some of these holidays too, before he grows too old. For a few years, we didn't hear from the tyrant. He was fuming with the decision. Rather than pat my father on the back for being "ready" to handle the responsibility and passing the torch, he shunned him. From that day on, we had small gatherings at our home, as my uncles and aunties had no choice but to attend the Tyrant's "celebration" and leave us to fend for ourselves....All in the name of family spirit.

A few hours before he passed away, I entered his hospital room, suited in some canary yellow "lab coat" and watched this tiny framed individual, with laboured breathing and I  found myself talking to him. Who are you? What did YOU like? Did you have dreams? Did you accomplish them? Did you have a passion? What was your favourite colour? I knew he liked Syrian food, and he loved his Arak!With all his longevity, I didn't have the opportunity to KNOW THIS MAN. Better yet, he was not open to the experience.

I finally had the courage to tell him "It is too bad you didn't have it in you to give unconditional love to your children. It's all they ever wanted."

My mom

 I barely stroked his index and walked out of his room.

No tears. How odd. 

I teared when I saw my mom lean over her father's bed, after 16 years of having been alienated from this man.

I teared when I saw her stroke this man's bald head.

I teared when I saw her whisper words into his ears.

For that, I teared.

One of his grand-children referred to him as "PRIMITIVE", yesterday afternoon.

Interesting wording, I thought.

Truth be told, it made sense.

This man, came from another "civilization", travelled the world and refused to adapt, to change and to "blend" with every bold step he took to cross the Seven Seas. Up until his dying day, he stayed true to his 1918 timeline and brought that part of the world into the 21st Century.

Shalom Aba!

As we lay you down today for your final resting place, be grateful that today is Sukkot and eulogies are not permitted at this time.  For it not for this blessing, few would know what to say in your honour.

Try to remember what my mother told you minutes after you passed away, "if in heaven they give you a new heart, learn to use it more kindly!"

Oslo and the midnight sun

Oslo, Oslo!!! What a pleasure it was to roam the capital....only 600,000 inhabitants in Oslo and over a million live in the Metropolitan area, yet one in five people own a boat of sorts, which explains why Oslo has a large harbour and many marinas. As for the midnight sun, not sure why this term is used as the sun sets around 10:30-11pm and rises around 3:30am ( if not sooner!).  No shortage of daylight and plenty of time to roam and stroll though the city. The body feels tired but the mind keeps going on!

Initially, I was surprised to see few cars on the road in and around the city center. Pedestrians can run relatively freely without having to face noise pollution and or traffic. Most cars in Oslo cross the city center using tunnels. Unlike Denmark, Holland or Germany, biking as a main means of transport is not all that apparent. Locals use the trams, the subways and buses. Tourists, however, can get duped by the taxi system. Thanks to Rick Steves, I was well informed to ask for one specific cab company. Yet even so, the driver managed to pull a fast one; arriving at the destination, the meter would read one thing while he requested another sum of money. “Minimum charge” he would chime. Not sure why the city of Oslo has yet to standardize these guys.

The harbour front boasts huge cruise ships that dock daily. Looking ahead into the Oslofjor, one sees 40 some odd islands with summer cabins for the locals to escape city life, to swim, to have a BBQ and most of all to relax. Aboard a cruise that sails further out into the water, one notices the most unusual landscape: summer cabins in bright colours in the valleys along with twin miniature versions by the edge of the water. Apparently, way back when, when the locals wished to swim and failed to “find” swimsuits, they would enter the miniature cabins that would allow the vacationer to remove their clothing in privacy while slipping into the water for a cool swim.

A multitude of mini museums are available in a park like peninsula, which showcase the rich history of The Norwegian Vikings (Viking Ship Museum), The Kon-Tiki Museum (which Thor Heyerdahl proved that early civilisations and their then technology could have crossed the oceans), and The Fram Museum (with the tales of Norwegian explorers who attempted to discover the North pole (failed), then attempted and succeeded to discover the South Pole, and in the process made an English explorer terribly disappointed as the challenge was already had by Norway).

Frogner Park (75 acres) was heaven on earth! Imagine a beautiful green park, manicured to some extent, with tall trees, green grass (not green weed), and 600 sculptures in bronze and granite of nudes by Gustav Vigeland, who captured universal themes in life such as birth, childhood, romance, struggle, child-rearing, old age and death. An artist who marvelled at August Rodin’s carving talent, he required  funds to begin his life’s passion. So in 1921, he made a deal with the city of Oslo where he would be offered a studio, a park and material...in exchange, he would beautify a park with his sculptures. I was moved by many of these displays. They were thought provoking and generated a well of emotion from within.

The people of Norway are reserved at first glance. That being said, they are more than happy to help a traveller find their way, share their favourite points of interest in their hometown, and they do so with a smile and in English! Education being free, they tend to be highly educated with a proud sense of philanthropy. I had the pleasure of meeting a local on a terrace and needless to say, three hours went by relatively easy with conversations about local politics, economy, day to day life, the trend of their society and immigration. Did you know that should you decide to get an education in Oslo, even as a foreign student the tuition in non-existent! As a parent, I am wondering why wouldn’t I invite and or convince my sons to consider studying abroad.

Food for thought!

Free manicures in Copenhagen? What else?

So... my nail chipped...in Denmark.
Mundane, I know.
But somehow, the nails need attention.

Unlike back home, where nail salons are like Starbucks at every corner, here in Copenhagen salons are exctinct. In fact, after close inspection of the "Dane finger nail", much to my chagrin, nails are bare and "au naturel". As beautiful, blond, svelte  and blue-eyed they may be, the lovely Lady Danes are in deep need of pedicures too!

I digress. I decide to take matters into my own hand. Of course, I wouldn't be caught dead applying my OWN polish on holiday. Instead, I head to their big department store called Illum and walk along their perfume and cosmetic counter and mingle with the lovely blonds. "Hello, is anyone available for a manicure?" "A what?" they reply. "A manicure". You mean a massage and polish. I shudder at the thought of a massage. " No, no, a simple change of polish".

Walk over to the Clarins counter, and be greeted by gorgeous Lilia, your picture perfect Dane, and sit at her counter, while she gives you a FULL mani, with O.P.I. product and REFUSES to get paid. That's right, refuses. Imagine my, yet again, shocked face. Free? Nothing is for free. What do you mean free? I don't have to buy a product? Lilia says "no".
In fact, one step further, I try to tip the lovely Dane and she won't accept. Her answer, pure and simple, is the nails look sloppy and you need new colour. Besides, I enjoyed chatting with you and connecting with a Canadian. Wow!

Lilia and I chatted for an hour and half about her life in Denmark, her life with a Lebanese man who won't commit, her desire to have one child soon ( she felt 30 was getting old!), and her dream to sing professionally. Apparently, that tiny sexy frame with blue eyes has a raspy alluring voice to swoon even the deaf.

I leave Denmark tomorrow with an overwhelming sense of gratitude for having witnessed over and over again random acts of kindness by the locals. We should ALL remember to do so in our daily lives. What a nicer world on which to roam!!! Wouldn't you agree?

Welcome to Copenhagen!

It’s been a day and a half of trudging in the rain. I know I sound depressed. Truth is, if I had my Billy Boots on and a raincoat to keep me dry, this dreary cold weather in Denmark wouldn’t phase me in the least. Yet, I will pleasantly say that this setting has enabled me to nap in the afternoon, with a tiny window blowing in cool, fresh air, listening to the rain drops falling on the cobble stones. Every so often, (not to the hour or half for that matter) the church bells ring to remind me not to sleep too deeply.

Welcome to Copenhagen!

My initial exposure to this Danish city was a wee bit of a disappointment, as I had walked along Strøget, known as the longest European shopping street (finished in 1962 and apparently other Euro cities shortly after have duplicated this model for their tourism industry). What once must have been a typical 19^th Century architecture on this Danish street now looks like Americana with 7eleven’s, McDonald’s, Burger King, Irish Pubs (Home to the Vikings who journeyed to Ireland and brought back various influences), H&M and so on. Street crepe stations everywhere to feed your urge to nibble. For 30 Danish Kroners (5 to $1.00 CAD), the street vendor will fry you up a crepe with either Nutella or brown sugar and fold it into a paper wrap to allow you to continue on your merry way. Last I had checked, crepes are from France, Nutella from Italy, so I am not sure where the Danish experience here is. Delicious, never the less!! 

 

Another observation while roaming the streets, the heart and stroke foundation, here in Denmark, has yet to have educated the ill effects of cigarettes on one’s heart. You will easily find Danes biking along the cobble stone roads, with a ciggie between their lips. I guess they want the full “effects” of nicotine on exerted lungs. Typical life expectancy in Denmark is 78 years of age, surprisingly! Must be all the organic foods they consume. Incidentally, it’s amazing to witness how green, ecological and organic this place is. Wandering inside a grocery store, an organic produce is not competing with anything. Non-organic and organic varieties are priced the same. Eating organic is easy and readily available in local restaurants too. That mesclun salad sure tastes yummy!

English language is readily used by the locals. The Danes are friendly, welcoming, and helpful with the tourism industry. They will go above and beyond to help a tourist out. I had an issue with my three prong wire for laptop and the hotel was kind enough to call in a technician to bring in a new compatible laptop wire while here in Copenhagen. The hotel ran out of umbrellas, and the front desk attendant ran down to his locker room to hand me his very own. I was most touched when a tourist and her baby in a backpack carrier were struggling in the hard rain, and this random local kindly offered his umbrella to the mother and said “to keep your baby from getting anymore wet”. Random acts of kindness at its best!!! I smiled inside and was happy to have witnessed it.

Though they speak English readily, expect to hear cute oddities such as when one points to the right eye, you will hear a Dane say “the right hand eye” or if you care for some runners, be sure to stop by the store called “The Athlete’s Foot”. Amusing, wouldn’t you agree?

I spent a few hours visiting Rosenborg Castle, Treasury and Gardens. History books regarding the monarchy in Denmark seem to praise the life of King Christian IV.  Knick named “a lover and a fighter”, he left a great legacy behind from the Rosenborg Castle (his summer home and place of death), to the Frederiksborg Palace, The Round Tower, and Christianshavn. Many properties around Copenhagen display his logo. A tour into his summer “home” gave me the glimpse of a “party-animal” with an earing, a trendy braid... known to have been a drinker with lovers galore. He exuded sexuality and his choice of paintings reflected his enjoyment of the flesh! (kids, or rather parents beware-PG 13!) He was also said to have been an energetic doer and a warrior.

Interesting fact is most often when one walks around castles from long ago, visitors and museum curators don’t often know the height, weight and blood type of monarchs. Yet, with King Christian IV, through paintings (unusual 3-dimensional), his girth is visible and his height is known from the warrior suits he once wore; during one particular battle costume, he injured and lost his eye (the right-hand eye that is!) and his blood stained his clothing.

Porcelain back in those days was called white liquid gold. It was imported from Asia and King Christian IV enjoyed displaying his Porcelain collection atop doorways, a sign of great wealth and nobility.

Muddling through the rain, I had a chance to roam the gardens and stare at the tall, leafy trees. Quite peaceful, indeed! Never had the chance to pull out my SLR and capture this delightful place, as the rain hit hard.

I am praying for a break in the rain so as to take a boat ride and visit the famous Danish canals.

Wish me luck!