Spirited Woman Blogger Team

Parting Thoughts

I have just returned from a very long trip, and if you have followed me since February, you know that I got the flu on the third day. I was so sick that I just finished the last of my prescriptions about five days ago. Now I hope that my sense of smell and taste will return on their own. Because of that ordeal, I am currently exhausted and out of travel stories, so I am going to take a break from this blog.

I would like to leave you with some of the lessons I have learned over the past three years.

First, Volunteer Service Travel is an amazing way to go. I have blogged about Habitat for Humanity as well as volunteer English teaching. This kind of trip is guaranteed to be meaningful. You accomplish something, and you meet wonderful people, both those you serve and those with whom you serve.  And sometimes grateful people provide your housing and/or food. New Orleans was just one of the many places where complete strangers were so gracious with their thank your.

Travel with a mission to perfect something. Write, paint, or draw. Improve your yoga, skiing, kayaking, cooking, or second language. Attend a book fair or retreat like Chautauqua to absorb the wisdom of thinkers. The best souvenirs are those you carry in your heart, mind, and muscle memory.

Try Genealogy Travel. If you travel to the land of your ancestors, they will tell you wonderful stories about who you really are. My husband and I discovered that our families have lived together, died together, and built towns together since the time of the Crusades. What an astounding coincidence, considering we didn’t grow up in the same state and met by chance in a 300-student college Shakespeare class—though we both loved Macbeth long before we found our shared roots in Scotland.

And speaking of crusades, I hope you will support me in my battle against love locks. Having just returned from Paris, I can tell you that love locks are destroying historic bridges throughout the city. A three-hundred-year-old bridge covered in thousands of ugly padlocks is neither beautiful nor romantic, nor is a broken railing boarded up. Say Yes! to love, but No! to locks.

Finally, don’t be afraid to get lost. I recently found that easy to do in Marrakech. And if you don’t panic, the journey can be as interesting as the destination.

I hope I have encouraged you to travel—to expand your knowledge, citizenship, and humanity. You will find new reasons to respect yourself, and so will others. It’s important. In my voting lifetime, one of our presidential candidates revealed that he had never traveled outside the US. To me, that was a disqualifier. I did not vote for him. Others did, and today we are still reeling from his miscalculations overseas. Here is the best quote about the value of travel:

“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness . . . Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime.” Mark Twain

It has been my pleasure to share stories with you. Thanks to all Spirited Women, and men, who took the time to respond. Namaste.

- Nancy Adair  nancyadair2002@yahoo.com
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The Colors of Claude Monet & Giverny

Photo of Claude Monet

I have always loved Claude Monet, but when I went to his home at Giverny, I realized that beauty can come from the most unexpected places. Have you ever seen a photo of Monet?

Born in November of 1840, his photos make him look like November, blustery, stern and cold. A tour of Giverny will introduce you to a rigid parent and a master of his domain. But when you look at the results, you see an almost feminine softness in his devotion to color and beauty. 

The light and the countryside drew him to Giverny, where he was the architect of his gardens and at one point employed seven gardeners to plant according to his specifications. This April the gardens were aglow with bands of tulips, in a palette of white, yellow, orange and peach, as well as yellow and white jonquils and narcissus, with clusters of purple lupins along the edges. The arbor down the middle leading to the front door was not as yet covered, but you could just imagine what it would be like in the height of summer. (Hint: Catch the express train to Giverny from Paris.)

Meticulous about interior design, he, not his wife, chose the home décor, which is lovely in bright yellows and cornflower blues with white lace curtains, or the style now called Country French.

He was a caring though demanding family man. When money was tight, he and his family shared lodging with the Hoschedé family. After his wife died, and Ernest Hoschedé left, he took care of the Hoschedés, eventually marrying Alice after her husband’s death. Alice didn’t like the idea of Monet painting other women, so she asked that only her daughters be his models. He agreed.

The one thing he was the most inflexible about was his desire to paint nature. Impressionism was new and didn’t advance him as rapidly as traditional art promoted other young painters, who trained by copying the masters at the Louvre. Dedicated to knowing everything about light and nature, Monet often painted one outdoor scene in several lighting conditions. He painted the Rouen Cathedral more than thirty times during the course of two years. When you visit Musée d’Orsay and see five of the paintings together, you can appreciate Monet’s intense attention to light. (Hint: Go early and start at the top floor.)

Monet’s professional career took off when Americans fell in love with his art. And he fell in love with Japanese art. Giverny is full of his collection. As his sales increased he was able to design his Japanese water garden beyond the railroad track on the edge of his property. He rerouted a small river to create a pond, built his famous green bridge, and planted the banks with flowers and flowering trees. As we strolled the bank this month, the scenery dripped in delicate pink and white blossoms.  The flaming colors of fall are said to be the best. I’ll have to go back.

Monet will always be a puzzle to me. How could a man who appears so harsh and so masculine create such gentle beauty? He was complex, and appearance is deceptive.

- Nancy Adair  nancyadair2002@yahoo.com
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Germany: Face the Past, Move Forward

One rainy day in March this year, there was nothing to do but go to a museum while I visited Germany. It wasn’t my first choice, but if that was the plan, I would make sure I got something out of it. Since the destination was Berlin’s German History Museum opened in 2006, I set a goal to finally learn the what’s, when’s and where’s of Prussia. Sound dull? Don’t worry, this blog is about what I learned instead.

The section on Prussia covers all of Germany’s early twentieth-century history. All, without propaganda or justification. It outlines the steps of Hitler’s rise to power and the horrible things he did with that power. Photos and exhibits show the reality of the concentration camps and the secret police. Nothing is glossed over, making sure everyone, especially the Germans, will remember the Holocaust. 

Germany was punished for Hitler’s reign. It was carved up by the Allies and divided by the Berlin Wall until 1989. When the people finally had the courage to “tear down this wall,” a new era began. They had done their penance and now the truth was setting them free.

The reunited Germany has become a world leader by facing its past honestly. I saw it in this exhibit, I hear it in the words of the people. It’s an inspirational turn-around. Had they continued to be a country in denial, they would have forfeited the international trust that they now enjoy.

One result of this spirit of openness is the new glass dome on top of the Reichstag. It allows the public to view parliament as it meets, symbolizing the goal of government transparency. There is a feeling of honesty in Germany. It’s one of the few European countries that still uses the honor system on its metro. Yes, officials may check for tickets during rush hour, but, by and large, people are trusted (a huge change from the days of the Nazis and communists).

Its chancellor, Angela Merkel, is one of the most respected women in the world. Herself a child of communist East Germany, she was drawn from science to the democracy movement as soon as The Wall fell and has served the government ever since. In 2014 Forbes named her the most powerful woman in the world. I am a fan, not only because she is strong and forthright, but because she has a unique skill set: she is fluent in Russian and understands communism from her upbringing. Couple these attributes with the feminine spirit, and you get an international politician who can deal with some contentious world leaders like no one else can. World peace needs her contributions.

So how do we whittle this down to a personal message? We can face our past and make changes, or we can run from it and hope it doesn’t catch up. It’s our choice, but, really, who wants a life on the run?

- Nancy Adair  nancyadair2002@yahoo.com
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Morocco: Spend A Night in Living History

When I travel, I love to meet people with passion. Their spirit sparks my interest and inspires me to learn. In Morocco I met two such people, both riad owners.

In Fez I met Hisham, who owns Riad Rcif. Before you read any further, look at the photos on the link just provided. Riad Rcif is spectactular, a museum-quality accommodation, and the pictures will tell you why words can’t describe it. While you’re looking, keep in mind that it costs just over a hundred dollars per night. Looks like double or triple that, right?

Rcif offers the loving care of a family business. Hisham owns it, his mother cooks the meals, and his other brothers manage and assist, always at your beck and call. Originally planned as a museum, this 1372 riad was to show medina life through the centuries. But then Hisham thought, why not let people stay here and learn even more. It was built for the Pasha of Fez (governor) and subsequently owned by various merchants, the last a highly successful Jewish merchant. Near Hisham’s childhood home, the property was in disrepair when he bought it, and he spent six years to painstakingly restore it.

Having just come from Alhambra in Granada, I was already enamored with thirteenth century Moorish architecture, and I felt so privileged to be able to see it up close and actually live in it, and even more privileged to spend a quiet evening listening to Hisham’s stories and eating his mother’s Moroccan salad and chicken. (NB: a single “salad” makes a delicious meal for two people.)

Riad Andalla in Marrakech offers a completely different experience. It is a smaller, more average riad, and though most guests were middle-aged like us, we really expected to see backpackers. The selling point is the location and the owner, Christophe, a Frenchman passionate about Marrakech.

Located in a narrow passageway a few twists and turns from the noisy square, you can watch the action and hear the drumming from Andalla’s rooftop, but not have it in your face—and your room—all night long. The rooms are basic, and the doors do not lock, but as Christophe says, “You will never be so safe.”

Christophe loves his life in Morocco and makes each guest excited to be there. He sits down and helps each guest tailor the stay to special interests.  We like food, hammams and gardens, so he directed us to the best of each. Take his advice, you can’t go wrong. We were especially glad to be directed to Majorelle Gardens, owned by Yves Saint-Laurent until his death. Not only is it an exquisite display of desert plants from around the world, but if offers a fascinating exhibit about Bedoins and lots of information about the French designer, himself.

The riad experience is way more like staying at someone’s home than at a hotel. (If you don't like stairs, stay where there are first-floor accommodations, like Rcif.) During meals in the courtyard or on the rooftop, you make friends with guests from all over the world, and you get incredible personal attention from very interesting owners, generous about sharing their passions.

- Nancy Adair  nancyadair2002@yahoo.com
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How One Moroccan Guy Views Women

I met a Moroccan guy on the train to Marrakesh. It wasn’t the Express so we had a lot of time to chat. His English was good enough to get him a job as a tour guide because he had perfected it while working at his uncle’s pizza parlor in Peoria. And since he’d lived in the US and now dealt with tourists, I assumed he was enlightened.

As he traveled to his mother's house for dinner, he offered some free history and pointed out interesting sites, like vineyards. He said he really enjoyed Moroccan wine and beer. I was surprised that Morocco has a wine industry. I was more surprised that he drank. When he said he had no religious issues with alcohol, I assumed he was liberal.

So I asked him, “Back at the train station I saw a sign in French asking people to enjoy the celebration of International Women’s Day. Is anything happening today?”

He said he knew about the day but not about special events, so I asked him what a visitor like me should know about Moroccan women. I figured an official tour guide would have an answer, and he did.

He said there are three types of Moroccan women. Those who cover their hair, those who cover their hair and parts of the face, and those who cover everything and never leave the house. “You will never see them.”

“What about women doctors?” I asked. He said those came from rich families and were educated in Paris. He didn't count professional women as typically Moroccan.

Still hoping that this well traveled young guy was somewhat open-minded, I asked him about the future. “What about education for your daughters [when you have them]? Will you encourage them?”

He surprised me. “No. Women don’t need education.” And that's when I noticed that he never made eye contact with me—only with my husband. Of course not, I thought. A woman's place is to keep house and spoil the sons.

It's true that the Moroccan economy is not booming, so, for their sake, I hope tourism continues because it is an amazing country. Yet here's a clue. Many expert economists and sociologists have told me that if a country wants to improve its economy, the first thing it must do is empower women. When women are successful, so are men. And so I'm hoping that the next time Morocco wants to celebrate The International Day of the Woman, the average man on the street, like this guy, can get a better notion of the true spirit of the occasion.

- Nancy Adair  nancyadair2002@yahoo.com
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Granada Shines for Women Travelers

Being in southern Spain is as romantic for me as being in Outlander, except all my Jamie's are in the long ago! Yet just as Claire falls through a rock into the past and encounters an incarnation of her modern-day husband, I have peered into the past and discovered historic events where my husband’s and my ancestors were together. One such encounter was during the crusades in Spain.

In the purest sense of their mission, the crusaders wanted all of Europe to be Christian, so they stopped in Spain on their way to Jerusalem. The Moors, Arabs who swept across North Africa from the 700’s and eventually crossed the Med, ruled southern Spain until 1492. The most symbolic evidence of their rule is the beautifully ornate Alhambra Palace in Granada. The Moors set out to recreate paradise for their Muslim emirs, weaving nature throughout this recreated residence. March was orange season, and fruit trees dripped with bright, shiny oranges. The interior palace walls were resplendent in color from ceramic tiles of blues, yellows, and reds with geometric designs and calligraphy, and from intricate plaster work. Water, an important Islamic symbol of purification, flowed throughout the palace, in fountains, reflecting pools, and cascades. A center courtyard featured a circular fountain with twelve marble lions facing outward, designed so that each hour water would pour from a different mouth involving clever hydraulics quite amazing to the 14th and 15th  C. visitors, and to me for that matter.

At the end of our tour we crossed into a section added by the Christians after they drove out the Moors in 1492. We seemed to be crossing out of paradise. The newer rooms felt plain and unfinished, as the Christians were into simplicity and only embellished fireplaces. What a stark contrast.

My husband’s and my ancestors were part of a Scottish crusade that laid siege to Granada in the mid 1300’s. I can’t help but wonder if they saw the Alhambra fortress just as the palace was receiving its finishing touches. They were on their way to Jerusalem with Robert the Bruce’s heart.  His lieutenant carried the embalmed heart, and the key to the heart box was carried by my husband’s ancestor, Simon de Locard (from Loch Ard near Loch Lomond). The first stop was Spain. When the Scots drove on Granada, they were suddenly surrounded by Moors and outnumbered. As a last resort, the lieutenant threw the heart box at his assailant. It didn’t save him. But Simon survived the battle, retrieved the heart from the field, and returned it to Scotland  http://www.aboutscotland.com/history/melbruce  where he became a hero, and his new, modified name, Lockhart, became famous.

The spirit I feel in this place is not necessarily that of the Spirited Woman because the crusades is basically a history of men—notice I didn’t even mention the women at Alhambra, most of whom were part of the harem. Hrumph. I’m feeling more of a grateful spirit that I didn’t come along until now. History made me who I am, and it's a great time to be that person, with all the powers and possibilities we now have as women.

- Nancy Adair  nancyadair2002@yahoo.com
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Spain Is Calling Spirited Women

Would you like to spend five days at an all-expenses-paid four-star resort, eating amazing continental cuisine, sipping the regional wines, and getting to know fascinating people? In exchange, you merely have to converse with them in English so they can improve their speaking and listening skills. If this sounds interesting, check out Vaughan Town.

Do you wonder why you haven’t heard of this before? Maybe it’s too good to be true? The answer is simple: Richard Vaughan does not advertise for English speakers. The program is so fabulous that he gets applicants through word of mouth. Lots of Anglos, as we were called, are willing to buy plane tickets to Spain to help a small group of professional Spaniards. There’s no training for Anglos. The goal of Vaughan Town is to expose English learners to all the different English accents they will encounter in their careers.

The biggest thrill is the spirited women you meet. Of the 14 Anglos, there were two couples and ten outgoing singles, most in a life transition. An upbeat American cancer survivor and a gorgeous Brit were finally getting out after losing the loves of their lives. Another Brit was transitioning from hotel management to education. A young woman around 30 was searching for her next path in life.

The Spanish women were inspirational, too. I connected with a TV sports producer, who had met all the famous European athletes, Sharapova, Nadal, Lendl, and Messi, just to name a few. I also enjoyed meeting a psychoanalyst, who was able to laugh at and then entertain us with the funny English mistakes she had made during the week. One IRISH woman had asked her if she was the boss at work, and she replied, “No, I don’t take the bus to work.” An Australian guy was telling stories about all his wives and women, and she wanted to ask about his years of marriage, but she said, “How many days were you married to each one?”  A Freudian slip from a psychoanalyst! Precious.

The week consists of skits, group projects, games, and one-on-one conversations. You can chat in the beautiful lobby or go for a walk in nature. In fifty minutes you can go deep into people’s lives, and you learn what wonderful human beings live in Spain.

On Thursday the Spaniards present a five-minute talk on an assigned topic. One woman talking about joy began, “I love being a housewife. I love putting on an apron, cooking for my family, and cleaning the grease out of every corner of my kitchen.” When she was sure all women were equally horrified, she said, “Just kidding! My joy comes from working in TV and taking my daughters to places like Disney World.”

These participants were cool. The experience was cool. But to last the whole week, you have to be an outgoing Spirited Woman (or man). I confess to being challenged. I’m more of a writer than a talker, but I stretched myself. I drew on all the stories I’ve written for this blog, which gave me 134 weeks worth of material. So my volunteering here enriched my volunteering in Vaughan Town. You never know where things will lead. Just follow your heart—and it may lead you to Spain.

- Nancy Adair  nancyadair2002@yahoo.com
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Eating the Spanish Way

After twelve days of rice, potatoes, and fatty meats, my body is screaming for a break from Portuguese cuisine. And southern Spain has brought me relief. The tapas concept is my way to eat: small portions, variety, delicious food, and lively conversation. Plus, it’s a local thing, not touristy at all.

We learned an important cultural lesson the first night in Sevilla. if you see a tapas bar that’s not crowded, keep walking. It means the food won’t be that good and you won’t have any fun.

Sevilla and Granada have different approaches to the tapas experience. I’ll explain both, and you can give me your preference. We’ll see how adventurous you are.

In Sevilla you pay for all your tapas (around $3 per plate or less). For lunch we stopped at the most famous venue, Los Coloniales, and had their specialty of fried eggplant and honey. After our siesta we went to El Eslava. Like lunchtime, the restaurant was packed, so we squeezed up to the bar and befriended the nicest locals.

Actually, we needed them to explain the nuances of tapa eating. The typical thin-sliced ham (Jamon Iberica) should be wrapped around bread nuggets that come in a bag. Who would have known? They talked us into trying a mini cupcake-shaped tapa of a tiny egg yolk on wild mushrooms. And made us get the alternate to gazpacho because tomatoes are not yet ripe. Both were great. The friendly, hardworking waiter who wanted to practice English brought aged cheese ice cream, another house specialty. All this I ate with one glass of Spanish wine.

In Granada, tapas are free with each drink, but you don’t get to choose. The restaurant’s job is to wow you with the first tapa, so you’ll stay on and keep drinking. The first restaurant brought us calamari in a sauce with canned peas. That’s something I never order, so we left, even though the historic atmosphere with fifty hams or so dangling from the ceiling to cure was so quaint. Risking a huge crowd, we walked to LaTana recommended by both Rick Steves and Anthony Bourdain. 

Fortunately we arrived early enough to score the last table. The first tapa was a delicious green salsa on bread and came with a dry local red wine recommended by the only waiter who was some kind of certificated wine expert. The next set was unrecognizable—possibly tapenade—but good. On the third round, I switched to water, which still qualified for a free-bee, a salmon spread with a sardine. Thanks again to Rick Steves for his usual great advice.

This is how our days have unfolded this week: morning sightseeing, tapas, siesta, reading, tapas. My husband and I think we must have Spanish roots, because this life style feels so natural. You only eat as much as you need. Nothing wasted. If you end up where you don’t like the food or the crowd, you pay your two or three Euros and move on. It's good to walk between courses.

So what approach appeals to you--enlisting the help of locals to choose your meal, or letting the waiter pick?

- Nancy Adair  nancyadair2002@yahoo.com
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Travel Volunteering - Help Build a House Abroad

In the foothills of northern Portugal I met Anna-Marie, a sweet, hardworking mother, who supported her family through weaving while her husband worked in the Portugal Forestry Service. They were getting by and were happy enough because they had their family and their health. Until they didn’t. Like the sudden snap of a twig, an aneurism and a forestry accident separated them from their work.

They retired in their home, handed down from Anna-Marie’s grandmother, but on government disability of 300 Euros per month ($342) they could barely feed themselves, let alone maintain a 100-year-old uninsulated house, which was crumbling around them. Then their son-in-law discovered Habitat Global Village.

Habitat for Humanity is not well known in Portugal because volunteerism is not part of the culture. People don't conceptualize that Americans—or anyone—would be willing to pay their own airfare to Europe to put in the physical labor to help a family rebuild their lives. But we did, and by April this family should be moving into a gutted and refurbished safe, warm home.

Florbela, the only female building project coordinator I’ve met in Habitat, is an amazing woman who runs all projects in her town. Her goal is to build enthusiasm for volunteering among her fellow citizens. She has brought in American international schools hoping they will set an example for local teens, and it’s working. High schoolers are  coming out for one day of volunteerism, and many ask to return. She is also bringing in an all-women crew in a few weeks. She wants people to realize all the things they don’t know they can do.

Habitat is not a give away. The family must somehow pay a mortgage. In addition the family must perform sweat equity, so the men joined us to work on the house, and Anna-Marie made us a huge dinner each day.

At the end, the family cried when our team of ten finished our week. We had worked so hard and made such progress, their appreciation came out in tears. And when the whole family gathered to bid farewell, we realized that we had not only changed Anne-Marie’s future, but that of her daughter and grandchildren. Three generations will benefit from Habitat’s humanity. I hope Florbela’s volunteer spirit catches fire in Portugal.

- Nancy Adair  nancyadair2002@yahoo.com
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The Best Laid Travel Plans . . .

I was unable to post a blog last week because I did something stupid, something I warn everyone else not to do: travel overseas at the height of flu and blizzard season.

I thought that we had outsmarted the weather by booking our transit in Europe rather than on the snowy East Coast. But guess what—Europe has blizzards, too. Geneva was closed, and our flight was cancelled, so we could either sleep on the floor until the weather cleared or reroute ourselves through a combination of planes and trains, the latter at our own expense.

We rerouted, which put us on the go for 36 hours straight. We got so run down that our resistance was too low to fend off the flu when he came knocking. And if you get as sick as we did, you must factor in doctor bills, also at our own expense. Plus there’s the disappointment. We’re on medication and can’t even sample the Port wine in Oporto. Now we face the next leg of our journey with trumpet-blaring, liquid-spewing coughs. Look out Spain.

So here’s the lesson that I plan to share with my booking agent. “Honey, the next time you do the booking, keep this in mind: it’s better to book according to the number of transits rather than the number of travel hours. The fewer the transits, the lower the potential for disasters. I know you like to keep moving and not waste time, but a longer lay-over may be better than an extra flight elsewhere to save a few hours because if a problem occurs—bad weather, lost luggage, broken plane—you don’t save time, you add it. But other than that, you’ve done a good job getting us to Europe inexpensively! Love you.”

- Nancy Adair  nancyadair2002@yahoo.com
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