And THIS is Where They Salsa in Paris

Photo copyright belongs to Google 2012

A five minute walk from Opera Bastille is Le Barrio Latino, which is actually part of the Buddha Bar network. It's nice to have a portable passion.  I won't need to speak French here!

Oh, I can hear the Cuban music already!

Thrity-Freaking-Two… And Counting (Blessings)…

The birthday month was stuffed with so much good stuff, it will be an understatement to say that I have not had time to pause, relive, and write about it.



As a result, I again have been invoking slowing things down a little bit, even for just a couple of days at a time, to preserve that fragile spot of independent wholeness (and wildness!). In my waking moments of quietness, the prayer that I utter is one of gratefulness for the kindness and warmth of the loving people around me, for the lessons I am ceaselessly being taught every single day, and just overall, for the sun that still rises and sets regardless. Bottom line is I am grateful for life and for being alive.

The prelude to thirty-two was pretty quiet, and somber. I’ve been through some crazy years, some lost years, then came the found years, but I don’t remember having gone through a stable, quietly happy like this one is promising to be. I feel like I know myself more than I ever have before, and the most profound thing is that I accept and love that self. I have no urges to jump off towers or planes – that desire has passed. Come to think of it, other than the occasional travel (sigh.. Europe, Nepal and Dharamsala have still not happened – but Quebec and Hawaii will in the immediate future), I really have no burning desires to go crazy. I am in a very sweet spot where I am not out to prove anything or to find anything. And I will say this in the humblest way possible, but everything I need in my life (non-material, for the most part), I pretty much have right now.

What a gift...

Namaste.

Going Public

I will be in San Francisco for a three day weekend and believe it or not, one of the things I am most excited about is exploring the City with complete reliance on public transportation. I never think of it anymore but now that I am, I find myself missing that element of urban living. Living in suburbia leaves very little room for error and creativity in the sense that you are in control of your transportation schedule for the most part.

Reliance on public transportation, however, leaves so much to the unknown yet to be imagined, much less, created. While public transportation in America is supposedly very predictable and efficient as they run on a set schedule (as opposed to how they do it in a lot of countries in Asia), you still never know what you are going to see and observe, what your human interactions (if any) would be like on a tram, a bus or the subway. The day is already a blank canvas, but moreso when you dwell on the possibilities of the possibilities in a foreign city.

With the rising cost of fuel, unforgiving parking rates in the City, and not-so-invisible pressure to reduce carbon emissions, not only is public transportation the exhilarating choice, but the economic and conscious one as well. Besides, my parallel parking sucks. My parallel parking on steep San Francisco hills will be a colossal nightmare.

It may be a bit too much for some people to comprehend why the prospect of exploration aboard a City bus gives me the butterflies. Seriously, the idea of doing the following “ordinary” commuting things make me excited:

· I am thrilled to be, for at least a full weekend, free of GPS navigation systems and be reliant on paper maps and bus schedules instead. This means I get to interact and ask others for help and directions. This means I get to think on my feet. Although, I must admit that this Public Transit Trip Planner is pretty handy.
· I look forward to getting lost. Or just jumping off a muni at a stop because something caught my eye – a restaurant, a boutique, a pastry shop, an art gallery. There is so much room to be spontaneous when you’re not restricted by the unavailability of parking spots or the unwillingness to pay ludicrous amounts of money to park your wheels.
· This might be ambitious but I would like to explore Golden Gate Park on a bike. I think I will get more mileage (pun intended) on two wheels as opposed to two feet when you’re exploring City park that is a little over 1,000 acres. Maybe I can take the bus to Golden Gate Park instead of trying to climb up the 45 degree hills all the way from Union Square. I am not trained for that! A quick Google search, et voila, I just might be able to pull this one off!
· I haven’t wandered around on foot since the Asia trip in December, so I am really stoked about this weekend. Already on the itinerary aside from Golden Gate Park is the Cherry Blossom Festival in Japantown, and while in Japantown, shop for some brown rice tea (if I can find Yamamotoyama, I'd be one happy camper), dim sum in Chinatown, and a whole lot of checking out at the Cannery and Ferry Market Building, and maybe salsa dancing at Cocomo's.

I promise to write from the magnificent City by the Bay!

Namaste,
Trish

Baby, I'm Renaissance

Here I am on St. Patty's Day seriously contemplating on curling up under the covers with the latest edition of National Geographic Travel (the cover story is South America) in lieu of a night of Latin dancing with friends. While the rest of America gets inebriated while garbed in green (which isn't my best color anyway), I just want to hang out in my jammies in my room and read. Since coming home from work, I've already ran (a terrible run) and had dinner, there is not much incentive really to go out except that I have a fabulous green dress that I have never worn yet that would be perfect for tonight.

I have not updated this blog in a while, but trust me when I say that things are going marvelously. I can't say too much right now, except that it surprises me sometimes how I surprise people sometimes. Makes me want to tap dance to this song. Not that I can tap dance...

Cashmere

After I got struck by the nasties, I purposely took a week-long imperative hiatus from dancing. On top of recharging my depleted batteries and avoiding contaminating others, I felt like I was in the danger of making “the dancer” an identity. I’m very careful about these things because life has taught me that such identities (in fact, any identity that you build your life around) are extremely volatile and impermanent. Dancing has taken over a huge part of my life, but I watch that I do not lose myself entirely in it. I still want to be a functional human being without the dancer. I would like to make space for things that have nothing to do with dance. I still want to feel complete and full without it.

So my batteries are full again. I have been getting very delicious shut-eyes and have had the time to make a few homecooked meals. I have lost the bags under my eyes and although I have lost the tan I got in Thailand/Philippines, I notice a healthy flush in its place. Ladies and gentlemen, I am in cartwheel mode again.

Not to invalidate what I just said about the dancing, but I went to an audition for a salsa performance team on Monday. I was very happy with how I did. I felt ready. I felt that I have grown so much as a dancer in the last five months. Whether or not the team director agrees is still up in the air (I should find out by tomorrow), but even that decision is immaterial to me. I have found an amazing piece of myself that is given the privilege of expression. A lot of people take it for granted, but passion, now that I have had mouthfuls of it, is very important to me. That awareness takes me from merely existing to living, from autopilot to presence.

I am almost unbearably giddy for this weekend. The Aussie has scheduled us for a private lesson with Mike dela Costa in Sacramento, before dancing to international names in latin dance music including Victor Manuelle and Bachata Heightz in San Francisco.


La vida es my bonita. I feel incredibly like a quadrillion dollars and I am going to dwell in it for as long as it will have me.

Namaste!

I Don't Fall in Love on the First Date

This might be a little bit useless and borderline TMI, but I don't fall in love on the first date.

Don't get me wrong. First dates thrill me immensely. I enjoy witnessing what people think their best foot forward is, and watching what they do with it. But for someone who enjoys the challenge of unpeeling people to their core unsuspectingly, I find the second date more enthralling.

I saw Joan Soriano again perform live in Sacramento last night. It's the second show of his that I have seen and sure enough, I've officially fallen in love.

For people who don't breathe Bachata, Joan Soriano is a musician of rural Dominican Republic roots, Dominican Republic being the country of origin of the genre, Bachata. I'm not going to pretend to be an expert at bachata music because first and foremost, my perspective is that of a dancer's. So here's a taste of Joan Soriano's music that you must experience for yourself:



The night before the last show of his West Coast tour, I watched "El Duque de la Bachata", a film by Adam Taub about this man whom they dub The Duke of Bachata.

Adam Taub weaves the poignant story of the man behind the music. Candid and vivid images of real life - a young boy flying a makeshift kite, Joan's old red Toyota with its cracked side view mirror and windshield, the sun filtering through the wood walls of the kitchen, a hen and her chicks scurrying about - give you a very personal sense of the beginnings of this man Joan Soriano. The story was told so intimately that you get the feeling that you are actually sitting in on the many conversations with Joan where he's shirtless in quite a few of, compounding to that feeling of engagement. There were zero attempts at making a life that was in no way ostentatious seem glamorous. It was very raw, very real. The true essence of the people who consist his everyday life were captured beautifully. Joan's wife, Alexandra, meets you while she mops the concrete kitchen floor barefoot. Jordy, his son, greets you while playing with a rubber tire, then an imaginary guitar. Fernando, Joan's brother who is also part of the band, amuses you with his coconut tree climbing. Joan's farmer father, Cande, enamors you with his dancing and harmonica playing.

The film walks you through the success that might have been an inevitability for a man of Joan's talent. Despite his lack of education and formal training in music, when a man's music comes from a place of true depth and genuine talent, he could very well be unstoppable. There were moments in the film where you get a sense of the thrill and joy of the success - and the oftentimes obscured loneliness that comes with it. In one moment, you see Joan's exhilaration as he walks behind Edilio Paredes, a Bachata master, in the streets of Manhattan before a show (a scene reminiscent of the guys of Buena Vista Social Club who had the same wide eyed wonder at seeing the skyscrapers of NYC for the very first time). In the next moment, you see him in the brink of being an emotional puddle because he terribly misses his wife and son while he's away on tour.

When I see a story told so intimately and so honestly like this, I turn into mush inside. There couldn't have been a better prelude to a "second date" with Joan.

At the show in Sacramento, I was standing next to Benjamin de Menil, Joan's producer. I asked him if it was love at first sight with the talent of Joan. I wasn't prepared for his deadpan reply, "No. He didn't show up for the first show. It definitely wasn't love at first sight."

Before watching the documentary, I didn't have a sense of what this guy Joan was about. All I knew was that he sounded good and I went with it. It is kind of like falling for somebody because he had great teeth and smelled nice. But my theory about second dates held true - it is there that you unravel the other person's complications and get glimpses of his past. And it is there that the opportunity for a love far deeper and more real exists.

It is way too easy to fall for Joan's music. But if Adam Taub wanted whoever sees the film to fall in love with his soul, in my humble opinion, I think he succeeded.

Hola 2011!

It never ceases to astonish me how much beauty we can create in our lives if we are receptive to it. If we all resolve to do the things we are called to do, the ones that bring inexhaustible, irrepressible joy to our lives, we all contribute to making the world a much happier place for ourselves and others. This is the fuel of my life. This makes me feel most alive. And because of this, I am inspired and compelled to act on my other callings. I don’t think I have a long list of those anymore, which delights me because it must mean I am already making my life rich and full.

Here’s what I’m looking forward to in 2011:
· More serious salsa dancing. I have met so many passionate and great salsa dancers over the weekend who’ve inspired me to take dancing to another level. It will be a challenge given the limited access to world class training in a small city like Reno, and it goes without saying that it will require a lot of hardwork, but as I always say, who wants easy? I made a pact to myself to bust my ass learning at the San Francisco Salsa Festival in March. Something tells me my life is bound to change again.

· Learn Spanish – in fact I signed up for classes today! All those semesters of Spanish in University have been futile. I feel like I’m starting all over again. But I think I should capitalize on the fact that so many Filipino words have Spanish etymologies anyway. This should be fun and should get me ready for my planned trips to South America and Spain. Conjugation starts in two weeks!

· Celebrate my birthday dancing the tango in Buenos Aires, salsa in Uruguay or samba in Ipanema. I imposed a moratorium on the dancing for myself for at least a few weeks, but I could not stay away. I took my first tango lesson on Wednesday!

· The Trip to Europe, at last, solo preferably. I’m dreaming up itineraries as we speak which will undoubtedly include Paris and Roma. Then it will be Espana (Ibiza?!) and Greece, maybe Turkey?

· Get more serious about writing. I really should try freelancing again. Oh Universe, are you reading this?

. Engage in helping environmental conservation efforts in the Philippines from a distance

· Taking more advanced swimming lessons in the Spring. Seriously. I should be able to swim in deep water already. How the heck can I surf?

· Someone told me that if you put something down in writing, as in a list, and even if you put that away or forget about it, you can come back to the list years later and find out that you would have checked off most, if not all of what’s in the list. So to test that, I’m going to write something so farfetched and wild. I. Want. To. Be. A. Morning. Person. Or at least try. I want to try what it’s like to be that cheery person who gets up at the crack of dawn for a jog, come back for a home-cooked unhurried breakfast and be energized for a day of work.

· More Yoga! More running! More Ultimate Frisbee! More books!

· Learn how to cook Thai. I had the best, authentic Pad Thai at a nondescript restaurant in Trang (south of Thailand) and it left indelible marks on my palate. It did not have the peanut sauce I am used to, but instead, had some sort of a dry shrimp paste balanced with spices and lime. Just unforgettable!

How are YOU living it up?

And.... It's a Wrap!

Things have been ridiculously manic the last few weeks – thus explaining my absence from writing. After returning from my trip, I was thrown right into learning a new dance routine, perfecting the first one, and rehearsals. The icing on that cake was I had to do it while I wrestled with the beast that was jetlag (and exhaustion - I was flying 9 out of the 14 days that I was gone) as I tried to get caught up with quarter-end stuff at work. How I managed to dodge the cold a few times remains an enigma to me.

The following week was a mix of stress, giddiness and anxiety in anticipation of my first public performance with the Gozalo Dance Company at the 3rd Annual Reno International Bachata Festival. Granted that our dance team is still in its infancy relative to the professionals and world champions of the scene, I’m happy for what we accomplished individually and as a team. Like they say, Rome wasn’t built in a day.

And now that things have calmed down, I finally had the time I have so desperately wanted to just collect myself. I feel like I owe 2010 the closing credits it deserves and subsequently, roll the opening credits for this year. We’re 14 days into the year, but I believe that it’s perfectly acceptable that I have put off writing for actually living my life.



It’s crazy to imagine that it was only in June of last year that I met and fell in love on the beach. Twice. The first time with salsa dancing. The second time, with myself. By this time, I have been divorced a year and already recovered most of myself. I could never have fathomed a more perfect place for this than Tulum. It was the utter depiction of heaven on earth and was the perfect setting for beginning a romance. Its waters were warm and clear, the sand reminiscent of talcum powder. It is off the power grid which tells you how its inhabitants care about preservation and sustainability. The town is flanked by Mayan ruins and protected biosphere on each side. There is an abundance of Yoga, beach cruisers, and Italian food (most unforgettable Italian meal of my life courtesy of Alessandro, dubbed by New York Times as the “pasta nazi”). The absence of bars and crazy nightlife is noticeable (hallelujah!). Remind me I why don’t effing live here again?!

The only party on the strip happens on Sunday nights at La Zebra. There is a stage on the beach, underneath coconut trees, where dancers are inspired to move by a live salsa band. I was confident about my booty shaking skills then, but unfortunately, to salsa dance, you need more than that. It killed me that I was left to watch instead of participate. The dancers were moving as if they were in a trance. They were lost in the rhythms of the music playing in their soul. It was very hypnotic to watch and I vowed to learn salsa when I returned to America.



And here I am, four months into salsa dancing, two months in a dance troupe, and two public performances later. I just destroyed my first ever dancing shoes after only a few weeks so I guess that’s testament of how much dancing has taken over my life. I guess it’s safe to say that I can salsa dance now.

Dancing aside, I felt like I have grown at precocious speeds. Anthony said once that it feels like I went from 29 to 33. And I think that wisening up only comes with watching yourself go through compulsions, patterns, addictions, desires and emotions. By taking the time to sit with myself and my shadow (oh Carl Jung, you have ruined me), I have really gotten to know myself and as a result, have gained so much solidity than ever before. I ended up falling madly in love with myself and I believe in my core that I am one of the most amazing people I will ever meet. I don’t mean any of this in the narcissistic sense. If I can’t fall in love with myself, how do I expect somebody else to?

I have tried to live fearlessly by purposely doing things outside my comfort zone. I trained myself to run. I traveled to five countries last year, two of which, I ventured on my own. I’ve gotten back to writing which is a piece of myself that I have denied for a long time out of fear. And because I have exposed myself to vulnerability, I learned not just to embrace and accept my fallibility, but to love it.

I always say that I’m at a beautiful place in my life. I am at a point where what I want, what I need, and what I deserve finally intersect. When there is incongruence, I don’t find it difficult to walk away anymore. I don’t fall in love with “promising” or “potential” any longer. I’ve learned my lesson. I don’t have space for that in my life.

And finally, the most humbling thing that I had to do in the last year of the decade was to apologize to The Ex. It was very short but it could be one of the most profoundly sincere apologies I could ever offer anyone. It took me one year and a half, but I knew in my bones that it was the right time.

And with that “I’m sorry”, I have also forgiven myself.

Serious Namastes and fist bumps to everyone in the world…
Feliz Anos Nuevos!

Trish

Bachatera.

They walk around with a dazed look. After all, they have just spent about ten hours of dancing in one day, finally throwing the towel in around 5 AM. Some of them have been doing this for a couple of days and a lot of them will do it for a couple days more. Peeled away from the Bachata music, they have eyes that almost look glazed over, unseeing. They strut around, backs erect, chins up, with an arrogance that comes from someone who is aware of possessing a rare gift. There’s an exhaustion, a kind frustration about them because they stop at nothing short of perfection. In them, you could sense a burning passion perhaps only a fellow dancer can understand.

The minute you gather some five hundred dancers in a room filled with Bachata music that originated from the Dominican Republic, magic starts to unfold. The passion in the air gets so thick, you can almost taste it. The dancers abandon exhaustion and come alive in front of you. Their eyes light up in flames. Their hearts thump a few beats ahead of the music. Some eyes close. Hands lock together. Arms intertwine. Legs fly. Feet syncopate. Women are spun around like tops, some flung around as though they are weightless. Slowly, the two disappear into one... then into the dance.

It is a couple of days after the 3rd Annual International Reno Bachata Festival. My feet are sore. My legs are tired. I badly need sleep. Yet I have not one regret. I danced my soul out every night like it was my last night on earth, just the way it ought to be done.

Hi. My name is Trish. And I am a Bachatera.

Gyrations... Days #6 & 7

I've had a hectic weekend and I couldn't allow myself to not complete at least a week's worth of gratitude, so this is late, but nonetheless... I am grateful for:

• Passion, of varying forms and degrees - and a life full of it. On Sunday morning, on a spur of the moment trip to San Francisco, I was privileged to see some of the most impressive French post-impressionist paintings in this hemisphere. Thanks to de Young Museum, I was able to taste a little bit of Musee d' Orsay without actually going to Paris. You could not pause and stare at Van Gogh's "Starry Night" without dropping a tear. Seriously. It was so beautifully but painfully sad. You cannot tear your eyes away from it because it takes you to that place in you where you have felt exactly just like he did then - helplessly lost. You see the brushstrokes and it just makes you want to weep in consolation. The seeking, the questions, the desolation - it's all too familiar...

• Being introduced to new things. It's amazing to find art that intersects with psychology and recognizes (and tries to capture) the mysticism of the unconscious. A few of the paintings that resonated with me relevant to Post Impressionism, Symbolism and Nabis at the exhibition touch on dreams and the seeming universality of existential crises in humanity. My two favorite self portraits were "Self Portrait with Yellow Christ" by Gaugin, and "Symbolic Self Portrait" by Emile Bernard. It seems like both portray seeking the answers to what makes this existence meaningful.
• Degas and his soft, beautiful rendering of dancers
• Spending time, albeit short, at the beach. It was nice to see you again, Pacific Ocean.
• Meeting people with astounding life experiences. Conversations with a twenty-something cyclist who has traveled to the 'Stans and practically all over the world, fluently speaks at least five languages, and passionately talks about the North-South Korea chasm with unmistakable intelligence over sangrias first, margaritas next. How many people do you know has learned to salsa in Tajikistan?
• Gorgeous sunshiny days
• Health of family of people we care about :)
• Time with people who mirror our true selves back to us. Time with people who take us out of our heads and bring us into sheer presence. Time with people who make us want to take and give in equal healthy proportions. Time with people who make us experience what so many of us seek but never find....
• Love, without distinctions of conditional versus unconditional. Just Love as a state. Love as it exists.

Namaste!

A Napa Story (Part 2 of 2)

There were vineyards as far as the eye can see. There's a kaleidoscope of colors - the auburns, crimsons, yellows weaving through with the greens and the earth tones. Sunshine spilled through what's still left of the leaves of the trees and everyone you meet greet you with beautiful smiles. It was an utterly magnificent day. We just left Clos du Val and made our way north to the Robinson Family Vineyards. After a quick wine sample at the main tasting room, we were instructed to go out on back. What a surprise. They have a great backyard with the greenest grass complete with a hammock, a swing, huge trees, and a yellow labrador to complete the movie set. There was a brick oven where Elliot was baking the pizzas. Susan was on one side of the counter rolling pizza dough. Is this for real?

I planted myself at the "bar" and David immediately struck a conversation with me about the history of the winery as he poured me some Cabernet. "Too bold", I told him with a wince. He then poured me some Merlot which is smoother, less macho, just how I like it. Elliot the sommelier would pipe in every once in a while with his expert take on grapes and the soil as I stuffed my face with some homemade walnut brownies.

This is why I travel at all. For me, it's not about wine or parties. It's not about collecting fridge magnets or key chains. It's about the connections and the stories that unfold before you. It's about the fascinating world of human beings and how that transformation happens from being a stranger to a friend. It's about experiencing the place not as a tourist but as a local who belongs. I am pretty out there. I am a sucker for love and I am unapologetic. I bask in witnessing people manifest love. I sit there and I watch love ooze from handmade pizzas cooked by a wine connoisseur. David reads my mind. He verbalizes what I was thinking, "If it's not made with love, why do it at all?"

The next place we found ourselves was Titus. There was a Mexican Taco Truck parked outside and the soft tones of a Tito Puente Pandora radio wafts in the air. Something tells me this is going to be magical. The winery was small and they had picnic tables. I felt like I walked into someone's barbeque. Someone I grew up with. There was so much familiarity and intimacy in this place that we made up a story about "Doug and Cathy" who threw this "party".

We tried their wine and Michael and I could not resist. We HAD to dance. How could you just sit there with Ibrahim Ferrer cooing in the background? I took my shoes off and then we were gone. GONE. Lost in the music. After a delicious song and a half, some people applauded. It was cute.

On my way to get some more wine, a woman in her late twenties/early thirties approached me. She's from South Africa but lives in San Francisco now. She told me that watching Michael and I dance was the highlight of her day. My heart dropped to the ground. What an amazing thing to hear! That is one of the things I love most about dancing. It is completely transportable thus enabling you to touch something raw in people anywhere with expressions of dance.

I would like to say that this is the end of this Napa story, but life is not that rigid where we draw clear lines of where things end and where they begin, of when past disappears into the future. It's a continuum. Experiences alter and shape, morph and change. They get sucked in to who you are so that who you were no longer existed.

Namaste and Love,

Trish

Gratitude times two million goes out to

Lynette for being a fabulous designated driver,

Michael for booking the rooms, and

Alma for the thought provoking truth game (dirty or otherwise!).

A Napa Story (Part 1 of 2)

Napa is about stories - stories that are born, made, told, retold, overheard, shared, passed on. It is a place where people.. strangers... of external differences connect over a glass (or more) of wine. It is a place of wonderful landscapes and a myriad of colors that inspire and imbibe conversations and laughters. The place and these human connections you form here intoxicate you. And yes, the wine could, too.

I have been to Napa quite a few times before, but each time, something new about the town, and honestly, I also feel that something new about myself, is revealed to me. Last weekend was spent with a few new friends who apparently share the same passion for life - the good life.

24 Hours in Napa

Hour 1-5

Wine tasting, what else? I have done this a few different ways before but my favorite and the best deal so far has been the Silver Pass Weekend hosted by the Silverado Trail Wineries Association. Thanks to our inquisitive and ever-nosy friend Lynette, we accidentally got the 411 on the Silver Pass Weekend where you only pay $45 to sample wine at 15 participating wineries. The cherry to top that is that these wineries also serve free REAL food! This is the best spanking deal I have seen yet!

In the past, I have done wine tasting on a bicycle. It was a lot of fun and it made the experience very personal. It can be quite a hassle though to carry bottles of wine (if you decide to buy some) in a backpack and ride for miles. Also, Highways 29 and 121 don't really cater to cyclists (who have been consuming alcohol, for that matter).

Hour 6-7

Sober up, wind down. Wine is notorious to make people mellow out. I say give in to the urge for a siesta!

Hour 8-10

Dinner and more drinks. The one common gripe that I hear about Napa is that

restaurants close relatively early. It is perhaps best to plan a dinner early, research your options ahead of time, and call in a reservation. I didn't have the most earth-shattering dinner on this trip. We decided on Norman Rose Tavern, partly because there was hardly anything else open within walking distance from where we parked. I was surprised that the interiors actually exuded contemporary given its name. The menu was creative, but there are sadly not very many vegetarian options. Dinner would be around $25 with a glass of wine, excluding dessert.

I am partial to Italian food and the last time I was in Napa, I had dinner at Azzurro Pizzeria E Enoteca which had excellent, reasonably-priced, simple, tasty Italian grub. I would recommend this and would go back maybe next time! The place closes at 10 on Saturdays.

Hour 11-13

Baila!!!! Head on out to Bistro Sabor for Salsa, Bachata, Merengue and Cumbia on Saturday evenings. For neophytes, there's a short lesson that starts at around 10PM, and the dancing pretty much goes on until 2AM. As it turns out, "nightlife" is hardly existent in downtown Napa. Because I am a dancer, I honestly don't think it's a bad place to be on a foreign city on a Saturday night. Some dancing is better than no dancing, in my meek opinion. Bistro Sabor is a small time operation fueled by the restauranteur's sincere ambition to if not enculturate, at least educate, so it is excusable that there is no DJ and music streams from someone's laptop hidden somewhere. What did not tickle me, however, were the concrete floors. If you're a stickler for wood floors, I say don't even bother going, or at least stop by and drop a note in the suggestion box (if there's one). There are a handful of good dance partners and if you're the self-conscious type, I will warn you that there will be rifts where it will just be you and your partner dancing with a crowd of fifty people gathered around you in a circle.

Hour 14-16

Gatecrash a red carpet event! Not to say that there will be one every weekend that you happen to be there, but there was one when we were there so who's to say there won't be another one when you do?! We were ready to throw the towel in that night but on the way to the car, we heard blaring club music. It turns out, there was an exclusive launch party for the 2011 Napa Film Festival. It is crazy sometimes what you can get away with dark hair, a coy smile, a few words, and a cute dress.

Hour 17-21

Breakfast of the Champions - more wine! Check out Calistoga or St. Helena for more wineries. We stopped at Chateau Montelena which is famous for its castle facade and for bringing global attention to California wine in 1976, when its 1973 Chardonnay won against France's white Burgundies. There was also a Chinese garden with a little lake that offer picturesque mountain views. There's also Schramsberg on the hillside which I personally thought was a little drab except that they had the most interesting and biggest cellar I have seen yet.

The Facade of Chateau Montelena

Bottle-lined walls of the cellar at Schramsberg

Hour 21-24

Lunch. V. Sattui is quite popular for its deli and picnic grounds. Be prepared for a throng of people, though, and competing for picnic tables. I personally would not mind sitting on the grass underneath some tree. Great place to shop for cheese. Everything else (olive oil, bruschetta, spreads, seem expensive). An alternative would be the Oxbow Public Market in downtown Napa where they have a variety of local restaurants. They also sell fresh, local, organic fruits and veggies, bread, chocolates, and gifts. I have been here once before and on hindsight, would visit again the next time I'm in Napa.

Cheese shopping at V. Sattui

To be continued...

Nights Like These...

I've logged about 8 hours of dancing this week and it's only Wednesday. I feel like a fanatic training for the marathon, but what can I do? It's a passion. It's karma that needs to be lived out. It's golden shadow that needs to be acknowledged to release it.

I stepped out of work tonight and it was a little startling to see how dark it has gotten at 5:30. I suppose it's time to get used to another change in season. I actually like it. It was cold. It was dark. The trees are almost bare now. The wood stoves in the old homes are burning. There were toasted maple leaves crunching under my boots as I make it to my car. I'm starting to love nights like this. There's a stillness about it. A kind of quiet.

I got home a little before midnight after a night of dancing. It had "snained" (snow-slash-rain) tonight and the ground was still wet. As I was climbing the hill to my suburban life, I saw the silhouette of a man jogging. It's 11:30 PM and it's 37 degrees out. Part of me was thinking about the incredulousness of it, but a bigger part of me was jealous. Here was a man who was doing exactly what he wanted. He probably asked himself - why the heck not? - and scrambled to put his running shoes on his way to the door before his mind talked him out of it. Have you done anything crazy lately? Have I?

Tomorrow is trash day and as was carting the trash down my driveway, I had the compulsion to look up at the night sky. It was gleaming with stars - it was just breathtaking. I wanted to grab a blanket and lie there in my wet driveway until I shivered and froze. How miniscule we are relative to the boundless night sky. How petty our silly little lives and aches and dramas are in this expansive, limitless universe...

I'm off tomorrow (cartwheels!!!!) and I'm so sleeping in. And then I'm going to climb me some rock walls.

Namaste!

Something Doesn't Always Have to Give

In the last week, I have probably danced at least ten hours. I have been recruited to Salsa Reno's Bachata Dance Troupe which entails weekly rehearsals leading up to the International Bachata Festival in January 2011. Considering that I have a full-time job, friends outside of dancing, and an endless stack of books, it is a lot of time away from other things in my life. There's ultimate frisbee and running that I have to add in to that mix. In the backburner, there's rock climbing (the most immediate one since I intend to rock climb in Koh Laoliang, Thailand in a month), GRE for Grad School, and a foreign language class before Europe next summer.

I was supposed to play frisbee at 10:30AM today, but I had to cave in to more time resuscitating and reenergizing. I was up until 3AM this morning and was dancing from pretty much 9PM onwards. My feet hate me right now. I am sorry, frisbee. My bed takes precedence. I think I might have to give you up for now.

I have been running like a madwoman at 100 miles per hour last week and my one constant fear is that I will lose time for probably one of the most important things in my life which is nurturing my spirit. I think I will absolutely loathe myself if I give that part of my life up. I checked my email today and I came across a series of lectures on "Art Sutra - Buddhism, Yoga and the Search for Selfless Expression". I missed kirtan last night, but I could still manage to go to "Art, Music and Spiritual Practice" if I so desired. And so I crawled out of bed telling myself if I can dance for 15 hours, I could do something meditative for 1.5 hours.

I walked in the room and I immediately felt embraced by the potent energy of the room, the people. I sat on the floor and dropped in. I got goosebumps. The collective energy of the room was wildly, palpably, overwhelming. I needed this.

The talk was given by Darin McFadyen, a lively person with his soul right in his laughing eyes, for everyone to take. He had long, thick hair in dreadlocks, I was curious what how they would feel like between my fingers. He had a very endearing English accent and I suspect he's from London. He sat in front of the room, on a cushion, cross-legged. He had a very lean body frame which tells me he could be at the very least vegetarian (if he's Buddhist, he very well must be), or a raw foodist, and maybe does Yoga. He had a white t-shirt on and jeans. He is a DJ. A regular guy. Nothing about him would say "spiritual" except if you picked up on the red string (is it a kalava?) tied on his right wrist.

I went to this place without any expectations. I didn't know what he was going to talk about. It turns out, it was about making your art (be it music, dance, visual) your Yoga. Making it your meditation. Making it your spiritual practice. How? Simple. By offering your art for the goodness of the world. Can you imagine this kind of loving consciousness? It's insanely radical.

I already see my dancing as a meditation. Outside of class, I get absorbed by the dance. It is a transcendental experience for me. I am lost. There is no dancer. There is no dance. One melts in the other. And I believe in the inspiring power of art in whatever shape or form. It can lift you up. It can take you to higher consciousness sometimes. It is a medium for people to come together and meet in the unitive space of the oneness. I remember a few weeks ago at a social dance party, someone approached me after I had finished dancing the merengue. She said, "It was so beautiful watching you dance." I have only been dancing a couple months then and I was so honored to touch something in a complete stranger without doing anything extra-special or world-churning. I just danced.

But to offer dancing for the love of humanity? That is just totally radical. I have never heard of such a thing. But I see the unseen in this DJ and I touch it. The genuineness. I intuitively see that this is what he does. This is his truth. This is reality. He believes in it with every strand of his wild dreadlocks. If he can do it, why in the world can't I?

I am deeply attached to my spiritual practice. I often say that it saved my life. And my belief is, all beings, at some point in their lives, have to find it. It is an inevitability. To even fathom that I could lose it because I am pouring myself into other things kills me. But today, I realized that something doesn't always have to give. There can be a merger of these two passions. They are not delineated. They are different expressions that can lead to the same place.

And it blows my mind that until noon today, I did not know that I would be meeting such a soul today with such a message. There are no accidents.

When the talk was over, Darrin and I chatted for a little bit. He grasped my hands and held me tight and we were crown-to-crown. We were not talking - it's not necessary. We held each other and was lost in the pure love of it.

True unconditional love, baby.

Unconditional love from me to you and Namaste,

Trish

Breaking Through

One of the most fascinating things for me to watch is humans (particularly myself – I am my own laboratory, after all) exhibiting cognitive behavior. I like being aware of thought, where it emerges from, what its compulsions are, and then watching it as it is turned into choices and decisions and how these thoughts via volition eventually influence our reality. To go a step further, I like being aware of the patterns that I create with frequent thoughts and actions, and lately, have been experimenting with building new healthy patterns and reversing old, unhealthy ones.

It’s interesting how and where you find parallelisms. In Eastern traditions of Yoga and Buddhism, they talk about “samskara”, which are grooves that form in your brain for habitual and repetitive actions and thoughts. In physiology, it is common to hear “muscle memory”, especially in sports, and I’m finding out from experience, also applies to dancing. The more your muscles get accustomed to certain movements, the more natural certain movements feel with time. In neuropsychology, they say that nerves that fire together, wire together. Neurons that are activated in similar regions in your brain associate and the more they do so, the more the pattern (and that region of your brain) is strengthened. Brain parts that get the most activity and stimulation, get more supplies of blood, oxygen and glucose, therefore in a way, reinforcing that part of our brain the more we invest in it.

Here is a caveat: I am no way a scholar in Yoga, Buddhism, or trained in physiology or psychology. Do not take everything I say here as gospel. These are my personal conclusions from what I read about that coincide with observable and replicable phenomena in my own life.

And here is a profound learning for me. A single breakthrough does not equate success. It is not about stopping at the single BIG breakthrough when and if it happens. It takes a lot of work. It involves painful and risky investments. It is about constant and habitual practice until you form those grooves in your brain, until your muscles remember, until the nerves that you want to wire together, finally fire together. You do not light an entire palace with one candle. It’s going to take a multitude of candles to keep a big space lit in the dark.

For an hour every week, I volunteer at a local elementary school. I help out a first grader who is struggling with reading. I instantly knew the kid I'm working with this year will be a challenge. The Little Guy could not read simple words like “Bob”, “will” and “that”. There were days when he would flat out refuse to try anymore. Last Thursday was our first breakthrough. I got a couple books from the library that would not drown him and at the same time appeal to him. He is the second child that I have worked with in the last couple of years and it’s amazing when it happens - the first breakthrough. You work with them for weeks and you don't see any progress. Then from out of nowhere, they just start reading. All of sudden, it’s like a light flicked in their head, and they just know how to sound out syllables and recognize words they have read before. It is an incredible honor to see this child transforming right before my very eyes and knowing that his life is not going to be the same anymore. But I stop myself from doing ten cartwheels because I remind myself that a breakthrough is not a breakthrough if it is not replicable. A series of mini-breakthroughs make The Breakthrough.

Namaste.

The Moment of Truth

It did it! I have trained myself to run. And today's ultimate frisbee game was testament to that glorious achievement.

I caught up with Minnesota earlier in the week. It is rare that we find both ourselves in town for the weekend and we decided to meet at the Saturday morning pickup game. I haven't been back in the field since my first game. Schedules just haven't yet aligned until this morning.

I was so frustrated with myself on that first day that I vowed to myself that a game of disc will never kick my ass again. It only took four months of training of running about 4-5 miles a week, but the day of reckoning is here. I CAN RUN! Oh, the taste of sweet, hard-earned success...

I had a late night last night, which unabashedly consisted of hours of dancing on three inch heels and shamefully a couple of colorful alcoholic concoctions, and yeah, a shot of Petron. I had a splendid time, so no regrets.

I woke up to a bleak and cold morning (hangover-free, thank you very much) and blisters on the ball of my feet (one day, I will find the perfect dancing shoes that performs 10 on function and 10 on form - hard to find!). I dragged myself out of the covers and made it to pickup half an hour after it had started. To warm up, I decided to run a couple of laps and instantly, I felt my body punishing me for everything that transpired the night before. I had to keep going, I keep telling myself. The Colonel said there's something useful about training your body to perform under duress, so I kept my legs moving, pleading my lungs to please, please cooperate. At the second lap, my hands were getting clammy. My warm-up run didn't quite feel right. I feel out of breath and my foot hurts. Am I going to be a disappointment to myself again? Am I going to run like a freaking girl again today?

I got in the game and was matched up with a skinny 11-year old boy (it was a mismatch, I tell you - he was quick and quite a catcher). The first few sprints up and down the field felt... right. I was waiting for the big collapse from breathlessness which I got plenty of in my first game.. But it never came. It started hitting me -

Oh my God. I CAN FREAKING RUN.

We'll talk about the work I need to do on my throws and catches, but hey, I'm not where I was the first time and I'm beyond happy. I missed a couple of catches, but scored one (pity) goal, so I don't think I came out in the red in the end.

When I wasn't in the game, I was practicing throws and catches with Minnesota and/or the 11-year old. It was such a beautiful day to be out. The views of the mountains were beautiful. The sun came out for a little bit. The people are so easygoing and casual. Although it's a competitive sport, there's hardly any ego involved. The grass was green and Marley (a German Sheperd-pitbull mix) was running around engaging himself in the hippie energy of it all. I thought to myself - this is why I live here. This is why I'm not in a major metropolis right now. I had that pretty much all my life and that is not the lifestyle that appeals to me right now. The quality of my life right now is pretty up the charts and that is precisely the life I want to live. I don't have to deal with the unnecessary stress of long commutes, overpopulation, and all the excessives found in larger cities. I have time (which doesn't have to be a luxury, but sadly, for some people it is) for the more important, nourishing things in life than the rat race that I a

lways thought was the only life for me.

I am at a beautiful place in my life. This feels a lot like the way it did a year ago - with one major difference. A year ago, I was Superwoman. Today, I'm just human, no different from you. After my admission of my Personal Four Noble Truths, I found myself in an entirely more honest place. It might have been one of the most difficult things about myself to face and admit (publicly, no less!), but honest work IS meant to be difficult and painful sometimes. I am teaching myself not to deny my shadow, my ego, but instead integrate it into Me.

And although this place is a lot familiar, there is one staggering difference. I am feeling the tenderness. I am tasting the sweetness.

Namaste and Love to everyone.

Photo of downtown taken almost exactly a year ago

24 Hours in Sacramento

It's a bitter pill to swallow (oh the pun!), but Sudafed saved my weekend.

I have an aversion to Western medicine and pharmaceutical companies. I think this started after I saw a doctor a few years ago for persistent and seemingly perpetual back pain. The doctor, after asking me a few standard questions, just wrote me a prescription for muscle relaxers. I hated how he "treated" the symptom and not the cause. I became skeptical of Western doctors since. And as another result, I also don't take medication unless I absolutely have to.

I had a busy weekend in Sacramento planned and I had to cave. If the nasties are going to keep me from living my life, then I must do what is necessary. Just this once, I'm going to thank the cold medicine. Just this once!

Hour 1-4

Check in. Lounge at the pool, if there's one.

Hour 5-7

Dinner. Il Fornaio (the "baker", in English) on Capitol Mall has not yet failed me. I know it's a chain and that's kind of a no-no when traveling, but it's reliable, semi-reasonably priced Italian food. If you get a table in either the patio or in the back room, you actually get the impression that you are dining at a locally owned, somewhat upscale establishment. The Italian has taken me here and we know that Italian food is good if even the Italians come there. For something more casual, I would go for Hot Italian for some superb, authentic pizza, gelato and espresso. Wander for a walk to the Capitol ground afterwards to walk off the cheese and carbs.

Hour 8-11

If like me, you're loca for Latin dancing, take great lessons for $10 (includes food) by dance champs at Spotlight, followed by a dance social. I'm not a fan of the location or the ambience, though. I chatted up with a local who told me about a Latin dance club in downtown Sacramento. Azucar is on J somewhere. I checked out the website and I wonder if it's a Latin dance club or a club where Latinos dance. There is a difference.

Hour 12-14

More booty shaking! (California's last call is at 1:30 AM) I find myself at Lounge ON20 a lot when I'm on a night out in Sacramento. The mood and interiors of the club are actually pretty good, the music decent, therefore attracting a well-dressed, non-juvenile crowd. Parking isn't that much of a b*tch. The catch is that the drinks (fruit-infused chick cocktails on martini glasses) are about $8-10 a pop, with tip. Great place to make new friends from all over the world!

Hour 20-ish

I did not get to do this this time, but I think it will be really nice to go on a run around the Capitol or one of the charming tree-lined neighborhoods.

Hour 22-ish

New Canton Dim Sum on 2523 Broadway is an absolute must! Absolutely excellent chow! They open at 10AM and the place (all two floors of it) gets packed FAST. I'm still thinking about how good the food is here... Yum! For brunchers, Cafe Bernardo in midtown Sac is a delightful place with plenty of vegetarian, local, and organic options.

To cap off the great weekend, I'm glad to come home to clouds and rain! I'm off to curl up under the covers with a book!

Namaste!

Puer Aeternus

I have to say. I am impressed with my salsa dancing.

I know, I know. It sounds mighty egotistical, but I am just being honest. It’s amazing how quickly I’m picking up on Latin dancing. I have completed my beginner’s class in August and have now graduated on to intermediate. I have been to three Latin social dance parties so far and I find it flattering that I have been asked to dance by a few men who are regulars in the circuit (that means they have gotten really good at the genre and they think I put up a good act of pretending to know what I’m doing). I really appreciate that because I get to practice being docile and submissive, for once, yet at the same time, practice rapid footwork while being spun around. What Billy Bob said would take a year has only taken me a month.

Life’s been quiet lately. In the last week, I’ve counted one big synchronicity, which gives me a controlled sense of delight because it tells me that I’m in that flowing place which is supposedly our natural state where inside and outside is one. Remember the blog post about the volleyball game? I was driving to a party on Friday night and it occurred to me that I dreamt about that volleyball game a couple of weeks ago. August 23rd to be exact (I have lucid dreams, you see, and because of them, I was propelled to journal my dreams). Ain’t that something?

Speaking of life being quiet, I have been more introspective than usual which is probably because of The Danish. One truth that I am coming to accept is how afraid I still am of intimate (read: stifling) relationships. I knew that I have a very obvious pattern of building “relationships” with men who live far away, but I always chalked that up to my wandering nature. I travel so much, so of course the men I would connect with would be in the city that I happen to be spending my weekend in. Well, this weekend, I was not travelling but still managed to draw in two out-of-towners. One from New Zealand, one from Manhattan, none from Nevada. What are the odds?

Oh, so much work to be done!

On the surface, it looks like I’m just having a lot of fun in my life. To some, it may appear reckless and flighty. I have been called “boy crazy” and even that is alright. People judge my actions based on how they would act or react to the same situation. And that is understandable because we can only perceive the world with our own eyes and no one else’s. What people don’t see that only a select few are privy to (or what a limited number of people are capable of seeing), is that I work a lot on myself. My decisions are most often very conscious and deliberate instead of haphazard and scatterbrained as some people deem them to be. I put a lot of emphasis on empirical knowledge and experience. My intention is to work on myself, grow some fierce fearlessness, and ultimately learn to trust life.

I do admit that I often wish that people loved themselves enough to work on themselves, that people would own their shit instead of projecting it on to people. But I remind myself that ultimately, all I can do is work on my own crap and get it out of people's way. Hopefully, if they are sensitive and open enough, something in me touches something in them and inspire them to ask themselves the important questions. Is that too much to ask?

Latin Love

It's official. I'm hooked.

I went to my first full blown salsa/Latin dance club party last night and I had so much fun! I learned the Dominican Bachata last night, which for novices or men who don't have a natural rhythm, is quite easy to learn. The tempo is a lot slower than Salsa or Cumbia, which adds to the easiness factor. After an hour or so lesson in Bachata, the party officially kicked off with DJ music alternating from salsa, bachata, merengue, and cumbia.

I don't think I have ever been asked to dance that much before. Well, I might have, but I have never said yes to as many men who asked before. Why? Unlike the typical club scene, men at the social Latin dance clubs don't ask to get to know you, for your digits, or get you laid later. They don't stare down at your dress or grab your ass. They just want to dance!!! The men ask very politely and this is interesting.. after one or two songs, they politely escort you back to your friends and thank you. No hogging! Where has all this chivalry gone?

I love hip hop and street dance, but there is something very whimsical, old-fashioned and romantic about being in a man's arms, being led across the dance floor, and being twirled around like chocolate fudge in vanilla ice cream. I was stoked to have been asked to dance by quite a few good dancers because I get to practice turns and twirls. I have written before that I have a natural flair for the dance, but this is where I have trouble: I have so much difficulty being led. It's pretty obvious by now that I'm a madly independent, woman-on-top, control freak, so during the dance, I have to consciously remind myself to trust my partner and go with it. Especially when you're doing turn after turn after turn after turn (yes, they do this), for the dance to be fluid, you have to be pliable. You have to get rid of your expectations of how and where things are supposed to go because sometimes, you really have no idea. You have to make yourself open and available. Strong hands. Relaxed arms.

Just like life.

Feeling It

I was beside myself this afternoon. I showed up at salsa class at 6:45, proud of myself that I was early. Well, the class was at 6:00. For some reason, I thought it was at 7. You would think that at my third lesson, I would have gotten that one dialed in, but like I said, I was very distracted this afternoon.

I needed to be around love tonight and the Universe will promptly oblige to provide us with ample opportunities for it if we ask. Sipping tea with beautiful, radiant women who are first souls before they are women before they are yogis on a chilly night is exactly what my being was clamoring for. I am notoriously and fiercely independent, but tonight, I needed this...

Dearest Fiana and Kim,

Let my soul travel with you. Let me speak the foreign tongues you know. Take what you can of me to your tents, your villages, your conversations. When your mouths drop in sheer wonder at the sight of the Ganges and the Amazon, I will be there soaking in your bliss with you. I am here now witnessing the beauty of your life and how much more beauty that is about to become part of you, to become YOU, inevitably. In the full moon, I will be there when you fall in love just as you fervently wished.

With all the love your heart can possibly hold,

Trish

***************

P.S. On a less somber note, I had a great time catching up with The Italian yesterday. I came home humbled and privileged that people let me in the intimate details of their lives quite easily. I have started to take this gift for granted, but I am reminded yesterday, and tonight again by my Yogi tea, that it is a great honor to have VIP access to people's lives.... I have a ton to be grateful for...