Strength and Honour

My parents, old friend Julia and I saw Strength and Honour last night at Cinema Paradiso in Fort Lauderdale. I love that theater! It's an old church built in an old Spanish style architecture indicative of old Miami. Inside are blue velvet chairs and a giant Oscar award with a penis. I've never noticed if the statues given out at the Academy Awards have schlongs or not.

Strenght and Honour is an Irish boxing movie. Watching me punch each other around, killing each other doesn't usually get me off, but Strength and Honour was enjoyable regardless of the blood hurling and a couple dramatic killings and knock-outs that made Julia and I cringe.

The story is set in an Irish traveller community, which I'll be apart of tomorrow when I move into our family friends' pop-up camper to gain some privacy while still in the comfort of my parents' home. Moving back in with my family with no job after a break-up is the lowest point I would have imagined I'd ever get to. IT's here, however.

On the bright side, I'll save up money to go back to school, make new friends, catch up with family and old friends, and have my own place that I can laugh at in a year or two.

Just keep on punching!

Eternal Love

Last night my grandparents (Papa and Carolyn) and I visited Carolyn's cousins in a suburb of Tel Aviv. Simon, from Poland, was liberated by Allied forces from a concentration camp; I saw the camp tattoo on his forearm. His entire family died under the Nazi Final Solution, so Simon made his journey to Israel to start a new life. On his way, he was stopped and held in Cyprus along with thousands of other Holocaust survivors, where he met Rosa. Rosa was 19 and Simon 22.

Simon, now 84, greeted us at the bus stop with all smiles and energy to match a 60 year old. We sat around the table talking, eating fresh dates from their daughter's farm, roasted cashews, dried figs and croissants. Simon was attentive to Rosa, who has just had surgery, with a diligence of obvious enjoyment. When she talked, he listened, looking straight into her eyes, his face of pure adoration, respect and affection. They have been married for 61 years and have never let their passion die.

Seeing these two people so dedicated to each other put me nearly to tears last night. Every person deserves to be loved unconditionally and passionately by their partner. I hope that I am loved by my future husband until the day I die.

Diaspora

I'm visiting my grandparents in Haifa, Israel at the moment. They emmigrated here nearly two years ago, the first time they have ever lived abroad and for my grandmother, the first time she had ever traveled abroad with the exception of visiting Israel for two weeks before deciding to move here.

They have the same fascination and dismay that I first experienced when I moved to Japan. Simple things, like the toilets are in a tiny room separate from the shower and sink. The lever to flush the toilet is different (theirs is the same as Italian toilets). I think my germiphobe grandmother would flip if she had a Japanese toilet in which the sink to wash her hands was the same water circulating in the toilet tank to conserve water.

They took me to the Shuk, the local market where they buy their meat and produce. Touring me around the market they pointed out watermelon, oranges, dates, walnuts, cheese and fish as if this were the first time I had ever seen such treasures. Explaining the bus and train system as though I have never used public transport before: On the train, a station employee will come around and check your ticket.

I just smile and nod, act surprised or amazed, and try to suppress my comments of Yes, I know, most of the world outside of America has the same thing, or does the same thing, or operates in the same manner. It's cute, and I'm proud of them for emmigrating.

Goodbye Northern Ireland

I'm leaving from Belfast the day after tomorrow for Israel!

Although I'm obviously excited about seeing some of the oldest sites in the world, I will miss Ireland.

The day before yesterday Glyn and I went on a five hour trek across the Antrim Plateau. On either side of us were heather fields and hundreds of sheep grazing on farm plots. About two kilometers in the distance, the ocean, dark blue indicating its depth and frigidity, spread as if we stood in a landscape painting hanging on a hotel bedroom wall. It was gorgeous! I felt so clean and fresh from the exercise and being in a nonpolluted environment amongst the epitome of peacefulness: lamb and sheep Baaahhhing.

We sat at the edge overlooking the Irish Sea where Scotland spanned beyond that, to eat ham and cheese croissants with tomatoes and lettuce. Walking home, I ate wild blackberries growing on the bushes.

English Breakfast

The first time an English breakfast was laid before me in an Irish Pub in Tokyo, I was terrified. How could I possibly eat so much protein? What will happen to my large intestine after indulging in Heinz baked beans (a commodity in Japan), chips (aka french fries), fried eggs, toast, sausage, bacon and roasted tomatoes (for the prostate)?

It was amazing! Especially after too much beer the night before, it's what the stomach needs to make the devourer feel truly human in every sense of the hethonic word.

This morning I got some really bad news concerning my UK work permit. What did I do? I whipped out the baked beans, toast, bacon, and ran to the store for free-range eggs and cherry tomatoes and cooked an English breakfast in Northern Ireland--my first ever non-cheese comfort food.

Vietnamese Shoes Killed My Feet

A few months ago I visited Hoi An, a city in central Vietnam famous for custom-made clothing and shoes. The city is gorgeous--two to four centuries-old wooden Chinese architecture, paper lanterns lit at night, Chinese temples, art galleries and antique stores; a quaint town straight out of a Pearl S. Buck novel.

I had four pairs of shoes made: a cute silver pair with orange and yellow polk-a-dots (trust me--they were fabulous) to wear with jeans, black and brown pumps for work, and a hot pair of black knee-high boots. The silver dotted shoes I threw away in Italy after the second time wearing them.

Yesterday, I walked downhill to the train station in Larne, NI for fifteen minutes in excruciating pain. Even though these shoes had been measured and designed for my feet, they felt like torture devices from the Inquisition or, dare I say it, devices used on POWs during the Vietnam War. Never mind, that was uncalled for.

When I reached the station, I had missed the train by three minutes since my stride slowed down as I awkwardly walked in the least painful way possible. SInce I had an hour to kill, I went to a cheap clothing store called New Look and bought a pair of flat, black eyelet shoes for only 12 pounds. Although they were much more comfortable, my feet had blisters and bubbles like the time I spilled boiling water on my foot. Today, I have to walk on the sides of my feet around the house, since blisters are covering the entire bottom of my soles and the tops of my toes.

Moral of this complaining: The suits in Hoi An are great. Get some. But skip the custom made shoes.

I'm Back!

No more traveling in remote areas of the world with no internet. Believe it or not, Italy has less internet points than Cambodia and Vietnam.

I'm back in Northern Ireland in a town called Larne thirty minutes outside Belfast hunting desperately for jobs in London. Hopefully knocking down recruiters' doors will help in my quest for employment. I talked to a good friend of mine today in Florida who scared the crap out of me: How an entire neighborhood in Michigan is foreclosed, teachers in Florida have been laid off and her and her new husband are struggling as he can't find a full time job. Guess I shouldn't come back to the States for a while.

On a positive note, Larne is absolutely stunning. I spent two months living and working in Italy and I prefer Northern Ireland's landscape. There really 40 shades of green. I run (almost) every day right on the coast; I'm looking out the office window now at the harbor filled with sailboats and hills beyond that with speckles of sheep. Ireland is gorgeous even when it's raining.