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Misadventures in Spain – Part Two

I had been in Spain for almost a week.  At the end of the first week, my two friends joined me at the beautiful resort.  Tired of talking to myself and wandering around alone, I was looking forward to their visit. During that 2nd week we visited Mijas, a quaint, picturesque village; Seville, historic, cultural, and financial capital of Southern Spain; Gibraltar where we visited St. Michael’s Cave and the monkeys that roam freely about the area; and the Casbah, a walled city in Tangier, Morocco.   
I’d seen Casablanca, the 1940’s movie staring Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman, and Paul Henreid, and couldn’t wait to see that area of Tangier where such intrigue took place.  Before entering the Casbah, our guide warned us all to keep up with the group as the Casbah is made up a maze of streets and alleys where one could easily get lost.  We were also warned to watch out for pickpockets who preyed on unsuspecting tourists. He added that we would encounter many vendors trying to sell their wares and to be “careful how you open your purses or wallets.”  Armed with these warning almost put me in a state of panic.  I don’t know about the others, but I was on guard. As our guide led us through the Casbah pointing out different sights, all I could think about was his warning.  “Keep up with group and watch out for pickpockets.”  When I spotted several young men in green-stripped tee shirts moving among us, I clutched my purse even tighter. When vendors approached, while I wanted to examine their wares, I dared not stop. One vendor was offended about my refusal and asked derisively, “Why are you here if you don’t want to buy?” Despite this, there were many memorable moments even if I can’t remember them.
Back to our resort. The end of the week fast approached but not the end of our adventures. The weather was hot and humid and since our apartment had no air conditioner, we were forced to leave the windows and door to the balcony opened to catch whatever breeze happened by. One morning, one of my friends was awakened when she felt someone standing at the foot of her bed. Thinking it was me, she didn’t pay much attention at first.  But when she opened her eyes she saw a man bending over the nightstand where she had her bag. She shouted, frightening the man who headed for the balcony door.  We watched him leap from balcony to balcony carrying a basket filled with other tenants’ valuables.  Lesson learned, when traveling, don’t leave valuables lying around openly. When we reported it to the front desk, they denied knowing anything about it. Suddenly I understood why this beautiful resort had so many empty rooms.  The next day my friends flew back to the U.S. leaving me alone to spend one more day and night at the resort.

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Travel Misadventures Part One – Costa del Sol

I’d booked two weeks at a resort in Costa del Sol and was looking forward to spending my vacation in Spain, a country I had never before been.  I flew from LAX to Heathrow in London, and then from Gatwick to Malagua, Spain. Being on a tight budget, I called the hotel prior to my departure to find the most economical way to get to the resort. The receptionist at the hotel desk where I’d plan to spend my vacation, told me the best way to get there was to take a taxi from the airport to Costa del Sol. “It will cost around $50,” she said. “Is there a less expensive way?” I asked. “Well,” she hesitated, “there is.” She gave me directions.  From the airport in Malagua to the resort in Costa del Sol is a distance of over thirty miles.  Piece of cake, I thought confidently. I love an adventure, or so I thought. 
Outside the Malagua airport was a line of taxicabs, each driver beckoning me. “No, gracias,” I waved them away. In my halting Spanish I managed to find the local train station.  The car I stepped into was practically empty. I sat down and as I waited for the doors to close, I looked around wondering who to pay and when. The doors closed and the train started. At each stop passengers hopped on and off before the conductor reached the car in which I was sitting.  Will I be able to do the same? Not a chance. Fortunately, I had exchanged a few dollars at the airport so when the conductor came to me, I was able to pay my fare. I think at the time it was three pesetas to Fuengirola. 
The town of Fuengirola was the last stop. Trying not to show how confused I was, I followed the crowd of people to one of several bus stops and waited. Someone told me what bus to take and where to get off. After several minutes, the local bus arrived. By now it was rush hour and with my heavy bags I managed to get a seat.  It was a long ride and especially distressing because with so many people standing in the aisle, I couldn’t see the street names. Finally I heard the driver call out the name of my stop.  I managed to push pass the passengers to get off before the bus pulled away.  On one side was a long stretch of coastline; on the other, various shops, and restaurants, and in front of me, a very steep hill. As I stood looking up at Mount Everest, I began to wish I had paid the $50 for a taxi. Gathering my remaining strength, I dragged my luggage up the hill to the resort, a distance of almost a mile.
It was almost dark when I checked in. Tired, hot and sweaty, not to mention suffering from jet lag, all I wanted was a shower and something to eat.  I had no problem checking in or finding the way to my apartment. When I surveyed the rooms, I noticed that the bathtub was filled with water. I unplugged the stopper and let the water drain out. Then I undressed, stepped into the shower and turned on the faucet. Nothing. Not a drop.  I phoned the desk. “We turn off the water for a few hours, once every week. It’ll be on again tomorrow,” the clerk explained cheerfully. “Use the water in the bathtub.”  I groaned. Too hungry and exhausted to bother, I decided to forget the shower; just let me get something to eat.  Unfortunately, the on-site restaurant was closed. The desk clerk told me where to purchase food and water – halfway down the hill I’d just climbed!  Oh well, my adventure had begun.  If this were any indication of things to come, it would be a long two weeks.

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My Favorite Vacation

Not too long ago on vacation in Arizona, I went to a sales presentation for a timeshare. The reward for sitting through the ninety-minute presentation was half price off a tour of the Grand Canyon. The salesman, Tom, asked me “Of all the vacations you’ve taken, what would you say was your favorite?” I had to think a while about it. I’ve gone on vacations alone and also with family.  Each time was unique.
I thought about the time I went to a resort in Tobago. I couldn’t get anyone to go with me so, not wanting to cancel my vacation, I went alone.  However, before I could settle in, I met a family, two sisters, their daughters and granddaughter, who feeling responsible for me, took me under their wings. “How can you travel alone?” they asked. “We go everywhere together,” to Alaska, to Turks and Caicos in the Caribbean.  They couldn’t imagine me traveling alone.  While I appreciated their concern, not wanting to appear standoffish, I accepted their invitation to tag along with them. But I soon found their taste differed a bit from mine. I love to swim.  I never saw them get into the pool or Jacuzzi, nor did they relax at the nearby beach.  Instead they shopped.  Lunchtime they usually went out to a restaurant to eat.  My place had a full kitchen. And since I was on a budget, I purchased food and brought it to my small apartment. Each evening they dressed up in makeup, heels, dressy outfits, and sat around the lounge watching the entertainment. I felt more comfortable in my shorts, tee shirt, and sandals.  While I was grateful they included me in their activities, whenever I could, I ventured off on my own.  
Whenever I go places with family, I’ve always enjoyed myself. Once we accompanied my uncle to Paris. Now that was fun.  That was one of my favorite trips.  There were other trips with family I found thoroughly enjoyable.  The advantages of vacationing with family and friends are that you don’t have to make critical decisions that affect everyone, it becomes a group effort; Also when you’re with others, no one looks at you strangely; you can blend in.  Traveling with family and friends, I have felt safe, more relaxed. I laugh a lot. However, on the other side, vacationing with family and friends, I usually set aside my desires and yield to the desires of others.  
Whenever I’ve gone to places alone, such as a recent trip to Sedona, I’ve enjoyed that very much as well.  It was an adventure that had me discovering not only the magnificent sites in the area, but also learning more about myself; tapping into my strengths as well as recognizing my weaknesses. There is no escaping one self when you vacation alone.  On the up side, I’ve found it easier to meet people when I’m alone than when I am with family or friends. On the down side, I’m always aware of the issue of safety. I don’t stay out late at night. I can’t be as relaxed as I am with family.  Nevertheless, I set my own schedule, eat what I want, wander wherever I please, stay as long as I want, and can change my mind without worrying about hurting others.
I appreciate vacationing with family and alone.  Both have their advantages and disadvantages.  To answer Tom, the salesperson’s question about my favorite vacation, I’d have to say all were special. Just getting away from time to time from my normal routine is one of my favorite activities.

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Tribute to My Brother on Father’s Day

When he was young, my big brother was incorrigible. He did all sorts of things, so much so that my father and mother couldn’t handle him.  Because they worked, they were unable to supervise him as they wished. He was a wild colt, doing whatever he wanted. He bullied us younger siblings, played hooky from school, stayed in the street long after he was supposed to be at home. Seeing my parents’ plight, our favorite aunt stepped in and took him to stay with her.  Not having children of her own, she allowed him to do whatever he chose at her home.  While we were not allowed to touch her walls for fear of leaving fingerprints, he could climb all over the furniture without once touching the floor. In her eyes, he could do no wrong; She spoiled him.
Whenever he’d return home to our small apartment, we children trembled in fear.  My sister, younger brother and I would plan how to get even for the mean things he’d do to us.  One example, he would sit in front of our small TV, and open an umbrella so we kids could not see the screen. Once he closed my younger brother in the sleeper couch as a joke; our parents did not think it was funny. Even school couldn’t tame him.  When he was still a teenager, he dropped out and joined the Air Force. He fought in the Korean War and was stationed in Japan where he wanted to stay. By the time he returned home, he was a man. Service had leavened him.
When my father was alive, our home was the center to which not only his wife and children, but also his sisters, brother, cousins and in-laws gathered to sort out their problems. Daddy was the patriarch; our home, a refuge. After his death, Big brother inherited that mantle. Though married with a family of his own, he was called upon to help other family members. We all knew we could depend on him. He opened his home to us whenever we visited or needed a place to stay, and, like Daddy, he gave wise counsel.
As an adult, I began to see my brother in a different light. Beneath the surface of this strong, quiet man was a connoisseur who sought beauty in objects he found in outlet stores, and antique shops along downtown Manhattan and in plant nurseries. He constructed a fantastic garden in his backyard filling it with beautiful and rare plants of all colors and sizes.  He loved music, especially blues, and poetry. When he was young, he loved to draw. His love of art expanded while he was in Japan.  Not just a loving husband and father, he was a leader. He became a 33rd degree Mason.  From the obstinate young man who terrorized his siblings, my brother grew into a man I greatly respected and admired. I will always remember him for his kindness, generosity, and patience.  Thanks, Sis. for your help.
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In Praise of Diversity

I grew up in Harlem during a time when my community was made up almost totally of African Americans. As a young child, the only people of other races I saw on a regular basis were a few teachers who taught at the elementary and junior high school, the police, firemen, insurance man, and the people who owned the stores and those who worked in the stores along 125th St.; Nonetheless, there were times when we would go on school outings to the dental school in midtown, or to the museums.  As a teenager and a young adult I ventured into other communities, Little Italy, Chinatown, East Harlem.  As an adult I have traveled widely. I believe I have greatly benefited from learning about other cultures. The foods, music, dance have become part of me and, I believe, have made me a more well- rounded person.
Living in a society or a community where all people are the same gives us a myopic point of view especially when we aren’t even interested in learning other cultures.  Someone once said the more you know about others, the more you know about yourself.
I appreciate learning about the rich cultures that help form the U.S. as well as those who live in other parts of the world. I believe we have more in common than differences. Strip away the various beliefs and practices that set us apart, strip away our own prejudices and fears, we find that we all have the same aspirations – to love and be loved, to be safe and secure, to be respected, and to be free to develop to the best of our abilities.
Diversity helps to break down barriers.  It allows us to move beyond a “them versus us” mentality. And it enriches our lives.  When we recognize the similarities in our basic desires and respect our differences, perhaps this will bring an end to so much suffering in the world; maybe than we can truly celebrate life.
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A New Day

Before the year ended, I decided to visit my friend Mattie to get some of her words of wisdom along with her black-eyed peas, collard greens and hot apple cider.  She was in her kitchen cooking up her traditional New Year’s meal. 
“Whew, this year flew by,” I said settling down at her kitchen table, my stomach starting to growl in response to the delicious smells coming from the pots on her stove.
“It sure has, faster than a hummingbird in a garden of flowers. I’m grateful that I made it this far,” she responded. At eighty, Mattie is in tip-top shape. She watches what she eats, exercises, and does all the right things. I told her so. “I hope I look and feel as good as you do when I get your age.”
“Other than a little arthritis and other aches and pains that come with age, I feel fine. Looking forward to a new year.” 
“The end of the year always makes me sad when I think of all the people who have died and the things I didn’t get done,” I said, “problems that weren’t resolved, relationships broken up. December was hectic. Rush, rush, rush was the order of the day. I was so busy shopping for the right gifts, keeping up with all that was expected of me. Now that the celebrations are over, I feel a sense of loss, a let down. Mostly though, I think about growing older.”
“Honey, I understand how you feel,” she said. “The holidays are emotionally draining for some. For those who have families, it can be both joyous and frustrating at the same time because of all the expectations. For those who are alone or who have lost loved ones, it can be a depressing time.”
She handed me a plate and told me to help myself to the pots of food. Wiping her hands on her apron, she filled her plate and sat down beside me. After taking a bite of food she said, “I look forward to each new year.  Each year I say to myself, ‘I’m gonna make this the best year of my life.’”
“And does it get better?” I asked.
“There are up’s and down’s. But I don’t let the down’s knock me out,” she said with a laugh. “I remind myself of the “Serenity Prayer” ‘God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.’ I try not to repeat the same mistakes.  I know that my life is fuller when I step out on faith, reach out to others, take care of my health, and look forward each day to learning something new.”
“Amen,” I said, and reached for another biscuit. After the rain, the sun was coming.  I could see this was a new day and I was looking forward to the challenge.
  

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Things That I Use to Do, I Don’t Do No more

Not long ago, as I was coming out of the grocery store, I bumped into my neighbor. He was driving a minivan, one that I’d never seen before.  Usually he drives an antique white Buick sedan. We talked a bit about friends and family, the usual.  Marveling at the blue shiny spotless minivan, I asked him, “Is it new? Are you planning to take a trip?” “No,” he said. “My wife and I use to go camping in it but we don’t anymore.” He said he stopped a while ago, put it into his garage and hadn’t driven it in years. I asked him why? He shrugged, “Hadn’t thought about it until now. My other car is in the shop. I haven’t been camping in years either. Just can’t find the time.” I understood his response. But it got me thinking. There are a lot of things I use to do that have fallen by the wayside like partying all night, riding a rollercoaster, playing handball, and smoking.  Some things I outgrew, some things I realized were bad for my health, but some things that I really enjoyed fell by the wayside as well. As we grow up and older, it’s natural that we evolve. If we don’t, life has a way of reminding us that we can’t do what we use to do. However, there are things I enjoyed doing that have disappeared without me noticing until something or someone reminded me.  I decided to make a list – Things I use to do and things I’d like to do. 
I use to love to dance; I use to lap swim, go to the beach in winter, hike, go to poetry readings, plays, and visit museums.  I use to go to the movies, play handball, sing and play the guitar. I use to go to nightclubs and listen to jazz musicians do their thing.  I use to draw, paint, and write poetry.
Remember the satisfying things I use to do but don’t do anymore, I tried to figure out why? Family, time, money, physical limitations, and fear certainly are all factors.  I disregarded the things I can no longer do because of physical limitations.  My mother use to say, “Do the things you can do, and don’t worry about the rest.” I decided it was up to me to revive the things I use to do that enriched my life.
Things I’ve returned to:
I have returned to the guitar after years of neglect.
I’ve begun to swim again.
The other day I went to the beach on a chilly fall day with my book, writing pad and ipod, sat down and watched the brave surfers in their wet suits await the big one.
On my list of things I plan to do:
Visit a museum
Take a ride on the Metro and explore L.A.
See a play
Go to a jazz club
Attend a poetry reading
Visit friends. Lately I’ve been too busy, but I must make time.
The more I think about it, the longer my list grows.  Rediscovering the joy I got from doing some of the things I use to do has ignited a spark in me that makes each day something to look forward to. 
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Kalgon, Take Me Away

The other day my friend Lula dropped in to see me. The last time she visited I was stressed out, at my wits end; problems with family, too many bills, and too little money with which to pay those bills. “On top of everything else,” I said, “I’ve spent too much time watching TV and listening to the news. Wars, drugs, political intrigue, the economy, you name it. The world’s going to hell in a hand basket!”  Suddenly I stopped ranting and noticed that Lula seemed more relaxed than ever. I commented on her serene countenance. “What’s your secret?  How come you look so calm and relaxed.” She just smiled and sipped her tea. “Let me pass along a little advice I got from my older female acquaintances,” she said.

“First of all, I realized there was nothing I could do to save the world or right society’s wrongs. Then I looked at my bills and found they weren’t as much as I thought they were. I could deal with them in my own time. Finally, I went out and bought a box of Kalgon, turned off the TV and the telephone locked the bathroom door, climbed in the bathtub, and let Kalgon take me away.”

“And that took away your stress?” I asked.  “For a while it did. I discovered if I didn’t treat myself occasionally, no one else would. You see, it’s important to take time out for yourself,” she said. “Get away from family and your normal routine if only for an hour. Everybody needs to recharge his or her batteries.”

“Sounds like a lot of time and money,” I said.
“It depends on what you choose. It doesn’t have to cost that much. Here’s a few things you can do.

  • Get a manicure and/or a pedicure if you’ve never had one before.
  • Give yourself a facial. My mother use to mix together oatmeal and water, and leave it on her face until it dried. My aunt would beat up a raw egg and spread it on her face. They had the smoothest complexion. Or you can purchase all sorts of facial scrubs and masks in a jar.
  • Go for a walk in the park. You can’t beat going for a walk as a stress reliever. I’m not talking about walking as exercise. I mean a leisurely stroll in the morning or midday, stopping to “smell the roses.”
  • Go to the beach if it’s not too far away. I did just that the other day. I decided the night before that I was going to the beach in the morning. I packed my beach chair, a snack, my ipod, and a good book and spent the day at the beach. It was refreshing.
  • If you can afford it, get a massage. Look around for some place not too expensive and treat yourself. You don’t have to be rich to pamper yourself like a queen.”
The afternoon went by too quickly. After she left, I went to the grocery store and bought some bath salts. That evening I filled up the bathtub, lit a few fragrant candles, put on some good music and climbed into the tub for a good soak. Problems can wait. Tonight is for me.  Oh, how easy it is to forget about or put aside our needs.
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Walk a Mile in My Shoes

 I grew up living in an apartment in Harlem. When I moved to L.A. I lived in an apartment there. It wasn’t my desire to have a house though after experiencing rents that went up without explanation, downstairs neighbors that harassed my child when she walked across the floor or a landlord who was reluctant to fix a leaky toilet or replace a blown out light bulb on the stairs, I began to seriously think about buying a house. Home ownership in my chosen area was beyond my meager salary; however, after much searching, I finally found a house I could afford though it was many miles away from my job. 
That was years ago before the catastrophe in the housing industry. But when I hear people say, “Not all people should have a house. They should be content to live in an apartment,” I wince. Not because what they are saying is true in some instances, but because it implies only certain people should have a house. I wonder if those who say this ever lived in an apartment where rents climbed and things broke and were never repaired, and walls were so thin you could hear your neighbor breathe?  It’s fine if you can afford a luxury apartment with plenty of amenities, but not all people can. In addition, some people prefer to pay rent than a mortgage. Nevertheless, I have empathy for the plight of those who want to have a safe, decent place to live and to raise their family; and who have gone out on a limb to secure one; Isn’t that part of the American dream?
However, this blog isn’t about homeownership. It’s about empathy. What is empathy? I’ve been thinking about that word for a while, especially when I hear it used as a negative or weakness.  My dictionary defines empathy as an identification and understanding of another’s feelings, situations and motives. That doesn’t sound like a weakness to me. It’s almost like the saying “walk a mile in my shoes,” or “maybe if you walk a mile in my shoes, you will understand what I’m going through.” I don’t have to have the same experience you have to empathize with you. I simply need to be sensitive to your situation. Having empathy doesn’t mean one is weak or naïve. Having empathy enhances a person’s humanity. It allows one to see both sides of an issue; to not jump to conclusions based on ones beliefs or opinion.
What happens when one does not have empathy? Not having empathy or understanding promotes intolerance. It can lead a person to relate to others based on ones prejudices and can lead to devaluing a person’s humanity. Also it can lead to reducing people to labels, not understanding other people who are different from you. It can cause us to see a homeless person as an annoyance rather than a human being keeping us from understanding “there but for the grace of God….” Or when one considers illegal immigration, one sees “aliens” coming in to “take away our jobs,” rather than people seeking a better life for their family.  Or the argument that those who have lost their homes should have been content to rent since not all people should have a home.
I’m not condoning a person’s actions whether it is illegal, irresponsible or whatever. Rather, I’m appealing to the humanity in us all.  Being empathetic may help us understand that we are not different from our neighbor.  When we realize this, maybe we can build a better world.

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Homage to My Father

My father was a strong man. Born and raised in the South during the dark days of segregation; nonetheless, he survived with a strong set of principles and values. The oldest boy of fourteen children, though three of his sisters were older, they all looked to him for advice and guidance; Grandpa was a tyrant and womanizer. To his sisters and brother, our aunts and uncle, Daddy was the bedrock, the patriarch on whom they could depend. Whenever they had problems, they would call on him. If they needed a place to stay, our home was always open. If they needed money, advice, or help in any way, my father was there. Despite the fact that he barely finished third grade, Daddy had wisdom that he imparted to his family and his children in an attempt to prepare us for life.

He gave us children maxims to live by; tools to guide us through all phases of our lives. He counseled my sister, brothers and me about life. He told my sister, “Don’t promise anything to anyone unless you mean it. You wouldn’t offer a blind man sight.” and “Be true to your word.” “Never say, “yes sir,” “no sir,” or “yes ma’am,” “no ma’am,” to anyone. Though he worked for a family as their chauffeur, he refused to let his children do the same. We were to get a good education. In those days, a high school diploma was the goal. I was a tomboy always trying to keep up with my brother and his friends. When I turned twelve, the same boys I’d played with for years, began to notice me. One gave me a bracelet. My father promptly made me give it back. “Don’t take presents from boys. They will expect something in return,” he counseled me.

My father wore the mask Paul Laurence Dunbar spoke about in his poem, “We Wear the Mask (1913). At work he was a servant who drove his employer and his family around, part chauffeur, part butler, and part babysitter. He was always on call. At home, he was our wise daddy who knew everything and could do anything. A loving husband, every Friday he would bring my mother a pair of nylon stockings. On his days off, which were few, he would take my mother dancing. Whatever free time he had, he spent with us.

Though he died over forty years ago, his influence permeates my life. My brothers took after him. After he died at age forty-one, my brothers tried to fill his shoes. My oldest brother came closest. He became the one we turned to for advice. As in the home of my youth, my brother’s home was always open. If we had problems, we could call on him to give us advice and to help us out. On Father’s Day I thought about my father and my brothers and the men they were – faithful, loving, kind, caring, compassionate, and most of all strong. My wish is that all fathers strive to prepare their children for life armed with these traits and more.