Daddy cool...

That is the name of a Bonny M song of the seventies... It was my favorite song when I was tiny, because I thought that it was written for my dad. I had my own private Daddy Cool, indeed.

Vati would get me up in the morning, and prepare me for school. He would watch--from the window of his bedroom, up on the third floor--my steps towards primary school, two blocks down. At that same place, I would spot his face on my way back home every day. It was Vati who would prepare lunch or take me to a restaurant, to indulge in special treats. In the afternoons, he would sometimes take me to a Cafe--one on every corner--or to play pool. On those special occasions, I would stand on a soft-drink box to reach the pool table.

I remember one day in winter. Daddy was trying to fit my short, red, curly hair into tiny, almost unexistent pig-tails. I was already wearing my coat, ready for the street, facing the window, while Daddy was sitting on the edge of the bed, achieving the impossible. I asked if he would always be with me. He said that he would do his best--but that life and death were not in his hands. I cried looking into the gray winter sky. I thought that I would die before him, so as to be spared the pain.

Vati would turn 82 today. He has been gone for more than 16 years now. In total, we shared only 11 years. The last time I saw him, he said: What are all those years compared to eternity? Only a glimpse, a moment. Don't feel sad because of the time we are not together...

I still remember his soft and serene voice. And I still look forward to eternity.

But I no longer have pig-tails.

In awe...

...after walking in the sun, gazing at ancient monumental structures in Luxor.

The Racoon says that we all must have belonged to this magnific culture, at some point during our endless coming and going through time and space. I am breathless. It is so stunningly beautiful. The color of the desert, and of the sun when it hits the desert-shaded stone. The overwhelming size, the overwhelming history. The stories of lives past and gone, of cultures buried in the sand.

This is one of the trips I had on my list of ten most-wanted life experiences. Karnak, Luxor, the Valley of the Kings. We could not go to Abu Simbel and Alexandria. And we did not spend a night in the Sahara. This means that half of the dream is still out there, waiting to be lived.

But the beginning, if we could dare call it that, has been astounding.

We are just tiny particles in the history of life, a tiny kernel of sand in the midst of the Sahara...

Got Beer?

This is hilarious! And it might as well be true, at least in terms of the positive effects of beer... Of course, the negative ones are conveniently forgotten.

But I LOVE Peta!!! In my next life, I definitely want to be a radical, unforgiving PETA activist, spraying with green paint the fur coats on the Upper East side, rallying against experiments on animals, and just stubbornly confronting people that believe that animals are here for us, at our disposal.

Meanwhile, I am getting ready for yet another plane... Egypt is waiting.

On a Monday like today, six years ago...

...Mamichi died. After months of struggle mixed with the unique opportunity to let go and seize every single moment to find a way back to peace, to her daughter, to her own light, Mamichi left in silence.

That day was not as sunny as today. It was colder.
I hadn't had a good night's sleep for months.
Camila could run and jump up high--unstoppable.
Sunari was not yet born--not even in our fantasies.
I still had a relationship with my siblings.
Margot was a meaningful name in my life.
I was at home at Fundar--my work, my family, my everything.
I had Waldo, my dearest brother, as a flatmate.
The racoon was already the light of my life.
My second mum was sitting by my side, like today.
My grand mum was still here, in silence, watching Mamichi slip away.

So much got into perspective during those months...
I learned that caring for your loved ones, and helping them to go, is an honor.
I learned that even our most informed ideas about what we think that we signify for our parents are often wrong.
I learned that you don't have to do anything just because it is your family.
I learned that love and trust are what makes you grow and develop as a creature of light.
I learned that all the stress and unhappiness of our every-day life is a futile waste of time.
That feelings like jealousy, the idea of love as a possession, make no sense.

I have been ignoring these learnings lately. Bogged down by conflict, lack of satisfaction, the longing for recognition and the imminent build-up of implosion, I have felt small and troubled. Judged. Incapable of giving. Locked up in darkness. Not free.

Today makes me remember that we all are so much more than this. I want to go back to the version of myself that is deeper, more connected, and more grounded in what matters.

The lack of inhibitions...

"I'll be your girl if you say it's a gift, and give me some more of your drugs... I'll be your pet if you just say it's a gift..."

Those are the lyrics from a Fiona Apple song that I am listening to, while I am trying to think about our way forward in Pakistan, and how to overcome the hurdles in Brazil.

What does it take to get you to the place where you would say something like that? Does it really take THAT much? Or does it just require the right moment? The right place? The willingness to let go of the artificial boundaries imposed by conventional language? Is it just a matter of wanting to free your mind? Of insanity? Addiction?

I often think that I am impossibly indiscrete... A dear, dear friend taught me a good, good lesson several years ago about what to say and what not to say. I have improved a lot in some ways, by not sharing information that should only be mine or that have been shared by someone else with me. The lack of discretion comes on another level. There are just things that I cannot NOT say about what I feel, think, believe or hope for --directly into the face of the person that triggers the feeling, thought or hope.

The chicken once told me that I am brutally honest. I am wondering if, more than honesty, this is some kind of a handicap. Is there something that other people have, and that I lack, in terms of being able to distinguish between thoughts that I should keep to myself and thoughts that I should share with the directly involved persons? Is there some kind of filter that is missing?

You, the readers of the cosmic mouse, must have first-hand experience in this peculiar character trait of mine. Please, VOTE!!!!! Let me know what you think! Why am I doing this? What is missing in my mental structure that causes this lack of verbal inhibitions?

Looking forward to it...

There are two things on my mind that I would like to write about... I am not sure I will be able to do it, though.

I know that this blog has served as my diary. For one reason or another, I have chosen this space to open up, and write down very personal thoughts and feelings, mixed up with short snippets from my globe-trotting state of life and occasional entries about my favorite creatures: animals. Sometimes I speak about my professional life. Today, I could do all of the above.

I am in Washington DC. One more time. Another meeting. Loved ones around. Tension--positive and negative. This has been one hell of a roller coaster of a year. So many things have happened. Many of them exciting. Many of them frustrating. This meeting has the potential to be all of that. I am experiencing it as a soothing process. I am actually feeling better as it goes on. I am feeling a bit more connected. Belonging. Part of.

I ask myself what is going wrong with my professional life... Why is working here such an insurmountable challenge? Why do I feel so much conflict? Why do I feel unhappy? Unappreciated? I clearly work too much. I clearly waste time on things that should not consume so many hours. While that is annoying, it is not the answer to the main question.

I am 1000% committed to this work, and love what I do. Why am I unhappy? What is it, that is not going in the right direction? Any suggestions shall be appreciated...

If animals talked...

...we would probably fall silent.

What has led humankind believe that we are the only ones that think and interpret reality? Is it pure arrogance, or our incapability of learning the language of other beings?

A week ago a dear uncle of mine sent me the following link, which I invite you all to watch: http://www.chilloutzone.de/files/08033101.html
It is simply I-N-C-R-E-D-I-B-L-E!!!

Seeing how amazing animals can be, makes me think, once again, about how little we are and how little we understand beyond our own concerns. Elephants, these magnificent creatures who have well defined social structures, memory, a language of their own and loyalty towards each other are far more amazing than we want to think. Watch the video, and smile in awe.

Full of grace...

That is how I feel tonight, after having one hell of an intense exchange with one of my dearest, dearest friends. Half of the world lies between us, and we were chatting through skype, while he was flying over the continent and I was sitting in my bed, in the Southern Cone. We were not even speaking... Only typing. It felt surreal, something of a mix between a dream, imagination and a mental connection.

I find the intimacy of sheer honesty irresistible. The possibility of stripping down to the soul, stop pretending and being vulnerable in front of someone else, might appear daunting. In reality, it is empowering. Once you stop pretending, and you stop trying to play the game and control everything around you, you can actually focus on feeling and understanding your own fears and, thus, on controlling your own fears.

How many people do we find along our lives that can lead us to such a point? How many times will we be willing to take the leap? How many times will we actually land on our feet, finding ourselves to be stronger, more complete, whole?

Is this the ultimate essence of friendship and love?

Thank you. For opening your heart and jumping with me. For looking into the darkness and not turning away. For being part of me.

Back to yellow!!!

OK, my friends... I got the message!

Only my favorite philosopher raised the issue of my dark entries one day on the phone.

I know that yellow is so much better than darkness. Believe me. But it is not always possible, and this is the one outlet I have, when I am alone, far away, to reach out to you and make sure that someone, somewhere, knows how I feel. When darkness approaches, I still feel able to make a post and wear my inside out, through the least discrete of all options.

But I am far from there now.

Today, I feel yellow. The city is beautiful. It is starting to get coldish, which always makes the sky in Mexico City blue and transparent. From my window, I can see the treetops, the church of Coyoacan and the mountains behind. I will have ice cream, good food, hang out with friends and my three loved creatures. I will have a drink. I will play. I will read. I will enjoy.

And turn into the sun, like a big, yellow sunflower...

The city that never sleeps....

New York is just incredible. The energy of this city, its vibrancy, its beat, is unbelievable. It has a rhythm of its own. And a life of its own.

NY feels like a living creature--breathing, slowly moving or spinning around in frenzy.

There is no place that compares to NY. There are places that are stunning, unforgettable, breath-taking. Places that leave a mark on your skin, within your soul. But the city that never sleeps does more than that. There is just nothing like it.

When I was a teenager, wanting to study hotel management, I wrote in an essay that I would be the manager of the Waldorf Astoria. Today I went to the W.A., to an MDG-related brunch. I took in the surroundings, the luxury, the pedantic bell boys, the golden mirrors... And I felt happy about having kissed good-bye that dream a long, long time ago.

Breaking...

I have been home for a week and a half now, but will leave tomorrow again, towards NY. I thought that by this moment, I would feel in a not so dark place. But it is not really getting any better. The slope is still downwards.

As a result, the question keeps coming back, taking my sleep, filling the corners of my mind with anxiety: What is the purpose of all this? Is it worth it? Am I on the right path?

Or am I just the shadow of what I could be... That is the most persistent doubt. I want to expand, explode. Go farther, go to extremes... I feel like a fading flower.

Geneva it is...

I can't believe it, but this is the final stop before going home.

Delhi was a big success!!! And for a change, I actually liked India!!! A dear friend told me: you have to ignore your first ten impressions of India, just stick to the eleventh one. You will see the beauty. It worked. Thank you.

Now, after more travel, more planes, and more insomnia, I am back in the old continent. And I have only one day and two nights left!!!

ALMOST. GOING. HOME.

Slowly descending into darkness...

That is what it feels like. And I know that it is not real. It is an hallucination of my sleep-deprived mind.

But it feels like the real thing. It feels like if I was back in one of those very dark places where I used to dwell, where windows are out of reach, and light has been forever shunned.

It is only 6 pm in Delhi. If I fall asleep now, I will again be up for the whole night.

This is one of the hardest things of the fucking path I am on. What the hell am I doing here? Is there really a purpose? Or does the apparent absence of purpose, once you can't sleep, actually underscore that there is no such purpose in reality?

This sounds bad. But still, there is this huge difference--I know that it sounds bad. And I know that it is an illusion of my exhaustion.

Just sharing a glimpse of this insanity... Reaching out.

And Delhi came even sooner...

OK. I have arrived in Delhi. This is the fourth country, starting with Mexico, that I am touching in a week's time. The chicken says that this is the ultimate Rock Star World Tour--I call it the Monster Tour, as opposed to Gaga's Monster Ball. Hehe. But I am fully dressed whenever I make public appearances!

What happened in London? Well, it was by far less eventful than expected. But, it was interesting to sit there, with irrefutable evidence about the way in which governments disregard their citizens, face to face with some high ranking UN officials, who were saying "we empower the people to hold governments accountable".

You know....??? NO!

Don't give us that bullshit! If the UN claims to empower the people, then we understand why this world is so fucked up, why the huge majority of people are powerless, excluded, discriminated against and pushed into fucking oblivion! (This is the Rock Star speaking)

PASSION. We need MORE of it. We need it NOW.

London came to soon...

...embedded in the unavoidable hallucination that seems to be the by-product of jet lag. I can't sleep. And, for a change, this time I was not able to sleep on the plane coming here, either.

Whenever insomnia comes back, I can't help to think about some of the first lines of "The Fight Club", where Edward Norton says something like "insomnia is like never being completely asleep and never being completely awake". Honestly, I fail to grasp how I spent long decades of my life with acute insomnia. Sleep deprivation is, for certain, one of the most efficient ways of torture.

And here I am, in (not rainy but indeed windy) London, sleepless.

Thinking.
Floating.
Imagining.

Too many ideas and presences in my half awake-half asleep mind and body.

Time to turn off the computer and give it another try.

Mmmmmmmontreal, good bye...

... I am about to fly.

This was my first stop in what seems to be a challenging World Tour. First, Montreal. Then, London--with the promises of meeting big, big names that I will feel intimidated by, like Amartya Sen. New Delhi follows--with its merciless heat, buzz, relentless motion. Last, Geneva--the opposite (booooooooring!) But also, great great minds.

Montreal was sweet... A delicious dessert to gain strength before a hard couple of weeks up in the air. (Logic would mandate dessert to come afterwards, but here, the order of the factors did indeed change the result). A beautiful town, a beautiful evening, excellent company and a superb death by chocolate. I refuse to start thinking about rainy London, until I get out of the next plane...

Today, she would be 72...

... if she was still alive. But Mamichi decided that this world was not good enough for her, and started the journey towards the stars.

I remember those last days clearly, although they are sprinkled with her hallucinations and morphine speaking. She was calm and ready to go. But then, suddenly, she seemed scared, uncertain, filled with sporadic bursts of anxiety. I did my best to be there, bold and serene--with that same serenity she had always had, and which I admired so much. And I told her something that I believe stubbornly--that we would meet again, in other bodies, living different lives, being other people, but continuing to move across time in those little circles of souls that always manage to find each other again. I said that we might even recognize each other, as ancient souls that know they have been together before. (I am not so certain about that last piece anymore).

This mantra attached itself to my believe system when Vati died, and when I suddenly found a way to make sense out of the futility of his choices. It was a long painful process, which became serene and peaceful when he asked, looking straight into my eyes, "what are fourteen years in the face of eternity?" Fourteen years was what I had spent trying to see him again. Sixteen years have gone by since then. And I still believe, stubbornly, that our souls will touch each other again.

May peace, love and light be with the souls of Vati and Mamichi, always.

Kanellos, the dog...

Some time ago, the chicken sent me this link to the most amazing pictures... (see http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/gallery/2010/may/06/greece-protest). They are about Kanellos, a dog who seems to participate at all kinds of protests in Greece. Kanellos always sides with the protesters, facing water spray and paint, looking with serenity towards the police and waiting... What is Kanellos waiting for? A change in the tactics of governmental repression? A change in the ways of inequality and justice? Is Kanellos hopeful for the future? Or has he become a professional protester?

If I was to protest, would Camila come along, with her fierce determination, restless spirit, and sporting the ultimate model of Eddie's wheels? Or are we too passive and accommodating?

Strange days are these...

...After all the adrenaline and almost living on steroids due to stress and over-excitement during the last three months, I find myself relaxed, EAZZZY, and unwilling to pick up a faster pace. I get up early in the morning for calls and emails. But then, if the racoon, the chinese rat and the long leg continue to slumber an hour or two later, I cannot resist paying them a visit in bed to enjoy their peaceful breathing.

I work, but without a hurry.

I think slowly, write slowly, respond slowly.

But I feel faster.

Is this just an illusion? Or, is it a result of what seems a crazy theory within our post-modern, ultra-urban, cybernetically defined reality? Joy , peace and even accomplishments are related to serenity.

"Don't stop me now...

I am having such a good time, I am having a ball"... That is the song which is glued to my brain since saturday, when the racoon and I had our 80 year b-day party... We started on thursday, by preparing space cakes, partied on friday night with a small group of early birds, and then REALLLLLLLY got wild on saturday. Sunday was a gentle closure, with the world cup final.

So, what happened at the Valle party?
1. Lots of people got together, despite really bad weather, and crushed the myth that rain can ruin any party...
2. Alcohol was flowing like a river...
3. People were dancing, singing and shouting like crazy...
4. Playing...
5. On space cakes high...
6. Eating the most delicious chocolate cake ever...
7. Enjoying the nicest party setting ever...
8. Making out in the darkness...
9. Bending gender tags...
10. And just enjoying and loving each other...

If this is it, then the 40s promise to be a LOT of fun.

I am totally hooked...

...on Stieg Larsson's novels. I have the first two down, but now I am missing the third one, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets' Nest, and I will have to wait til mid June to go to DC, buy it and read it in English.

It is strange how these books have made me think about pieces that I have wanted to conceal and have chosen to forget... All these Swedish settings just made me remember that I had my own nick name in Swedish, when I was a little girl. Lila Kik, they used to call me. I recognize some of the places mentioned, and images of those long summer nights in Sweden flash back. Vati would have devoured these novels! Mutti would have hated them.

Even when we choose not to acknowledge it, we are the inevitable sum of our histories, be it personal history, family history or genetic history. I have always believed that we can erase parts of it, conceal them, because I became used to reinvent myself every time I would feel tight in my own skin. I hadn't realized that now that life is no longer a dark place, it might be interesting to revisit those rooms I locked off a long time ago.

Mmmmmh. Thinking about it...

Back in Cambodia, one more time...

It took a couple of years to get back here. I love this country. It is magical, not only because of Angkor, but because of the Cambodian people. This country is still very very scarred because of the Khmer Rouge period. You can see it in the political culture, in society and in the way people hold themselves. But it is beautiful.

We are setting up the third meeting of our initiative, and we are going to be almost 100 people. I am excited. Some of the participants started to arrive today, mostly from Africa. And they are ready to continue enjoying the World Cup over here, every evening, over beers. NN, for instance, even brought his VUVUZELA!!! (read http://www.theonion.com/articles/south-african-vuvuzela-philharmonic-angered-by-soc,17625/ for a good laugh)

No doubt, this will be a BIG BIG FEST!

Bafana Bafana!

And it happened! After many many years, South Africans finally celebrated again! According to my first hand reports from Cape Town, the party was similar to the 1994 elections! Go Bafana Bafana!

time goes by...

far to fast! I am on my way back home, waiting to get on the next plane. The only thing that has been on the TV during my time in NY and DC is the oil spill in the Gulf. Words come and go, but not much seems to happen. The spill continuous, relentlessly, and while governments complain, and BP dodges the bullets, a friend told me that it is a fact that, BY AUGUST, the spill will have been stopped.

Nice hallmark of greed, don't you think?

Will BP be hold to account for this? Will the government? What happens with the rig inspectors that had orgies on meth, instead of doing their work?

I don't really think we deserve the world we are living on.

I am in a New York state of mind...

...as Billy Joel would say. We spent sunday and monday in the Big Apple, and it was, as it always is, mind-blowing. There are few cities which have what it takes to fascinate all kinds of people across the board. New York is definitely one of them.

We arrived on sunday and decided to take a pleasant stroll up on Broadway, on what turned out to be a beautiful day. The street market was on, which means an eclectic combination of food, gadgets, clothes, posters, photographs, vinyl records and memorabilia, sprinkled with the iPad, Victoria Secret and more... We made a stop at Zabar's, the quintessential definition of a NY deli and grocery store, where we went A-B-S-O-L-U-T-E-L-Y crazy buying from among hundreds of cheeses, olives in all sizes and colors, the most amazing variety of bread and irresistible dessert. Contradiction has it, however, that we were not able to get wine. We then went to have a picnic in the Riverside Park, sitting on the lawn, under the shade of big trees and a blue sky.

Our little group of six decided that another overload of green was needed, heading towards Central Park. And there, from among all people in the world, we ran into Jim, who we had not seen in at least one year, but whom we had been remembering a couple of hours before. This city is amazing! The cherry on top is that we ran into yet another friend later on, at Washington Square,ending up as a big happy party in the Village. C-R-A-Z-Y! But that is exactly what New York is.

More tomorrow.

Back twelve years in time...

...that is how it felt like to spend five days with Betsy, Mike, Oscar and Vanessa. Of course, twelve years ago Vanessa was not part of the Three Musketeers, now the Fantastic Four, and Oscar was not even a thought. There are things that change, and things that never change. And this friendship belongs to the latter, I guess.

Many people know that the year at Peace House marked a before and after in my life. It allowed me to develop what I wanted to be, by shedding layers and layers of ideas that others had projected onto me, and that I had internalized. Betsy and Mike were key to this process. They made me strong. They made me enjoy being alive. They enabled me to walk into a dark room, draw the curtains, and let the sun shine.

And twelve years later it still feels exactly the same. I feel privileged for having you in my life.

Discrimination

What are you supposed to say when a six-year old asks another girl of the same age if she is not ashamed of having "dark" parents? And what if she tells her "Oh, but you can change parents or you can commit suicide"? This is what happened at school, among the peers of the lagartita menor. And it makes us all wonder what is required for the Mexican society to fully understand the extent of racial, social and economic discrimination that runs through it, and to do something about it.

Mexico is profoundly racist. We talk about "negritos", "chinitos" and "gringos", always implying that we are calling them names because we are joking. We are not. We find "otherness" unacceptable. We think of poverty, lack of opportunities and hardship as deliberate choices that illustrate the despicable nature of those who are not like us. We talk amongst ourselves about a country of which we only embrace small portions. We don't embrace diversity. We refuse to accept that all human beings are born equal, with inalienable rights and inherent dignity.

Many things are rotten in Mexico. But the failure to acknowledge discrimination and fight against it, is one of the worst features of our society. It will take us decades to make progress, because we are oblivious.

If you know about innovative approaches to deal with discrimination among children, teenagers and adults, please let me know. I am on the search.

Una rosa es una rosa es una rosa...

Y esta flor tan espectacular, no es una rosa. Pero ejemplifica la maravilla de la naturaleza, su perfección, y la alegría que nos permite experimentar si abrimos los ojos y el corazón. Como lo había comentado en post anterior, vivimos atrapados en el progreso, en la modernidad, y eso no nos deja salir de entre paredes de concreto y sentir el sol, el aire, la luz y los colores. Esta flor tan espectacularmente hermosa, está grabada en mi memoria, y en la de los patos, los gatos y el racón.

A night at the Hollywood Bowl

For this vacation the Gatos had a quite memorable surprise for us. We went to the Hollywood Bowl to see Paul McCartney.
I have never really been fond of him, but he was spectacular. And watching him playing at the Bowl, after what he called "a million of years", made me have my own travel through time. The Beatles played here in the sixties, and since then Paul had not come back to this magnificent stage. He remembered the crowds back then, John, George, the civil rights struggle and linked this memories back to the future, to Obama's smiling face, and a song calling for change.
Meanwhile, I remembered the height of the eighties, when mum brought me to Hollywood, to see Marilyn Monroe's foot and hand prints at the Chinese theater. Dressed like a mini-Madonna, and endlessly moody, mum made me visit an empty Hollywood Bowl, to see the stage where the biggest ones played. I thought of you during the whole concert last night, mamichi.

"We did not fear the future...

...we shaped it". That is what President Obama said when the Health Care Reform was approved last sunday night, in Washington DC. It is estimated that 32 million more people will be able to access health services in the US as a result of this reform, once it gets fully implemented. A hundred years were needed to actually achieve this. And against all odds, Obama did get it done. Not bad. At all. Ted Kennedy must be smiling.

The sun always shines on TV...

...and in Washington DC! I can hardly believe it! Less than two months ago I was stranded here, in meters of snow, and today it is beautiful out there!

I read this great book last week, which the chicken recommended, called "The Philosopher and the Wolf" (Mark Rowlands). There is no big question mark about the main subjects of the story, since both of them appear in the title. While the story is compelling on its own, and beautifully written, the essence of the book is a philosophical reflection about life, death and the role of human beings and other animals.

After several courses on political philosophy during my studies, I never thought that I could find philosophy this attractive and convincing. This is one of the books that I will keep reading at different moments, and I suspect that it will give me something new to think about each time. I am on the road again, and did not bring it with me. But I will pick up this trail once I am back, to get some thought provoking quotes into the Cosmic Mouse Report.

Look at the stars...

...look how they shine for you, and all the things that you do... (Coldplay). Isn't it amazing how, even if we are far away, we continue to think about and feel deeply connected to the people we love? I would have loved to be with you at the Cold Play concert, Waldo!

Instead, I was still at Mont Fleur, in Stellenbosch, which has a place in history that certainly relates to the lines of Yellow. Around 20 years ago, this place was the silent witness for what came to be known as "The Mont Fleur Scenarios"--one of the first meetings among Mandela, the ANC (African National Congress) and the crumbling apartheid government, to talk about the transition.

It is usual to feel humbled in the presence of superior beings--and I am sure that is what it would feel like to meet Mandela. But sometimes you feel humbled just by thinking that the very spot where you are standing, is a place where historic developments happened.

The heat is on...

...in Cape Town. The first Cosmic Mouse Report came from a snow-covered Washington DC, when the "capital of the free world" came to a still stand because of the blizzard. As ironic as it might appear, a month later I am in Stellenbosch, close to Cape Town, also paralized--but this time by the heat. It is SCORCHING HOT! Today, offices were closed in the city due to the heat.

But it is beautiful! The mountains are breath-taking, the food is delicious and the pool is the most refreshing experience I have had in a long time!

The workshop itself is quite amazing. Some remarkable people fighting the good fight, mostly in African countries ranging from Nigeria to Zambia, to Tanzania and South Africa. When I see their passion and commitment to make health care available to poor and excluded communities, it makes me remember why I love this work.

That is enough of a reason.

My spiritual homeland...

I have felt for a long time now that my spiritual homeland is Africa. Within the vast continent, South Africa is the country to which I have been more times, and Cape Town the place to which I come back once and again. My mum used to say that in another life I must have been a black girl (she would tell me that when I was still a girl...:) I have to say that I concur with her. It feels so good to be here.

My friends and family who have not had the chance to be here have always asked me what it is that makes Cape Town so special. I think that it is the light. The light is different here than in other places. I cannot explain what the difference resides in. But it is breath taking. Its is clear and shiny. Filled with life and color.

The explosion of clarity, intensity and color that the Capetonian light brings about is one of the sensations I most long for when I know that I will be coming here. I have been here for a week, locked up in a room working, at meetings, cranky and dark. But yesterday, when we finally got a chance to go outside, and take in the air, the sun, the light, life was good again. It made me wonder what we have done to ourselves through progress...

Following on the human vs. animals (DOGS) debate...

I went to have dinner with Alberto the other night (not Waldo) and there was this sign on the door of the restaurant, which I found most hilarious... It reds, in Spanish:
"no se permite la entrada con animales ni en estado de embriaguez". In English, this would be something like "animals are not allowed entrance not even drunk"...

The consequences of not using punctuation makes us fully realize that animals, sober or under the influence (though not driving), are not allowed.

Note for the dog-lovers: Don't spend time and money intoxicating your pup--SHE IS NOT ALLOWED!

“What distinguishes us as humans…”

“…will also destroy us”. Such were the prophetic words of the raccoon today over lunch, as he was having one of his tribulations about humankind and its impact on the world. The background? Two very specific but not connected discussions:

1. What eats Nathaniel Sprawles, the Chargers running back, who is 1.7 mts but weights 90 kilos? Speculative answer: MEAT, MEAT, MEAT. (PUAG!)

2. John Homan’s article “The Rise of Dog Identity Politics” (New York, February 1, 2010), in which the author discusses John Archers’s point that dogs have turned into “social parasites” after losing all their sense in life— to work— and turning into some kind of substitute children. If dogs are parasites because they live from us, with us, and as Homan writes, paraphrasing Archer, “suck up human caregiving that could be going to human children while providing no evolutionary advantage…”, the lingering question is: what are we? And here is where the opening statement comes in: “What distinguishes us as humans, will also destroy us”.

Oh. My. Dog.

When you car gets stolen in Mexico City...

You have to deal all kinds of strange remarks.

(For those who still don't know it, Gabriel had to hand over our car to two guys last Thursday night, having a gun pointing at him. At that very moment, I was on the phone with him--a helpless witness to the loss. Dog gracious, nothing happened to the racoon, and what remains now are ridiculous stories of how our police system and car insurance company work).

Today it was my turn to offer “prove or ownership” of the stolen Beetle. Sitting in front of a perfect BUROCRATA, I was showered with pearls of wisdom:

“What is your level of studies?”
- Masters Degree
“Ok, please give this document to your husband, so that he reads it carefully and makes sure that the information is correct.”
(The “information”: motor number, car model, license plates)
- Let me check the details…
“No, please give the document to your husband, so that he makes sure that the information is correct. If it is wrong, you will not be able to continue the procedure…”
[A Masters degree does not enable you to do this, apparently].

“Do you have any prove of what happened?”
- Well, I was on the phone with my husband when he was carjacked…”
“So, you don’t have any prove of it… At what time did this happen?”
- At 9:20 pm
“And what was your husband doing alone, at night, on the streets? Haven’t you asked yourself about that?”
[It is not enough to be the victim of a crime— you have to be ready to be questioned about everything else].

And my favorite one:
“Name?”
“Religion?”
[I am sure the car was stolen because we are a mixed couple of Buddhist/atheist].

the marshmallow hallucination is over...

At least for me. Washington DC continues to be under snow attacks, and I had to buy my way out through another airport and with another airline. But I made it just in time, because more snow is expected.

I have been in colder places before--like the time I visited Nick, in Madison, and it was 26 below cero (Celsius). But I had never seen this much snow. Look at the picture!--the unidentifiable object in the forefront is actually a car!

My next trip promises to be very different: summer in Cape Town.

White marshmallow post-apocalyptic hallucination

…That is what the chicken called the snow-siege of Washington DC. I am in a “white marshmallow post-apocalyptic hallucination” state of mind, certainly. It is f*** cold, and as much as I would like to enjoy it, it is beyond me.

Dogs are enjoying it, though. They are running, dashing through the snow, jumping like deer, barking at each other, at the snow, and absolutely loving it. And they don’t even seem to feel the cold.

Meanwhile, I am trying to be patient, on the phone with someone incapable of actually solving any problem— a Delta agent. This is the third time in a row that I was rescheduled on a flight that was then to be cancelled. Flights are leaving from Dulles, but none from National. My partners in crime have already left. But I am trapped in the capital of the Free World! F***!

So what better opportunity than this one to do something new? How about an attempt to keep my friends updated on all the little stories, visions and hallucinations encountered around the world?

Let’s give it a try.