The essence of the place we travel to…

We walk on the glacier in awe. Sheets of ice beneath our feet. We feel humble before the splendor of nature.

We hear a thunderous roar. Hmm... An unsettling sound when you’re standing on ice. A glacial avalanche in the adjoining mountains. Silvery ice rocks shine as they crumble down, sparkling in the sun, a sprinkling of diamonds – fiercer, far more beautiful than any diamond.

The pristine air, imposing mountains, aquamarine waters of the Canadian Rockies inspires awe… and hordes of tourists. Lines for the gondolas are winding, we ditch a canyon hike because we can’t find parking, we wait in a loooong line for ice-cream (but wait, don’t we do that in Portland too? Hmm…).

In all fairness, it is not as busy as say, Rome or Paris, and other than Banff, we are not caught in the touristy rush. But over and over, I remember my Spaniard friend, who fiercely avoided all touristy hubs.

I remember my wonder as he tells me how he explored France and Italy, without ever hanging around in Paris or Venice or Rome, how he explored Morocco, but without Marrakech or Casablanca.

“So you never want to see the Leaning tower of Pisa?” I ask in amazement. He tells me he wants to get a feel for the place, to know it, not if it comes with tourists or cheesy souvenir stores.

I am surprised, even if I understand.

More than a decade later, I wonder why I am reminded of his travel strategy over and over again on this trip.

I wonder if it because these mountains and glaciers remind me of Himalayan treks. None of these were very difficult treks, yet, they took us away from the bustle of towns into the wilderness of the mountains.

These mountains and glaciers make me feel close to nature too – but they come with souvenir stores, selfie sticks and far more tourists - nicely dressed tourists, not unshowered, unkempt youngsters trekking.

I wonder if a plethora of tourists keeps us in a certain bubble – not allowing us to truly experience the essence of the place. We experience the place, and its wonders, but do we really get the true feel for the place?

I am no longer an off-the-beaten-path traveler. I want direct fights, easy commutes, clean, comfortable accommodation, ahem… wifi (my family mostly – for we need to catch the Canadian Pokemon, of course).

Or maybe I'm just getting old.

In these mountains, I remember other mountain treks. The Rohtang Pass summit climb - where somehow, three of us had broken off from the group. I no longer would want to break off from the group.

I no longer would make fun of my then-hypochondriac friend each time she announced shortness of breath and even more dramatically that she was dying. Well… maybe… just a little?

I would no longer find it hilarious that she and I somehow tumbled over each other and went rolling down the snowy mountain, quite close to a precipice.   

So what is it that I am finding so hard to acknowledge? That this may be my permanent reality now? That I want places with beauty and wonder and the ease and convenience – a combination that brings tons of tourists. So does that mean I must make peace with experiencing a place without truly experiencing the essence of a place?

Hmm… Might as well get that selfie stick too... sigh…

September

September is a tricky month. I have thought so for many years. Summer slips away. A new school year begins. I have another birthday. Leaves begin to turn color, slowly losing their grip on trees, drifting midair, touching the earth to a quiet burial.

It all seems connected. As I sit here and write, in a house that seems so suddenly shoved into stillness, the walls look shocked – by the lack of noise and the occasional flying ball/frisbee… I look outside at the grey skies – summer, where did you go? Another coughing spate. I make a cup of tea. I often manage to get sick around this time – which is why, I have the time to mull this over, in the first place. And no, I’m not like a friend’s kid who gets sick around her birthday – just from the excitement of it all.

The birthday adds to it - even if the getting old part doesn’t seem to bother me, I do seem to question what I have done with my time here. Did it simply slip away like the summer?

This September, I am constantly reminded of a book I read a few months ago, Ruth Ozeki’s, A Tale for the Time Being. She refers to a “time being” as

…someone who lives in time, and that means you, and me, and every one of us who is, or was, or ever will be.*
…all moments are the time being, they are your time being.*

I love the concept of a time being. I love the impermanence it offers to our existence. Why then do we make such a big deal of it? For we are only time beings. Perhaps, that is not how Ozeki intends for it to be understood. The author draws on Buddhist philosopher, Dogen’s concept of time, the flow of it, and that all beings in the world are time, and connected by it.  

…Everything in the universe was constantly changing, and nothing stays the same, and we must understand how quickly time flows by if we are to wake up and truly live our lives.*

One can hardly talk about time, without talking about it passing. Which is why I think of it every September. This summer will never come back. There will be next summer – but my kid will be a different age, a different person – as will I.

That’s what I feel like when I write, like I have this beautiful world in my head, but when I try to remember it to write it down, I change it, and I can’t ever get it back.*

Towards the end of the summer we complain that the vacation is faaaar too long, the kids need to be back in school. This week, I will attend: “The Kids Are Back In School, We Made It Through The Summer Mimosa Party”. Someone told me of how her sister and a group of friends drop the kids off, on the first day of school, and pop open a bottle of champagne, in a minivan, in the school parking lot.

For all the bickering and fighting… a parent says, “I know they’re (siblings) ready for school when the fighting begins…”

Another says, “They’ve (siblings) spent so much time, in such close proximity, they’ve formed a close bond, but can barely tolerate each other, either”.

I understand both comment. No, my kid does not have a sibling. She does however have a mother… (sigh… when there is no sibling… why does mom have to be the adult, grrr….? Not always successfully either… sigh…)

Yes. Despite it all, the joys of back to school, of the end of summer, of another birthday… are all bittersweet.

I have a pretty good memory. But memories are time beings too, like cherry blossoms or ginko leaves; for a while they are beautiful, and then they fade and die.*

Is that the source of the twinge? That something so precious, so dear, so sweet will crumble away and be forgotten? Is it this realization, the inability to hold on, the futility of trying to hold on?

Perhaps it is simply a reminder to be present.
Life is fleeting. Don’t waste a single moment of your precious life. Wake up now. And now. And now.*

(yikes, even if the above quote seems like a lot of pressure...)

Perhaps, we can all learn to be more like the grandmother in the book… even if it seems impossible…

Old Jiko is supercareful about her time. She does everything really really slowly, even when she’s just sitting on the veranda, looking out at dragonflies spinning lazily around the garden pond. She says she does everything really really slowly in order to spread time out so that she’ll have more of it and live longer…*

For the time being

Words scatter

Are they fallen leaves?*

* All italicized quotes are from Ruth Ozeki, A Tale for the Time Being.