Trekkie's Top 10 Scenorific Films

These are the films that make people run out and impulse-buy airline tickets.  They may or may not have substance, decent dialogue or good acting, but damn if I can't watch them over and over because the scenery steals the show.  All were shot on location and the locations needed no makeup!  Here we go:

1. Laurence of Arabia

Been there, seen that, Jordan is a desert-lover's paradise!  It's a gorgeous country and often not thought of at all.  Though with all the uncertainty in the Middle East, it's one of the only safe countries to visit these days.  Head down to Wadi Rum for those unforgettable canyon views  :)

2. The Beach

You can have Leo, I'll be hanging out with that ocean, thank you!  

3. Out of Africa

Always stunning, good story - that really plays up the beauty of the land, as does the music.

4. Hideous Kinky

Underrated Kate Winslet character piece, this is the true-ish story of a young mom who drags her 2 young kids out of tenement London and off to Morocco.  Filmed in and around the pretty parts Marrakesh, I felt like I was transported back there - only things missing were the piles of garbage on the street corners.   Anyway, after watching the movie, you can see why the place was such a Mecca on the hippy trail.  Oh, and the KW role is Sigmund Freud's granddaughter.

5. 6 Days & 7 Nights

Ok, this is just gratuitous beach-front eye candy, plain & simple.  And that was probably the only reason it was even released.  If Polynesia makes ya drool, this one's for you!

6. The Sheltering Sky

A Paul Bowles gem directed by Bertolucci, this is another Morocco showpiece.  Only this one ranges all over Morocco and is about a husband and wife who go through it and run away together in their own dark way of trying to salvage their marriage.   The travel eye candy al-most steals the show, but the actors/sets/direction gives it a run for its money.  Really a must-see.

7. Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil

Gratuitous Savannah Georgia book and film.  See the movie first, then definitely follow with the book.  Then go there!  Town & surroundings are full of pretty things to see, and make sure to get yourself invited to a house party.  Or just crash one and make new friends. 

8. Under the Tuscan Sun

Yet another sappy female drama - really shows how life can tear ya down but then you can get right back up and grab life by the ghoulies.   Most people can't run off to a character-fabulous Tuscan villa to renovate when this happens, but ain't that the magic of Hollywood?  *le sigh!*

9.  Pride & Prejudice (the Joe Wright version)

Most people, whether they admit it or not, are suckers big old houses and beautiful countysides, and this film delivers in abundance.  Big plus is that the costumes and sets reflects the grit under the nails of people who really lived in that time, even the well-off.  Unless, of course, you were super super well-off.

10.  Waiting to be discovered!

CNM at last ~ Part I: the Background

I am on a journey, as is everyone, and like most people do, at points on this journey I find myself at the edge of a cliff looking into the valley below.  Marveling at how far I've come (and through what obstacles), and thinking "after I take the next step, I will never be the same person again."  It seems all the more of a big step because I like and really get along with the person I am now, and have worked hard to become that person.  It wasn't always so.  But here I am, none the less: to live is to go forward, and so, knowing this next leg of the trip will change me in ways I can't even imagine, I continue. 

When I was very small, my mom realized that my body reacted badly with the traditional American diet - white bread with peanut butter and jelly, chips and a glass of milk - would make me quite ill (this was around 1980 when the above described was a standard lunch for kiddos)!   So she took me to a naturopath who took blood tests and recommended that she completely change my food.  From that day forward, I could eat fish and chicken (no red meats or pork), beans and legumes, fruit and vegetables (but no iceberg lettuce), yogurt and butter (but strictly no other dairy), honey (but absolutely no sugar or other sweeteners), and only wholemeal baked goods (absolutely no white flour), fruit juice diluted with water so it wasn't as sweet (no sodas), and no mayonnaise, ketchup or mustard.  Except for very special occasions, this was my diet from the age of about 5 until I was maybe 12 or 13 and started to fend for myself.  To say it was difficult to follow would be a drastic understatement; I was constantly begging for other kids' lunches "are you gonna eat that?"  and at school-mate's birthday parties, mom would bake special, non sugary cake and homemade frozen yogurt. 

This shaped me in my early years, as I longed for what was forbidden and felt different and separate from other kids, as well as a little humiliated for begging, sneaking and foraging for scraps.  That feeling didn't really start to change until I was in high school, and especially when I got out on my own. 

It didn't take long in my adult life to realize that this naturopath had been right about a number of things.  When I took myself completely off sugar - I mean right down to reading labels- I became less restless and more composed.  When I took myself off dairy, I got fewer colds and my complexion glowed!  The most drastic change was when I took myself off wheat ~ my focus on my studies *really* improved and an unexpected side effect occurred: the osteoarthritis that had been bothering me for years completely disappeared.  Gone.  No more hurt.  No more ache.  So I did what most people would do and ran to my doctor with these results.  He promptly told me that there was no research to prove that not eating wheat would improve (let alone get rid of) the pain of osteoarthritis, and that my miraculous recovery was psychosomatic. 

How could it have been all in my mind when I'd had no idea that this would occur?

The more independent study I do into how diet affects the body, the more I find just how capable the body is of healing itself from long term degenerative afflictions.  Without drugs.  Without medical intervention.  Sometimes without surgery.  I'm not saying that throwing away meds is right for everyone all the time, for example if there is an emergency life-threatening situation, you definitely want the drugs that can fix it, fast.  But I see case after case of people making changes to diets and supplementation and curing CANCER, and reversing type II diabetes, and no longer needing meds for depression and schizophrenia, the list goes on. 

Many people would read what I have written above and come back at me with: if this was so miraculous, and so easily done, our doctors would know about it.  Well, not necessarily.  Mainstream medical school teaches a lot about different conditions, and drugs with which to treat them, but they don't teach the delicacies of nutrition. (Pun totally intended!)  This is why doctors know how to prescribe medication, but not food.  Also, let's just face it, making drastic changes to the diet can be VERY difficult to follow.  Lots of people find that dedication and determination inside of them, but many people don't.  It's hard to eat a certain way, for let's say 40 years, and then to give up wheat, dairy and sugar (and if you don't think sugar is a drug - that will cause withdrawals - just try to take yourself completely off of it for one week!) 

It's now been more than 10 years that I've been paying attention to how diet can correct many of the ills we suffer, and finally time to prepare for my own practice.  Helping people to help themselves has always been a top priority, because everyone has a strength inside of them that they don't even realize.  Think about it ~ we all deal with stress and pain and growth and disaster many many times in our lives, as our ancestors have throughout history; we are survivors.  We are capable of so much more than we give ourselves credit for.  My goal is to help people unlock the realization that they can begin to tap into that potential when it is needed and create better, healthier lives for themselves, their children and their legacies. 

Treat Yourself Sunday Brekkie!

Always on the lookout for new healthy recipes, today I gave this one a go for brunch:

Luscious Coconut Buckwheat Pancakes  (Gluten-free, dairy-free, & heart-healthy)

(Makes about six 8-9 inch pancakes)

1 cup of buckwheat flour

1/4 tsp. baking soda

2/3tsp. baking powder

pinch of sea salt

1 tablespoon maple syrup

1 1/4 cup of coconut milk

1 tablespoon of raw, organic coconut oil, plus more for cooking

1 egg

In a bowl, sift together the buckwheat flour, baking soda, powder and salt.  Then crack the egg open, holding over a bowl. Toss the egg yolk between the two shell halves, and let the white fall in to the bowl.  Melt the coconut oil in a small pan, allow to cool only slightly before stirring it into egg yolk, maple syrup and the coconut milk, whisk to combine the liquids.

Pour the liquid mix in to the dry ingredients.  Use a large spoon to thoroughly combine all ingredients. Add more coconut milk if the mixture seems too thick.  You want it to flow relatively slowly, but easily from a spoon.

Use an electric hand whisk to whisk up the egg white until it is just set and relatively solid.  Gently fold this egg white in to the pancake mix until just combined.  If you mix too much here then you will loose the fluffiness of the pancakes.

Heat up your pan, and use a small teaspoon of coconut oil over the cooking surface.  When the pan is hot, pour in about 1/3-1/2 cup of batter.  Cook this over medium heat until holes form in the top of the pancake, and the top looks almost set.  Flip the pancake, and cook on this side for 15-30 seconds longer.  Remove to a warm platter, and keep warm in the oven.

Repeat with remaining mix.

Top with banana slices, shredded coconut, and either maple syrup, or even drizzle some coconut butter over the top. 

Bon Sunday Morning!

Letter to You

Greetings, Fair Sun-Junkies!

First of all, please accept my humble apologies for sorely neglecting my blog for these past couple of months.  By way of an excuse, I can only offer that (being a dedicated Sun Junkie) I was out enjoying the uncharacteristically good summer weather in the North West of England.  Rest assured that there are many tales of adventure and just plain audacity to be told (for example, of the time that we slept in a cow field and your humble author almost had her hand bitten off by livestock!)  But those are for future entries.   Suffice it to say that I hope you all had as great a time, and if you had any close shaves, feel free to post about them and try to outdo me! 

As we come further into autumn, I'm preparing for my course in Naturopathic Medicine at CNM.  This will be a 4-year oddysey, in which I will learn much and emerge a licensed practitioner of drugless medicine.  This is an area which is has been largely explored, yet the benefits largely ignored by modern medicine.  During the years to come, I shall likely write much about what we are taught, and encourage all questions and challenges you may wish to pose before me, should you wish to throw down the gauntlet.  Your feedback will be an asset to everyone.

In the meantime, let me bid you a most fond adieu, with the promise that photos of the newly revamped Chez Nous will be online soon, as there have been recent improvements to the Vatican-inspired paint job of last July.

When Nobody's Looking Does Papa Francesco Eat Chicken With his Fingers?

Take inspiration however and whenever it comes to you.  Unless it strikes at a completely inappropriate time, such as when you're driving to work at top speed with one hand grabbing for the triple non-fat latte, and then simply tell it 'can't you see I'm a little busy right at this moment?  Please come back when I can give you the undivided attention you so deserve.'   But I digress, being in Italy was pure, unadulterated inspiration; all systems go, all of the time.  We were so busy seeing and doing and experiencing food and history and art and culture and more food and language and beaches etcetera ad nauseum, that I really felt the imbalance of not having the time to process it all.  And this important bit of digestion has been postponed until now, when it becomes transcribed into the blogosphere for you, dear reader. 

One of the places that has stayed with me the most, possibly since it was the last thing we did in Italia, was the Vatican; the Vatican Museum, the Sistine Chapel and St. Peter's Basilica, in that order.  There is much more to do than we did, and people can easily spend longer in the smallest nation on earth than our mere 5 hours, but doing the basics left such an impression on me that I don't feel like it wasn't enough.  The thing that struck me most about the Vatican was its deep, rich colors.  Perhaps that seems like a strange thing to leave the strongest mark, but there was art everywhere - in every corner of every room of every place we went, and it was opulent to excess without going over the top.  I wouldn't be able to remember all the scenes in all the paintings we saw even if I wanted to, but what I do remember (especially where Raphael is concerned) are the vivid colors that made everything so stunningly beautiful. 

It was the depth and sensuality of the blues and golds and greens and reds that really brought home to me the indescribable wealth possessed by the Vatican.  Not simply wealth in financial terms, because there's no way anyone could put a price tag on the place, but as a repository of human history and thought and (many would argue) spiritual, or at least religious development.  These things are beyond measure.  They are the progression of ideas and actions that we humans, here today, are made of, and who would want to measure that?  What better to do than marvel at how overwhelming this all is.  And another thing that made me feel humble was how freakin' HUGE the place is, even by today's McMansion standards.  The fact that it exists in Europe, which is sometimes known for the compactness of its streets and houses, and that these enormous buildings were built back in the day when giant men were 6 feet tall, is just another tick on the list called 'remarkable.' 

When I was little, my mom gave me a button that said "Official Rainbow Creator," because I was constantly drawing rainbows.  I hadn't though of that in years until I visited this place where a bunch of Renaissance someones had finally outdone me!  It made me realize how far away I've gotten from the little kid who used to marvel at the simple beauty of natural prisms, and upon arriving back in Manchester, I decided that something must be done to remedy this.  Subsequently, our living room is brilliant gold, the bedroom is now mint greeen, and further projects include Mediterranean blue in the spare room, followed by a southern whoop-ass red kitchen.  The project is half-done, so you can expect photos to follow in the next couple of weeks.  But back to the Papal stomping grounds.

The only place in which we didn't have a formal tour was St. Peter's Basilica, and I wish we had been able to get one, but that leaves something to look forward to the next time we're in town.  The cathedral is a bit like Westminster in that there are so many different chapels and tombs and things to see, and symbolism everywhere you look.  Let us not forget that throughout the centuries, Catholicism has been highly political and not everyone in the Vatican always agreed with each other.  But popes always did each leave their mark in different ways, mostly trying to outdo each other, and one of the marks that stood out for me was the tomb of Pope Alexander VII, known in HBO infamy as Borgia.

In the end death does come for us all, but maybe you can stall him by having a couple of maidens pull a blanket over his eyes as he comes charging past you, furiously waving an hourglass above his skull.   Or if that seems too daunting a task, simply ensure your entry into heaven by completing and sending in your

which I have attached a link to here for your convenience.  Fino a domani ...

Espresso is the Blood of Rome...

...which makes sense when you see the way Italians drive.  The unwritten rule is to tailgate the car in front of you, while driving 130 (kilometers per hour) until you can get around this person, and in heavy traffic that can take 5 minutes.  If it does take longer than 2 seconds to get around the slow-poke, simply lay on the horn until they speed up (so you can keep tailgating them) or until they pull completely off the road to let you pass.  PJ and I couldn't shake the habit of driving with a respectable distance between us and the car ahead, which everyone around us saw as an opportunity.  During the whole 2 weeks, it became just usual to see this kinda stuff, or to witness fender benders or to see large buses full of people turn left at an intersection mere inches away from said motorists tailgating each other at 80mph, with dozens of scooters whizzing past at the same time.  And Italians are so nonchalant about this as if to say 'nyah, let's go open a bottle of something.'  Watching incessant road rage was better than Tivo.

Pre-Espresso

 I'm convinced that the culprit here is espresso.  On one hand, it does perk you up several times a day, and in a city as naturally languid as Rome, it gets things done.  But maybe drinking espresso and driving should be treated more like drinking alcohol and driving.  Except that people there tend to not care so much about that, either.  It must be a vicious cycle; an espresso in the morning to wake you up for work, by the time you get in the car, you're ready for the next caffeine injection and drive like a freak to get to your destination to remedy this problem.  Or else, you're just still buzzing and people can't go fast enough to keep up with you.

Post-espresso

Another thing that's fun about Italy is the constant flux between ambivalence, melodrama, and petty officialdom.  The everyday Roman or Rowoman really doesn't care about their job, because they not are there to do a job for you.  You are there to provide work for them, and the sooner you get your brain around that, the smoother things go.  An example, PJ and I have a 10-hour layover in Rome between flights from Palermo and to Manchester, so we decide to go visit the Vatican, which we had missed the first time around (this may sound unbelievable, but I'll explain later).  We go to the counter for luggage storage, and the guy checking in the bags doesn't say a work, just gives us this stare for like 5 seconds as if to say "You again? I've seen 16 travelers just. like. you. in the past half our.  Well, whatever, here's your ticket."

Our Poor Baggage Clerk

Then there's melodrama, which will probably come as no surprise to anyone.  PJ and I always had one eye on the street waiting for those tremendous 'Boppity BOOPIE!' moments.  One of the best was in Syracuse when we saw a tailgater in a BMW slam into the Fiat ahead of him.  Fix It Again Tomorrow.  Anyway, the fiat and the shiny B-mer pull over on a side street, so PJ and I promptly follow them just to watch the show.  By the time we got to where they'd parked, a young man with curly hair and posh sunglasses was out of the BMW talking with the 50-something man, whom he's hit in the Fiat.  As we walked (nonchalantly) toward them, voices were already escalating and speech was becoming more and more rapid.  Both of them were talking almost on top of each other and Posh Sunglasses had his hands together as if praying, as if pleading with the older man who had taken his wrists and was bringing forth Judgement Day.  It was so funny PJ and I were now no longer trying to be inconspicuous, and laughing out loud as we walked past Fifty-Something and Posh Sunglasses,  who were by this point so engrossed that they didn't even notice us.

Market in Syracuse

I think that Italians get up every morning, and at some point before they greet the day they must practice their best Mussolini in the mirror, just to get it right.  Just in case someone breaks the rules.    On our last day in Palermo, we took a city bus out to the beach in Mondello.  We had figured out that you buy bus tickets from newspaper kiosks dotting the town.  What we didn't quite catch onto was that the tickets must be validated by a machine on the bus, which prints the date and time, thus preventing people from trying to use the same ticket on multiple trips.  So, lucky us, the ticket inspectors hop on our bus, and they walk down the aisle inspecting tickets until they get to the back of the bus where we are.  Not worrying about a thing, we hand over our tickets.  Now, the ticket inspectors speak zero English, and my Italian is halting at best.  Still, we are obvious tourists, complete with camera and maps, which doesn't exactly scream bus ticket scammer.  They proceed to tell us that, for not validating our tickets, we must pay a 110 euro fine right then and there.  Must. must. must.  Luckily, we have no ID on us and only about 40 euros.  The older man keeps repeating himself, because, ya know, if he says this enough times, we'll eventually give and produce the cash.  The younger officer is getting annoyed with my pigeon language skills and is threatening arrest.   To which we finally say 'OK, arrest us.'  At least I think that's what I said.  The rest of the bus ride to the beach was in stoney silence, with our captors hovering over us like hawks.  We finally get off in Mondello, the beautiful sand, palm trees and blue water staring us down from across the street, and it's a waiting game to see how long these guys will play.  We don't have the cash they're asking for (and they won't be bribed to just go away), we have no ID, we don't really speak Italian, and it would be a challenge to find someone who speaks enough English to really communicate, so if they take us in over an obvious misunderstanding, it'd be a complete waste of time.  The nicer inspector keeps on repeating that 'no, no, we must pay 110, not 40,' while the younger is now just standing around the bushes shaking his head.  After about 10 or 15 minutes they finally tell us just to beat it.  Which we gratefully do.   Lesson learned: woe betide those who do not obey every letter of the law.

"No Ticket!"

Despite all the chuckles over Italianisms, one of the things that did take me by storm was the food.  Let's put it this way, Pedr and I go on holiday to Italy for 2 weeks; one of us gains weight, and one of us loses 5 pounds.  Can you guess which of us is skinnier?  Not me!  Our first meal was really nothing remarkable, we were wandering around and hungry and went for the first touristy trattoria we saw.  It was on the second night that I realized I was about to become party to an unholy love affair with Italian Food, with my husband watching us.  It was magic.  It was lust.  It was a deep, repressed hunger the likes of which I had no idea existed.  I ate as though there was no tomorrow and my heart would break if I stopped gobbling.  Personal favorites were cannolis from Maria Grammatico (in Erice), Cous Cous Trapanese from Cantina Sicilia in Trapani, sword fish steaks (from everywhere), the spaghetti carbonara at a restaurant in San Lorenzo called Pommidoro, and the coniglio from the same place.  Had a small brush with guilt about that one, as the hotel we stayed in the next night had the owner's pet rabbit hopping around the reception area, being cute as a button, and as I petted it's furry ears I hadn't the heart to tell it what I'd been dining on 24 hours earlier.

Pure Bliss

And so, this brings us to the close of another episode.  Thanks for reading & I'll post more travel scribbles soon.  x

Reminiscing V: Ancient Christianity

İstanbul is known world-wide for its gorgeous sites, which is why the historic centre was made a Unesco World Heritage site, but my jaw didn't really hit the marble floor until we walked into the Aya Sofya.   The 6th-century church, turned mosque, converted to museum, is the city’s most famous monument, and, in the words of one of my atheist friends "is as close to a spiritual experience as I'll ever get." 

The emperor Justinian built this church in 537 AD to remind people of the greatness of the Roman empire, and boy did he get it right.  Even in his day, when only the wealthy dispatched letters that could take months to reach their destination, the Aya Sofya was known far and wide as the most outstanding church in Christendom.  Then in 1453 sultan Mehmed laid siege to Constantinople, driven by desire to convert the city to Islam, and took the Aya Sofya, turning it into a mosque for the next 400 years.  In 1935, Atatürk (whose secular reforms abolished the religious government), transformed the building into a museum. The carpets were removed and the marble floor decorations such as the Omphalion appeared for the first time in centuries, and white plaster was taken off some of the walls, revealing ancient mosaics.

It's difficult to describe the sheer size of the building, as I've never before seen a religious temple of quite this scale, and inside these massive walls and domes every square inch is decorated with ornate, colorful paintings, gold, or carvings.  Surely, Justinian would have approved of the electric lighting fixtures installed in the 20th century that unassumingly hover 15 feet over the floor like clouds of light.  In his time, when being born ugly was something that couldn't be remedied by cosmetic surgery & waxing (seriously folks, google him!), at least he could make up for it by constructing a legend that continues to amaze people by its magnificent beauty.

The Aya Sofya keeps good company with the Chora Church, which stands just outside the original boundaries of Constantinople.    Like Sofya, this church was built by Justinian, converted to Islam in the 15th century, then reclaimed as a museum in the mid-20th.  However, Chora has more byzantine influence, since it was badly destroyed in a 12th-century earth quake (that somehow missed the historic centre of Istanbul, not far away) and was rebuilt and lavishly redecorated afterwards.  Today you can still see this beautiful artwork, which is something of a minor miracle considering that Islam forbids iconic images (explaining why all the mosaics in churches were covered up).  But the fact that they were only covered, rather than destroyed shows the respect that the conquering peoples had for fine craftsmanship.

 

Chora was the church in which the royalty of the day went to worship, and it is decorated in the splendor to which the royals were accustomed.  The richness of the themes and the imagery surrounds you as you walk in and I found myself swept away by the atmosphere of decadence that was so prevalent in the golden age of Byzantium.  

The saints and angels high up on the walls and ceiling must have been a constant reminder to the worshipers of the presence of the divine all around, and that people cannot hide from their choices in life.  One has to wonder if the Islamic conquerors in the 15th-century somehow took this to heart when they covered the walls and ushered in a new religion and a new way of understanding the world.