Incredible Travelers: Katherine Dunham

Katherine Dunham was not only a traveler, but also a dancer, a choreographer, an anthropologist, and a groundbreaker. Most people know her name from the Katherine Dunham Dance Company, the first African American modern dance company whose impressive alumni include Alvin Ailey and Eartha Kitt. Dunham was obsessed with dance from an early age, but didn't have the opportunity to study professionally until she went to University of Chicago in the 1930s, where she combined her love for dance with her love of anthropology.

Dunham was fascinated by the origins of popular dances at the time (like the Lindy hop and the cake-walk) and how they evolved into their modern variations. In 1936 she was awarded a Rosenwald Travel Fellowship, and after graduating she travelled throughout the Caribbean to study creole syncretism and how both African and European elements created the specific culture of each island. She visited Jamaica, Martinique, Trinidad and Tobago, and ended up in Haiti.

It was in Haiti that Dunham felt most at home, and she returned there many times throughout her life. She studied Vodoun and its rituals, and eventually became a priestess of the religion.

Back in the U.S. she was considered a founder of Dance Anthropology. And if you think she may have been bored between her Haitian trips, think again. She kept busy dancing, choreographing, writing, and teaching, influencing dance from Broadway to Hollywood.

Katherine Dunham traveled to six continents and 57 countries, and lived to the ripe old age of 96. She also remained actively involved in both dance and Haitian politics her entire life. In 1992, at age 82, she went on a 47 day hunger strike in protest of the U.S. foreign policy of forced repatriation towards Haitian refugees.

Now that is a lady to admire.

The World in a Hue: Yellow

France

Egypt

USA

Italy

Yemen

Images via here, here, here, here and here.

Mysore, India

Every time I think I have my need-to-visit destination list in its proper order of importance, some article or book enlightens me on a new place which then rockets to the top of said list. Each of the journeys in The Scent Trail (to be reviewed later) is lovingly described in a way that makes me want to book a ticket immediately, but the one that particularly stands out is Mysore in India. So of course I looked it up to learn more about it.

The city is named after Mahishasura, a demon who was killed by the Hindu goddess Chamundeshwari. Every year her victory is celebrated during Dasara, a ten-day festival that I certainly wouldn't mind attending.

Mysore is called "City of Palaces" for obvious reasons. The architecture is beyond gorgeous. It is also known as a wonderful place to get essential oils and perfumes, such as patchouli, jasmine, sandalwood, and vetivert.

Pretty amazing, right? Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go reorganize my destination list . . .

Images via here, here, here and here.

Travel through Dance: The Argentina Tango

The Tango - essence of Buenos Aires. If ever there was a dance that described a place, it is this. UNESCO even declared it an instance of "intangible cultural heritage."

The Tango grew out of the crowded and diverse lower class streets of Buenos Aires in the late 19th century. It was influenced by the African rhythms of the milonga and candombe, and Italian, Spanish, and French immigrants. This mixed parentage made the tango a melting pot that everyone could enjoy. Soon it had even leapt class barriers, showing up in El Teatro Opera as well as immigrant haunts.

It was the Parisians, the perpetual trend-setters, that made the Tango internationally popular in the early nineteen hundreds. Today we have the American Tango, the Ballroom Tango, even the Finnish Tango. But there is something especially special about the original -- the Argentine Tango.

There is something about the emotion and control of this dance that make it particularly arresting. I would love to learn how to tango, but until I do, there is always youtube.

Dreams of Trespass

Have you ever read a book that gripped you so completely that you not only revisited it many more times, but begin to view it as a friend? I was thirteen when I stumbled across Fatima Mernissi's Dreams of Trespass in the biography section of my local library, and it instantly became a favorite that I checked out many more times before caving and actually buying it a few years later.

Dreams of Trespass is Mernissi's memoir of her childhood in Fez, Morocco around the second World War. Funny, fascinating, and extremely informative, she describes her family harem as both a prison and a refuge, and compares it to her grandparents' lives up in the mountains.

As a child, Mernissi is sent to school to learn hudud, the sacred frontiers. But soon she, and we as her readers, begin seeing frontiers everywhere. She is a child looking at an adults' world, a female looking at a men's world, and a Moroccan looking at a European world. Yet her description of it all is done in a delightfully adroit manner and in a child's voice. Her take on Germans:

The Allemane (Germans) were Christians, that was for sure. They lived in the North like all the others, in what we call Blad Teldj, or the Snowland . . . To warm themselves up, they had to drink wine and other strong beverages, and then they goat aggressive and started looking for trouble.

And the English:

Cousin Zin, who had visited England, said the tea up there was so bitter, they mixed it with milk. So Samir and I poured milk into our mint tea once, just to give it a try, and it was ugh! awful! No wonder the Christians were always miserable and looking for fights.

This was the book that inspired me to read as much as a I could about Morocco, with the knowledge that one day, I would go. And when I finally did, I wondered about hudud, and how they had changed since Mernissi was a girl.

All images via here.

St. Patrick's Day

Cast your mind on other days

That we in coming days

May still be the indomitable Irishry

~ W.B. Yeats

A few years ago I met an Irish man in Poland who asked if I was Irish-American. "Because," he said, "I have yet to meet an American who isn't." It's true that Americans with Irish blood are inordinately proud of it, and those without . . . sort of wish they were. Today St. Patrick's Day parades and festivals across the USA rival those in any other country, including Ireland!

I know that I was entranced by Ireland's history and culture from a very young age. When my fourth grade classmates listened to Mariah Carey, I was busy with the Chieftains. I found an excuse to write a paper on Ireland nearly every year throughout high school and college, whether it was on the famine, the Book of Kells, or Seamus Heaney's poetry. And then there was that time when I was twelve and tried to speak in an Irish brogue for about a week. (Hint: it's a great way to alienate family and friends!)

But St. Patrick's Day is more than just about Irish pride and downing as much Guinness as humanly possible; the fifth century in Ireland was witness to something rare in history: mass conversion without bloodshed. Patrick gathered his followers by incorporating their beliefs into his own. 

Religious intolerance seems to be at a peak lately all over the world, and I find hope in St. Patrick's work, that one religion can work with another without violence. So I ask readers to take a moment to wish that religious leaders globally spread messages of cooperation and peace. Now go get that Guinness. 

The World in a Hue: Blue

Morocco

Serbia

Finland

Chile

Italy

all images here

Prayers for Japan

Oh, the foot-drawn trail
Of the mountain-pheasant's tail
Drooped like down-curved branch!
Through this long, long-dragging night
Must I lie in bed alone?

~ Kakinomoto No Hitomaru

The natural, and now nuclear, disaster in Japan is tragic to follow. Devastation of this magnitude leaves us with questions: How will the survivors recover? How will Japan as a country recover?

Perhaps the best part of globalization is how quickly both knowledge and relief can travel. Clotilde over at Chocolate and Zucchini has some wonderful tips on how to help. Through aid and expressions of sympathy and compassion, it is vital to let the people affected by this tragedy know that they are not alone.

Sakura and Hanami: Festival of Spring

Nothing says spring quite like a blooming cherry tree. The delicate color, sweet scent, and over-all abundance of these flowers are beloved anywhere they bloom, but especially in Japan. Here their ephemeral beauty both embodies and symbolizes mono no aware, a term which refers to a wistful awareness of the transience of things. The cherry blossom (called sakura) is used as a motif in textiles and household goods, in folk and pop songs, and even in anime!

Image via here

Every year there is a natural watch and forecast of the cherry trees blooming. Then there are festivals called Hanami, where families and friends picnic under the trees. Apparently, the custom of Hanami dates back to the third century AD! I love this idea of looking forward to and appreciating such a short and seasonal beauty. 

Image via here

Luckily, there are cherry blossom festivals all across the U.S. as well. And even if there isn't, there is nothing stopping you from finding a blooming tree in a park to picnic under. To give your picnic Japanese flavor, bring miso soup in a thermos and these rice balls. Don't forget the sake!

Image via here

That Summer in Sicily

To continue Monday's imaginary jaunt to southern Italy (and in complete defiance of the snow outside my window), I'm deciding to move on to the isle of Sicily. The name usually conjures up images of mafiosi, and while their prevalence and history is definitely one facet of the fascinating region, it certainly isn't the only one.

 Images via here and here.

 Marlena de Blasi is the author of A Thousand Days in Venice and A Thousand Days in Tuscany, neither of which I've read. They are now on my list, however, after enjoying That Summer in Sicily, a beautiful account of how the author and her husband stumble upon a mysterious villa, and learn of the love story of its patroness.

De Blasi's writing is sensual and earthy, and she describes things in intricate detail. For instance, read how she illustrates her hostess as she prepares a drink.

From her high-backed white iron chair with the red velvet cushion, she tugs at the less regal one next to her and beckons me to sit. I do. An assent. Into a thin, tall glass she pours out a cloudy stream of almond milk from a small pitcher, adds water from another pitcher, unscrews what looks like a medicine bottle, and with a dropper, doses the whitish mixture with a few drops of neroli. Essance of orange blossoms. She stirs the drink with a long spoon, stirs it ferociously, removes the spoon, and lays it, bowl down, upon the table. A high priestess in full ceremony, her movements seem liturgical.

A recipe I may have to try myself . . .

Travel Through Dance: The Tarentella in Caulonia

Dance and music allow travelers to simultaneously experience the uniqueness of a place while emphasizing the basic human need for rhythm and movement. Can you really claim to have experienced a place's culture and people without having moved with them?


There are so many locations in the world that have their own variants of song and dance. In southern Italy, it is the Tarentella.

Image via here

Although the image above is rather picturesque, the Tarantella has a grim past. It gets its name from the tarantula (which, in turn, is named after the region of Taranto) and has more than one story of its origins. The first is that the bite of a tarantula drives its victim to manic dancing, perhaps an explanation of the dance madness that swept across Europe in the Middle Ages. Another version is that when a person was bitten, he or she would frantically dance for hours to prevent the poison from leading to death.

A slightly gruesome and completely fascinating history still leaves its mark today. The Tarantella can be danced solo as a type of healing process and is used in therapy for depression and other ailments. It can also be danced for fun as a couple or group, simulating sword fights or courtship.


Both the music and the dance is still a part of the culture today, as evidenced by this talented group of ragazzi!

The Tarantella Festival takes place in Caulonia (or Kaulonia) in late August every year, and attracts thousands of visitors and Tarentella enthusiasts. Caulonia is a rocky municipality in southern Italy with beautiful cliff vistas, narrow twisting streets and greek ruins. 

Image via here

Exploring southern Italy is definitely on my trip wish list, but I would definitely like to visit Caulonia in time for this festival!

Une Bibliothèque Parisienne

Here are the books I promised you! Of course, these barely scratch the surface of the wealth of texts written on one of the most beloved cities in the world, but they give a good introduction. They are perfect it you are either preparing for a trip to Paris, or if you just wish to transport yourself there without the cost of plane ticket.

Here

As an English major, I have a confession to make: I really don't like Hemingway. I was bored while reading The Sun Also Rises, impatient with A Farewell to Arms, and simply irritated by The Old Man and the Sea. That being said, this is the one exception. Oddly, A Moveable Feast is one of my favorite books about Paris. It chronicles Hemingway and his wife living in the City of Light during the roaring twenties. Not only does it beautifully illustrate the vitality of Paris during this inter-war period, but it also reads like celebrity gossip; James Joyce, Ezra Pound, Gertrude Stein and especially F. Scott Fitzgerald all make appearances!

Here

This collection of three of Colette's stories, including Gigi, Julie de Carneilhan and Chance Acquaintences, may hold a lot of cynicism and discontent, but Colette was a master of wry humor and tangible details. You feel as if you are in the Parisian apartment with Gigi and her grandmother, or in that of Madame de Carneilhan and her husband. I find the author herself rather fascinating. She was determined to earn a living by the pen, and afford the small luxuries to which she had become accustomed to after a brief and tumultuous marriage. Obviously, she succeeded on all accounts.

Here

This was my most essential guide on my last trip to Paris! Clotilde Dusoulier, of Chocolate and Zucchini fame, gives us an amazing array of restaurants to fit all budgets in Clotilde's Edible Adventures in Paris. Even more exciting for anyone with access to a kitchen, she includes markets, boulangeries, fromageries, pâtisseries and épiceries. Thanks to her I found Du Pain et des Idées -- a bakery where the beauty of the Art Nouveau ceiling somehow perfectly complements their delicious apple tarts, a cheap yet incredible falafel stand near Notre Dame, and a fromagerie that carries only goat cheese.

Here

Joanne Harris's The Lollipop Shoes is the sequel to Chocolat, and just as the first novel glamours readers into thinking that they too, are in a tiny Provence town, this later story carries you away to Montmartre. The U.S. title is actually The Girl with No Shadow, but I prefer this title and cover. In any case, it's a wonderful story of second chances, suspense, mysterious gifts and, naturally, chocolate. And all of it takes place on the modern, yet timeless, cobbled streets of the 18th arrondissent.

Here

This is a collection of Janet Flanner's "Letters from Paris" for the New Yorker, written between 1925 and 1939. I definitely recommend reading Paris was Yesterday along with A Moveable Feast, as she mentions many of the same people as Hemingway, and a lot more besides. From Josephine Baker to Charles Lindbergh, Marlene Dietrich to Jean Cocteau, fancy dress balls and Shakespeare & Co. to the declaration and preparation of war, Flanner pulls back the curtains to reveal a golden age in Paris, especially for American expatriates. 

Not enough? Try checking out your local bookstore's travel writing section -- there are usually about a dozen modern memoirs of life in Paris at any given time.

Looking for something more historical? Try any of these!

Paris, Je T'aime

Good Americans, when they die, go to Paris.

~ Thomas Gold Appleton

In my experience, cities fall into three categories for travelers: those that feel like home, with all their beauties and faults (for me, Philadelphia and Prague); those that are perfect for visits (Rome, London, Boston); and then there are those cities that are inexplicably and simply magic, and that speak to your soul.

Paris falls into that last category. It sounds clichéd, I know. And in fact the first time I visited I wasn't expecting much. It's not that I wasn't excited, but I had read so many books taking place in (usually historical) Paris, and had seen so many movies, that I felt it had been played out. There was no way a city could live up to the excitement of Hugo and Dumas, or the feel-good beauty of An American in Paris, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, and Funny Face.


In fact, I knew a few people who had already been disappointed by Paris. There was even a psychological disorder based on the phenomenon. I prepared myself for a destination that aimed to please tourists, like the France in Disney's Epcot, but with the addition of the infamous Parisian rudeness that I had heard so much about.

What I found instead was a city that held onto its history with such pride and fervor that it seems as if the last three hundred years happened all last week. At the same time, Parisians look unflinchingly into the future. It is an intoxicating mix, and it didn't hurt that that first time I visited was one of those sparkling fall weekends that would have made anywhere in the world seem enchanted. I lucked out the second time as well, arriving just after April showers for a week of warm sunshine and blooming flowers. 


The real test came this past December, when I spent a week alone in a Paris that was constantly bombarded with hellish mixes of precipitation: snow, rain and sleet created dirty/icy puddles, ferocious Christmas shoppers and cold grumpy commuters on the metro. But for me, the city transcended its weather blues.


Of course, all my time there combined still makes for a very limited experience, but I have yet to be disappointed by this town. It engages on every level - philosophically, historically, gastronomically; plus, you can revel staying here in bohemian poverty or all-out glamourous luxury (I haven't had a chance to try that second option yet, but hopefully someday).


Check back in for a Parisian reading list!

Philadelphia: where the heart is

I'd like to see Paris before I die. Philadelphia will do.

~ Mae West

Sometimes it is easier for travelers to daydream of future trips and reminisce about past ones than to appreciate where they are at the moment. I fall into that trap way too often, so today I am looking at Philadelphia, my home city, as a new destination.

I've lived in Philly for two years now, and most of my childhood was spent right across the bridge in South Jersey, so I can say with conviction that this city is completely unique. It has it all: small town sensibility? Check! Amazing historical sites? Check! Fantastic underground arts, theatre and food scene? Check! The meanest sports fans in the world and regular fights between cops and civilians? Yet another check!

It's a gritty town, no one would argue that, and it's possible that through the decades it has lost some of it's The Philadelphia Story glamor. But I think that the rough edges and lack of pretense is what makes the city so charming. Just don't insult the  Phillies in a public place if you prefer your eyes un-blackened.

Philadelphia has it's share of oddities too, and I don't just mean the guy who is constantly biking around South Street in a viking helmet. The Philadelphia Library owns Grip, a raven who was pet to one writer (Charles Dickens) and inspiration to another (Edgar Allen Poe). Preserved in arsenic, Grip's days of rapping at people's doors are through, but he is kept in a glass case to be viewed in the rare books and antiquities section.

More Philly sites and tidbits to come . . .

Photos from weheartit.

Welcome to Journey Proud

The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page.

~ St. Augustine

When I was a little girl, I could never sleep before a trip. I'd toss and turn, surreptitiously turn on the light to quietly read and play with my toys, and was, simply, restless. When I explained this sad condition to my grandmother, she told me I was journey proud, a wonderful southern expression that you can read the full etymology of here.

One of the things I love about the English language is how past meanings of words and phrases can enrich present ones, and vice versa. Although the original meaning of "journey proud" meant the inability to eat or sleep before traveling, due to excitement or nervousness, I also interpret it as the sense of contentment while traveling, or while reminiscing of past journeys.

As I find myself newly unemployed in a harsh economy, my first instinct, as always, is to up and leave -- possibly to Europe or North Africa. But I decided to be practical (which never comes easily to me) and rethink my situation.

And thus, this blog. A documentation of past, present and, hopefully, future travel, the imaginative preparation, and the inspired aftermath through recipes, history, personal stories, and maybe even a bit of philosophy. I want to share the places that have so captivated me, and possibly, in the process, prevent myself from spending every last penny I have on a one-way plane ticket.