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