SleepSoupSexTravel

The rich indelible history of Egypt has inspired travelers from all walks of life, including Me!

Hello World! I made it to Egypt and almost couldn’t leave. 

Dendara captivated me with The Temple of Hathor. Valley of the Kings & Queens, Luxor Temple & Karnak are breathtaking. Everywhere, giant statues and imposing colorful figures from a very distant time look down at you, and out at the sandy mountain landscape. 

A few long days are needed in Giza to marvel at the wonders that are The Great Pyramids & The Sphinx. These are indeed special places. Here, the energy shifts. It is palpable and inexplicable. 

Hurghada, a city next to the Red Sea with it’s cool azure beaches; is a welcomed respite from the madness of Cairo. 

Perfumes and little exotic things abound! Amid camel and dust, the spicy sweet fragrances will lure you into spending some time drinking hibiscus tea and sniffing glass jars of sticky oily delicacies, that make you feel like a queen or king once you rub them on your skin. 

God willing, or as some say in Egypt (“InshAllah”)…I will be back! 

 

 

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I found the best and the worst in me in Chiang Mai. In this region of North Thailand, I found Buddha and an abundance of diesel fuel emanating from Tuk Tuks; the local mode of transportation, akin to an overhauled riding lawn mower turned taxi. The smog permeates the air here!

Despite that; there is so much richness in the culture and warm hospitality of the Thai people, as well as the Ex-Pats that live in Chiang Mai.

The lush mountains and the winding roads amidst throngs of buyers and sellers, reminded me of a mix between Jamaica and Hawaii. You can stop at a hill-side food stand to eat freshly made hot coconut pancakes, and drink some of the best coffee EVER!. Within the same day you can shop for all things Thai while bumping shoulders with multiple people from all walks of life.

Here in Chiang Mai, I visited many Buddhist temples known as Wats; and discovered peace in my life at a time where there was none. A quiet respite from the civil war raging inside me and my home; I found in Chiang Mai.

I learned how to “Wai”, which is the formal Thai greeting (to bow with hands clasped as if praying), which shows respect.  I learned how to ask the spiritual “Why”. I resolved my necessity to figure out the “When” and accepted the that fact that I may never know either the “When” or the “Why”. I enjoyed the “Where” though! Everywhere….from Bangkok to Phuket. In Phuket, where the beaches and bays are spectacular and inviting, you can relax and enjoy some fantastic views of karsts and coves. Swim in the Andaman Sea waters to refresh your Chi.

I found out about the “mindfulness” that Buddhists practice in order to have, and keep the “right” state of mind. I turns out, I’ve been doing it wrong my entire life. I learned how to meditate, and most importantly; I found that God is ALWAYS busy.  In a different culture and a different language, and even in a different religion; I found that you can still find God. I’m sad to go because you’ve taught me a great bit. Good-bye Chiang Mai.

My mother is beautiful, Anette is beautiful, Kathy is beautiful. Life is beautiful. Children are beautiful. Time is beautiful. Grace is beautiful. She is strong and quiet and dark and intriguing and deep and pure, and young and fruitful.
Beauty is fruitful. The grace of a woman is fruitful. The fruitfulness of a woman is fruitful. The lessons given to a boy from a woman are fruitful; the lessons given to a girl from a woman are fruitful.
The richness, the boldness of a woman show her true character; her true beauty. When I die, only my true beauty will live on. Immortalized in my tribute to Anette, to Grace, to my mother. To the children I will never have.
Flying in limbo between heaven and earth. To accept the fate of unfruitful ness.
Beauty is in my culture in my mixed-ness, in my freckles, in my hair, in my breast, my curves, in my lips, in my…mind.
Beauty is Botanical Oils and Red Panax Ginseng and
Bare Minerals make-up which gives you some false sense of beauty.
Beauty is Patricia, it’s Karly, it’s Crissy – strong and over – worked and trying to accomplish fruitfulness. Or at least some idea of it. Brave, strong, free.
Some broad thought; unattainable by even the most benevolent being. How do you relate? How are you sexy? How are you intriguing? How are you nurturing? How are you a mother, a daughter, a sister, a wife, a friend, a boss!? How are you beautiful? How can you be beautiful? To struggle to be so many things. How can that make you beautiful?
A red ribbon, a pink shoe, a padded bra, a glossy lip color. A sensual sigh, an eye bat!
Who is? What is, true to you?
My mother is beautiful, Anette is beautiful, Grace is beautiful; without knowing, without will, without being anything, and everything, to someone else.
A woman IS beautiful. Flying between heaven and earth, with or without Botanical Oils, Red Panax, in Her Mixed-ness. In her culture. Sexy. Fruitful.

Mother. Daughter. Boss. Wife. Friend.
Just by the virtue of the fact that she is Woman. She is beautiful.
In her hair, her lips, her breast, in her mind…she is beautiful.
Mjl 11/22/12

I never realized what all these other women with girlfriends knew. That dating girls is empowering. You see, I never had many girlfriends growing up, or even now in adulthood. I’m not the sit around on the phone yapping all evening type. Taking a trip to the shopping mall doesn’t quite ring my bell.

I didn’t know about this unsung, I am woman – pole dancing for empowerment and exercise – not money, thing! I never realized how big and full we were as women, and I don’t mean in size or weight. Let me just get THAT out of the way in the second 5 lines of this little coup de grace. How did I not realize all along how strong and beautiful women were? I mean seriously…I AM one of them after all. How is it that I didn’t see that in ME all along?

Now I realize why guys can become strung-out. Right now I’m so into woman-ness I could very well become strung out too. I would date one, sure! Why not?! Not such a bad idea, right. Some men aren’t owning up to their man-ness anyway, so why not date a woman instead.

Here in lies the rub – I don’t particularly like vagina. I’m even afraid to stare mine in the eye sometimes, so I wouldn’t want to be frightened by someonelse’s. Women also come with a whole host of PMS inclined issues that can make them a little less than desirable as well. Now, now, before you go sputtering and cackling about how that’s not true, harken back to YOUR last monthly. How high up on the “bitch meter” were you? C’mon you know it’s true. Sometimes, I don’t even want to be around myself when I’m on my period! Period!

Therefore, I would need to perfect the art of dating girls w/o the sexual strings and the threat of the dreaded (PMS) Pre Monster-al Syndrome. Guys, the poor things, have to deal with all the wonderful PMS stuff we have to offer them; with the hope that there is some pay-off for dealing with us. Cake! They just want to eat the cake. Ok, ok, not all of them want to eat our cakes. Some of them will wash your car for you, and take you out, and give you great conversation…then, try to eat your cake. Inspite of the 28 day monster who lurks within.

I should date my sisters, that way I’d have great conversation and a good time eating, drinking and laughing, and at the end of the night I wouldn’t have to worry about my cake. Maybe I can date my co-workers. I’d date ones I admire, the ones with great work ethic who are dependable. You know, the dependable girlfriend who you call at 9:00 pm on a mid-week night when you are in a high and drunken stupor. You tell her to “get dressed”, ask her “how many drinks have you had already?” and immediately she knows what’s up; that it’s time to hit the streets! She shows up at your place, and rides out with you, like any dependable girl would. You have a great time. She listen’s to you complain and anguish over everything from your idiot boyfriend to your mind-sucking job; all the while pouring over strategies and solutions with you. Giving the best of herself to you. Never is there a threat of cake-taking. Never an utterance of “can I come in and spend the night?”, at the end of your mid-week late night romp around the city.

She’ll hug you give you a kiss on the cheek and say “had a great time girl, TTYL!”

I think I have it figured out now. In my attempt to cross the globe I will date many women. Not all at the same time though, that would make me a womanizer. I will make friends with them and bask in the wonderment of their woman-ness. I would probably date the more mature ones, that are (PMS) Past Menstruation Stage. The ones who have it all worked out about life. The ones that sit at side walk cafes and bistros sipping Malbec and Gewurtztraminer, or other unpronounceable wines. I am positive they would have great advice on how to get rid of idiot boyfriends or mind-sucking jobs. Or better, how to become your own boss and, marry rich! We would laugh about how great women are, and how beautiful, complicated, intricate and delicate we become as we get older. We would discuss ticking biological clocks. We would ogle hot Italian men, and figure out how to get them to eat our cake…without letting on that it was our intent all along.

Written by,
Melissa Jean-Louis.
© 2013

Aging gracefully.

I can’t wait to visit a Spice Bazaar In Turkey or Morocco somewhere. I visited Greece once and shopped in Santorini where they sell lots of olive oil. They use that stuff in everything. Now ” I ” use that stuff in everything! Why?! Because Greek women have great skin, always supple looking.

North African women have beautiful skin as well. Soft and fine. So I’m going to make a long leg journey to Morocco to get whatever oil they use for “everything” as well.

My mother always tells me that she used coconut oil growing up as a child in Jamaica; and she is the most beautiful woman I know. She has, and is still; aging gracefully.

I’m sure every continent, country, parish and province have their own little secret “everything oil”. Women all over the globe, have had beauty secrets to stand the test of time and have aged gracefully because of them.

I can only wish that I will be able to wink hard enough at the International Customs Agent at the Airport, that he will instantly fall under my “Magic Jamaican Pum Pum Spell”. I would then proceed to distract him with my passport of many stamps and visas. After doing that, I am hoping I can bypass the: (deep bag hidden contents wrapped in smelly socks) search.

“Black Market Freelance Everything Oil Sales Merchant” would be my new job title.

Eh, relax world! I’m not gonna be peddling the precious snake oils of the earth, people! I’ll just smuggle regular contraband like everybody else. You know, Cohiba’s, and such.
Don’t act like you haven’t snuck any thing in…

I fought with myself for years about changing my maiden name to my married name. I never took very kindly to being anyone’s property. I think I might be a feminist, or at least an old non-conformist hag. Either way I wanted name independence.

I didn’t fight long. I’m no heavy weight. My inner feminist lost. All things being considered, I didn’t mind carrying my husband’s  last name. I was in love and wanted to be his property. All things being considered NOW, I am stuck between a rock and a hard place. You see, I’m getting a divorce and now I have to choose between my inner feminist and the globe-trekker I am aspiring to become.

I have grown so fond of my unique last name. It will be my badge, my passport. It will only enhance my collection. Okay, okay –  By no means do I  want to collect husbands; but if I am to travel the world, this sort of thing is destined to happen. Is it not? You tell me world? Will I have a hyphenated – hyphenated last name such as- SantiagoMurphy de la Cruz – Von Furstenburg- Jean-Louis?  I’d be picking up husbands in Spain, Austria and France. Wow! I hope they’re all rich 🙂

If nothing else the name might help me get through airport security easier, depending on who they are profiling these days. I would have by-in everywhere I went! The Spanish, French and English colonized much of the globe, so with a name like SantiagoMurphy de la Cruz – Von Furstenburg – Jean-Louis I’d have an  “IN.”

Let me in Son! I got a name passport Yo!

All things considered, husband-less as I am, I feel closer to my journey. With less and less things tying me down, I might be able to make some moves toward seeing the world.

In the mean time I will either sulk and or  relish in my newly found name independence and my ability to choose if I wanted to keep a name OR a husband for that matter.

Funny thing about a last name is that it represents SO many things. More than just getting through, having by-in, being a husband collector. It represents content of character. I hope  I have enough good content to spread around that will make ALL my husbands happy. (insert sarcastic eye roll and grin here)

Written by,
Melissa Jean-Louis
© 2013

My inspiration is fading. Everything other than making plans have crept up and in and taken root. Rats!

World, I wanted to start the New Year off right. I wanted to post witty commentary about buying my backpack – check
buying folding travel cup – check
buying water canteen – check
No such luck – double check
Looks like the planning process has been thwarted by the dreaded “real life”. Oh the horror! (sniff, sniff, cry, cry)

It seems I don’t have the balls enough just yet to quit the old hag of a 9 to 5 I slave at. With no liquid funds as of yet; I cannot very well jet set off to Fiji. This thing is gonna take some serious planning. I’m a planner by nature, but this is a daunting task. It’s more than a feeling; this ramshackle of a wanna-be adventure I’m trying to put together; and I don’t want it to go away. Therefore I’m going to have to hunker down and make it happen.

I have a plan, I think. I’m going to do, and engage in things that inspire me. Things that inspire me in regards to the world that is. Maybe that will help. Any thoughts on that World?
Writing poetry? Reading it? Claude McKay might bring me to Jamaica. Or make me think of some Amsterdam Coffee House I’d like to see.
Painting? I can learn, or teach myself. It’d look like a four year old was deliberately trying to make a mess, but at least it’ll be a start.
Perusing works by Degas, Renoir or Matisse online may inspire me to visit The Louvre. Maybe I can see the Hammurabi Codex again.

I’ll take acting classes and pretend I’m in a re-make of some book to film by Dickens.

Jesus! Help me! I need inspiration AND a starting point.