Time to Move On

For 19 years, I've written this blog.  

I started it after my father died. My early entries were about aging, mortality--and still feeling his presence. 

Sisters (I'm the middle child, the brunette) with Dad

My third entry was about giving my mother a bath because the month after Dad died, she fell and broke her shoulder. 

As she descended into dementia, I wrote about her life, about caregiving, about grief and love.

Scanning through my years of writing Living the Journey has made my life swim before my eyes. It's been bittersweet to see the evolution of what I wrote about. 

The first few years I focused on:

* Ailing parents (both mine and my partner's)

* Marriage equality and LGBTQ rights

In California, 2008, protesting Prop 8, which would ban same-sex marriage

* My work as a university writing professor (I hated grading papers, loved connecting to students, and appreciated the creativity and flexibility of my work)

* Meeting great visiting writers in my role as as co-director of the Center for Literary Arts

* Book reviews

* Interviews with writers and poets.

And then, one day I disappeared. My wife of 15 years had been having an affair and left me. My world was shattered.

When I returned, I wrote about heartbreak and figuring how who I was now. I wrote about being single in my 40s as a bisexual woman. I explored dating men again and, when the phoenix began rising, my renewed love for travel. 

During this time, my friends became everything. They propped me up, helped me move, became my cheerleaders. I vowed to never again take my friends for granted, and I hope I've lived up to that promise.

Then I met Dave. We both were working more than full time, but we were thrilled about creating a life together that included live music, the outdoors, friends, travel.

snowshoeing in 2010...we've now been together 16 years

We married in Hawaii, and the next year I retired from the university so I could write and work as a coach and book editor. His job ended. When the sweet house we were renting in our beloved seaside Santa Cruz went up for sale, we faced a dilemma: 

Should we reverse the retirement decision and put all of our resources into buying a house in one of the most expensive places in the world? 

We floated that idea and others--another rental, joining friends in a communal living endeavor, moving elsewhere--but it was when we hit on this that our energy surged:

How about living house-free?

This was 2012. We'd never heard of nomads--digital, retired, or otherwise. 

We'd already embraced a kind of minimalism, by living in small spaces, owning one car, and not collecting a lot of stuff. And now we decided to get rid of almost everything we owned and hit the road.

leopard encounter in Sri Lanka

We traveled in the States, Australia, India and Sri Lanka--and were sidelined for a few months when I was diagnosed with a brain tumor after having a seizure. It was a scary, soul-expanding time. (A friend said, "Honey, your life is like Knott's Landing these days!") 

staples out! (2013)

Once I was healed and we'd traveled for a year, two things happened:

* we bought a casita sight-unseen in Mexico and

* we discovered housesitting.

My sister had talked for years about how she loved Baja California Sur. She'd bought a little place and one was being built next to hers. The price was affordable for us--a fraction of what we'd have to pay to be near the beach in California--so we went for it. We liked the idea of having a home base while we continued to travel. And we figured if we didn't like it there, we could rent it or sell it. (Spoiler: 12 years later, Mexico has become home.)

Playa Los Cerritos 

Housesitting made our dream of continuing to travel sustainable. As I wrote about in this blog and in Wanderland: Living the Traveling Life, we have stayed in homes all over the world for free, taking care of people's pets. We also lived in China for a year (where I stepped out of retirement to teach university creative writing). 

The last portion of this blog, then, focused mostly on traveling as slow-mads and living in Mexico, with the heart of my quest being , "What is home?"

Now that I'm ending this blog, I'm moving my writing over to Maybe I'm Amazed, my  Substack. I'd love for you to join me there. It will always be free, and I'll be continuing to write about my obsessions:

* housesitting

* living in Mexico

* travel and staycations

* social justice

* being a woman in her 60s 

* books

* dogs 

Regarding that last topic, I haven't had my own dog since Dave and I left California 14 years ago. I've adored caring for so many pups while housesitting. Has the time come to get my own again? Stay tuned at Maybe I'm Amazed. 

It doesn't get better than dogs and books
(housesitting in coastal England, 2024)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Check out my new novel, Amazing!, which is getting great reviews.

Adventures in Portugal

This is the 7th installment on our 8-month trip, following:

1. Colorado 

2. London/Salisbury 

3. Coastal England

4. Marple/Liverpool/Sandbach

5. Wales

6. Paris

Iconic Lisbon trolly

Our easy flight from Paris to Lisbon took about two hours. As our young cab driver navigated the car-clogged streets, he taught us a few Portuguese words. They were similar to Spanish, except with a strong "sh" sound. But when he told us he wasn't a fan of of Spain, hinting at an ancient rivalry, I figured I'd have to avoid speaking Spanish in an attempt to communicate in this country.

We lugged our carry-ons down precarious stone steps to an old apartment building. Cooking scents permeated the dark and narrow staircase. Dragging our stuff up to the third floor, we discovered that  a wide-angle lens had done its magic in online pictures. The place was Lilliputian, with a shower that I'd soon discover felt like a stand-up coffin. But we figured we could deal with it for three nights.

Our apartment was down this street.

I yanked open the slider over the sliver of a balcony to the squall of brakes, pound of footfalls, and coughs of neighbors as their smoke drifted in. Throughout our time there we'd be serenaded by enthusiastic conversations, laughter, arguments, and singing, that echoed along the alleyways all night into the early morning. 

We spent our time wandering the hamstring-exploding streets, exploring Lisbon's gritty wedding cake beauty, happy for stable shoes on the uneven cobblestones. Pausing on the steps to catch my breath, I'd take in signature Portuguese glazed tiles and a deep blue balustrade tagged with graffiti.

I adored the Museu da Marioneta, a magnificently curated collection of puppets from all over the world. Housed in a grand old convent, its throng of semi-animate faces created the aesthetic of a haunted house.

Another highlight was spending an evening with our friend Simone, her husband, and another couple. Months earlier, Simone had asked if we'd be interested in housesitting for them at their Pacific Northwest island home. That's when we discovered we'd be in Lisbon at the same time! After drinks at their bright and cavernous rental, we went to a dinner and Fado show. 

fado

At the intimate restaurant a woman and a man sang traditional, mournful folk music. The feeling of fado is infused with saudade, the Portuguese word for longing and a feeling of permanent loss. In other words, it would be a total bummer if it wasn't so beautiful.

Californians meeting up for the first time in Lisbon!

Serendipitously, Staci Greason and her husband Larry were also in Lisbon, and we met for a chatty breakfast. We'd been social media friends for years, and seeing them in person was lovely. Staci is the author of All the Girls in Town, a novel I describe as a #metoo love letter to women's friendships. I hope we meet again soon in another part of the world.

The last day as I was walking down the street, I looked up right into the face of Anne Parker, whom we'd met a decade ago in Baja! We'd been to her home-state of Colorado a few times but had failed to convene, and now the hand of fate threw us together in a European city of half-a-million people. We enjoyed dinner together that evening, grinning the whole time at the kismet of it all.

with Anne!

A car service arranged by the homeowner of our upcoming housesit picked us up and drove us twenty miles to Sintra, which took almost two hours due to traffic and holdups. The driver, however, was undisturbed and instead enjoyed phone calls that kept coming in to wish him a happy 77th birthday. He mentioned that his parents lived into their 90s. I asked him why, and he said that's just what his family does--adding that his parents didn't smoke or drink.

We'd landed this month-long sit through a connection and had never met the homeowners. They'd already left for India when we arrived and so we were shown around the vast property by the housekeeper. Our apartment was on the lowest level of this sprawling home on a property that included a pool, an additional two-bedroom cottage, a yoga shala, a vast vegetable garden, along with fruit and nut trees. There was a team of gardeners, so our only duty was to occasionally water some plants, feed Black Kitty (the feral beauty who lived outside), and care for Puzzles, the boney old feline who, when he wasn't sleeping, marched around protesting in a gravely meow.

Black Kitty

We soon learned that this gorgeous house decorated with colorful art and velvet and oaken furniture--and packed with books and games-- had glitchy sinks and toilets and wifi and light switches and faucets. Everything seemed abundant and on the verge of breaking. The profusion of apples and chestnuts in the orchard rotted on the ground. I googled how to bake chestnuts and we enjoyed their nutty flavor but couldn't make a dent in the excess.

I was seized by a longing for our simple life in Baja. There's a lightness to having a house you can clean in an hour. Not that we had to clean this Sintra mansion, fortunately. I also missed walking out the door to the beach or the desert hills. In Sintra, I soon found, I struggled to climb the mountainous cobblestone streets replete with lines of cars and towering buses squeezing through narrow lanes. One time as I hiked steep steps through a park, I fell and had an impressive ass-bruise that changed color over the days like a sunset.

We never used the pool because it was often cool and drizzly.

Walking the mossy property to pick kale and lettuce was akin to picking your way across ice, as everywhere was slippery. I preferred snuggling up with my journal, crossword puzzles, and Geraldine Brooks' Year of Wonders, which I plucked from their shelf. 

slippery!

One day Cheryl Beck Esch happened to be in town. She'd once interviewed me about housesitting on her podcast...and once again travel synchronicity hit. We were able to spend a day talking about life and adventures in person, rather than online.

with Cheryl

There's a magical, misty ancientness to Sintra, which is best known for being populated with castles. We went to the five major attractions:

1) Palacio National, a medieval royal residence whose white kitchen chimneys jut up in many views of the city. I loved how instead of religious iconography, it was beautifully embellished with swans and other creatures of nature.

Palacio National

2) The Moorish Castle, a hilltop medieval fortress we trudged to uphill from our house, is a stunning array of stone buildings rooted in the mountains that requires strong legs and no fear of heights to navigate.

Moorish Castle

3) Monserrate Palace, a palatial villa that served as the court's summer resort but in the 17th century became privately owned. Its yellowish-pink stones and golden hallways seemed to glow from the inside out.

Monserrate

4) Quinta da Regaleira, a four-story palace with extensive gardens. While I explored the grounds including lakes, fountains, and a chapel, Dave walked down into the so-called Initiation Well, a circular staircase that descends into the earth, meant to be a mystical journey. While he woo-woo'd out, I couldn't find our meeting spot and thought I might be lost forever in wonderland.

5) Pena Palace, a striking yellow and red building that stands atop the Sintra Mountains, was no fun inside due to the press of crowds. But we enjoyed strolling the grounds, more like a nature park with the towering moss-covered trees, stone bridges, and water features.

Pena gardens

Speaking of crowds, there were signs posted everywhere that declared SINTRA IS NOT DISNEYLAND. Locals were fed up with tourists, and it showed in some of their side-looks and impatience. As another massive tourist bus almost flattened me on a walk, I understood. I was finding Sintra enchanting, dreary, beautiful, and frustrating.

misty Sintra

I was happy when we spent time at the sea. One day we took the local bus to Estoril and walked along the malecon to Cascais. Another time we took a vintage 1930s trolly to Praia das Macas, where we had lunch overlooking the beach. The trolly had to stop at one point because someone had parked on the tracks! It took a while to find the car's owner.

tram

We generally ate Indian and Asian food, since Portuguese offerings weren't to our taste: salted cod, octopus, sardines, ham-and-cheese sandwiches. I craved fewer french fries and more salads and veg. As a nondairy guy, Dave sought out vegan pastel de nata, the famous custard tart. We did enjoy the ubiquitous piri piri chicken.

Carvoeiro

After nearly a month in Sintra, we rented a car to drive to Spain. Along the way we stopped in the Algarve, a coastal region in southern Portugal. It was heavenly to be near the sea in charming Carvoeiro, a cliff-side village overlooking turquoise waters. 

As we strolled, I got a message on my phone from our friend Stephanie, whose house we were renting in the Cadiz region of Spain. Record-breaking rainfall in the area had flooded many buildings. I clicked on a video she shared of water cascading down her house's stairs from the top to bottom floor. She had cleaners on the job and believed that in a few days the house would be dried and and ready for us. 

So we extended our stay in the Algarve a few more days, hoping that we'd have dry pillows to lay our heads on in Spain.

If you're interested in our life of housesitting, budget travel and living in Mexico, check out my books Wanderland: Living the Traveling Life and Call It Wonder: An Odyssey of Love, Sex, Spirit & Travel. 

Chiang Mai & Kuala Lumpur

Getting this close to an elephant in an open space, not a zoo, was like a dream. But I was wide awake. It happened at northern Thailand's Elephant Nature Park, "an elephant rescue and rehabilitation center." Better name? Elephant heaven.

Some of these elephants limp on a foot mangled by a landmine. A number are blind due to--get this--tourist flashbulbs in zoos and circuses. Many have other problems as a result of being "broken" in order to be ridden. This is a brutal practice. Nothing like breaking a horse. It involves ripping the babies away from their mothers, beating them, inducing pain in a variety of ways... Google it, if you can stomach it. Now that I'm aware, I would never ride an elephant.
 

We got in the water with them!

I did, however, caress a few that are used to humans. And it was divine. Elephants are walking paradoxes: Gentle giants. Rough skin, tender heart. We have a lot to learn from them--for example, not demonizing one group for the abject behavior of a few.

Most of the mahouts who work with elephants are born into mahout families. The control of elephants through abuse is a tradition. And a vocation. Elephant Nature Park re-trains mahouts and gives them jobs. These guys do a ton of work around the park (along with armies of volunteers), and can even build relationships with the unruly bulls tourists are not allowed to get near. The mahouts learn how to use food, not pain, to coerce the animals to move to the watering hole or feeding platform.



I swear these sweet beasts are thrilled to be living on this beautiful property. They smile. They playfully throw dirt into the air. They roll in the mud and prance in the river. Finally, they are free. No more cages, no more abuse, no more isolation, no more chains.

We got to the elephants from Chiang Mai, a groovy, ex-pat friendly, yoga-fied city filled with beautiful parks, temples, and street food galore. My former SJSU student, Sarah, now lives and teaches there. She landed in Chiang Mai after a year of travel throughout India and S.E. Asia. We have in common the travel-the-world-and-write gene.

Hanging with Sarah at a temple.

Chiang Mai street food

Sunday market...hard to see the wares it was so crowded.

Evidence of Chinese New Year in Chiang Mai.

As much as I enjoyed exploring the city, I was having island withdrawals. A little city goes a long way. And there was more to come: Kuala Lumpur, or KL, for the last few days before we had to wing back to Nanning.

Speaking of wings...our first KL stop was the Bird Park--a public aviary that was much groovier than I'd imagined such a place could be.

Someone wants my coconut.

I'm not a fan of seeing birds in cages, so what a delight to experience free-rangers of all shapes, colors and sizes.

 

Thousands of birds in the trees, walking along the grounds, floating in the various bodies of water.  A few were in pens, notably the ostriches. When we got close to feed them through a slice in the fence, the fierce way they grabbed the greens, coupled with their I-could-slice-you-up clawed feet, made it clear why they couldn't be running around terrorizing tourists. Ideally they would be out on the range in Africa terrorizing the lizards they eat.

KL has a hop-on, hop-off bus. Pay one price and you can tour around the city, lingering wherever you like and climbing back on when the next bus comes every 30 minutes. We checked out Chinatown (not worth your time unless you want to buy a fake brand-name watch or shirt), Little India (lots of color, nice vibe), the Petronas Towers (the tallest twin towers in the world), and a lot of other interesting architecture.

 

 

 

Our hotel was just a couple of blocks from a massive night street food scene. We waded through thousands of people, checking out stalls and open air restaurants with gargantuan menus representing food of many SE Asian nations. My favorite treat: deep fried banana.

We were also close to a pub street that, at night, rolled back its sidewalks to Vegas-esque pandemonium. We found a street corner café and enjoyed floating on a local trio's sweet three-part harmonies. Our last night we stumbled across, of all things, a fantastic German restaurant. Eating a luscious salad and potato pancakes, soaked in a magical ambiance, I had a feeling we could be in anywhere in the world. Every so often that surreal feeling of transcending time and space envelopes me while traveling. In this case it was aided by a German beer the size of a toddler.

I write this four weeks later, buried in my second semester of teaching in China. Whether or not we will stay here for another year is central to our conversations these days. The university has sent me a contract and is nudging me to sign it. I have yet to take up my pen.

This trip reinforced for me what I love best about travel: experiencing new things. That may sound self-evident. But it took me into my fifth decade to live the nomadic existence I always dreamed of. I'm not sure I'm ready to stay in one place longer than a year. A zillion possibilities are swirling about, shining like the universe's bling.
 

Memorable Hoi An

Charming streets of Hoi An

One reason we were enticed to move to Nanning, Guangxi is that, just 100 miles from the Vietnam border, it's the Chinese gateway to Southeast Asia.

Due to a national holiday, I had a few days off from my teaching job at the beginning of October. So we decided to travel to Hoi An, Vietnam, to meet up with our friends Karen and Widi. Happily, they were headed there during a break from their teaching jobs in India. It had been three years since we last saw them in Chennai.

Dave and I flew from Hanoi into Danang, where at the airport he posed for this picture:

"Danang" is a song by the Radiators, a band he has followed for years. Here, his passion for music and travel collided. (As did his love of friends and community when he posted this picture on a fan website and received many fun responses.)

The Danang airport is small, so it was easy to connect with Karen and Widi when their plane landed. A car provided by our Airbnb was waiting to zip us down to Hoi An, an hour drive.

friends reunite

Before coming to China, we spent a couple of weeks in Vietnam, in cities and the countryside. Hoi An provided us with another side of Vietnam: a gorgeous beach and a quaint, ancient village. Having survived modernization and war, Hoi An is a UNESCO World Heritage site.

It's definitely set up for tourists. We were approached by more people trying to sell us things than anywhere else in Vietnam. However, they weren't terribly aggressive--and many had things worth buying. Talented seamstresses are everywhere in the town. It's a great place to buy custom clothes at good prices.

On our day spent exploring the town, we sat in a small, crowded theater for a sweet hour of music and dance.

Then we explored some historical sites. At one time, Hoi An was a port city filled with not only Vietnamese but Chinese and Japanese families, which influenced the architecture.

Japanese bridge

Chinese assembly hall.

The day was hot. Cold fruit drinks, fresh fruit and spring rolls helped us re-energize.

Everywhere we went, people were fascinated with Widi. Because he speaks their language, they were convinced he was Vietnamese. He's actually Indonesian. He learned the language when he taught English in a Vietnamese refugee camp in Sumatra. That's where he and Karen met almost 30 years ago.

street food

The next day, we hopped on bikes and rode to Hidden Beach.

It lives up to its name: not overly developed and not crowded. But with lounge chairs, umbrellas, and good food. Oh, and one of the best massages I've ever had (for only about $7). They were able to massage all four of us at one time, while an ocean breeze blew over our bodies.

Dave and Widi getting their Tai Chi on at Hidden Beach.

At the end of the day, Dave and I were both a bit sunburned. We'd neglected to reapply sunscreen after lounging in the warm water. The whole experience had been so heavenly, it was easy to forget. Fortunately, aloe vera gel from the pharmacy came to the rescue.

We took the trip back all in one day, which involved an exhausting mélange of taxis, flights, airport waiting and a confusing transfer. When we hit the Nanning airport, a Vietnamese-American woman at the taxi stand asked if we might be able to help her. The taxi driver didn't know where her hotel was--and she didn't know how to say it, as it was written in Chinese on a piece of paper. Dave had her get in our taxi and said perhaps a taxi driver at the university gate would know, since the university is close to downtown. His genius plan worked.

In the cab, we soon learned we all used to live in San Jose! And when she heard I'm a writing coach, she said she wants my help writing a book about her family's journey from Vietnam to America. Just my kind of gig.

That experience was like an exclamation point on the week of the divine rendezvous. How sweet it was to have a travel experience with friends, making Hoi An even more memorable.