Jetlag

The Joys of Jetlag

“A temporary disruption of normal circadian rhythm caused by high-speed travel across several time zones typically in a jet aircraft, resulting in fatigue, disorientation, and disturbed sleep patterns.”

Yep, I’ve got it alright! Have lived with this condition frequently over the years. Awake at night, exhausted in the morning, hungry at 3am, listless the rest of the day. Backache, headache, you name it. Melatonin? Sleeping pills? A relaxing herbal tea? A soak in the tub? Tried them all.

I’ve tried staying awake as long as possible and normalizing my patterns and yet, when I think I’ve got it licked, it comes back like a boomerang. I do yoga positions to alleviate aches and pains. I eat lightly throughout the day to relax my anxious stomach. No caffeine, no more spices for a while. Nothing seems to work for long.

A lot of this awake time happens at night and you know how treacherous night can be for musings and deep philosophy, I think a lot about the many things I should be doing in the morning or worry about things that I can do nothing about. I am not grounded enough to read a book or concentrate on anything for long, even my favorite taped shows on TV don't seem to do the trick. My a/c is turned high or lowered at random depending on the mood of the moment. Sometimes feeling that its terribly hot and then freezing because I’ve overdone the thermostat, the air is too cold. By 3PM (3AM in Singapore) I desperately need a nap. All in all, not a pleasant condition.

My air travel these days is still considerably easier than say during the years I lived in London or the 12 years that I spent in Japan. Any trip I made then with four kids in tow produced this condition with the aggravated assault of having to deal with a house full of children and their needs in the morning. I remember spending hours playing canasta with a similarly jetlagged Marisa in the middle of the night while the others slept soundly. I think we must have been resentful of their peaceful sleep while we tried to beat each other in the game.

I guess that’s why the movie “Lost in Translation” hit so close to home. I know how many cities feel in the middle of the night. I know how it feels to know that I’m probably one of the few people awake at that particular time.

The only long trip I remember not having this disoriented feeling was when Natalia was a couple of months old and I took her from Tokyo to Buenos Aires to meet the family. Since we were on an on-demand nursing routine, I never felt the difference in time in these two cities which are on opposite sides of the globe. Neither did she. Nursing is nursing. Its always jetlag then even if you don’t fly at all!

Last night I slept better and woke up at 5am. I guess I’m beginning to normalize again. Still, you never know. Tonight is another test. Next flight is in a couple of weeks to welcome my new grandchild but that's only to NYC and the only aggravation will be to once again, remove my shoes for security and have to deal with American Airlines. The grandchild part? I should be fully awake, aware and delighted for that.

Airline Travel - Then and Now

I was 11 years old when I made my first inter-continental flight on Panam from Buenos Aires to New York Idlewild. It was pretty much like riding a grasshopper which stopped a thousand times along the way. I remember flying into La Paz and while walking to the terminal (they used to park the airplane miles away from the terminal then) in transit I saw some women on the side of the runway with their little kids and some livestock…just hanging out watching the planes and trying to sell some of their knitted stuff. I went over to pet a goat or a llama (can’t remember what it was) and stayed there while my mother watched me from afar. I was asked to get back with the passengers eventually and we continued with the pilgrimage up north. I also stopped in Havana and I remember my mother having a coffee at the airport and saying it was delicious. Little did I know that I need a fix of Cuban coffee daily! We must have made at least 6 stops.

The pilot flew over New York City and offered us a view of the Statue of Liberty while I tried very hard not to throw up! All those take offs and landings combined with the mountains of airline food that I consumed made my arrival at our destination rather shaky to say the least. Then I used to think that by the year 2000 we would all be flying our own planes. When I mentioned this to someone recently he remembered thinking the same thing although he asked me “well…would you like to fly your own ‘car-plane” to which I responded “no way!.” Its bad enough to deal with other drivers on land these days.

Since that momentous flight I have continued gathering flying hours and miles through the years. Pity that one couldn’t sign up for any frequent flyer miles in those early years of traveling cause now I would be flying free all the time! Living in all those different places in the world gave me the opportunity to do more flying than I ever thought possible. Few airlines are left in the world that I haven’t flown in at one time or another, from tiny little planes to the new humongous airbus which I flew to and from Singapore, not only this time but also at what I think was one of the inaugural flights 3 years ago – a beautiful and amazing machine that looks more like a hotel and than an aircraft - enormously comfortable and for those who feel confined by smaller aircraft, a roomier and less oppressing feeling.

If you've watched the TV series Panam and got a taste of the luxury that it meant to fly in those days and compare it to a regular flight these days, airline travel has certainly changed. One of the best and most positive changes is that more people are able to fly now than then and that is the most notable difference. The planes are larger and somewhat faster. The standards of service (or lack thereof) however, have declined to being nonexistant. Passengers feel like cattle because they are treated that way, they are not imagining anything that isn’t actually happening. I flew American from JFK to Miami, a short flight that I know so well that I could probably navigate it myself! Remember, I had just gotten off nearly 24 hours of flying on Singapore Airlines considered to be one of the best in the world to a tiny domestic flight which would bring me home. It was less pleasant than riding a bus. The flight attendants were tired and disheveled and in a very poor mood. The passengers looked like they were planning to end up at the beach on arrival, wearing cut off shorts, t-shirts and flip flops and carrying onboard what seemed to be all of their earthly belongings. As to “tiny domestic flight” in Asia I flew a couple of those on AirAsia, their budget airline. A great experience.

On American, the drink service was carried out with less charm, manners or grace than one is served a Big Mac, in fact, one can get better service at McDonald’s any day of the week! They charge for bags, for crummy earphones, for food and anything else they can put a price on. It used to be a relief to board a plane after check in, immigrations, lugging bags and the normal anxiety and excitement of travel. You left all that craziness behind and settled in for a pleasant and of course, faster journey than say, taking a Greyhound! Now we’ve added endless lines of “security” carried out by disgruntled TSA personnel to the list of things we do before we board the plane, we’re pointed to our seats (if we’re lucky) and we never see a flight attendant again until they throw a “complimentary” Coke at us while they chatter among themselves and ignore us. They lug around a black plastic trash bag to collect empty plastic that we need to dispose of while they talk among themselves and barely regard you as a person. One flight attendant dropped a napkin on the floor, saw it, left it and walked off while I was supposed to be making sure that my space was clean and tidy. Two other flight attendants passed by that little piece of paper smack in the middle of the aisle and ignored it. The plane looked like it had been struck by lightning when we disembarked and let’s not even discuss the bathrooms which were atrocious.

While I had just stepped out of the comfort and joy that Singapore Airlines crews bring to every single passenger onboard with their politeness, care and pride in their work and their planes, flying American yesterday was so different and insanely deficient as to merit my attention and in-flight musings for what would happen if the standards changed. If yes, they charged for what they needed to charge but did so with charm and respect for their passengers…that flight attendants would have seen fit to groom themselves to look professional and in charge and addressed you as guests rather an another pain in the butt passenger. Perhaps if one of the crew were to help that Mom with the three kids to get settled in her seat rather than bark at her that she was holding up the takeoff. That the flight attendant who dropped that piece of paper would have leaned down to pick it up and throw it in the trash. Maybe, just maybe, people would follow suit and not see fit to fly in their pj’s and clean up a little when they have to sit in close proximity to their fellow humans. One really doesn’t know what comes first here, the chicken or the egg. There’s no doubt that attitude begets attitude.

The title was “purser” or “hostess” in the past. Then we upgraded it to “flight attendant” and we thought we had progress in “liberation.” What we liberated them from was the responsibility and pride that one has “hosting” a gathering in one’s home. The house is clean and tidy, the food edible and hopefully tasty, the drinks served with care and the little extras that one does when a guest needs or wants something that we can provide. That was the original idea. They hosted their passengers. It was their home or plane that we were boarding and the feeling was different. The excitement that one naturally has when one starts a trip being business or pleasure is swiftly dispelled by their behavior, lack of humor and social graces which brings out the worst in us, the people, the passengers.

After nearly two days of flying Singapore Airlines and I do know the difference between international flights and domestic, with a short stopover in Frankfurt, the plane that I disembarked from was spotless. The bathrooms impeccable and most importantly, the crew looked fresh (granted, in Frankfurt we got a new crew) and professional in a warm and welcoming way. A new set of passengers could have boarded that plane back to Singapore without even cleaning that plane! No blankets or pillows on the floor, No newspapers strewn about and even the air was fresh and as pleasant as it can be on a plane after such a long flight. The tired passengers left with a smile on their faces expressing their thanks to the crew sincerely, definitely not faking it!

I did not feel the need to thank anyone on that flight to Miami yesterday. In fact, I think American owes me many thanks for even considering flying with them and submitting me to the whims and lack of energy of their crews. Oh by the way, we were held up for nearly an hour on the runway on arrival because they assigned our gate to another flight.

And I won’t bore you with the efficiency and beauty of Singapore’s Changhi Airport which is material for an essay of its own. I’m sure David, Alex, Steven and Tracy can help me with that one at some point. I would like to thank Changhi for making my entrances and exits from Singapore so pleasant and stressless. I enjoyed every second spent there.

Its Club Med baby!

The first time my husband suggested Club Med as a destination for our next getaway with the kids I doubted that I would enjoy it. I thought of myself as an easy person to please. Give me a beach and a good book and I’m a happy camper. I thought of Club Med as camp and I refused to be “organized” by anyone but myself. We never travelled in groups…you know, of the bus variety with the lady holding up the flag and leading us to our next destination. “Its Tuesday…it must be Belgium” was never my style of travel. I thought Club Med would be just that. Fortunately, he didn’t listen to me and insisted that we try it. We ended up with four active kids in Club Med Caravelle, in the little island of Guadalupe.

As a fledgling Club Med “G.M” (gracious member) I eyed the “G.O’s” (gracious organizers) with suspicion as I claimed my bit of sand on the beach that morning. I thought that any minute any one of them would come and recruit me to play some sort of sport or insist that I participate in a game. Lunchtime came and not only had they not even come near me, neither did my 4 kids! They were all busy in different activities and my husband was nowhere to be seen. He was playing volley ball somewhere in the premises. So far so good. Lunchtime came along. The food was fabulous and our chef excelled in most of the delicious offerings. Interesting…maybe they’ve got something here. The week passed far too quickly. I was brown and relaxed. My family did not need my presence nor my attention. This was a true vacation at last!

We went to many more Club Meds in the Caribbean and in Asia through the years as our children were growing up. We also had different vacations every year when we went to lovely beaches in the US and flew to Europe a few times but my true time out as a 24/7 mother was when we packed for Club Med where everyone had something to do and when we got together for meals we enjoyed hearing about the different sports and experiences that everyone was having. I didn’t cook. I didn't drive. I didn’t fret, I actually enjoyed myself enormously doing next to nothing. It was MY vacation.

Now, so many years later, I’m in Club Med Bintan in Indonesia with my son and his family and it is nice to reminisce and I continue to find it relaxing among all the activities and offerings available to guests. I still hang out in some quiet corner reading a book or looking at the ocean, like I did back then. Now I can enjoy my grandchildren having fun and remember their father and his sisters doing the same. I also remember their grandfather whose bright idea it was to begin with! Life goes on.

The Joys and Chellenges of Stepping out in Bali

Aesthetically and spiritually I am totally in tune with everything I saw in Ubud and everywhere else I went to in Bali. The Buddhas and Ganesha images…the temples, colors, ponds and rice paddies…everything really. The kind people, the funny people, the endearing people of this part of the world pull at my heart strings at every step. But there you have it…it’s the steps, the unevenness of the sidewalks that get me and provide that uncertainty that make me so aware of every inch I travel. The potholes, ditches, water puddles, the motorcycles and cars passing inches away from my body, the dogs and even chicken are a constant challenge and reminder to watch my step! Is it my age or do these people really have a problem here?

It didn’t really matter which shoes I wore. Whether it was flip flops, sneakers or walking shoes the terrain is really not walker friendly. Can’t imagine anyone in their right mind wearing high heels to walk in the streets of Bali! I felt like my ankles were going to explode with every step and sitting down for a second provided my tired and abused feet with enough rest to restore energy and determination to walk another few blocks. I am amazed that I didn’t sprain something. The hospitals have to be full of people who have torn some part of their limbs and must be full of tourists complaining of aches and pains in their feet, ankles or legs. Must check that out.

What I saw and experienced in spite of the treacherous walks made it all worth it. Walking into tiny alleys and finding my own little piece of paradise waiting to be discovered. A beautiful image, an offering or two, a rice paddy at the end of the road…even a monkey watching me watch it. These little incursions into the essence of Bali are mesmerizing and awe inspiring. A dog following me with his eyes, a cat sleeping in the shade, a woman looking at me with kind eyes and wanting to know my story. Communication is very physical here. In fact everything is very physical and intimate. There is no flinching away from a hand on your shoulder to show friendship, not that one would want to flinch at all! One woman compares her arm to my daughter’s and tells her “you are Balinese…same color!” she exclaims delighted to find a foreigner with darker skin than what she’s used to seeing. Another one tells me what she’s putting into her offering today. There’s some coffee, sugar, a cigarette, a little rice and a fruit in a tiny hand-made basket. Sometimes a flower or two. Preparing and laying out these “offerings” seem to be a full time occupation. They are prepared fresh twice a day. They are in storefronts, temples, restaurants, hotels or simply on the sidewalk and adding to the challenge of walking and not stepping on incense. And the incense! You know how much I love it…it’s everywhere and it smells glorious.

The women work hard. The men seem to be, in their majority, in the transportation of tourists business. “Taxi Madam?” they ask as you walk by while the women carry big loads on their heads and walk with determination to the next stop in their day. I even saw women construction workers carrying bamboo and enormous pipes to and from the construction sites hardhats and all. They ride their motorcycles with kids onboard and even bamboo trays of food. Families of four ride these bikes all over town competing for space with cars, trucks, dogs and as I said, the occasional proverbial chicken crossing the road.

The color of the temples and offerings are so pleasing and soul soothing that one must keep an eye on them at short intervals in order to keep calm. Of course one can also walk into any spa, and there are at least two in every block, and get a glorious massage. There’s plenty of quiet and sweet smelling space. I totally slept through a facial! Woke up looking great though!

We walked into an inn, which has a beautiful spa next to an eternity pool, which looks like it ends in a rice paddy. One can get away from the madness of the streets whenever that mood strikes. The turmoil is gone. There is no noise, no distractions other than the sound of water and the feeling of warm oil poured over aching muscles. Must say that a rooster made his presence known nearby and peppered the meditation part of a yoga class. David Sedaris says that he asks people wherever he visits in the world what noise their roosters make. We say “cock-a-doodle-do” but there’s lots of other versions of the noises that are attributed to these little cocky creatures around the world. I’m going to miss them.

And I’m going to miss the little kids trying on Goosie’s and David’s flipflops, and sitting infront of the beauty of a simple green rice paddy and watching David’s long frame guiding me through an alley or watching Goose’s long beautiful legs and those gorgeous skirts she wears walking infront of me showing me this or that. I’m going to miss playing Canasta and being beaten by my own daughter in a game I taught her! I’m going to miss all the delicious meals made even better by being shared with these two totally delicious people.

When they come to visit me in Miami, Coco, Boo and Puma will replace the animals and the crazy birds that fly by will have to replace the roosters and chicken…not ready to adopt any just yet. They’ll see my little cottage full of memories of Asia and of course smell the incense in my patio. Maybe it will remind them of home. I do guarantee better walking surfaces…even in the parks where I walk Coco. I’ll definitely arrange for a massage or two. I'll even cook some of the food we learned how to make in our cooking class. Thanks for all the new memories, for your sweetness, for your love.

Yoga in Bali

The morning starts off with yoga in an enchanted space. A tree house like room with mats and cushions as the only furnishings. Hard to describe the beauty of the vegetation that surrounds me, the wood, bamboo, textiles, incense everywhere and the sweetness and kindness of all around me. Window frames with no glass and beautiful carved wood everywhere. How could a yoga space be any different in Ubud. 

The heat of Bikram, the tiger breath of Kundalini and an instructor who believes our bodies are just meant to do what he tells us to do. Hatha and Iyengar be gone! The small young man with a chiseled brown body using his own perfectly toned muscles to show us what each pose should look like. Really? Fat chance.  

He demands that we move…move…move our hips “don’t stop…don’t ever stop” he commands. We gyrate them back and forth…up and down…”move move move” he reminds us at every breath and little by little I feel the sweat pouring out of me and my muscles relax and do things that I never thought they could. Up with the leg, down with the pelvis, up with the head…breathe breathe breathe, move move move. We repeat and hold poses for what seems an eternity and then he says “one more” and then finally “last one” and we collapse in a heated pile of bones and muscles and sweat. Not for long though as he demonstrates another position. The two men in the class take their shirts off and they are drenched. I wish I could take mine off as well.  

After an eternity of effort and concentration we get to the best part. We lie on the floor, breathing, letting our bodies relax.No more move, move, move! Recharging chacras with energy and light. My chest expanded, my heart open, my mind filled with gratitude. The instructor sings a song for us with his guitar. In the distance I hear his voice invoking Krishna. My beautiful daughter next to me. What more could I possibly want! Seven ohms for seven chakras. Ohm Shanti Bali. Namaste.