Back to the future.

Wanna know something that totally blows my mind?  Video phone.  The fact that we actually have and use video phone regularly, in all its various forms, makes me giddy.  I remember growing up and seeing video phone on the Saturday morning cartoon "The Jetsons" about a space family in the future.  And now with technological advancements having brought us what they have, we Skype and facetime with consistency.  Video phone allows us to see our loved ones as we chat from any two places around the planet.  Even though we've had video phone for a number of years now, it still blows my mind that we have it.  It's a trip living in the future that was on movies and TV shows when I was just a kiddo.   

Special talents.

Some people have real talents, but my brother Brady and I have a special knack for spotting celebrities whenever we are together.  Brady visited me for four of five days when I lived in Los Angeles and he was determined to see a famous person every day. Lo and behold we sighted a celebrity every day.  I won't bore with the details, but the famous people we saw were nothing to balk at; the real deal famous folks of the greater Los Angeles area.  

Tonight was also no exception as Brady and I saw one of the girls from my guilty pleasure "America's Next Top Model".  I know, I know, it's ridiculous to admit I watch that show, but now it's public knowledge, get over it.  Anyways, our own born and bred Denver girl, Jiana made her way in front of Tyra to compete for the elite title of America's Next Top Model.  Tonight she also happened to be at an art show we went to to support a friend and her local clothing company.  Brady and I haven't lost our celebrity spotting magic even though we aren't in Los Angeles anymore.  Hollywood just follows us around now.

Killer ignorance.

When I was a young girl, from the ages of probably around ten, to fifteen or sixteen or so, I was absolutely obsessed with whales and dolphins.  I wrote school papers about them, I hoarded pictures of them and hung them on my walls, I watched every possible piece of informational video footage of them.  I felt very passionate about the environmental state of the oceans and the conversation of these fantastic creatures.  I was beyond obsessed.

Being from the completely landlocked state of Colorado, I dreamed of one day becoming a marine biologist and and then using that education to become a trainer for orcas and dolphins at Sea World.  I thought it would be a real dream come true to swim and perform with the animals I loved so dearly, though I had never seen one, or even the ocean itself.  When I was twelve or so, one of my dreams came true as my family visited the Sea World that was in Ohio.  Sea World in Ohio?  Believe it.  I was thrilled that I was going to get to see a real live whale!!!  I don't remember many details of the day to be honest, but I definitely remember seeing an orca in a tank for the first time.  The shows and the entire experience wowed me and I bought enough postcards and memorabilia with dolphin and orca pictures to fill all the walls of my childhood bedroom.

Years passed and growing up happened.  Somehow my obsession with whales and dolphins waned and I found myself caring more about punk rock and running away.  My life took a different path than one that would make me a marine biologist, and for that I am grateful.  

Growing up also made me realize that keeping these fantastic creatures in captivity is beyond wrong, something my parents had never suggested to me.  Call it society's conditioning, but we are just brainwashed into thinking this is normal.  Not to mention that we keep them in captivity for our entertainment and profit, regardless of their physical and emotional health, and fully ignoring the social structure in which they thrive in the wild.  We wheel and deal them like they are tomatoes from a farm.

Having just watched the documentary "Blackfish" about orcas in captivity, I find myself infuriated at the degree to which we exploit these animals.  From their capture, to their breeding in captivity, to separating young from mothers(something I just learned does not happen in the wild and brought tears to my eyes), to starvation techniques sometimes used in order to train them, I am fucking pissed off.  It is wrong that we celebrate these animals in captivity.  It is wrong that we go in droves with our children to these parks to stare at these enormous animals basically living in a prison, working for their food.  It is wrong that trainers are injured and have been killed in attacks by these animals with seemingly pure intention in some desperate attempt to release frustration that has no other outlet.  

What the fuck are we doing as humans to cage so many majestic creatures who are fully capable of taking care of themselves in the wild?  Oh, and then using them as entertainment in exchange for profit as though it is some step up in quality of life from their natural habitat?

I do not feel foolish for my childhood dreams and obsessions with wanting to become a trainer.  To me, that was something perfectly normal that just happened at these magical theme parks which seemed a world away to a poor Colorado girl.  However becoming a conscious adult has given me the awareness of the unacceptable reality regarding the situation of whales and dolphins in captivity.  I do not agree with it, anyone with any inkling of consciousness towards animals should not agree with it.  Even the former Sea World trainers interviewed in the documentary are all against it, knowing full well the quality of life the captive animals are living vs that of the wild.  May this humanity continue to awaken to what we are doing to the planet, all the blessings and gifts of nature we take for granted, and have the courage to change it.          

Good Karma.

When I first started working for Floyd's over eight years ago, I had a client that told me about a little Asian restaurant that was his favorite in Denver.  Intrigued, I asked which one and he replied, "It's called Wokano, by the Wild Oats(currently Whole Foods)".  I had lived on Capital Hill for years at this time, had visited Wild Oats countless times, and had seen the restaurant sign many times in the tiny strip mall in which it resided.  I considered the advice especially since I was living in an apartment a mere three and a half blocks away, and love Asian food. 

One hungry evening soon thereafter, I strolled over to the restaurant.  As per the advice a former Asian boyfriend once gave me, I ordered the hot and sour soup. Apparently the quality of the this particular soup is supposed to be a sort of telltale of the quality and flavors of the other cuisine offered in and Asian restaurant.  I also ordered an entree of spicy basil tofu.  

Oh, boy, that soup was the bomb!  So hot, so sour, so everything I could ever dream of hot and sour soup to be.  I knew I was hooked.  And my entree was equally as flavorful, very fresh and just the perfect quantity to fill up but not be stuffed.  After only one meal, I knew I had found a gem.  I knew that I was going to make this place my second home.

In the next months, I ate at Wokano up to six times a week.  It was quite nearly out of control.  Sometimes I would dine in, sometimes I would order delivery.  Every time I called and said I wanted to make an order for delivery, they immediately recognized my voice and knew practically what I wanted to order.  Whether ordering in house or delivery, I tried nearly everything on the diverse menu that true Asian fusion has to offer, never to be disappointed.  I tried all of the appetizers, nearly all the entrees, and was totally hooked on the sesame balls for dessert; so much so that I quickly began getting them for free with my meal.  I also invited anyone and everyone to eat their with me, promising up and down that it would be some of the best food ever.  Friends, family, clients, love interests and the occasional random all dined at Wokano with me.  

As is in my character, I was planning a big trip/move to Egypt at the same time in my life and as my departure neared I told the sparse staff whom I had come to know so well, that I was going to leave the country and didn't know when I'd be back.  I literally ate my last meal in US before getting on the plane, at Wokano and said my goodbyes to my favorite food.  A few short months later when I returned to the States, Wokano was my first meal back in US as I drove back to Littleton with my mother from the airport.  I loved that place.

Fast forward a year or two and through living in different neighborhoods in Denver combined with traveling so much, years passed without me going to Wokano.  I went in one day and something was different.  In fact everything was just a little different.  The menu and quaint decor were still the same, but the staff was different and the food wasn't quite the same.  That was the last time I went there because I knew it wasn't the same place, that the owners I knew, had sold.  (insert teary eyes)

Fast forward a few more years and I find myself back in Denver for a few months, working, chilling, riding bikes, etc.  My best friend Lesley tells me one day that she found the Wokano guys and that they had a restaurant down on South Broadway called Karma.  I was like, "Are you freaking kidding!  The real deal?!"  She confirmed that it was in fact my beloved people and the delicious food.  I went as soon as life afforded the opportunity I went to Karma and got me some!  She wasn't lying, it was Peter and Ashley(American names for people who's real names are unpronounceable Chinese names).  I was back home!

This time round in my frequent visits to Karma, I finally got my dad to come with me, whom I am sure I had pestered for years at this point to go with me.  It was love at first taste for my dad, a lover of all things with flavor.  He has been hooked for years and told me that at times him and his wife would drive downtown from Highlands Ranch to eat there sometimes up to three times a week.  Guess it runs backwards in the family as he inherited it from me.  I really loved my dad and LuAnn's love for Karma for other reasons too.  They too became close with Ashley and Peter and would update them on my global whereabouts at any given moment.  The four of them, Dad, Luann, Peter and Ashley had their own comradery.  Of course I would join them any time I was in Denver for a trip down memory lane, oh and some crazy good food. 

Over the years I have seen Peter and Ashley grow from tiny, nearly hidden spot on Capital Hill, to a bustling location on South Broadway.  The quality of their food is as consistent as ever.  The atmosphere is beautiful and quaint, with some classic Asian kitsch.  The service is always fantastic.  And they are still serving water in metal camping mugs.  

I went to Karma tonight and loved it as much as ever.  I had fantastic company, as usual with that magical place, and we got free Thai iced tea on the house. This gave me inspiration and a great excuse to write my story of my still feverish love affair with the restaurant my Chinese friends run on South Broadway.  I'v got some good ass karma.          

I'm falling, twice.

 Fall time is upon us.  The brisk air, the shorter days, the changing and falling leaves.  But not everywhere in the world is experiencing autumn.  In fact, this is my second fall this year.  I have been lucky enough to enjoy my favorite season twice in 2013.  Being in the Southern Hemisphere for four months this year, I caught the second half of summer and the entirety of autumn in Argentina.  For eight days of that, I enjoyed the breathtaking beauty of Patagonia's autumn in April.  There is no more beautiful place to me than Patagonia, and to see it during fall time was a special experience I will never forget.  As I sat at the above pictured view, I exclaimed aloud to myself, "This is the most beautiful place I have ever been!"  

 I'm sure most of you are mildly surprised to learn that summer is not my favorite season(though it is a very, very close second).  As much as I love the sweltering heat and fun times of summer, there is a quality to autumn that strikes me to my core.  I crave the outdoors more during fall, probably because I know that I need to get while the getting's good, before winter hits(eeeek!).  I often take long bike rides in the afternoon after a lazy morning, allowing the temps to warm enough, and I go to places where the colors and the serenity will be pristine.  The transitory nature of autumn drives me to soak up every possible second of this magical time of year. 

 The shorter days come with another benefit of autumn time, the angle of the sunlight.  I love the angle of the sunlight in fall.  It seems to cast a sentimental glow about everything, warm and cool all at the same time, accenting the already intense tones of the trees.  It becomes obvious each day that the sun is creeping further and further south in the Northern Hemisphere and further and further north in the Southern Hemisphere; as the leaves change, the sunlight seems to make them even more red, yellow and orange.

 Taking walks or hiking in autumn has a special "crunch" to it as the dried and fallen leaves litter every possible nook.  I crunched lots of leaves in Buenos Aires, many along the trails like this one in Patagonia, and as I've been making my way through Capital Hill in Denver where I'm delighting in my second autumn.  I love the sound of rustling leaves on the ground, and the fragrance they give off is unequaled, a mix of fresh and fallen.  As I see the leaves on the ground, I look up to the trees to see just how much time is left in this fleeting season, hoping against hope that autumn lingers as long as possible in order to savor the unique elegance of trees taking a bow to cooler temperatures.    

All in all, I've had two summers, two autumns and a half a winter this year.  Call me crazy, but I can do entirely without spring. All I've ever known of spring time is inconsistent temperatures mixed with the occasional sloppy blizzard.  Leaves budding on trees isn't nearly as stunning as when they decide it's too cold and show their final burst of life before weakening and falling.  I have a special gratitude for my life this second autumn of 2013 as I realize that I'm living a life that brings me two autumns in the same year, one in Patagonian Andes, one in the majestic Colorado Rockies.  And though I last experienced autumn only a few months ago, I am no less charmed by this one I'm currently in.  Someday, when it's entirely up to me, and money is no object, my years will have two summers and two autumns.

A run of inspiration.

Well it's been a while since I've written here on Barbers Without Borders.  In the past five months since last writing about yerba mate, I returned to the States from the stinky, noisy, chaotic confines of Buenos Aires.  Planning only to stay for the summer time in Denver, I found myself so enamored with Colorado all over again that I decided to stay and make a life for myself in my hometown, winter and all.  Who knows how long it will last, but I'm grateful to be somewhere so beautiful, peaceful, and welcoming to me.

I've been thinking about writing, a lot, knowing that it needs to be a part of my life on a very regular basis.  Just because I'm not traveling, does not mean that I don't have like fifty topics for blog posts swimming around in my brain.  I actually have a list of them started and will get around to all of them, especially since the weather is cooling and I must remain indoors in order to survive.  Yesterday morning was the perfect event to inspire me to sit down and begin writing again.

I woke up at about 11:45am(barely the morning, I know), after staying up too late watching my guilty pleasure on Hulu with my brother and finishing a pint of Ben and Jerry's.  I had wanted to get up earlier, but there was no chance of that.  I was wanting to get up so that I could walk a mere two blocks away and watch for a friend running the marathon that was happening on this chilly autumn morning.  The route passed very close to my apartment and the finish line wasn't much further either.  So when I finally did get up, I immediately put on shoes and a jacket over my pajamas, used the loo, and headed out the door in hopes of still being able to catch some of the race.  Little did I know I was in for a very emotional experience.

As I reached the intersection of 10th and Logan, I saw plenty of people running by, an officer directing traffic in the gaps between runners and one woman standing on the corner cheering and cheering and cheering.  I stood opposite of her and watched the runners go by.  "You can do it!  You're almost there!  Seven blocks to go!  It's downhill!", she repeated over and over while clapping to encourage and support the weary runners as they neared the end.  This intersection is less than a mile from where the finish was and I soon found myself overwhelmed at the energy and emotion from the entire scene as I imagined what each and every runner must be feeling so close to completing, in my opinion, an enormous task of running 26.2 miles.

"Holy crap", I thought to myself, "These people have had this huge goal for who knows how many months.  They have trained and suffered and pushed themselves in order to be able to do this, and now here I am, watching the culmination of all that hard work and I'm in my pajamas."  Admittedly, I was choked up as I became inspired and touched at the will and abilities of the human body, mind and spirit to push and push.  I saw many women which I thought was fantastic; people of all ages, sizes, some running full force, some limping, some walking, but each and every one having the same experience of endurance.

I decided I wanted to go to the finish line so I could see what was going on there and feel the special energy of the completion.  I made my way along the route, just a few blocks to the finish.  There was small groups of people gathered more and more frequently each block closer that I got.  Many people had signs, patiently waiting to see their loved one pass by.  I continued to feel very emotional, that lump-in-my-throat feeling was with me the entire time, and I was loving every minute of this special event.  At one point, very near the 26 mile marker, I passed two men sitting on a small hillside adjacent to an apartment building.  I jokingly said to them, "Sort of makes you feel like a lazy bum, huh?" to which they replied, "Oh, we just ran the half marathon."  Oops, my bad.  We had a chuckle over it and I looked at their medals as I mentioned that clearly I was the only lazy one out on this gray morning.

I made my way to the finish line at Civic Center Park and it was a full on party.  Bands playing, people gathering and cheering, music on loud speakers, but most importantly, runners crossing the finish line.  If I thought the emotion of the interior of the race was powerful, I was not prepared for the finish line!  There were runners sprinting towards the finish, no small feat after running for five hours.  I saw lots of couples cross the finish line together, holding hands and cheering.  I saw a few runners limp across the line only to be immediately attended to by medics and wheeled away in wheel chairs.  And I saw more than one runner burst into uncontrollable sobbing as they completed the race, and achieve a tremendous goal.  Families waited to hug and congratulate, and plenty of kisses were had. There was a small group of volunteers waiting just past the finish line rewarding the runners with their medals of completion, criers, couples and gimps alike.

I stayed at the park and enjoyed the energy for about thirty minutes.  I happened to see my friend cross the finish line and I hugged and congratulated him then went about my way.  I left the park and followed the race route back to my house.  A few blocks in, I saw what was the most inspiring moment of the entire experience for me.  At about the 26 mile marker, I saw an older gentleman running and simultaneously pushing a large stroller with an older disabled child in it.  The tears flowed as my heart was touched by the incredible amount of love involved in such a feat.  Running more than twenty-six miles pushing a child who may not have been able to walk, but no doubt was able to feel the energy and love of the entire event, and unknowingly contributing greatly to it.  I could not stop smiling the entire way home.

My heart was so touched and I am so inspired by everything I saw and felt during the race.  I had no idea it would be such an emotional experience to watch people run.  However, it was much more than running I witnessed yesterday.  I was watching dedication and commitment, support from strangers and loved ones, determination and endurance through pain, traffic waiting patiently, achievement of goals, the light of the human spirit and a deep love of life.  All of it on a cold, cloudy day in the brisk autumn of Denver.  

The Herb.

Ahhhhhhh, mate(pronounced MAH-tay), the bitter, buzz-giving traditional tea of the southern parts of South America.  Long before I ever came to Argentina, I was turned onto mate and its magical powers by a friend and I've never looked back.  Most Americans have no clue what the stuff is and have always looked at me quite strangely seeing me drink what looks like dirty soup through what looks like a pipe.  Be ignorant no longer friends and family!  I will open your minds!  

Officially referred to as Yerba Mate, mate is all consuming in the southern parts of Brazil, Paraguay, Uruguay, Chile, and of course Argentina.  Mate is consumed at all hours of the day, sometimes alone, but often times shared with friends and family.  Mate is a significant part of the daily culture and is consumed in every possible place imaginable; from park benches, to street markets, while driving, soccer players sip it on the sidelines and school children have even been seen toting their gourds and hugging thermoses on field trips.  

 Mate is consumed by putting the loose herb/tea in a small "cup" which is usually made of wood or is a hollowed out gourd, elaborated with decorations, or in this case, simply covered with a metal outer casing.  This "cup" is actually the mate, the tea is the yerba(herb).  After pouring hot(but not boiling!)water over the yerba, it is sipped through a filter straw called a bombilla.  The bombilla obviously allows the passage of only the brewed tea and not the chunks of leaves and stems that remain in the gourd.  Yerba mate is a tea that can be brewed time and time again, continuously pumping out flavor and the famous "spaced-out" mate buzz that keeps this society fueled.  Thus, accompanied by a thermos filled with hot water to refill the gourd over and over again. 

Mates and bombillas are for sale on nearly every street corner, every souvenir shop, every market.  All shapes, sizes, and decorations imaginable.  

Wow, that's quite the selection of mates.  And at the black market exchange rate of 10/1 Argentine peso to US dollar, that is also quite the bargain!  Mate and bombilla for all!

Though I find supermarkets to be disgusting places and avoid shopping at them in favor of small local and farmers markets, I could not resist snapping this photo of the yerba mate section of a super market in Buenos Aires.  It is larger than the coffee section, and likely higher quality than the crap coffee that Argentines drink.

A common sight in the streets, and I don't mean just trash disposed of in the streets.  Upon close inspection, one can see that there is used yerba dumped right on top of the trash that someone already left in the street.  Hey, it's natural, right?  I really see this everywhere in the city, piles of used yerba disposed of on sidewalks.  It beats dog shit any day.

Here we see a young Argentine doing what they do best, sip mate on the sidewalk.  Job?  Who needs a job?  

Remember what I said about using hot, but not boiling water?  Well that is much more of a concern among mate drinkers than you can imagine.  The South Americans are so nutso about not burning the yerba that there are even counter top water heaters with a "mate" setting.  Minimum, mate, maximum, a guarantee you will not burn your herb(I couldn't resist the pun).  Boiling water not only burns the mouth and esophagus of the drinker when it is consumed, but it is too hot for the yerba and actually damages the multiple health properties that the yerba contains.  Yerba mate is quite a healthful drink, and though it contains a compound very similar to caffeine, it also contains many vitamins and minerals.  Mate is an alkaline pH, which makes it much healthier and easier to consume in place of acidic coffee as well.  Any one that has ever tried mate has also likely experienced the "high" similar to smoking pot that lasts for maybe twenty or thirty minutes.  This buzz usually doesn't last if one continues to drink mate everyday, but is always fun for first timers.  Then they're hooked, always looking for a high that was as good as the first time. . .  

They love the herb so much, they get high and paint murals in the street.  When I say it's everywhere, I literally mean it.  Put that in your gourd and sip it!