Something to live by:

From a postcard found in a dingy backpacker bar in Byron Bay, Australia:

“Why tell your grandkids you worked 9-5, five days a week for 40 years and quietly sat in traffic jams while people went to war, suffered disease and shot their own classmates? Tell them you refused to live in fear. Tell them you crossed the Amazon, saw the Lost Cities of Gold and met your soul mate in Casablanca. Travel to the ends of the earth. Go now and live adventures that will make your grandkids proud.”

A Day in the Life... Continued...

            During the week, I’m supernanny. On the weekends I’m a professional chiller/juice barista extraordinaire! I met a man in my bikram yoga class named Jay who just so happens to own a fantastic

Jay

juice bar called Jay’s Juices. So, after Jay and I chatted a few times after yoga, he mentioned that he might need a barista on Sundays, which was perfect for me. I offered to leave my number, to which he bluntly replied, “I don’t need your number, come in for training on Saturday.”

Now, you might be wondering how I can work in Holland without speaking Dutch… Well, luckily this juice bar is in a touristy part of town and all the tourists speak English. The other patrons speak Dutch, but are fluent in my mother tongue. I’m still attempting to learn this difficult language, but it’s proving to be harder than I thought. I speak a bit of three-year-old Dutch with Stijn—I’ve got to know the basics:

‘please’-‘alstublieft’

‘thank you’-‘dankjewel’

‘wait for me!”-“wacht op mij!”

‘do you want a sandwich with peanutbutter?”-‘will je een boterham met pindakaas?‘

‘clean up’-‘op ruim’

 …But that is about it.

            Jay’s Juices is a small, yet vibrant and exotic establishment.  Located on the noisy, bustling Harlemmer Street, this shop is like a calming retreat amidst the chaos—it stands out like a sore thumb amongst the various tourist and coffee shops. In the window, you’ll always find copious amounts of diverse and colorful fruits as well as green sprouts of fresh wheatgrass. Even on the rainiest days, the summery tunes of Bob Marley and Buena Vista Social Club can be heard, drifting out the front door and into the busy atmosphere outside.

            Jay is quite a character—he is a lineal descendant of an Indian tribe called the Arawak. He was born in Aruba, but has lived in Amsterdam for about thirty years. When he came here, his wild nature made all the boring jobs he tried impossible for him. Soon after arrival, he got involved in crime, drugs, and alcohol. He walked this path for more than twenty years.             
      At his lowest ebb, weighing almost 300 pounds and completely addicted to drugs, Jay received a vision. His deceased grandmother appeared, brought him to her world and showed him a white feather. In the days that followed he went looking for that white feather—after three days of almost going crazy and non-stop searching, he found it. It came from a big white rooster. Standing eye to eye with this rooster, he saw, as in a mirror, his infinite inner power. From that moment on his life transformed.               
      After kicking the habit and detoxing with juices, he decided to make the juices his lifework. In the year 2000 he opened Jay’s Juices. Since then, many people have been inspired in an inimitable way by this fanatical and eccentric Indian.

            So, this is my boss. He has come so far and changed for the better since his hard days. Now, he has filled his soul with love. He lives by the power of the green heart—his personal, spiritual totem that he has created. He drinks wheatgrass shots and does bikram yoga everyday. He’s very unpredictable and will often surprise customers and myself with a sporadic hand massage followed by a mantric chanting session. Then with a huge smile on his face, he’ll ask, “How was your journey?” and then continue on with his business.

Nikki

            Working here, I’ve met so many friendly, honest and amazing people. About half of the customers are regulars here and come in almost every day to get a healthy serving of fresh fruits, vegetables and wheatgrass. The rest are tourists, with whom I love having lively conversations about traveling and life. I also love experimenting with all the healthy ingredients we have in shop—I whip up the craziest of juices. As most who know me can attest to, I don’t like using recipes… So I’ll experiment with chili peppers, avocado, garlic and all sorts of wild ingredients.

            Another reason I love going to work is because of my co-worker Nikki. She is twenty-four, Dutch-American and a world traveler. She has travelled by herself to Sierra Leone, Argentina, Germany, Canada and more… She’s kind natured, accepting of everyone, a great cook and she loves to dance. This girl is a big inspiration to me.

            So, I guess that’s more than you bargained for… But, this is a day in my life these days. Life is not too complicated right now. I feel a healthy balance—I have time for hobbies and time for myself. I enjoy my work. I am surrounded by love. Everything is new and exciting. Time is flying.  

A Day in the Life...

         

      Loud, staticky voices erupt from my radio alarm clock and startle me out of my deep sleep. I briefly eavesdrop on the conversation that is taking place, but truly understand nothing because both the radio talk show host and his interviewee are speaking Dutch.

I crack one eye and peek at the green, blocky numbers on the clock screen: 8:00 AM. I hit the snooze button, close my eyes and fall back into slumber. It feels like a minute later and the voices are back, waking me again. 8:10. Snooze. Sleep ten minutes. 8:20. Snooze. 8:30. And the pattern continues… until it’s crunch time and I literally have five minutes to get ready for work. I had planned to take a shower that morning, but that will have to wait. I throw on an outfit. I brush my teeth, wash my face and walk down three flights of stairs and I’m at work. It’s quite a commute: it takes about thirty seconds to get there.

            As soon as I open the door there’s almost always some sort of commotion going on. Toy cars strewn across the floor. A half-eaten peanut butter sandwich on the table.  Dutch Dora the Explorer on TV. Coffee brewing. A fire in the fireplace. A naked three-year-old boy runs back and forth from the kitchen to the living room, dodging tables, chairs and toys. He’s quite the nudist—this is normal behavior for him when it comes time to put clothes on. Finally, I catch him and with a bit of force, am able to dress him. Being an au pair is always exciting. 

            Then Dad, Jim, goes to work and Mom, Susan, takes a shower or goes back to sleep—being a mom is exhausting and she’s usually up all night taking care of the five week old baby girl, Olivia. So, now I’m alone with Stijn and Olivia. Stijn does a lot of ‘auto spelen’ and ‘boterham eten’, in English, ‘playing with cars’ and ‘sandwich eating’. These are our main activities unless we go to the ‘speeltuin’ or ‘playground’. Life is easy when you’re three.

           

 Then it’s time for school. Outside, it’s sunny, but crisp and chilly—a perfect fall day. Orange and yellow leaves coat the busy streets. I walk and Stijn rides his small bike. It has no pedals, so he pushes his feet against the ground to propel himself forward. It’s like walking with the aid of wheels, so as you can imagine he has a significant advantage over me in terms of speed. He zips ahead and screams wildly “HUP STIJN, HUP! HUP, STIJN HUP!” which literally translates to “GO, STIJN, GO! GO, STIJN, GO!” and I am forced to sprint in order to keep up.

            Once I’ve dropped him off at school, I am normally granted some free time. In these moments I will usually go to a hot, sweaty bikram yoga class, jog around beautiful Wester Park, play guitar, take some photographs, cook a fantastic meal, ponder the meaning of life, write, have a chat with family and friends back home, or bike around the city. 

            My bike is a classic old road bike. I bought her for thirty Euros and she’s a beaut—she’s shiny gold in color and her name is Cleopatra. She’s on her last legs, old Cleopatra, but she’s a trooper. Her gears are broken so I am perpetually cycling in a very low gear, but it is tolerable because there are no hills in Amsterdam. There is a recurring squeaking sound that happens every time her wheels make a full rotation… lets just say you can always hear Cleo and I coming. Regardless, she is a reliable old girl and we get around together.

                   I pick up Stijn from school. He bikes. I run. Once we get home, I make him a ‘boterham met pindakaas’ or ‘sandwich with peanut butter’. Then I’ll look after baby Olivia while Stijn plays with his massive collection of toy cars. 

         Night rolls around, Jim comes back from work. Then, the magic happens in the ‘keuken’ or 'kitchen'. Stijn frolics around, protesting bedtime as Susan cooks up wonderful typically Dutch meals. I wouldn’t say they are healthy, but they are most definitely delicious: the top ingredients are cheese and potatoes. We have a nice family meal together followed by tea, coffee and stroopwafels—Dutch sugar-filled waffle cookies. (Somehow, I haven’t gained weight yet and I think it’s due to what I like to call the “European Balance”—I’m constantly biking and walking everywhere, so it cancels out all of the cheese and butter I’m consuming.)

After dinner, I’ll call it a day and scale the three extremely steep flights of stairs that lead to my apartment.  Out of breath, I’ll open the front door to find my lovely roommate, Fleur, sprawled out on our ever-so-comfortable couch watching The Hills. I’ll join her briefly and we’ll share stories of our days and then we’ll retire to our beds. I love writing at night, so I’ll usually try to find some inspiration and crank out some words. Sleep, then repeat.

        This is a day in my weekly life.

PINK

I have created a simple photography project for myself. I have given myself some artistic guidelines: each time I go out and shoot, I must photograph a specific color in the world. This time, I decided to challenge myself—I chose pink.

 

"Miranda, what are you afraid of?"

Direct quote:

a full time job

and settling down

and guns.

Thoughts

How does time pass so quickly? Looking back at old photos, I am amazed to see how many people flow in and out of our lives constantly. Faces of people whom I felt so connected with in the past are now absent from my life. If only I could hold onto everyone that has been a positive force in my life—no matter how short or long of an encounter we shared.

I remember hiking forever, but we didn’t care—we had the cool, green ocean to our right and the lush, looming mountains to our left. Total equilibrium. We took refuge from the wind where a small creek met the sea and we collected fresh, salty muscles for lunch. We decided to camp for the night at Spanish Flat in an old shelter made of driftwood and broken surfboards. We lay on the soft sand and stared up at the cloudless, starry night sky and counted satellites. We talked about other galaxies and unfathomable colors as we drifted into sleep.    

I remember that summer: we were in our junior year of high school. We biked anywhere and everywhere. The ocean was our shower. We didn’t brush our hair. We lived on bean and cheese burritos (with lettuce). We were drunk probably more than we were sober.

I remember hot instant oatmeal that warmed our souls in the mornings at the cabin in the snow. We would watch the white, paper-like snowflakes fall from the grey sky while bearing huge grins of anticipation for the powdery slopes. Then we would suit up and snowboard all day until the sun went down.

I remember relaxed days, cold beers, loud music and endless laughter at the lake. The whole crew was there, almost equally divided between boys and girls. We had no serious commitments and nothing to lose.

I remember busy streets, bustling markets, Australian accents, car stereos booming and dead leaves scraping along as the wind carried them across the cold pavement. Pungent and tantalizing aromas of hot curry would often waft though open windows, beckoning us to pay a visit the quaint, little Indian restaurant down the street from our apartment.

Step into the Unknown

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my up and coming travel plans. I’ve come to the conclusion that this trip is my rite of passage: it’s my personal, ritual journey that I hope will push me to grow, discover more about myself and find my purpose on this planet.

I truly believe that in this cultural melting pot of a world it is so important to seek out and adventure to new places. For some, this could mean simply taking a different route home from work. For others, it means venturing to a distant continent and becoming acquainted with an unfamiliar culture.

What I’m really trying to express is that it is crucial for us, as humans, to immerse ourselves in uncomfortable situations. To step outside of our routine or comfort-zone is one of the most valuable things that we can practice.    

Many religions require their followers to carry out a sacred voyage within their lifetimes such as a walkabout for Australian Aboriginals or the Hajj in Islamic religion.

(In case you didn’t know, the Walkabout is a rite of passage during which male Australian Aboriginals undergo a long journey during adolescence. They proceed to live in the wilderness alone for up to six months. They trace the paths, or ‘songlines’, that their ancestors followed in order to better understand their own people and themselves)

(The Hajj is a pilgrimage to the holy ground of Mecca that almost all Muslims complete. It is a demonstration of their solidarity as well their submission to God.)

Photo by Brandon Burgdorf

Since I am neither religious nor sure of what I want to do with my immediate future, this trip becomes my spiritual adventure, my rite of passage. I have no idea how I plan to find what I’m looking for… I also have no idea what I’m looking for; I have no expectations… I guess I’ll just have to wait and see what I discover.   

My Oasis

I’m a small town girl. Well I guess that you can’t really call Santa Cruz a small town (it has about 50,000 inhabitants) … but what I mean is that I grew up in the less condensed countryside in the Santa Cruz Mountains. I was lucky enough to have four acres of land and plentiful nature to explore. Even when you venture into the town you are never far from the fresh, blue ocean, a redwood forest or an ever-stretching golden field. Now that I’m living in a city, I see that it’s easy to take the beauty and power of nature for granted.

As I ride my bike through the crowded streets I must always have my guard up, constantly scanning to look for cars, motorcycles, bikes, (dog shit) and pedestrians—all which aim to impede my forward motion. It’s hard to feel at ease when there are vehicles constantly zipping and zooming around at different speeds and from all directions. Traffic clogs the veins and arteries of the city. After a while, though, it becomes customary and less intimidating. Regardless, it’s dog eat dog out there and every (wo)man for themselves.

I peruse the map of Amsterdam—an immense ‘spiderweb’ of interlaced strands that indicate streets and canals. I find that if I have a destination, I can rarely locate it without getting lost in the midst of this perplexing metropolis. On the other hand, if I don’t have a destination, I can always get where I want to go. 

On the map, I see oblong, green shapes that signify parks. They are interspersed amongst copious amounts of squares and lines, representing brick buildings and cobblestone streets. 

I tried many times to find these parks—attempting to follow street signs and my appalling sense of direction, but failed. So finally, I went for an aimless bike ride and sure enough stumbled upon Wester Park.

I entered the boundary of the park… It felt like a breath, or rather a gasp, of fresh air. A park is an oasis within a city. I feel suffocated when constantly surrounded by tall buildings and fast moving vehicles… To be in a green, natural sanctuary is like heaven—it’s like a little piece of home. It is important for me to recharge in these areas, to breathe, to appreciate, to become inspired.     

Back Asswards

The backyard

I guess I should have explained my purpose here in Amsterdam before I started writing about the minute details...

I'm here as an au pair (or nanny as it's called in The States). I'm working for a family of four: Jim, the father, Susan, the mother, Stijn, the three year old boy, and Olivia, the new born baby.  
I live in an apartment three stories above them--this provides me with a great source of exercise as I climb my way home up the steep and seemingly endless stairs.

Baby Olivia

Stijn helping me bake chocolate cake

Right now my job consists of taking Stijn to school, changing diapers, preparing food and cleaning and all that fun motherly stuff.

I guess you're probably wondering how I got this job... One of my best friends, Fleur, whom I met while studying in Australia set me up with this fine situation. Susan, the mother, is actually Fleur's cousin. It worked out perfectly that I finished college and was offered this opportunity. So, that's that... Background information.