Flash of Enlightenment

When on a yogic journey through India, with dedication to practice with as many yoga elements that cross your path, you do whatever it takes to tap into all offered realms of yogic enlightenment. Whether it be on a dirty rooftop in the hot December sun, or in a blissed-out yoga studio above the crashing waves to a tone set by a beautiful Mumbai woman. Every practice is unique and worth the time, energy and rupees paid. But sometimes when opening yourself to all forthcoming elements, you can get yourself into a yogic-pickle that might even test your willingness to be enlightened in the first place...
While shopping for my yoga philosophy books in the tiny beach town in South Goa, I struck up in conversation with a tiny, old Indian man named Krishna. A native to the area with stories of his childhood and yoga studies from 12 years onward. We chatted about the push of Westerners whom come to the south in the winter and teach yoga for high prices, and all the tourists that show up for some fluffy, Eat Pray Love experience of a lifetime. In my quest to explore my journey and avoid that "fluff" I felt it was a worthy attempt to spend $4 the next morning on his 9 am drop-in yoga class.



At 8:30 am I had walked over from my strip of beach to the next, and at 9:10 Krishna had woken up, and arrived outside his house with a toothbrush in hand to greet his solo standing student of the day. the water tank on the rooftop had overflowed, thus a spare bedroom in his house would host as todays studio space instead of the normal rooftop space. A small mattress on the floor in the corner of the room was offered to me as a base for my yoga mat to lay on, I considered for a moment as I am currently open to all styles of unique practicing techniques.... but denied the offer and laid my mat across the cement floor. The mattress was cleared from the room, along with the cockroaches that nested beneath it. He checks his hair in the mirror and then a 15 minute "warm up" was instructed to me by Mr. Krishna- head to the right and left, feet to the right and left, hands to the right and left... and so on. And yes, for 15 minutes. We stumbled along into poses/asanas, all of which were randomly linked together and held for odd amounts of time. I was deep into my considerations of what the hell kind of Yoga is this...?? But in my quest to remain open, I let the confusion run off my back. A yawn slipped from my mouth (out of pure boredom) which lead dear Krishna into a 5 minute lecture on how yawning is an important release in the yoga world, and how we should not be ashamed of this, but embrace it and let it out..... ok, whatever. Om Shanti.

His phone rings, and he answers it.

Two more poses are instructed. Then he decides it's time for a break- lay down and rest. This corps pose was held halfway through the practice for a solid 10 minutes. I was too busy counting the splattered mosquitoes on the wall to properly relax into a tranquil state.

He gets up and goes to the kitchen to pass something on to his wife.

He returns with a kitten to show me.

We proceed into seated postures and spinal twists to near the completion of our... of so interesting... practice. While on our sits bones, facing one another, I mirror him by crossing my right leg over my bent left leg. I get myself situated in this familiar pose, Adha Matsyendrasana, stretched up and twisted my spine towards the center of the room. My gaze swept across my teacher who was in the same pose, facing away from me. His barely there shorts were hiked up to guide him into a deep spinal twist. And there before me, in my quest to expose myself to authentic Indian expression, was my FLASH... of Enlightenment. My gaze quickly ran from Krishna's escapee at the base of his shorts, up to the wall to find a blood-splattered mosquito and clear my mind from what I had just witnessed. While suppressing a laughter of tears, I packed up my mat, said goodbye to my momentary Guru, and left his impromptu Yoga Shala of Enlightenment.

Enlightenment Lesson #37 - Always focus your Drishti (focal point) on a spot on the floor, not a moving or live object of any kind..... and choose yoga classes with caution from now on.

Only thing left to do in order to cleanse my thoughts from this experience is to eat. 1 plate of 50 cent Masala fried rice from the toothless man in the red cart by the beach.... hold the eggs , please.





2011- And another year as a Gypsy! Om Namah Shivaya.

Om Shanti-Shock

I've arrived in a different world, a different country, and a different time zone.

They say India is the best of the best, and the worst of the worst. The bright and beautiful, yet dusty and dirty. Land of financial and spiritual wealth, and the poorest of poor. A land that many come to find something, or to be found by something greater. Or just a place to be challenged.
There are many ways to find challenge in our lives, but in India the challenge begins when you step off the plane. Nothing is to be expected in India, and everything will rock your senses and invade your comfort zone here.

And it did.



After a few days of experiencing all the dimensions of New Delhi in the many shapes of lowest of lows and highest of highs, I booked it south. Now I find myself in South Goa, in a proper Indian summer and just in time for Christmas.

Unlike many of my previous global adventures with paths paved along my way with jamon legs, California pinots, fish sauce, German beer, Bahamian lobster, and Pacific Northwest microbrews.... I have chosen a different approach to this present 3 1/2 month adventure. My focus in India is that of my strength, my soul, my purpose, and my yoga practice. In setting that intention for myself, I have given up meat and alcohol for this journey. I've placed a significant emphasis solely on my physical and spiritual practice, and for the first time IN MY LIFE, not on the food. There will be no title change from Gypsy Chef to Gypsy Yogi or anything crazy like that.... just a little test for myself. And I do have sources on standby with suckling pig and an IV of sangria to bring me back to life once I return to Spain in spring.







As this is a very strong journey for me all together, it is the very first that I have chosen to do truly alone. I've come to India- the country that notoriously brings up all that is hidden inside you, and as a single female. If I don't find strength and empowerment from this journey, then I really don't know where the hell else to find it!


One of my favorite poems to regain focus, light, and grounding, and by a powerful woman at that...

-WILD GEESE-
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

from Dream Work by Mary Oliver
published by Atlantic Monthly Press
© Mary Oliver


Namaste, Ash

Gracias. Merci. Chokran. Thanks.

I am unbelievably Thankful for my life.
Like I am really, really, really, ridiculously grateful for my existence. And right now more than ever- I have an amazing and supportive family, some damn fine looking friends all over the globe, refined taste buds, healthy joints and muscles, a working passport, and a desire to experience this beautiful life.


Tips on creating a Thanksgiving experience Spain:
#1 Find fellow Americans... or just those who have visited the states in the last 10 years, thats fine too.
#2 No need to pre-order a turkey. They won't run out.
#3 Thanksgiving must be celebrated on Black Friday because no country, other than yours has Thursday off work.
#4 Everyone else in the world thinks that a "pumpkin" and a "pie" should never touch.
#5 Suggest a reenactment of the Pilgrims and Indians on Thanksgiving Day- Separating the group in two, place half on a boat at the beach and the other half (the native Mallorquins, naturally) on the sand, in loin clothes, carving arrowhead jewelry and such. Come together. Trade gifts. Sit, eat and give thanks.

Happy Thanksgiving!
A photo memoir of some of the most incredible and transformative table experiences:





















I find myself living for moments at the table. From country to country, table to table, friends to family, I am completely infatuated with the power of a group of people breaking bread at the table. Images from Italy, California, Vietnam, Morocco, Seattle, Spain, Chicago, Laos, France, Bali, etc. All share one thing in common- A plank of wood, elevated above the ground, scattered wit empty wine bottles, crumpled napkins, bread crumbs, and tales of life, love and happiness. Thankful for the table.

















.... And at this very moment, I am extra Thankful that India has not only granted me a visa for my 3 month visit, starting on Tuesday. But That it has also accepted me into a Yoga Teacher Training in Goa this February. I'll do my very best to keep you updated on my gypsy adventures on that beautiful continent... Cheers!

Kamar

... Arabic for "Full Moon"
Kamar, is the name of a woman, and is also used as a compliment from a man to a woman with an exceptionally glowing, beautiful face. I love that.

The moment I stepped off the plane in Marrakesh, I was welcomed with warm African winds carrying a night scent of diesel, cumin, and orange blossoms. I was intoxicated with affection for Morocco within moments, before my feet even touched the soil. The PMCA Culinary Adventure that I assisted was the perfect segway to indulge my senses and officially place Morocco on my list of places to long for.






Once I float down from this cloud of rose water, saffron threads, and sweet dates dipped in milk, then I will give you the full Moroccan break down. And until then, pour yourself a glass of mint tea and throw a wish to the great Kamar.
-Ash

Alpujarra

Ferrierola is a small village in the Alpuharra mountains of Andalucia. A tiny community of 26 people, 1 large and tranquile German Shepard, 3 natural water sources-Fuentes, 1 cafe, 1 bar (which is the same place actually), at least a dozen stray cats, and a beautiful guesthouse by the name of Casa Ana.
8 guests came for a week of Spnaish cooking, and a glimpse into the life of a peaceful mountain village.




Many beautiful creations were made at Casa Ana- Cheastnut soup with chestnuts harvested from the trails around the village. Almond cake with figs poached in cava. Seafood Paella cooked outside on a wood fire. Lamb shoulder stuffed with saffron rice and pistachios. Ajo Blanco- cold almond soup. Roasted rabbit with quince. And a chorizo with fried bread tapa, that when enjoyed with a mountain landscape can all of a sudden make all the problems in life just slip away, right down with a glass of crisp Albariño.














Garlic Pan-Fried Bread and Chorizo
Serves 6-8
7 oz soft chorizo sausage, outer casing removed
4 slices country bread, cut thick
Extra Virgin Olive oil
3 garlic, thinly sliced
2T parsley, chopped
paprika to garnish
Cut the chorizo sausage into 1/2” thick slices. Cut the bread, with its crusts
still on, into 1/2” cubes. Add enough olive oil to a large, heavy bottom skillet
so that it generously covers the bottom. Heat the oil, add the garlic, cook
30 seconds or until lightly browned. Add bread cubes and pan fry, stirring
all the time, until golden brown and crisp. Add chorizo and pan fry 1-2
minutes, or until hot. Use a slotted spoon, remove bread cubes and chorizo
and drain on paper towels. Turn into serving bowl, add chopped parsley
and stir. Garnish the dish with a sprinkle of paprika and serve warm.
Accompany with toothpicks so that a piece of sausage and a cube of bread
can be speared together for eating.

Buen Provecho!

Mercado

The central mercado in Malaga is where Kim and I shopped for 2 days in preparation for this culinary adventure in the Alpujarra mountains of Andalucia. Fish so fresh the rigor mortis still present. Incredibley vibrant manderine oranges with shiny, green leaves that call you forth and demand attention. Plump green pears with red wax-tipped stems. Aisles of ornamental jamon legs. Bright orange wild mushrooms..... Hard to find anything wrong with life when surrounded by this desirable botany. Oh, and the pre-market churros y chocolate that opened their arms to me in the early morning light. You're just too damn hard to resist, España.
Shockingly, I am still procrastinating on that detox...

Figs & Lamb

Ok… and aioli.

Or “alli oli” as they say here in Mallorca. I just really couldn’t bring myself to put the word up there in the title. I just finished a month in spreadable-garlicky-bliss, and can successfully say that I have personally consumed enough aioli to feed a small country. So much so, that by the last week I was outwardly stating before each meal, that I would not be eating anymore aioli. Then promptly being the first to raise a hand at the passing waiter and yell- “mas alli oli por favor!” And successfully dragging the last piece of toasted Mallorcan brown bread across the cleaned clay bowl. I’m about ready to legally change my middle name, or at least name my first born after this Godsend of a foodie wonder. I don’t care how many times, or in how many different countries and cities I’ve had it in- the beautiful Balearic Island of Mallorca makes the best damn aioli on the planet. Hands down.

The best thing to cut through all that pleasurable fatty goodness is… roasted lamb- of course. Well, and suckling pig (lechona), but lets just focus on the lamb for now, shall we? Es Verger is a family run restaurant just up the mountain from the city of Alaro. A woman in her 70’s pushing 5’2” stands in front of a large wood burning oven, and pushes and pulls large oval pans filled with lamb shoulders and succulent juices. All with her long, hooked stick, and a pretty face beet-red from standing by the fire for the last 7 hours. She was breathtaking, in my opinion.

3 hours, 4 bowls of aioli, 4 lamb shoulders, and a bottle of house vino tinto (to also assist in cutting through the excessive fat consumption,) it’s no wonder why this country has a mandatory nap mid day. We barbarically piled our completely cleaned, lamb shoulder bones atop one another, as if a prized carnivorous trophy. And ordered cortados (espresso cut with milk) as we laughed out loud, drunk with gluttony. It was raining as we walked past a pack of sheep down to our car, the restaurant still buzzing behind us with Mallorca’s Sunday best. One of my favorite days to date.

It’s the figs on this Island that really get my juices bubbling. As a Californian, I do love my mission figs, and I peer out my Santa Barbara window everyday in August to check in with that there tree. But in September here in Mallorca, my favorite type of fig is unveiled. A couple named Pepe and Angela whom own a sweet little shop in the Santa Catalina Market, take pride in their Higos De Mallorca con Anise. Dried figs, pressed into beautiful fat disks, massaged by Angelas hands with Anise liqueur, wild fennel, and honey from Pepe’s bees. I got Kim Schiffer and Peggy Markel to join me my last week in Mallorca, and I think enough dried figs were purchased to put Pepe and Angela’s first child through college. Excessive weight fare on AirEuropa- 60 Euro.

With figs in tow, a ceremony to initiate aioli into it’s own food group-done, and a small village town of Ferreirola in the Alpujarra mountains on the horizon. Falling deeper and deeper in love with España.