Ginger Rain

I had never been in the desert when it rains before. This was a first.
The dark clouds moved into the Palmeria in Marrakech, and I watched the palm trees fix their leaves firmly to the rights side of my window view. The ginger colored sand and dirt darkened in color as the rain fell. A hot date with a hammom, a pair of soft leather baboush to cover my cold toes, and a dinner of warm tangine never felt so good. The tangine is a traditional Marrakech dish made only by men- lamb or beef are cooked on the bone, in a clay vase buried in Hammom ashes. It's different than a well known tagine which has more of a steaming effect while cooked over an open fire.

My recent trip to Morocco was one with a familiar scent. Bits of India still lingering on my skin, words, and the yoga classes that I lead each morning on rooftops under African sun. The reconnection with Morocco and it's beautiful people was an easy one, like bumping into an old friend. And the organized chaos when stuck in a traffic jam out of the airport of trucks, bikes, camels and donkeys felt comforting and alive again.

"Moroccan woman have delicious hands" - Our beautiful chef, Bahija says as she tosses hot barley coucous with her bare hands. We season finger-fulls of appropriate spices into our slowly caramelizing onions and raisins which will top the 2 hour-steaming couscous. Bahija and Peggy pick up the finely ground powder and hold it at a slight angle above the onions. With a quick twitch of momentum in the wrist, the cumin, cinnamon, ginger and turmeric come raining down like a fine mist. Touching every exposed onion in sight. The steam sends up clouds of spice. The ginger burns your nose sightly as it rises back up.


3 weeks of warm Barley bread, rose scented aragon oil, 100 year old Moroccan rugs, spontaneous 3 day camel safaris, oranges dusted with cinnamon, goats in trees, and ginger rain in the dessert of north Africa.




Didn't think I would write these words so soon... but.... I am, yet again, boarding a plane tomorrow.
More soon..... x -A

Red Tassels & Sweet Carrots

“Paradise runs under the feet of mothers” – An Arabic saying from the Koran


Morocco hosting the latest space for transformation, cultivation of new awareness, and a feast of the senses. Assisting this Culinary tour again, for the second time in the past 6 months. The Marrakech air blanketed me like a warm duvet as I departed my flight and walked along the familiar tar mat. Going from a beach hut with bucket showers in South India, to a 5 star Moroccan Riad in an oasis outside of Marrakech in just a matter of days. Jnane Tamsna has been a home to PM Culinary Adventures for the past 10 years. Saffron yellow walls dotted with traditional sacred-style of keyhole doorways, hand woven Berber rugs sached through hallways lined with tea lights, and sugar-like spring carrots laced with preserved lemons in my chicken tagine. A truly special place that authentically speaks the language of Morocco.


The traditional architecture of Morocco has lured such an intense curiosity in me, more than any other country. Dars and Riads are scattered throughout the tiny streets within the walls of the old city-The Medina. From the outside, Marrakesh life captivates you in it's controlled chaos in an instant. Parting the clouds of motorbike exhaust and aromatic street food smoke, as you wind through narrow streets framed by dusty blush colored walls. A Riad (translated as; Paradise Gardens) is a traditional Moorish house in Morocco. A home that is sectioned off into 4 interior gardens within the Riad walls, with rooms opening up to the center. Plants such as Hydrangea's and Plumerias are capable of growing within the security of Riad walls, and a fountain or water feature pierces the middle like a strategically placed sun dial. It's that Magical contrast of being in a whirlwind of chaos and then instantly in a serene Paradise Garden, that to me, is the enticing beauty of Morocco.



Preserved Lemons

5-6 small organic or meyer lemons
Sea Salt (about 3-4 T per lemon)

Cut the lemons from top to bottom in quarters, but not all the way through. Basically a cross, all the way down, but still attached. Stuff each quadrant with approximately 1 Tablespoon of Salt.
Put 5-6 lemons (however many will fit) into a glass jar and seal the jar tightly.
Leave lemons on the kitchen counter for 3 weeks. Turn them upside down, then right side up every day.
Can keep for up to 1 year in the pantry or refrigerator.
Avoid using metal to scoop the lemons out of the jar.

I must say though, that regardless of how easy it is to get lost with yourself in a place like Morocco, I am still being haunted by the "what's next??" part of my life. Closing the chapters of India, and soon on Morocco, I feel a weight in my chest of anticipation and unknown.... I fell upon this quote that I had tucked away from my India journey. Reading it's words over a cup of mint tea, I chose to let go yet again, an to succumb deeper and deeper into the spell cast upon me by the city of Marrakech...

"Be patient towards all that is unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms and like books that are written in a very foreign tongue. Do not seek the answers, which cannot be given to you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will find them gradually, without noticing it, and live along some distant day into the answer." -Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a young poet

7 days

Wdnesday- India


Friday- London


Sunday- España


Tuesday- Marrakesh



Made it to Morocco from India in 7 days. With necessary stop overs in London and Spain to properly re-introduce me to the world of meat eating and beer drinking. My clothes continue to smell like incense, and beach sand still lingers about my backpack from an Indian journey that continues to shape the path I now walk.
A love affair with Mother India is sure a hard one to get over. I shall heal my yearning heart with layers of Ras Al Hanout, rosewater, and smooth Moroccan wine...

February??

The month of February is overrated anyway! So I "chose" to skip it all together in terms of blogging.

Actually, I am just neck-deep in my Yoga Teacher Training course in South India. Therefore writing anything about yoga, breathe, body, mindfulness, yada yada... Is strictly prohibited from this blog at the moment. When I have minutes away from a shala or book on pranayama and meditation, then I slip my mind into daydreams of life at a cutting board. A weighted chef knife in my right hand, wafts of fresh sage and thyme that lay resting in a small glass to my left, an opened bottle of Gin awaiting my assistance to mix with tonic, and a beautifully butchered lamb shoulder resting on crinkled brown paper. Ok, I do believe it is officially time to leave this life as a sober vegetarian!!

I did have one moment in Mysore last month where I was able to cook alongside a local woman for the day, and subtly remind myself of that empowered pulse in my veins for the love of making food. I relaxed myself in a haze of warm ghee smoke that rose from the pan, and freshly ground cardamom that could only speak the language of India.

Cucumber Dosa with Coconut Chutney
Jeera Rice with Cabbage and Cashews
Roasted Eggplant and Cilantro Curry
Plantains fried with cardamom and jaggery
Gulab Jamoon (Indian doughnuts in rose syrup)







I'll post some recipes with proper measurements when I can get back to Spain... or California. But at the moment I have 1 more week to breathe Indian air, drink up the haze of a rising sun from the meditation shala window, and cultivate a plan to bring one of these chai wallas back with me....

A beautiful mantra given to me by a friend last month in Kerala

Om Harim Shrim Klim
Maheshwari
Bhuvaneshwari
Anapurnayei
Swaha

Meaning;
Seed sound, the great illusion. All that is form.
Seed Sound Abundance, The energy & Power of Life.
The Great Goddess
Goddess of Earth
Goddess of Food & Nourishment
An offering into the sacred fire. Dissolving the illusion of separation between "I" and "Thy."


I will really miss you, India.

Banana, Coconut, Yoga. Repeat.

I was the first to arrive by 6:00 am to my new Yoga Shala in Mysore. The new kid has to be extra on time for her first day. I kicked my rainbow sandals off under the bench that I sat cross-legged on, and faced the door to my new space of education, alignment... and maybe some torture. Slowly over the course of the next 15 minutes, 10 practitioners emerged from bicycles, rickshaws and motos out of the dark morning light. Each individual sat on a respective bench, tucked their legs into lotus and closed their eyes. Not a single individual gave me a little "good morning!" wink, nudge, half smile... nothing. They moved over the pavement almost motionless, AND to top the strange behavior... they all wore matching tee shirts. The teacher opens the door. I grab my displaced flip flops and place them at the end of the perfect shoe line next to the shala door, as I enter the realms of unknown.

As the new kid, I sit in the front row to receive special instruction on whatever I just signed my life away to here. The row of folks behind me begin to chant in unison, then they each get up and begin a designated practice. I can feel the movement behind me as these cult-yogis whip through sun salutations. My curiosity is killing me, as I am just focusing on seated leg lifts and toe points. Baby stuff! So I slip a little eye over the shoulder maneuver to take in some of the chaos behind me. Before I can even focus my eyes on a moving yogi, I am blindsided by my straight-faced, no nonsense, yoga teacher- "focus on your breathing, keep your eyes on your practice, how can you master a pose that you are not thinking about? Think about it. And breathe." Caught cheating the first day. Great.
A breakfast is provided to us after the pranayama meditation class. I sat there in half lotus, suppressing tears of pain as my hips burned and feet turned a cold blue color. Pressing my hands harder in mudra, and trying to focus on anything but the severe discomfort in this 30 minutes from hell... I began to think about this soon to be breakfast hour.
"What will they serve us!?"
"My tuition was awful expensive... this must be good food then!"
"I need a chai.. like whoa"
I hear a motor running close to the shala walls- "mmmm...banana cashew smoothies, I bet!"

30 minutes finishes and I unwind my cold, limp legs which slap down on my mat like dead pieces of meat. And continue my daydreams on breakfast outside the Shala's Door of Doom. Feeling light headed, and avoiding an obvious limp (gotta impress my fellow yogis with my fierce, first day strength) I exit the shala to find my breakfast- A perfect row of small 3" by 5" foil containers lay in a perfect line on the outside bench. A brown spotted banana lay atop each.

"You've got to be joking me?"

I soon find out after my first practice that it is highly recommended for all students to consume 1 cooked vegetarian meal a day (provided in the tiny foil box) and 2 meals of 10 to 15 bananas each, followed by plenty of young coconuts to replace our water. Ok, now you've just gone too far Mr. YogiGuruSan!!! What am I supposed to focus on in class if it's not the next meal to follow??
...om shanti...

First week down in my intensive banana, coconut, yoga training alongside the matching tee shirt, silent-Sally, yogis from around the globe. My body aches, my ego is suppressed, and my intrigue heightened. I'm in awe of how this teacher can bring awareness in, and push me to levels I've never explored before. But damn straight, I'm sneaking some onion dosas, palak paneer, papaya lassis, and cardomom pastries in this yogi diet mix!

You can take a chef out of the kitchen. But you can never take the foodie out of the chef!

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