Big Sweet Tooth

Where is Home, Really?

Earlier today, I sucked down a bloody mary packed full of A-1, black pepper and tabasco.  I'm not really a bloody mary chick, but there was something about the boats heading out, the blue/gray sky, the fish 'n chips with malt vinegar, and the fact that it was Friday that made me partake.  So mellowing, those BM's are.  Reminds me of the ojo rojo's in Mex.

Then came the movie "Out of Africa," which I'd never seen.  As I was watching it, I kept jumping back to memories of Mexico wondering which I love more.  Africa?  Mexico?  Indo?  They all seem to ignite some wildfire in me.  Different reasons.  It's like my mind tears into all these crazy directions when I think of travel.  Gotta go here, gotta get back there.  Must see this, hafta experience that.  How could people not want to travel?  Not want the firsthand love affair (or nightmare)?

In Mex, I cant do typical restaurants, the safe ones.  I need the straight dumps.  The tiny shack that would for sure rate a big, fat "D" on the LA rating system.  One morning in PV, Lis and I wandered all over old town looking for the perfect place, the one that was gonna fry up only-in-Mexico eggs and refried beans, wtih hot-off-the-press tortillas.  We found it.  Somewhere near a Blockbuster.  It was Kalahari hot inside, and the mamacita behind the counter not that friendly.  But, I loved it.  It was home for a minute. 

That's what special places do to you, they give you a taste of home.  Wherever that might be.  And, for all those peeps that wanted to know the name of the place in Greece, man...do I say?  Maybe I should go first and then share later?  What if I never make it though?  It might just be the spot that someone has been looking for their entire lives.  Their home. 

Google "Allonisos"--the photos are remarkable.  It's like the primo little Greek village.  Let me know if you make it there.  And, I will do the same.  I'm 5 days in one spot, and counting.  Wow.

Village Magic is Everywhere it Seems -- Or Not?

Every time I post about certain places in the world, I get all kinds of hits because of the legend of the village.  Todos Santos, Isla Mujeres, San Miguel de Allende, and of course Yelapa.  Those are biggies.  Some more remote places like Candidasa (seaside on Bali) or the funky mountain town of Ubud get love, too, but Mexico seems to get the most.  I can see why. 

Mexico is close to the USA.  The people are warm.  The stars are bright.  The weather is awesome.  The tans are fierce.  The food is always incredible--remember my tostada quest last year?  Or my tamale expedition?  Even my oyster obsession was note-worthy.  That's just the tip of the 'berg.

What makes a village magical?  Any village?  For instance, I was eating Vietnamese yesterday and I read about this little gem in Greece in a magazine they had on the counter.  The article said its off-grid.  It's beautiful.  It's cheap.  Of course, I stayed up all night researching this particular spot and slowly became enamored.  That's how it happens.  You get a whisper of the twinkle that surrounds a special place on earth and before you know it, tickets have been booked, dollars have been spent and memories are getting made.

Thing about Yelapa is, even in the rainy season, I dig the colors.  I like that little kids swim in the Pacific and come back with fresh crabs to eat.  I'm honored to eat/drink in a locals home (which is where most restaurants set up shop).  I like that I step off a boat and there's a pile of limpet being shucked on the pier.  Situations like this make me happy and make me feel way more a part of the earth than any chop-shop tourist spot ever will.  Those cities/towns/attractions give me the hives.  The sweats.  The panic attacks. 

What also gives me those same ailments is my new quest of staying in one place for 30 days.  Day 2 was a doozie.  Not sure I can make it...

Yelapa Full of Color + 30 Days in 1 Spot

The colors of Yelapa (and Mexico as a whole) always blow my mind.  Every ramshackle hole-in-the-wall is brightened up by techno colors, all bright and beautiful even on a rainy day.  A rainy week.  The whole rainy season.  Which it was definitely doing when I was there a week ago.  The buggies were out in full force too (ever heard of flying termites), but we just laughed about the mud, the bugs, the rain, the humidity, the insanity of it all. 

Yelapa is still a magical little village even after 5 years.  Pretty much identical to what it always was.  I'm thinking its cause there are no cars.  You have to take the water ferry (45 minutes from PV) to get there, but once you're there...super chill.  Def. go in the non-rainy season, though.  If you've been a Toothie for long, you might remember that my very 1st post ever was about Yelapa.  Way back in the day...seems like a trillion years ago I was like, "Hmmm....maybe I will start a little travel/food/adventure blog." 

We tramped through the village trying not to squash the thousands of baby crabs that had just been hatched and were everywhere, drank primo ojo rojos all day, ate the BEST food (still) at Hotel Lagunita, swam in the rainwater pool (in the rain, of course), saw dolphins flippin' all around the cove, and watched chubby fireflies all night long. 

Not sure when I will be back there, I'm in desperate need of some new faraway trips..but that said, I'm challenging myself to stay in one place for 30 days.  I don't know if I can do it.  I'm already panicking about it.  But, if I can pull it off, then maybe I can get some life stuff done, finally.  Slow'er down....

Today is Day 1.  Agggghhhhhhhh!

The Best Food in Puerto Vallarta

One of the best meals across the board that I've ever had was brilliantly enjoyed at a tiny tapas joint up high on a hill in Puerto Vallarta.  It was made all the better cause my funny pals, Lis and J9, were with me, slippin' down sangria and micheladas for a few hours. I felt like an adult while drinking chilled sangria.  Been a long time since I've felt all grown up.  Not cause we were dressed up, or cause the prices were high ($60 all in, tip included for all 3 of us), but just cause it was a perfect room, full of perfect food.  Made me happy beyond belief.

J9 had happened across Esquina de los Caprichos during a long walk while we were in Puerto Vallarta (look for the whale painted across the front of the building).  She was off shooting loads of photos and exploring whilst I was paying someone to literally brush my hair and Lis was swindling dinero for looking at a timeshare (that $100 bones paid for dinner).  We'd just been down in Yelapa for a few days (during rainy season) and the naps that I left that village with were legendary.  I couldn't stomach the idea of showering or washing my hair (sick, I know), so I took the the pool for a bath and a neighborhood hairdresser to tug a brush through my hair (even she was stunned).  A few days worth of massages were my moisturizer.  :)

We made our way back to the restaurant for dinner and between the shrimp fideo, the pitcher of tangy sangria, the loads of simple/delicious small plates, the hysterical laughing at who could make the ugliest/saddest/happiest face contest, and the double chocolate cake for dessert, well...it was life in a perfect moment.  It's the exact kind of place in the exact kind of 'hood that I would want to own.  LOVED it.

Mexico is in my Blood...

I love Mexico.  Folks just cruising around with baggies full of lobster.  Rainstorms spring up outta nowhere that make ya love Mother Nature.  Weddings poppin' up around every corner.  Bright colors.  Lovely beaches.  Loads of smiles.  Amazing food (including the best tapas I've had outside of Spain). 

Was just down in Puerto Vallara and Yelapa and forget what everyone is telling you about swine flu.  I came back fine and dandy as can be.  In fact, now is the time to go - no crowds, off-season prices, cheap flights, incredible sunsets.  Be brave. 

I fell in love with PV this time around.  Old town and the area behind the church is just awesome.  I think they call it Gringo Gulch.  I can see why.  I'd buy a place there (with a sweeping terrace facing the ocean) no problem. 

It's good to be home though.  I plan on doing nothing but nesting all summer long.  Obsessing about my plants (one was attacked by small bugs while I was gone and I'm now on a recon mission to kill all varmins within a 1/2 mile radius), fixing up my boat, reading all sorts of adventure books, cooking at home, fleshing out some 4th World Love missions, maybe a trip or so to Baja and/or San Miguel de Allende to check on my trailer-- but beyond that, nada.  Holla.

Las Islas Marias - Chicago / Momofuku - NYC

Back in the day, all I used to write about/to obsess about was food.  Food is and always has been this magnetic essence that's been dear to my heart, but sometimes I stray away from it on this blog.  Not sure why.  Maybe cause I forget my camera sometimes and no way am I posting/jabbering about something otherworldly without some poppin' photos to bring up the rear. 

While in Chi this past weekend, I ate like a king.  Lebanese takeout, Cuban tamales and cortados, Vietnamese spring rolls, and a new place.  Las Islas Marias, a fish house on N. Clark.  After stuffing myself with all my old favorites within a 24-hour time frame, I ended up aching for ceviche and Dos Equis, so me n Lis popped on over to finally give this joint a go.

I loved it.  They troll out with a little plate of fish ceviche, crackers, salsa, tostadas and limes the minute you plop down and the beer is icy cold.  We ordered shrimp cocktail, guacamole,  and shrimp ceviche and I wasn't disappointed.  I've been on an oyster trail as of late, a massive mission in my eyes.  Been trying to find something that compares to the plump freshies in Veracruz.  I've been let down each and every time, but I will say that I slammed a 3-pack at Momofuku in NYC last night (seems like a decade ago) and they were delish.  Small, but delish. 

Anyway, the ceviche was solid.  Not Veracruz by any means, but still something to daydream about. My vote for the best is still Casa O's on Isla Mujeres.  Care not what you say, I know ceviche.  Seems, I know oysters too. 

Mom's in Utah and Baby Whale in Marina...Equal Parts Happiness

Who do you know that drives across country alone and manages to chow down at close to every all-you-can-eat buffet that they come across?  Ummm, me.   So tragic.  What's literally astounding is that I made the trip from Chi to LA in 2 days on all that food.  Legend.

I did get lucky and trip upon a country place called Mom's Cafe somewhere in Utah.  Blueberry sour cream pie, homemade french fries, simple salad bar with the best ranch ever, and these fluffy doozies called scones but were more like funnel cakes doused in soft liquid honey butter.  Reason enough to do a long haul, if you ask me.

Meanwhile, I came back to a WHALE chillin' in the marina channel.  So cool, saw it up close and personal -- and made me so happy you could not smack the smile off my face. She was on her way to Alaska and somehow got sidetracked and now could just be hangin' tight here for the summer.  Has to be one of the neatest things I've ever had show up in my back yard.  How I'm not is as big as that whale is a mystery to me, too.  Bless Mom n Dad, I guess...

Summer Full of B's

Folks have been asking to see the inside of my boat for a while now -- wanting more photos, so here they are.  Now, keep in mind, this vessel has yet to be Mistified...which means I have added none of my personal touches to it - crazy lollipop accents, flat-screen, down blankets, all that jazz.  That will happen over the course of the summer, but for now, still just a beauty.  I can't believe she's finally in her slip.  Home. 

Summer =  Baja.  Boat.  Beer.  BBQ.  Belly laughs.  Books.  Brightwork (ever hear of brightwork, son?).  Maybe even Bali.  All B's, all the time.

Enjoy the photos and will post more after I've had a chance to do a little flip out on her.  Got some mad travel happening - TN, Chi, NYC, Mex--all in the next few weeks.  

My tummy still reels when I look at this dang boat.

Enola Goes in the Water +

When I woke up yesterday, I had a knot the size of Russia under my right shoulder.  Why?  I'm sure it's cause the boat was finally going in the water!  Well, it did and here she is, still in progress.  Still gotta get more rigging done today at the yard, but here is what we know -- she didn't sink.  Always a fear.  Though when we put her in the first round, there was a tiny leak in the head which Fernando promptly fixed.  Now, she's sturdy as can be.

Of course, I leave town tomorrow, but that's cool. I'll be back soon to attack her some more...this time in the safety of her slip.  More photos coming...

Grilled Oysters and The Good Life

I sail.  I scuba dive.  I drive across Mexico alone.  One could consider these pretty adventurous things, right? 

 But, when it comes to normal stuff, I'm at a loss.  Like, I don't own a hair dryer - when I get around to washing it, I just let it dry naturally.  I don't own an iron or take clothes to the cleaners - if it can't get wadded up and tossed in a backback, I'm not wearing it.  And, crazy as it may seem, I've never really used a grill on my own.  I mean I've never bought one, filled it with charcoal, doused it with lighter fluid, let it get fiery and actually grilled something.  It always seemed so intimidating.  Well, once again feeling adventurous, I went and bought a grill.  A simple black number that tucks away perfectly on my wee back patio. 

Meanwhile, the first thing I chose to sling on there were some oysters I picked up at the farmers market.  I've never even bought oysters, much less grilled them. Though I do love them and still contend that the best oysters I've ever, ever inhaled were roadside in a dusty backwoods village in Veracruz. 

I tried shucking them before grilling them, only to have myself a fistful of blood within seconds.  Tough as hell.  So, on the grill they went.  The first one that popped open was perfect.  They end up poaching themselves in the oyster juice and I'd melted some butter (on the grill) and when dunked into the little vessel of sweet cream butter, well...it's like the 2nd coming of sea life.  An ear of corn was tossed on for good measure.  Again, so proud of myself.  So mind-boggling how good food is when kept really clean.

The other 4 oysters stayed on the grill a spell longer (due to me forgetting about them - blame it on this book I was reading, Macedonia Passage, about a sailboat that has a stolen wad of money tucked into the bilge and is headed for Istanbul) and ending up almost BBQ'ing themselves.  I ended up with a huge, 10 lb. charred mess of goodness for about a hummingbird sized bit of meat.  So worth it though. 

A grill is just another step toward freedom, I guess.  I felt like such a bad-ass mastering it (sorta).  Charcoal ashes are still in the bottom, but that is for another day.

The Boatyard Shall be Missed.

Everything I own has started to smell like the boatyard.  An odd mix of diesel, dirt and wind.  Not sure how to classify that particular scent.  The hair is beyond out of control, that's for dang sure.  Naps galore. 

Everyone keeps telling me what a gorg boat I have, just wanted to share a little of the underbelly with ya.  You see pretty teak, I see dude, this needs to be varnished and that will be a hell of a job.  You see shiny mast, I see, holy crap, I already need to buff this out again.  You see cozy home, I see, set dressing to miles of exhaust, fancy engine, bad-ass gene, re-vamped fuel tank, piles of lines, giant anchors that weigh a ton, holding tanks that need to be hooked up, stainless steel that needs to be polished, dumbfounded faces gazing around -- that's what becomes the horizon when you work on a boat day after day after day.  Sometimes the smiles go away (mine included).  But, no fear.  They are back again as soon as a little project is complete.  Vent in propane locker = cold beer.  Boot stripe all white, sparkly, and new = time for happy hour! 

Those who take on boats have to become obsessed.  And, just when you think a project is done.  BAM!  My dad was hoopin' n hollerin' all day about the gene and how its exhaust leads to a thruhull on the starboard side and as long as I stared at the configuration, the more cross eyed I became.  Finally, I called him and was like, Dad--the gene has its own exhaust and thru hull on the port side...he was like really?  I said, where did you think that said hose lead?  He deadpanned, "Over the fu*kin' Rockies, I guess."  Dude, I died....

Love the boat.  Love the yard.  I'll miss it.  Monday, it goes in the actual O-C-E-A-N.  Nice.

PS--Since the veggie soup fiasco/addiction, I've now moved onto checca made with Japanese tomatoes (thanks Chels).  Beyond delish.

Bali from the Air +

For those of you whom will never make it to Bali, here are a few shots of this magical little island from the air.  Tickets are so cheap right now though!  And, once you are there, things are way, way cheap.  As always, if anyone wants to go over, hit me up...I will help you set up an amazing trip. 

I woke up this morning thinking about Bali, Lombok and Indo as a whole.  The people are what make it.  You've never seen such innocence and sweetness up close like that.  Preach.

That's Right, A Permanent Siesta in the Making.

Sometimes, I forget just how much I love food.  Street food, healthy food, brave food, homemade food, memories of food--all of it tends to render me speechless on a daily basis.  Odd that I can forget about it.

A simple photo can shock me back to a tiny moment in time months ago/years ago, and I can recall every single emotion each of the bites delivered.  Who I spoke to if I was eating alone (some of my best friends are strangers).  Who I met along the walk to the restaurant (there's always a story to tell).  What flavors blasted their way into my psyche forever (trust me, the biggest dumps have the biggest tastes).  It's downright haunting sometimes.  Like these pix from The Nomad in Ubud, Bali.  The ginger/honey/lemon spritzer is still waking me up at night with perfect visions of sipping it on a sweltering Indo day in a kinda/sorta funky paradise.

I've spent this weekend working on my boat and thinking.  Planning.  And Thinking.  Researching.  And Thinking.  Just about life, about the shape of the world I'm living in and creating for myself.  It's crazy, full-circle, packed with belly laughs and dreams so big and outlandish the only thing you can really do is just move forward with them, not get overwhelmed by them.  Just plug away.

I've slowly come to the realization that my dreams all run in the same flow.  The same stream of unconscious glory.  Sailboat.  Water.  Spanish.  Remoteness.  Water.  Health.  Entertainment.  High Hopes.  Sharing.  Diving.  Nature.  Learning.  Growth.  Treks.  Simplicity.  There is a very fine connective tissue between everything I do--be it produce a pilates/volunteer/cooking retreat; start an NGO that focuses on free language classes, organic initiatives, and volunteering in distant lands; buy and literally dive in head first on a dream sailboat; learning to dive and getting up close with sea life; reading magazines and books that have everyone of those octopus like passions in mind; upgrading to a 4-wheel drive so jaunts to Baja are just that much easier.  Stuff like that.  It all traces back to the exact same thing.  Freedom.

Then, it comes back to food.  It all centers around food.  Cause what is a beastly day in the boat yard without a frozen margarita afterward?  What's a long walk along the beach without a tropical mai tai at the end of the road?  What's a crazy ass day on set without a frozen Pacifico waiting to be slugged?  Oh, seems it all comes back to alcohol.

Well, alk leads to food, then.  Like the gorgeous black bean soup I just made.  All garlicky and soothing.  Like the rose water margaritas and shrimp ceviche I'm gonna make for the first global cooking club (LA) that were gonna have on the boat in a few weeks.  Like the juicy white peaches from the farmers market I'm slurping down like jello.  Like the fava beans I wanna toss on the grill.   Food is life, happiness, the next journey.  Alcohol just makes it that much funner. 

As you can see/read/witness, I am indeed attempting to create a permanent siesta.  With all I do.  It's not worth doing, really, unless the rave afterward is eye-poppin.

Veggie Soup + 5 Things that Make Me Happy Now*

Thing is, when you work like a mule, you eat like one.  I made the most heart-stoppingly delicious vegetable soup on Sunday, and have eaten it in force 5 nights in a row, now.  In a bowl that is straight cauldron size.  It's all I obsess about during the day while slaving away in the heat on the boat.  Just getting home to that soup.  It would take wild horses to drag me out to eat, knowing that I have this creation at home waiting on me to roar in and dress it up.  I think the secret is in how I top the soup -- giant pat of sweet cream butter, tons of ground pepper and sea salt, a splash of bitey olive oil, diced avocado, and parm cheese.  Truly fit for the kings.

That said, here are a few things that are making me happy about the boat right now.

1.  The butterfly hatches. They add so much light, so much depth to the entire salon, I could just sit down there for hours (and do) and daydream about faraway lands.  And, the salty breeze, I could go on for hours about.

2.  The yard boys.  They are all so sweet and helpful and they seem to especially like it when I hurl out my combat Spanish at them rapid fire.  Makes us all come together as one, and relish the fact that life ain't about how much dough you got, how much status you have -- its really about having the ability to laugh all day, take in the sunshine and sparkly water, and kick back with a cold one now and again.  That is truly the stuff legends are made of.  I adore them all.

3. The deck when it's clean.  It is just so pretty and stable and secure.

4.  Those shiny, shiny masts.  Chez and Phil came by the other day and buffed them out and now they have taken on a luster that makes all who wander by stop and stare.  For real.  Plus those mast steps ROCK.

5. The carved teak doors that lead to the v-berth and the head.  Again, just surreal to gaze at.  They don't really do 'em like that anymore.

PS--I would add in the bow spirit, but that baby deserves its own individual post.  Later, later...meanwhile, I woke up this morning with a real fiery hankering to head to Baja this weekend. If there wasn't so much boat stuff that I'm obsessed with right now, I'd be gone in a flash.  Buh-lee dat.

 

Beat Down, But Happy as a Clam

I feel like I have been beaten--like the way the bad folks get beaten in 24.  And that is just from cleaning the masts.  That work is bananas.  Ancient tape, old crud, rock-hard bird poo, all kinds of junk that has clung to my masts for who knows how long is now finally gone.  Banner day.  See the photo below for the dif. between clean and nasty. 

Also, wiped down the teak in the cabin to a slick glimmer, among a thousand other organizing/mechanical projects.  Everyone in the yard wants to come by and see the Pretty Boat.  Some call it The Sexy Boat.  The Boat Dreams Are Made Of.  Wow, What a Boat.  The Standout Boat.  Best money I ever spent, for sure.

When they drop by, I'm given an earful about their dreams, plans, ideas, projects.  Don't use this engine guy, use this one.  I live with my cat in Catalina and wish I could afford a Starbucks coffee, instead I gotta buy the 60 cent one from the machine.  My tools have gone missing, WTF?.  The soda machine stole my dollar.  I'm heading to the Med, via the Azores, do you know a good shipper and by the way, every woman in the marina is either a screaming alcoholic, a druggie, or disabled). Whose doing your woodwork?--(me).  I have a million lawsuits against the marina and want to write a screenplay about it.  Did you see Pyewacket, the Disney guy's incredible sailboat?  It's like the stream of boat yard dialogue never ends.  Dusk til dawn.

But, somehow the work gets done.  I love it all.

What Were You Doing on Earth Day 2009?

I just happened to be on Bali, back at my fave hotel over there (Lotus Bungalow in Candidasa).  This lovely all-bungalows hotel on the beach has a dive center on-site which is where I got PADI certified last year, so when Jan (he runs the joint) invited us to go diving on Earth Day and pick up trash in the ocean, we were all over it. 

I was going thru the steps to get my Advanced Certification, but on my 2nd dive, I managed to blow out my eardrums.  Holy Christ, talk about panic, deathly bouts of nausea and fearing for ones life. 

When diving for trash on the first dive near a bunch of big, ugly ships, we'd gone down 20 meters near a wreck to pick up all sorts of crap hanging out on the bottom of the ocean floor.  It was devastating.  When you come eye to eye with a school of colorful fishies just peacefully cruising by, it is heartbreaking to see wads of dirty plastic everywhere.  We filled bag after bag of trash on that dive, but on my 2nd fun dive, I couldn't get past 9 meters without feeling like my head was gonna explode.

After a $22 trip to the doc in town, she tossed me a fistful of antibiotics for my ears (both were blood-red infected) and I couldn't continue with my Advanced classes.  Totally blew, but that just meant I was hanging by the pool, getting mad rays while my bud Lisa got her basic PADI certification.  Like me when I got my PADI card, she later felt that she was part of some elite group.  Something special.  It wasn't that hard to get (5 days, lots of studying), and now I have someone to buddy dive with around the world. 

Please don't throw plastic or garbage in the ocean.  As a lover of water, and all things wet, even a little cigarette butt can work its way into the belly of a fish.  You may then catch that fish someday and eat it.  Disgusting.

Indo Rum Mixed With a Little POM Juice is Straight Delish

My favorite rum in the entire world is something I can only find in Indonesia.  Such a tragedy.  I only have a spot of it left, from a bottle that my pal Mary brought back for me the last time she was there (the best surprise ever).  I can't even find anything about it online--Mansion House Jamaica Rum.  I mean I can't find jack...nada.

Now, here's what I did to stretch the goods.  I coupled this incredible rum, which has the most alarmingly delightful floral/caramel/rosy flavor, with some tart Pomegranate juice that the kind folks over at the POM empire sent me to sample.  I squeezed a bunch of juicy lime in the glass and swooshed around a long rosemary sprig.  Dude.  I really have no words for the pleasure packet this summery combo provided me.  Couple of gulps and it was gone.  Which leaves me so little precious rum left. 

I meant to bring some back from Indo this past trip, but it slipped my mind.  Let's just say that won't happen again.  In fact, I think I could make a pretty penny off this rum.  Ever read the book "Around the World in 80 Trades"??  It's well worth the read--this intrepid guy rolls around the world with a vague plan of how to pick up one product in lets say South Africa and then transport it to India where he makes a buck on it.  He did a TV show about it for Channel 4 in the UK, which I didn't see, but the book is a page-turner.  His ultimate goal is to double his dough--$50k USD--which he managed to do in about 5 months.

I love hair-brained schemes, especially those that involve travel.  He was buying camels in Northern Africa, selling inflatable surfboards in Mexico, picking up Jade in Asia, pilfering hot sauce in India, making straight coin off red wine in Singapore, ditching tequila in Brazil, off-loading teak in the UK.  Really brill stuff. 

This rum could easily fit into that vein, if you've got the wherewithal to go there.  Which I just may, someday.

Chung Hwa 36 Ketch - Finally Home in MDR

A boat, especially an oldie like mine has certain things that it makes you do.  It makes you dream bigger impossible dreams, and it makes you talk crazy.  It makes you stay up all night obsessed and researching online, and it makes you kill a beer first thing in the morning.  It makes your heart pump full of blood at the very sight of it, and makes you catch your breath at how much work there really is to do.  It makes you swell with pride and it makes your bank account turn to dust before the blink of an eye.  It's the stuff cold beer legends are made of.  Right, time for that beer and then the boat yard.

PS--Praise the heavens my mom 'n dad are so dang cool -- my mom for helping pack it up right in TN and getting it ready to ship across the country and my dad for flying out to LA and giving me the lowdown on all he's managed to learn about it over the past 9 months.  Can't wait to take them sailing in the Pac.

Hassan Becomes a Filmmaker

Here's a story I popped off for Matador about Indo.  Wish I was back there...
---

While working to set up a grassroots NGO in Indonesia, Misty Tosh finds one of the local villagers is a natural born filmmaker.

Drips of sweat meandered down my grimy face as I slowly repeated the words to my new friend: time-code, close-up, wide-shot, master-shot, b-roll.

Hassan, a devout Muslim, had never heard these alien words in his entire life. He absorbed each one, and then repeated after me, snapping his fingers as each word finally clicked in his head. Snap! That’s what a close-up is. Another snap! So, that’s time-code. I could practically see his brain working overtime.

To me, these boring words made up pieces of the film lingo that I uttered every working day of my life as a TV producer. To him, they sounded exotic, like something so mystical it must be only the chosen that get to whisper them.

I met Hassan the first day I arrived in back in Sembalun, a remote mountain village perched at the base of Mt. Rinjani, the 2nd largest volcano in Indonesia. I was there to commandeer Phase 2 of my recently formed grassroots NGO, 4th World Love, whose aim is to set up community centers in magical villages around the world.

Sembalun was the first spot on the globe we’d taken hold of and the excitement was thick in the air.

I bumped into him at the CDC (Community Development Center) as he broke through the knot of villagers on hand to help me and a few volunteers prep for opening day.

Hassan helped me hang a plastic wall calendar, and quickly made himself stand out more by gallantly sweeping up the layers of grime on the floor and setting up desks for the new computer room. His English was very basic, but what caught my attention was his always-smiling face and his eagerness to jump right into any scenario to assist.

The minute I whipped out the HD camera I’d brought over from the USA, he bravely scooted over to see what the new toy was. I never touched that camera again.

The CDC immediately became exactly like a bustling film production office, with villagers stopping in at all hours. Guitar sessions, digital camera lessons, random sing-a-longs, and Spanish 101’s were slung out to anyone who showed an interest–which was the entire village, it seemed.

The slew of international volunteers taught English and computer classes from dusk ‘til dawn, while me and my bandito crew of newly created “filmmakers” tore around town on motorbikes shooting everything we could. Establishing shots, b-roll, full-on interviews—we were happily capturing tiny snippets of life in a faraway Muslim village.

The more I taught Hassan, the more independent he became. I’d be strolling toward the CDC at the crack of dawn and he’d shoot past on his way to the mosque shouting through the fumes from his moto how he’d just captured a sunrise.

I’d be reviewing his tapes, teaching him how to create a camera log, and I’d see stunning footage of farmers in the scorching fields, old toothless women cooking in outdoor kitchens, and funky insects clamoring along bright green leaves. All stuff he deemed necessary to tell the story of his village.

Within days, he became a champ of every type of shot one needs to tell a good story. You can’t just get a master of someone picking beans. Bor-ing. You must get a close up on the hand picking the bean, the expression of the farmers face in the hot sun, a wide of the entire valley, singles of the individual beans.

These shots came to him naturally after I’d explained their purpose only once. His instinct was golden, his attitude spot on. After looking at how creative his shots had become, it hit me: I’d created a super-star

The day I taught him how to use a shotgun mic was the day he became a director. With very little handholding from me, he started art directing rickety baskets and colorful handmade scarves around Harti, our “talent” who was sharing an old Sembalun semi-urban legend.

If he heard a truck roar by, he’d yell CUT and demand that Harti start over, so we could hear the all-too-important dialogue. Later that night back at the CDC, I watched in wonder as he labeled tapes, recharged batteries, shammied up his lenses and packed away his gear.

We celebrated most nights with some local moonshine and he usually busted out a bit of salsa after acoustically singing a handful of ancient Sasak songs. A renaissance man, that one was.

When it came time for me to leave Semablun, there wasn’t a frosty chance in hell I was dragging that camera home with me. What’s $1,300 bones, really? I can always get a new one. I was bear-hugging Hassan goodbye, while shoving blank tapes and advice his way on what to shoot while I was gone. He nodded his understanding.

When I got an email from him a few weeks later, he laid out his upcoming shooting schedule: his intention was to film the local red rice harvesting ceremony, as well as the yearly bamboo fighting ceremony in a nearby village. He’d also managed to score some footage of the eruption of the baby volcano inside Rinjani a few days earlier. Epic moments.

It snuck up on me after reading his plans that that’s what 4th World Love does—we’re like the middleman that makes dreams come true. However big or small they are, we just spread the love. I can’t wait to bring that kid to the USA.

Community Connection

If you are interested in volunteering with 4th World Love, please check out www.fourthworldlove.org. It’s cheap, it’s life changing, and everyone with a passion to share the laughs is invited to come along for the ride.

Making a Case for Persian in LA

Seems I'm on a bit of a food bender lately, so let me just spill a few reasons why you should eat Persian as soon as you see a sign for it.  I am very fond of one I discovered over in Westwood called Shahrzad.  Could be one of my best meals in '09.

1.  The meat is simmered for so long, it falls apart the minute your fork comes within an inch of it.

2.  The fresh herbs rival that found in the best Vietnamese restaurants.

3.  They always have copious amounts of lemon and lime on hand to squeeze all over the place.

4.  The homemade yogurt which is best slopped on everything.

5.  The tart lentil soup that no doubt has a home in every Persian kitchen.

6.  The big round oven in back of most Persian restaurants that fire up smoky flat bread every few minutes, of which you can usually order a few to go.

7.  The unusually cheap prices for such fat plates of food.

8.  Perfect basmati rice.

9.  The most delicious eggplant you will ever come across.

10.  Sumac.

The Good Boat Enola Nicely Making Way

That's right, my sailboat has finally (after much drama) made its way onto the back of a semi and is headed out to its new home in MDR.  My excitement level is reaching epic levels.  I've been waiting on this moment since last August when I bought the boat - loads of travel and a long job got in the way, but now...well, there is light at the end of the tunnel. 

The boat is on the way to Cali and will live in a yard close to my place for a week or so before moving into its new home--many things to do in that said yard.  Rig it, paint the bottom, install a radar, GPS, and various electronic accoutrement's.  Every day, I look at the empty slip right outside my front door and imagine this vessel tucked neatly into it.  I then walk over to the Pacific and gaze out...like my dad said today, my boat will be in the same big pond as Indo, one of my fave places in the world. 

Funny how life works out like that.  These things you can't really plan, or even dream about.  Sometimes a door just opens and you have to be ready to walk on thru.

Pan Con Tomato + Avacado...mmmmmmm.....

Not to bust out of all things Indo, but I just need to share deets about the most glorious snack in the entire world. 

It's a simple little diddy consisting of yummy multigrain bread from the Farmers Market over in El Segundo, lightly toasted and smeared with raw tomato (take the whole tomato and rub over the crusty bread).  You then take some raw garlic and cover the bread and then, toss a few avocado slices on top.  Douse with copious amounts of olive oil, cracked black pepper and sea salt and you have a magical something that will make your belly sing.

So easy, so good, so summer.

Progress is Unspoken at Times*

One fine blazing hot day in SMBL, me and Lis cruised around with some pals to visit all the kids that 4th World Love  had sponsored to have cleft palate surgery last year.  I was literally stunned at how incredible everyone looked.  Speechless, even.

Hirman, Milna, Raka, and Nando all sported perfect, beautiful smiles.  Though it was near impossible to catch them smiling on camera, trust me, they do smile and laugh and giggle, it's just when 2 giant white women and a little bandit crew toting video cameras and such pounce on you, it might be a little intimidating. 

But, once the cameras were off, they were all lit up.  So, this is what $280 bones does.  It changes a little kids life in the most amazing of ways.  Entire families came out to greet us and even though we couldn't talk, sometimes no words are needed.  You can only gaze in wonder and laugh about the progress you've made together.  Wow. 

There are two more children in the village that now are ready for surgery.  If anyone wants to donate to the cause, you can do so via credit card at 4th World Love, and every penny you donate is a write-off, since we're a 100% 501 (c) 3. 

 

 

 

 

Alone if Just for a Minute

Believe it or not, I'm a loner to the T.  I live alone.  I write alone. I travel alone. I just like being alone.  I take great strides to make my way thru this wild world all alone and seem to never get bored.  Ideas are born when I'm alone.  Baby seeds sprout and life takes on all the meaning its meant to have when I roll solo.  But, for the past 12 months, I've not been alone.  Not in the least.  And, it has worn me down...

I've been to Indonesia twice, I've been to Mexico twice, either with someone or working whilst there, so constantly surrounded.  I've worked 10 of those 12 months on TV shows in KY, Vegas and LA.  I've had pals staying with me, living under my same roof while we worked together.  I've just not been alone.  But, today, for the first time in months and months, I am alone.  That is until my dad and cousin get out here to LA in a few days to help me with my sailboat--which, heaven help us all, should be loaded onto a 50' semi right about now and making its way across the country to its new home.

What does alone have to do with a bunch of food photos?  Well, when I'm surrounded, it's hard to think straight.  Hard to post on The Tooth.  But today, easy.  Why?  Cause I'm dead alone.  Just enveloped by quiet.  And, I can slowly gaze at my photos and see what inspires me to share. 

Every Indo meal is a spread.  There is just no small, light meal.  It's plate after plate of homemade goodies, mostly veggies, rice, fried treats and sometimes a little specialty.  Like these itty-bitty fish.  They are caught (sometimes by naked kids) in the water reservoirs that surround the patches of farmland in Sembalun.  They they are hauled home to their respective family homes where they are then tricked out into a tasty local dish, full of flavor and heat and soul.  Just a little nasi (rice) and fiery sambal complete the package.  You don't get to eat them that often cause they are so blazing difficult to catch, but if you ever do get so lucky, relish.  

Just like I relish alone.  If only for a minute. 

Sweet Baby Azi - Full Recovery

Speaking of Nelly, you know who lives right next door to her?  Our little buddy, Azi.  Most of you remember him as the little cookie that had to have major heart surgery this past spring (you can see the scar in the above photo - it runs all the way down his chest to his navel).  Well, every time I lay eyes on this kiddo, I just fall in love. You've never met a more gentle creature, so happy and full of life.  He's like THE village baby, passed around to all who are just as enamoured by him.

He loves to putter aroun (he just started baby walking even though he is 2-years-old - he's no bigger than a 1-year-old); he loves to play with the funky lady bug that Lisa made out of a plastic bottle; he loves munching on soft bananas and sweet treats; he loves spying on kitty cats, eyes wide and wild when he sees one slinking by; he likes to cuddle and will make your heart ache with how soft he is; he loves to say oh no! - a nifty little phrase I taught him; he calls me "Is" and Lis "Isha" - his pop, Ulan, says he calls out to us in his sleep!  He also loves cruising through town on the back of a motorbike, snuggly tucked in between his daddy's legs.  And, he especially loves his teddy bear that my pal Vonessa so kindly donated. 

I just have to watch this kid grow up.  Life wouldn't be the same without him.  Once more, thanks a trillion to the 4th World Love doners that made his surgery possible.  I hope someday you are blessed enough to make it over to SMBL and see up close what your dinero did.