Our Trip to Europe

I wanted to share a few impressions of our journey before the spell lifts and our amazing experiences fade into memories...

We flew all night, from Newark to Madrid, sleeping fitfully in ordinary airplane seats, GD's long legs draped on my lap. Time zones changed and slipped away. Arrived in Spain late morning, took a taxi through the giant modern city of Madrid to our hotel, checked in, and promptly ignored our travel agent's advice not to sleep until the first night, and crashed for a delicious hour. I had caught a cold on the plane, but it only added to the other-worldly quality of the adventure. Spent the rest of the day in the magnificent Prado art museum, drinking in the masterpieces: Goya, Velazquez, Bosch, Murillo, Dali, Rubens, Picasso, Sorolla, Gaudi, Miro. Strolled through the plazas of the city and settled in a small trendy outdoor bar for tapas and some good Spanish wine before heading back to our hotel, where we slept through the night and entered the rhythms of the new continent.

Next day, finally found our train in the utter chaos of the Madrid station and headed for Avila. Though I spent 6 months in Spain as a junior in college, I had not been back since I was 21, and I had never been to Avila, the home of the saint in whom so much of my life has been absorbed. Slept in La Sinagoga in the old Jewish Quarter. Avila is a medieval storybook city, entirely surrounded by castle walls. Narrow cobbled alleyways, secret plazas, families with lively children spilling into the streets as the sun goes down. Found the enormous and radiant statue of la santa just outside the wall and I nestled into the folds of Teresa's marble robe, ecstatic. Walked to the first monastery Teresa founded - St. Joseph's - because T had a special devotion to the man who raised the Christ child - now called the Convent of the mothers - just in time for a special morning mass to be held in the "primitive chapel" - the first sanctuary. An aging Spanish priest and a small group of international pilgrims who sang like angels in 4 languages. Went into the small room they call the Teresa museum. I tried to pay for the privilege of reading the worn xerox sheet describing the few Teresa relics behind the glass cases, but, when the otherwise reserved volunteer heard I was a translator of la santa, she sent me to the nuns so I could offer my few euros directly. I was shy. I entered the stone entryway, knowing I was stepping into the same room where Teresa herself received visitors, and rang the brass bell hanging from a rope. A voice appeared from behind the solid wooden grill: In the name of God, how may I help you? I awkwardly stuffed the bill into the revolving wooden tray and turned it. The sister tried to refuse, but I insisted. She asked me who I was and where I came from. I admitted that I was a translator of the beloved saint. She was delighted. I fled like a frightened deer. But the contact haunted me and GD insisted on accompanying me all the way back there - a long walk - late in the afternoon, so I could ask the sisters' advice on this new book project, the real reason I went to Avila - to find inspiration to speak at last in my own voice and convey T's teachings in a contemporary context. The new sister spoke like fire - fast and bright - racing the clock to meet the evening prayers in 15 minutes. She told me many things, some of which I could not fully absorb since I could not see her lips move or her eyes sparkle. I will save what she told me for the new book! Afterwards, I saw the crucifix T held when she was dying, and I wept. For a minute, I wanted to become a cloistered Carmelite nun, but I came to my senses. GD was very understanding. He made merciless fun of me, but he held me while I cried.

Oh, this is too long.

Train to Sevilla, city of my youth, for our anniversary: exactly 5 years of marriage, exactly 10 of being together. Beautiful hotel. Elegant dinner on the banks of the noble Guadalquivir river by the light of a waxing moon. Visiting the magnificent Catedral, designed and built by Islamic masters, sacred architecture, elaborate arched mosaics. A gypsy pressed a sprig of rosemary into my hand and tried to read my palm, telling me I was high strung but nothing bad would ever happen to me. I informed her that I was one of the most peaceful people I knew and the worst thing possible thing had already happened to me and she should try being a true seer and tell the truth.

The bus to Granada, through hills and endless olive groves, up and up, at last to the ancient sloped city of Granada, last stronghold of the Moors before the Cathlolic monarchs took over the Alhambra in 1492 and, after overthrowing the Muslims, quickly expelled the Jews, who had been flourishing under Muslim rule for over 7 centuries. Our hotel was at the top of the city, only a few yards from the magnificent Alhambra palaces and gardens. The 5 day conference a fiesta of esoterica: alchemy, wisdom arts, philosophy, sacred geometry and the mathematics of holiness, Ibn Arabi, Rumi, Kabbalah and the Zohar, John & Teresa - an excavation of the secrets that arose from the 700 year collaboration between Sufis, mystical Jews, and Christian mystics. Brilliant scholars from around the world, sharing the fruits of a lifetime of deep study.. and then me, with my poetic passages and small silences. So... when I was 16 and connected w/ the Sufi choir, Robert Bly came to Mendocino where I was raising goats and trying to avoid high school, and when he found my name was Mirabai, he asked me to read his new translations of his Mirabai poems on stage with him after a Kabir concert, and I did. Exactly 30 years later, I am a translator like him, because of him, and we are on the same faculty of an international conference on the Golden Age of the Andalsia, and Robert asks me to read the Spanish version of our mutual favorite poem, Dark Night of the Soul, on stage with him, and I do. GD took pictures.

We flew to Milan. Ate the best food of our lives in a little tratatoria in the middle of nowhere. (The food in Spain was terrible, but we came home from Italy with pasta and gelato bellies...) Next day took the train along the Mediterranean coast to the Cinqua Terre, 5 villages, over a thousand years old, perched on the cliffs overlooking the Ligurian Sea, accessible only by foot. Climbed w/ our luggage to the most remote: Corniglia, where we settled into our tiny apt. on the very edge of the coast, our little balcony spilling onto rolling vineyards down to the sparkling sea. Scores of hikers with their packs and poles, circumambulating the brightly painted communities and the acres of grapes between them. Italian National Park. Hiking from village to village, drinking a glass of local wine in one, arriving at the next in time for a sunset dinner on the harbor, scrambling down to a rocky beach the next morning, floating in the arms of the dark blue water. Four days of hiking up and down and up again, my legs ready to give out. GD could have walked forever, at home in this ancient land. Focaccia and local olives on our terrace, a bottle of Italian beer and luminous grapes and plump tomatoes and hazelnut chocolate. Dressed up Sunday morning and attended mass in the ancient hilltop church in Corniglia with the old widows and their squirming grandbabies, the burly priest gesticulating like an Italian butcher haggling over a sausage as he thundered about God's eternal love.

Florence. Forgot to make reservations for the Renaissance masterpieces at the Uffizi and David at the Academia, couldn't bear the long lines and swarms of tourists everywhere, but always relished wandering little streets and alleys, discovering new piazzas, stopping for creamy cappuccini served by waiters in black vests and bow ties always. GD bought me a buttery carmel-colored jacket at an outdoor leather stall.

Assisi. Like Avila for me - a deep drink of the sacred in between the madness of the cities. Franciscan Brothers and Poor Clares bustling along the narrow hilly streets, robes fluttering, faces beaming. How could these people be so happy with hours of regimented prayer every day, none of the sensual distractions the rest of us are so attached to? I've spent my life writing & teaching about a state they live. Maybe I'm romanticizing, but once again, in Assisi, I wanted to take rush off and vows. And again, GD met my enthusiasms with his unique blend of deep respect and high humor. The day we were leaving, we happened upon a church beside the train station, around 4 km beyond Assisi, and there was a shrine with a plaque that identified this is as the spot where Francis died. I leaned my head against the stone wall and breathed the simple holiness of this place, and that breath changed my life, in a way I cannot describe.

I may be the only person I know who did not like Rome. I mean, I loved the exquisite architecture, the charming piazzas and fountains and street altars and outdoor cafes. I could not help but be stunned by the massive remains of the ancient Roman Empire in the middle of the modern city, and the soaring domes of the gold-plated cathedrals. But I also felt almost personally offended by a place that glorifies the two empires that so horribly oppressed the Jews. The arch in the Parthenon that commemorates the destruction of the Holy Temple depicts Jews bent over in anguish as they are being forced into exile from Jerusalem, carrying their menorahs on their backs. Plus the Church that gave birth to the mystics I love also viciously persecuted my ancestors. And, as GD wondered, at what price of the suffering of the indigenous peoples of the Americas was that gold that lines those spectacular altars obtained? On Sunday we had an accidental audience with the Pope (the same man who recently admitted that all other religions beside his are "deficient"). We happened to be in the vicinity of St. Peter's Square just before noon and were swept up by the throng. The holy father appeared, like a rock star, on big screens throughout the piazza, and blessed the faithful (do I count?) in 7 languages. I was grumpy, and took it out on GD, who cheerfully attributed my reaction to cell memory and took me out for a gelato.

Home. Traveled all night, but never saw the sun go down. Watched 3 movies on the squished plane. Arrived at last in Albq near midnight, late afternoon in our bodies. Culture shock. Everything in America so new and polished, Europe so old and quirky. Till we arrived in our timeless Taos and found refuge in our own beds, heartbroken that the adventure of a lifetime was over, happy to see our faithful dogs, followed by our wild and wonderful family and friends, in droves, with pizza and cheesecake and tales of the road.

Whew. Thanks for listening.

We love you all -

Mirabai and Ganga Das