Legendary Travelers

The dream of India comes to life

thefoodpilgrims — Mon, 13 Jan 2014 06:49:00 GMT

In September, I shared my dream of visiting India. Without any feverishness or restlessness, I thought how nice would it feel to dress it in words and share it with people that would find themselves in every word of mine. Now, I am beyond happy to share with you that this dream is about to come true. About a month after I shared on this journal, we had another visitor from India. He is an Ayurvedic doctor that travels around different European countries, plays electric guitar and sings like a rock star and is hopelessly in love with Italian pesto sauce. In his words, he could eat even shoe laces with basil pesto sauce. So, one night we took him to his favorite Italian restaurant to hav his pesto sauce, and while we wee merrily eating delicious food and talking sweet nothigs, he said: "Hey, my sister is getting married in January. Why don't you come for the celebration?" Yes, it would be so great, we agreed in the spirit of hospitality but without giving much weight to our words. "No, really, I'm seroius!Why don't you come!?" And as if he didn't just drop a canon ball on us, he continued to give his undevided attention to his second order of a wonderful pasta pesto while our looks strayed somewhere in the vast space, our minds filled suddenly with a screaming, jumping, ecstatic monkey. Yes, that's exactly how it felt and from that moment on, we could not get rid of this cheeky monkey. "Listen, monkey, we can't just go to India like that! We don't have the money for it, we are not prepared and we just have so many things to do now! We cannot just up and leave! Ah, what do you know, you stubborn mind monkey!" And then, what happened and how it came to be I can't quite grasp it yet but someone offered to lend us some money, I got fired from my job, my friend was so stressed at his big citybjob and big city life that we decided an executive action is needed here! And here we are, leaving for Istanbul and then Mumbai in two days! Yes, we had to sell many things we loved and it is a bit sad that, since we are on a very tight budget, I will be going on a trip for the first time without a camera or my faithful fellow traveller and photographer on duty, Smaranda, who has to stay back and plan her wedding for July, but still, what an amazing gift life has offered us! And I only hope that all you, lovely wandering souls, would be here to share the journey, even if it is only through the paintings of my words!

Never forget how much this universe loves you! You are part of that infinity and it longs to be part of you! So give it a chance and believe in your dreams and it wouldn't hurt to write a wish letter to the universe, you know, to help it out a little, sometimes it's confused about what it is we really want. Write to the universe, the divine or whatever you may wish to call it. Share it here or tuck it away safely amongst the paper roads of your favorite book. It will listen and give!

Photos: Senegal

thefoodpilgrims — Mon, 7 Oct 2013 02:16:00 GMT

Senegal

thefoodpilgrims — Mon, 7 Oct 2013 02:11:00 GMT

Further down along the West Atlantic coast of Africa, beyond the Sahara, the great waterless sea, in a place where sandy winds cloud the mighty the sun, rests the land of Senegal. She lays cuddled in the Sahel strip, a desert piece of land which spans as a bridge between the eternal dunes of the Sahara and the baobabs of the Savannah. In the relentless sands of time, the land of Senegal has witnessed rise and fall of kingdoms, empires and colonies; during the 9th century the country was part of the kingdom of Tarcour, in the 13th century fell under the territories of the Empire of Ghana, and in the 15th century European colonial powers such as Portugal, Netherlands and Great Britain left the bloody fingerprints of the slave trade. Following 3 centuries of French rule, the country gained its long yearned-for independence in 1960. Birth place of the notable poet and statesman Leopold Sedar Sengor, today Senegal may be named as one of the most politically stable countries on the continent.

Bountiful rivers and tidal marshes blossom on the dark brown earth like the tender threads of lace. Flamingos, pelicans and tortoises call themselves the proud ancient rulers of untamed nature spots.
A caleidoscope of colorful French-style houses with blooming verandas slumber sweetly at the midday lullaby of a bright sun, nestled amongst lively markets and buzzing streets that wake up at night, dancing with abandon at the velvet tunes of Havana jazz.

Welcoming, sizzling and hospitable, Senegal is a crossroads of ethnicities such as the tribes of the Wolof, the Pular, the Serer and the Mandinga, whose traditions weave together like golden threads the precious cultural diversity of the country. Whether they walk the dust-swept streets of the 12-million-capital Dakar or the hushed paths of poor villages nestled under timeless baobab trees-women are goddesses in this land. Their feet glide gently but firmly on the red soil, enveloped by the bells of tinkering bracelets and rainbow-tinted dresses.

In the 17th and 18th century on the island of Gore and in the old colonial capital city of St, Louis, emerged a Franco-African creole culture. The so called metisse community was extremely successful in commerce and thrived under the guidance of exceptional women-entrepreneurs called signoras by the Portuguese. They played a significant role in the economic, social, cultural and political life, creating a distinguished urban culture of elegance and exquisite entertainment. The city of St. Louis is a UNESCO heritage site and carries gracefully the fragrant colonial spirit of cities like Havana and New Orleans. When the rains stop and the dry season glides in on the wings of the Harmattan wind, the streets wake up cheerfully under the sensuous rhythm of jazz, made popular here by American soldiers after World War II.

Not far from Dakkar is the Island of Gore’- a small, hushed place with no more than 1,200 inhabitants, with countless baobab trees and not a single car.

It is an island of memories, woven in a veil of suffering, tears and great loss. This was one of the most important port in the Trans-Atlantic slave tarde. More than 10 million people were chased, kidnapped and tortured to be thrown in a hostile, unforgiving world of no return. Thanks to the labor of these millions of African souls, the New World built its political, economic and social realities. Taking away the fittest, most capable individuals and the upset of the demographic balance are the main reasons for Africa’s slow progress on the road to development. Visited by people like Pope John Paul II , Bill Clinton and Nelson Mandela. It is said that during his visit here, Nelson Mandela found a quiet spot somewhere down in the cellars and spent a few contemplative hours in silence there, bowing to all the sorrow that permeated the walls around him. Today the Island of Gore’ stands as a symbol of human exploitation and a refuge for reconciliation.

Under the scorching afternoon sun in Dakkar, an army of painted boats called pirogi, color the shores and the tinkling buzz of many voices wakes up the drowsy weather. This is Soumbédioune market where tireless fishermen unload and sell their day’s catch on the shore itself. Fishing is one of the main vocations here, Senegal being one of the largest fish exporters in the world. Warm tropical waters and the proximity to Mauritius attract countless, glittering schools of fish. Streets here reign as fruit markets, souvenier markets and all the erst that can be sold by the mighty street vendor. Senegal is a color-splashed, boisterous, aromatic fest, nestled under the silence sprinkled by the ageless baobab trees. You let yourself be carried away in the muslin embrace of a lullaby, rustling the branches above your head. You can hear in it the pulse of a dark, warm land and feel the beat of Africa in the mist of lost villages.

Senegal is well known in Africa for the bountiful richness of its music legacy. Very popular here is Mbalax music tradition, derived from the beat of the sonorous African drums of the Serer tribes. A tradition that the world came to know thanks to the songs of performer Youssou N’Dour. The Sabar drums and the Tama instrument are also extremely popular and their beats soak the air during traditional celebrations and weddings.
Senegal is also known for its well-preserved tradition of storytelling; a traditions that springs from ancient West African roots and carries along the breath of times past. The storytellers are called Griots, and blessed are they for they have kept West African history alive for thousands of years through the magical power of words and music. This sacred tradition is handed down generation to generation, wrapped in a quilt of hopes of remembrance and requires years of service with the honored masters of the words.

In the steps of kings and elephants

thefoodpilgrims — Mon, 30 Sep 2013 21:18:00 GMT

In the indigo veil of the fleeting dusk, the song of her rainbow bracelets slipped into forgetfull slumber. Her gentle feet had glided on the yellow earth, enveloped by the greenness of the day. The liquid silk of her dress caressed the blushing dust and light sprinkled off its playful edges. Women were goddesses in this land. it has been said that if you are a true worshiper, you will find blooming lotuses in their iris. Seas and wonders. Stars and suns. Their heart is a temple. On the walls of the temple there's an inscription that reads: "The day will come when you are ready to walk in the steps of kings and elephants. When you are burning to breathe in the flames of a journey that has long simmered in the snow of your soul. A day when the quicksands in his eyes will tell you that you are threading on a dangerous path. And yet your heart will rush forward like a wave of wild horses, diving for air. The blue sands of rivers have flown trough you for eternity and the temple of your heart has been deserted; a temple that sheltered countless pilgrims destined for a place worlds away from you. Now kneel, daughter of this yellow earth, push open the heavy gates of your temple and let the song of your bracelets wake up the prayers. They have laid hidden in the corners for far too long! Take his arms, let your heart melt in the whispers of his silence. He is a true worshiper. Yours. Listen! Can you hear the sound of the blooming lotus in your eyes? Seas and wonders. Stars and suns."

Under the indigo veil of the fleeting dusk, her heart rang awaken by the echo of a silence from another time.

This is the story of a journey that hasn't yet been walked. It is a dream that I have started to weave in my mind and by sharing it with you, by dressing it in words, a piece of it is coming true. Three words are very dear to me: intention, attention and manifestation. This is the path to make happen anything you wish for. So, before all of you, legendary travelers, I am hereby officially stating my intention to go to India. For the past two years, many people from India have crossed my path, and each one has helped me discover a piece of my soul. Somehow I can say that I have experienced a tiny fraction of this country through their eyes. It is somethign that cannot really be explained, it's a feeling, intuition, a sensation of a place where you have never been, yet you know exactly how that place feels. There is a place waiting for me in India. A place where I long to go and a great man that I long to see. Yes, this is a love story but not the kind where you fall in love, but where you rise in love. And not the kind between a man and a woman but between a student and a teacher. You know, there are people that walk into your life with featherlight steps of a thousand-pound elephant. They have traversed the dust of roads that grace the face of the land of lotus flowers. They have been carried on the wings of the sithar's song. They have been fed by the newborn light of the violet dawn. Until one day they stop at your door. You look in their eyes and you melt into pieces of light. They speak no words to you because you already know what they have to tell you. You have met them somewhere inside of you. You hold on to them because you know that if you don't, you will whither away like the lotus flower they have put in your hair. And the drops in their eyes will purify your heart because they are born from the sacred river. And the rough skin of their arms will take you away from all harm because it was forged in the temples of hope. And you will know that these footsteps will echo in you until the day they cross your dusty path again.

There is a place in Bangalore, shaded by the lush green of majestic trees, where painted elephants walk side by side with you and cheeky monkeys are your honored entourage on your morning walk. That is the starting point.

Stop.Breathe.Tuscany.

thefoodpilgrims — Sun, 29 Sep 2013 06:15:00 GMT

There are moments when it feels like time has stopped. Time always runs tireless, passes by without even casting a single glimpse aside, and then suddenly it comes to a stop. Lets down its guard. Puts its feet on the table, tilting its hat to shield itself from the sun, it takes a nap. All the world has sped up madly around; the hours, the trees, the scenery. Now suddenly, it all comes to its place. A wondrous serenity. Silence. Calm. A sense of happiness. A drift of eternity. The cars stop moving, the clocks cease ticking, the heart stops beating, the world stops turning. it stretches a hand to you and offers you the key. Restlessness fades away, mysteries are dissolved and it all shines out clear. The future blossoms in your chest. No need for you to search any further. You have been expecting something that is now expecting you. Mostly those who have been burning with an obsession will now bathe in the feeling that they have finally reached the end of the road; the place where lays hidden the most sacred secret of them all. You are in Tuscany, my dear traveling pilgrim. Time here stops and takes a rest, leaving all the world behind. The wind here is a fragrant, gentle lover that carries the perfume of purple grapes, of soil, green, sun-kissed grass that linger in the arms of bells and silence. The smiling silence in the eyes of Audrey Hepburn fills up the great outdoor movie screen and your heart is colored in Enchanted Tuscany.

Leave your map behind and let your self be lost in the streets, the blushing meadows, and the smiling sunflower fields. Take the road that lays before you by the hand and give into the adventure. There is a truth
that lays hidden in every stone around. Be extraordinary and instead of a hotel, chose to stay at a place listed on sites such as Airbnb. We found an amazing apartment at the first floor of a romantic Florentine house of an artist; it had a bedroom suited for a queen, a studio, painted frescoes and a fragrant garden that woke us up every morning with the sweet scents of rosemary and mint. Florence had welcomed us with arms wide open.

There are many tastes here that can charm you to oblivion; the wine, the coffee, the lips of a sensual stranger. But the gems of them all you will find hidden on a little cobble street in the centre of Florence: the RivaReno ice cream shop! Every taste of it will dance with decadence on the tip of your tongue, luring you into a wonderland that will stay with you long after the ice cream has melted.

It's a fragrant, lemony scented afternoon in Florence. Having come far from distant lands, the hot, dry wind has settled in my garden for a long-awaited rest. Yawning in a sweet slumber, little puffs of breath escape him, lingering in scents of rosemary and mint. Nestled under a summer hat and tickled by the light that is playfully drawing on the canvas of my face, I am thinking about dinner. I have a dazzling couple of friends coming over for dinner. Like a film reel, pieces of a story are drifting through my mind: her tender footsteps will echo faintly on the warmed stone pavement of my front yard. She will step inside and the house will blossom to embrace her. The wind will proudly carry the edges of her dress as she steps into my garden and her smile makes all the trees blush. She will lean towards the man beside her and whisper words that caress his ears like rose petals.

So, the time came for the wind to set back on the dusty roads to worlds unknown, and for me to start working magic. For every woman is indeed enchantress of the kind that never tires of the world. My dazzling movie couple was soon to walk through my stony-arched pavement and time was of the essence. I was in tender, vibrant Italy; a country that can teach you much about life and how to live it right. And the art of beautiful food is universal and all-permeating. Just like the essence of us. So, I lick my lemonade-scented lips, I calm my heart that runs with the beat of eternal Florence and step into the dusk of my basil-scented magic workshop.

Photos: Italy

thefoodpilgrims — Sun, 29 Sep 2013 05:39:00 GMT

Photos courtesy of my sisters and fellow legendary travelers Smaranda Sandulescu and Alina Sandulescu

Rome, sweet Rome

thefoodpilgrims — Sun, 29 Sep 2013 05:29:00 GMT

It is said that when God decided to take a vacation, he created Italy.

Indeed, for when you are there you live a different kind of life. The sun is different, the air is magical, and your heart hears things that has never stopped to listen before. Walking on the ancient streets of Rome, your light steps echo on the pavement, the crystal dingle of half full glasses lingers in the air, the wind picks up the ends of your dress, chasing away the lazy afternoon heat and you feel like your legs were made for dancing. You want to take pictures, to capture everything in the lense of the camera, to fill it up as much as the tender beauty around you has filled up your heart. But somehow, even the best camera fails to do the job.

Here, you can talk to the gods. They watch over you with an intrepid gaze, peeking from fountains, corners and building tops. You can tell them secrets, share wishes and longings or just sit quietly near their side. They would appreciate that the most. For in the silence they can hear all of your hopes, dreams and fears. And they will listen. And their silence will offer you solace.

There, in the blazing mantle of the sunset, that embroiders the edges of the grey clouds with a golden tread, melting in all the timeless beauty around you, you realize that you have discovered the most beautiful spot in the universe. The place where everything is fragrant. Tourists travel from place to place, looking for beauty. With photos and souvenirs they try to take the beauty home. They only get tired and tanned. Don't look here and there; come within you, that place is in you. When you are here, then any place becomes beautiful. Then wherever you go, you add beauty there.

Venice - A State of Serenity

thefoodpilgrims — Sun, 29 Sep 2013 02:19:00 GMT

The light of the rising sun embroiders the edges of the clouds in golden threads. Sweet lullabies of the night-clad waters fade away blissfully in the first rays of the sun. When the weary traveler first glimpses the domes of this city, when the the eastern winds embrace him with their promises, his heart blossoms in serenity. There she is, rising on the blue horizon in all her pride and glory. This is Venice. Not simply a city but a state of mind, a state of serenity. Before coming here, a friend shared with me that she was not so impressed with Venice. "A city built on water. So what? There is not much there for the spiritual seeker", she said disinterestedly and vaguely. "So what?", I thought. So much! And I don't mean the glamourous boutiques, the fancy restaurants and the luxury hotels. What I mean by much is the feeling that reigns in your heart when you sip on your 2-euro-street bougth-coffee to shield you against the mid-winter chill and you gaze out of the Rialto bridge and the shining laughter and graceful faces of a gone-by era drift buzzingly past your sun-kissed cheeks. If you let her enter in you, her spirit will blossom and reign. And you will know what is Venice. You can find spirituality in every experience, mostly because you carry it within you whereever the path takes you.

There truly is no other place in the world like her. Rising before your astonished eyes like a goddess out of the ephemeral sea foam, she captures you with unraveled, timeless beauty. Listen! Do you hear the whispers rippling on the water? She sweetly beckons you to her.

You fall helplessly in love with her, her ups and downs, her light and darkness and all that surrounds her. You fall in love with yourself and all the serene nature around you. Here love is not an emotion; love is your very existence. You lay your head to rest on a soft red couch, sheltered by the fragrant air in your very own palazetto and before your eyes float images of times gone by. Times of poetically-charged courtesans that ruled the hearts of men and fates of a nation. The sun’s playful reflections off the smooth water surface tickle the cherubs that grace the divinely painted ceiling and sure that must be what melodies of heaven sound like.

Here once reigned the age of courtesans. I have always been enamored with the idea of them. Versed not only in the mysteries of the art of love, they were the only women who had the right to be educated. The right to enter a library, to read and write poetry, to have knowledge of the world that laid outside the gates of proud and glorious Venice, even the right to love. Would they confess they found more extasy in love than prayer? That love is a prayer? Perhaps they would. Because they were brave enough to know that you can know your true self only through love.

Ah! And then there is Il Carnevale. The Carnival. The most alluring spectacle of Venice.
A caleidoscope of colors that dates back to an ancient celebration of a victory of the Venetian republic in the 10th century over another one of the neighboring lagoon cities. Picking up strength during the Renaissance, the carnival remains even today one of the greatest and most popular feasts in all of Europe. There truly is something magical to the exquisitely filigreed masks that you can adorn your self with during the carnival. Somehow they take you to another world, a world where you can be bold and adventurous. A world where you can only speak through your eyes but indeed you can speak volumes!

You walk through the buzzing streets at the fall of dusk and soon you will see young counts and countesses breezing past you on their way to a grand ball. They touch their redden cheeks and sweet nothings flutter on their lips like butterflies. You lose track of time, of the age and customs and you feel both young and ancient. Like you have been here before. You have had fluttering butterflies on your lips, too. Someone slips his hand into yours and the warmth of it lights up your body and soul. Yes, you have been here before! Here, and there, and everywhere where there is love!

Because what is life other than a pilgrimage to love!