My Romance with Absinthe

Ah yes. It was my first night in Barcelona on my very first grand solo adventure across Europe. I wasn’t looking for love, but it found me anyway in the most unlikely of places. A little bar from the late 1800s where Picasso and friends used to sit and muse over life, women, and art. You know, the important things.  The walls were covered with shelfs of spirits and liquors from that time period, and had not been touched since. Gobs of thick gray dust clung to the bottles like heavy paint against Picasso’s portraits. Each bottle told a story whose secrets would never be revealed. At least not to me, and not tonight. 

I’m sitting in Bar Marsella, the only absinthe bar in Barcelona. I’m at a tiny round wooden table with small wooden chairs. Before me is what looks like a mini wine glass. In my hand, a small fork and a sugar cube. My local friend and tour guide for the night shows me how to properly drink this concoction. For those who know little about absinthe, it is a spirit made from anise, wormwood, fennel, and other herbs. It has been called "la fee vert” or “the green fairy”- rumor is the wormwood in the alcohol makes you hallucinate. 

I’m not sure what to expect as I balance my fork above the glass of clear liquid. I feel like I’m about to perform a magic trick or a science experiment. I watch my friend as he places the sugar cube on top of his fork. I follow his lead. The small water bottles we were given with our drinks were not intended for consumption from the bottle. Instead, there’s a small hole pierced through the top of the lid. We begin to pour, or rather, squirt the water over the sugar cube which melts and drips into the alcohol below. The absinthe turns into a milky cloud and settles into a neon yellow. Now I’m sure I’m back in chemistry and that chances are, I should not be drinking my science experiment. However the explorer in me is burning with curiosity. And let’s face it, I’ll try almost anything twice. 

I look into my friend’s eyes. “Salud” (cheers). Down the hatch! An explosion of flavor, mostly licorice, hits my tongue and a fire ignites my throat. I cough. Holy shit that’s strong! My friend laughs. Minutes turn to an hour and our conversation progresses from the politics of Barcelona (Catalonia vs Spain), life, love, loss, until we’ve ordered another round and have made friends with the tables nearest us. I stare at the peeling paint of the walls and envision myself sitting at a table with Pablo Picasso himself as he doodles on a napkin. I imagine all the greats that have passed through these old wooden doors. The poets, the lovers, the weary travelers, the artists, the drunkards. All the cigars that were smoked, the stolen kisses, the under the table deals, the boisterous and raucous laughter and flirtations. I’m overcome with emotion and inspiration and immediately take out a pen and my journal (which you will never see me without on an adventure such as tonight). I write down ideas for scenes and scripts and envision the shots in my head of what kind of movie I could direct within these walls.

The energy surging through me is making me restless so we finish our absinthe and go. We wander the streets as we passionately discuss what it means to live, to love. The stars twinkle above us like a dear friend's eyes in on our little secret. Hopping into a cab we giggle like children. Our cab driver turns into another character in this surreal dream, he tells stories about constellations and the beauty of love (all in Castellano Spanish) and the romantic in me is melting into a puddle as we approach the ocean.

I leap from the car in front of Carpe Diem (a dance club) and dance the next hour away for not a moment is to be wasted. My friend laughs at my enthusiasm as we head to the patio on the sand. I take one look at the full moon reflecting on the ocean’s surface and it’s clear there’s only one thing left to do. I throw my wallet and phone to my now bewildered friend and race across the sand in my blue dress, kicking my sandals off. I can’t reach the water’s edge fast enough! 

Splash! No hesitation, I’m beneath the water fully clothed. Silence beneath the waves, a stillness for a moment… and when I come up for air, the moon appears to me even brighter than before. I smile. The kind of smile I know I won’t forget for as long as I live. I have fallen head over heels in love. And her name is Barcelona. 

Carpe Diem. Seize the day.

"Ernest Hemingway, Charles Baudelaire, Paul Verlaine, Arthur Rimbaud, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, Amedeo Modigliani, Picasso, Vincent van Gogh, Oscar Wilde, Aleister Crowley, Erik Satie, and Alfred Jarry were all known absinthe drinkers” Wikipedia 

I don’t recommend absinthe for everyone, in fact most people hate it! And it wasn’t the absinthe that made me so free, though it helped I’m sure. It was the new experience with wonderful people in my favorite city in the world. I’ve since been back to Bar Marsella many times and have gotten to know the owners quite well. So if you find yourself in Barcelona, don’t leave without stopping in. Tell them Maiara sent you ;-)

Me and my girl Jimena

                                                               Scotty, bar runner, nice guy contrary to belief!

                                                           photo cred: Delta Sky Magazine

                                                                   The gobs of dust! photo cred: Trip Advisor

                                                                       Photo Cred: lwsn.net

                                                 Peeling paint on the ceiling and the walls photo cred: LindaDreams

                                                         photo cred: haveyouseenuslately.org

Jose, Owner <3

photo cred: lavanguardia

That Time I Thought I was Getting Kidnapped

I’m sitting in the backseat of a car, flanked by two Turkish men. I do not know their names, nor can we communicate. There are two more men in the front seat. We are driving along a windy highway through the mountains, and I’m supposed to be by the ocean. The windows are up, the doors are locked. I’m smiling on the outside, trying to remain cool, but inside I’m wondering if this is going to turn into the movie Taken. I must plan an escape route.

Rewind. 2012. I’m sitting in Cadaques, Spain, a beautiful fisherman’s wharf where Salvador Dali built his home. I’m writing in my journal enjoying tapas (small plates of food) listening to the laughter of small children and their families. This is my Summer of YES. My solo journey through Europe for 6 weeks. No plans, no agenda, whatever direction I was feeling drawn towards spontaneously I would say yes to (within reason of course). 

I look across the water to the setting sun and pull my phone out to capture it. A what’s app message (app for communication- great for traveling) pops up from a girl I had met very briefly at a creative conference earlier that summer. We had sat next to each other for an hour over dinner and shared great conversation. She asked if I was still in Europe, and if so, would I like to meet her and a group of friends in Marmaris, Turkey to go sailing in 4 days. 

Immediately my walls go up. Turkey, though I had heard great things about it, had not been on my list for places to visit this trip. Also, 4 days away?? That's going to interfere with the little plans I do have! I think of all the reasons it doesn’t make sense. Then I remembered my promise to myself. That I would say yes to things that scared me and be open to adventure. So though my mind is screaming all the reasons I should say no, I type back, “YES.”

I assumed (my first mistake) that we would all be arriving together. No such luck. I am the first to arrive and was told someone would be at the exit with my name on a sign. I walk out into the scorching 95 degree + weather, down to the pick up station where 40 Turkish men stand. Not a woman in sight. Many of the men are trying to offer me a ride as I scan the signs for my name. It’s not on any of them. I am not sure what to do. The more time I spend waiting and looking around like an out of place tourist, the more vulnerable I am becoming to potential danger. I look up the name of the boat company on my emails (no service and no wifi) and search the signs again. This time I spot a guy with the company written on the sign, but misspelled. He doesn’t speak English and doesn’t know my name but immediately starts guiding me away to an unmarked car that is definitely not a taxi or car service. Suddenly, his friend is with us too. As we near the car doors I stop.  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, I need to make sure this is right!” I ask to talk to someone else and they phone their boss who speaks even less English. He isn’t very helpful. When we get off the phone I have a split second to make a decision. I look into both their eyes. I don’t sense malicious intent. The car doors open. Here we go.

Cut to me in the car. Two men have turned into four. Shit. This is Not good. I have no idea how close or far Marmaris was. Twenty minutes into the drive through rural mountains, I begin to inwardly panic. I try to keep things light and smile politely at the guys who are glancing at me in case they sense my fear. I find cell service and text my girl friend, giving her names of exits we were passing in case something happened.

We pull off onto a gravel road that leads to a shack. Okay now I’m really fucked. I start imagining whose grasp I’ll have to slip through first. How I would drop to the ground and make a break for the mountains, fuck my luggage. As we pull to a stop two men get out and enter the shack. Oh god, they’re probably getting something to knock me out with. The guy in the front passenger seat keeps checking on me. “Stay calm Maiara” I thought. The guys walk back and tell me to get out of the car. This is it! Get ready to run! The man in the passenger seat gets out too. My adrenaline is at an all time high. After a terrifyingly long moment of silence, the men usher me into the front seat and send me alone with the driver to continue our journey. What the hell?

Cut to two HOURS later. I’m exhausted and confused, and the driver will not stop flirting with me and telling me long stories I can't comprehend. He takes my hat off my head and starts impersonating different American actors he knows. I finally crack a smile. We round a bend and BOOM! The OCEAN! Marmaris!

I’ve survived! I could almost kiss the man I once thought was my captor. The ocean looks inviting, boats bobbing up and down on its cerulean surface, an invitation into freedom. I find the boat we will be staying on and walk around the small town gratefully. Looking around I see beautiful Arabic influenced art and colorful mosaic glass lighting fixtures.  My friends arrive hours later, and are amused with my story.

Moral of it? Never assume anything! If you’re traveling somewhere you’ve never been with no knowledge of the language, do yourself a favor and at least figure out the distance between the airport and your destination and be clear on when and where you’re meeting up with people. Also, though it worked out for me this time, as a single woman, I’ll never get into a car with four men that I don’t know alone again. 

Turkey turned out to be one of the most gorgeous places I have ever been. We sailed from Marmaris to Fethiye and spent two nights in Istanbul. The city blew my mind, especially the Blue Mosque and the Hagia Sofia. What had started off in my imagination as a potential kidnap/torture nightmare turned into the magic below. I thanked that one simple word that took me out of my comfort zone. YES.

                                            

I like to call this the Tree of Life. 

Gemiler Island (aka Saint Nicholas Island)

The woman who inspired it all. Thank you for the invitation!

The Blue Mosque- Istanbul