December 12th, 2008
Santa Barbara, CA

"Kindness, like a boomerang, always returns."
~Author Unknown

Sometimes a traveler just needs a break. For years Mama and I have been journeying to war-torn, depressed economies where the money comes easy but the travel does not. We've searched out hardship and challenge to test ourselves but this year called for something different: a break. Some might call it a "vacation"....visiting a place where one isn't harassed as soon as they step out into the street, where the toilets are clean, and the economy is strong. The novelties of first world travel might soon wear off for us over multiple trips but, for this year, a vacation was the perfect tonic for our weary souls. Let's face it, 2008 has been a difficult year for everyone I know....need I list it all?....and sometimes we just need a rest from it all.

I'm grateful to New Zealand for giving us just that. The kindness of the people, the mellowness of travel, and the wide open spaces where one can hear their own thoughts and take a sidestep from the ever humming chaos of the world. Vacations like this remind me of the elegance of simplicity: how important it is to keep my life less "cluttered" and instead, filled with quality time doing the things I love and being with those whom I cherish.

I thank New Zealand for reminding me of those lessons (as I struggle to stay balanced in the endless decisions of daily life back in the "real world") and I highly recommend visiting there to anyone looking for some fresh air and a break from "The Grind."

In Tribute to our journey in the Land of Sheep-Eating Parrots and Incredibly Cheery People, I've decided to give you a random taste of what I love most about New Zealand.

With Great Fondness and Dedicated to all the Greatly Helpful, Cheery Kiwis (except that one somber guy at the internet cafe in Nelson): I present to you....

"Rachel's 50 Tell-Tale Signs You're In New Zealand (in no particular order)"

1) Cars actually STOP for pedestrians...instead of speeding up to hit them.
2) "Scroggin" is something you eat out of a bag, not something you do in the sack.
3) Prostitution and gambling are legal but smoking in a restaurant is not.
4) The buses actually arrive and leave on time and no one tries to throw you off when you refuse to buy hash from their brother at the rest stop (not that that's happened to us before).
5) "Bitchamen" is a sealed road, "pasties" are something you eat not wear, "chips" are fries, "crisps" are chips, and "kiwi" is either a fruit, a bird, a person, or a combination of the above.
6) You don't have to tip anyone and you STILL get great service.
7) You can pay someone to go "punting" in Christchurch and you won't even get arrested for it. (Hint: It's something you do in the water in a very long boat...think Venice.)
8) The people working at the Visitor Center actually want to help you and do it quite cheerily.
9) When you bump into someone on the street, they say they're "sorry."
10)You can drink the tapwater without regretting it later.
11) The rest stops have toilets which are free and clean.
12) A food vendor offers to put tomato sauce (catsup) on anything you order...crepes, eggs....?.
13) A "dag" is someone who is a character. "Dag" can also be a term referring to the ball of manure hanging off a sheep's bum (i.e. "dingleberry").
14) The bus driver is not only cheery, but actually tells you what to get off on for the market. Another bus driver apologizes that they can't help pay for a passenger who comes up short and is late for work.
15) You know what a "haka" is and you're not grossed out by it.
16) The local food court offers inexpensive and tasty (besides the infamous McD's) Chinese, Thai, Indonesian, and Turkish food all for under $10.
17) You don't have to tuck your money belt deep in your waistband when walking through the city at night and you don't fear for your life when passing a group of young skateboarders.
18) The skateboarders actually say "hi" back to you.
18) The monosyllabic word "no" becomes a polysyllabic "nah-woo-ah."
19) The food at the airport is cheap and it tastes good.
20) You don't have to show your ID to board domestic flights and you can bring liquids with you!
21) The airline actually apologizes when your flight is delayed and then reroutes all of your connecting flights without being asked to.
22) Your luggage makes it, too.
23) The taxi drivers round your fare DOWN. Every time.
24) More than six cars in a roundabout is considered a traffic jam.
24.5) While backpacking, you can spill your peanut butter or tuna fish lunch on your clothes and not live in fear that you'll be eaten by a grizzly in the middle of the night.
25) A 3,000 foot mountain pass is called a "hill."
26) Some of the park trails are so well maintained that you could take roller luggage with you instead of a backpack.
27) Two Words: Sand Flies. "The gift that keeps on giving," as a Kiwi/American friend tells us.
28) Stores actually shut on Sunday.
29) Locals you meet can name the "All Blacks'" player faster than you can name the "Seven Dwarfs."
30) The ice cream is homemade, the berries are hand-picked, and most of what's on your plate is local and seasonal.
31) The honking car that's passing you is thanking you for pulling over to the side, not flicking you off for being slow.
32) All the roads are well-marked and in English.
33) Locals here can correctly pronounce names like "Kakaka," "Whakatu" (hint: the 'wh' sound like 'f') and "Takaka" Hill without blushing.
34) You don't have to sign a waiver when you bungee jump, sky dive, or river board.
35) You can drink alcohol in public parks and drink wine at the movies.
36) The drinking age here is 18 years old.
37) Women here gained the right to vote in the late 1800s, over two decades before American women could.
38) The cows are grass-feed and free to roam, the chickens are cheery, and the sheep are afraid.
40)You can walk through the city park without being harassed by crackheads, homeless people, or young guys selling postcards.
41) "Feijomoa" is a type of fruit, not a profanity.
42) Restaurants have weirdly creative names like "Hell's Pizza" and "Toxic Coffee."
43) A road sign in the countryside by a pasture of sheep actually says "Hay Ewe!"
44) The alpine parrots here, though incredibly cute and clever, eat plastic and have been known to eat the sheep, too.
45) There's no inheritance tax or capital gains on real estate investments and basic health insurance is covered by the government.
46) When you tell people here that you're an American, their faces light up and they give you an enthusiastic "Congratulations!" on the 2008 election.

If you've answered 'yes' to 20 or more of these questions: You may be in England, Australia, or New Zealand.
If you've answered 'yes' to 25 or more questions: You're in Tasmania or New Zealand.
If you've answered 'yes' to 29 or more questions: Congratulations...You've made it to the Land of Sheep-Eating Parrots, Waterfalls, and Fiords!

Welcome to Nueva Zealandia!

Hoping you all are taking some time for yourselves to rest over the holidays....

much love,
Raquelita and Mama Chihuahua

December 10th, 2008

In tribute to my Mama's literary skills (one of these days I hope we write and publish a short story together), I thought I'd post one of the blogs she sent out to her own list from New Zealand. She so perfectly captured a magical experience we had with a wallaby at a Wildlife Reserve outside of Christchurch...
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"The Magic of Marsupials" by Mama Chihuahua

The little wallaby sat quietly by the fence, munching on a strand of grass. He was close enough to pet. What a thrill to actually touch a creature I had only seen from afar in my Australian travels, here in Christchurch, New Zealand.

Then I saw the thing that protruded from his belly.

The poor thing had a claw sticking out his midsection. I suppose that wallabies might fight but this one had come off poorly, with a body part stuck into him.

The sticky-out thing was in the soft part of the belly. Righteous indignation roiled up within me that the park staff had not noticed such an injury.

Then the claw wriggled. And a tiny nose appeared. Then a face, right beside the clawed foot. And the boy wallaby became a mama wallaby with the cutest little baby wallaby face, foot beside its nose, looking at the outside world from the fur of the mama's belly.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. To hear about a marsupial pouch is one thing but to see something protruding right from the fur, no zipper, no dark interior, just a little alien looking out was so very cool.

The mama arched her wallaby back and pushed that baby pop! right out of her pouch and that baby landed on the ground, turned around and dived back into her belly, by golly. In the second I had to see this, the baby looked like a giant fruit bat, had no hair, was spindly and dived into her pouch, getting extra leverage from a leg push off the ground, and was invisible again. The mama never missed a beat chewing that strand of grass.

I was surprised, amazed, not sure I'd seen the baby at all and then it happened two more times, with the baby taking a bit of a walkabout before his head dive back into mama's handy home.

Rachel and I are home now. I'm checking my slides and re-living the good times in New Zealand, remembering the illegal vacation eating that I love so much and miss even more. I have only 15 pieces of toffee licorice left.

Things I love about New Zealand:

1. They speak English.

2. green-lipped mussels

3. fresh fish

4. They speak English.

5. It isn't Morocco.

6. fresh raspberries/boysenberries smashed up into yogurt in a cone.

7. The southern terrain looks real Lord of the Ring-y.

8. The really cute guy in Auckland.

9. I didn't fall down more than twice on the Routeburn.

10. They speak English.

Leaving Flagstaff makes me appreciate where I live all the more.....clean and fresh air, a surfeit of personal red blood cells acquired by living at 7000 ft., an abundance of hiking trails and riding vistas, cool university and teaching opportunities. and they speak English.

May your holidays be splendid.

Karen, Rachel and Steve

Tales of New Zealand II: Kicked in the Butts by Trek

November 28th, 2008
Fiordland National Park
South Island, New Zealand
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"It's been raining for six hours. How much longer can it last?"
Elaine, trekker from Wales

Apparently quite a bit longer.

Trekking in the rain sucks. It's not being dirty that I dislike, it's the smell...that unique fermentation that occurs when one sweats for days beneath polypro long underwear and layers of oh-so-nonbreathable fleece and gortex, then crawls into a sleeping bag with another synthetic liner sweating throughout the night, and then gets pelted throughout the day by rainfall, dirt, and bugspray. It's an overpowering and disturbing smell...a mixture of sweat, citronella, and musk, with notes of something strangely sour.

Why Mum and I choose to shoulder 40 lb plus backpacks up over mountains in bad weather, lather ourselves in bug spray, subsist on dehydrated pasta, and then sleep in bunkhouses with snoring, equally smelly strangers baffles me. We continue to suffer from what I refer to as "Trekking Amnesia," in which several months pass by after said memories of torture dissolve away and are replaced with nostalgia and fond recollections of bonding.

Our second trek, The Routebourn, is famed for receiving over 200 inches of rain a year. I believe that we were there around 30 of them. One hut ranger we met says that there's a sure-fire way of predicting the day's weather in this part of New Zealand. "If you can see the mountains in the morning...then it's going to rain. And if you can't see the mountains in the morning...then it IS raining."

The landscape here, despite the rain and sheer physical torture, is stunning....shimmering in thousands of shades of green...and even more vibrant after a heavy rainfall. We hiked through beech forests filled with the calls of the Tui and Korimako, beneath waterfalls cascading down Yosemite-like mountain faces of granite, past wide open river beds that meandered past magnificent fields of grass and up above the treeline to alpine lakes and wind-swept mountain passes. The fog creeped along the mountain faces like slow-moving smoke as Keas flew overhead and chattered away. We even passed through a forest painted in moss...every rock, stick, and tree trunk dead or alive was covered in an emerald carpet of green...the dominion of witches, warlocks, and faeries.

Mom and I, though avid hikers, have been once again humbled (some might dare say "defeated") by trekking. Although we weren't walking many kilometers per day, the strenuous ups and downs of mountains trekking with heavy gear in bad weather took its toll on our legs, backs, and even more precious egos. It doesn't seem to matter what type of training you do for trekking (biking, hiking, or dance)...the only way to build up muscles or stamina for backpacking is to do it. Carrying 40 pounds of sleeping bag, pans, toiletries, camera, pasta, butter, cheese, crackers, and a first aid kit kicks my ass every time (and yet I continue to do it). We stumbled into camp on the third day looking like landmine victims and Mom swore on several occasions that she would NEVER AGAIN go backpacking without a llama, sherpa, or heavy meds.

On our last night as I was cooking our final pot of ramen noodles, I noticed a trim, good-looking, stylish German girl I hadn't seen before on the circuit.
I asked her where she'd hiked in from.

"We came from the other side of the pass. We're doing the whole trek in two days," she answered, a bit too cheerily.

"You must be tired!" I exclaimed, trying to hide my own personal devastation.

"No, not really," she shrugged. "It only took us 7 hours today."

I calculated that it had taken my mother and I ten hours between two days to cover the same terrain--not including our breaks. I couldn't imagine having done it all on the same day, arriving before dark, and feeling strong enough to cook pasta or look as good as this German girl really did. Was she human?

She looked at me through her stylish eyewear, "Excuse me but how long did it take you to come from the last hut?"

I thought of our slow start earlier in the morning, of getting drenched in the flooded waterfall, of our multiple bathroom stops along the trail and of our lunch on the lookout where I cried about my stepmom. All in all, it had taken us 5 hours since we had left.

"Four hours," I answered, rounding a little bit down.

"Four hours?" She raised her eyebrows with a mixture of dismay, surprise, and the kind of sad compassion one would give to a lesser, more disadvantaged being.

I thought later (as I always do after the fact) of telling her that trekking is not a race. That we take a lot of photos as we go. That I hadn't felt energetic that day and that neither Mom nor myself liked rushing our walks.

But all I said was "Yup. Four hours."

She shood her head with pity and turned her attention back to her pasta. We clearly belonged to two different camps of trekkers: The winners and the losers.

I sank down in my seat beside Mom...shocked that a human being near my age could so casually make that death march seem like a walk in the park. Maybe her pack had been ultralight. Or maybe she had loaded all of her heavy stuff in her boyfriend's pack (not that I would ever consider doing such a thing). Maybe they had had better weather for the crossing than we had while we had suffered through 12 hours of rain.

I hated this girl.

Mom and I talked about how tired we had been through the trek. We sat huddled in our corner, feeling reassured that we could share in each other's suffering. I looked through all the photos I had taken over the past few days. I thought of the mammoth-sized waterfall that we had survived crossing beneath and that had nearly blown us over...I remembered sharing tea with the hilariously funny English trekkers, of eating apples and cheese in the hut with a bunch of soggy strangers on a miserably wet day, and hearing the story about the Czech couple whose horse and baggage fell into the Amazon on a trip to South America. We'd even hung out with one of the hut rangers who'd proudly showed us his home brew stash (what else are you going to do out in the middle of the rainforest during a long winter?) that he could have made serious money on selling to parched trekkers.

That Couple over in the corner han't had any of those experiences. They definitely didn't have any of the cool pictures we had cause I doubt they stopped long enough to check out the scenery or talk to anyone. They did look damn cheery though over in their corner of the hut as they ate their pasta and giggled together.

The next day as Mom and I finished the last few kilometers of the trek the same couple passed us. Instead of throwing toilet paper at them and cursing their names I instead chose to remember all of the moments that Mom and I had shared over the past four days. I realized that it didn't matter how far ahead of us the couple was, Mom and I had our own journey to make. A bit slower of a journey but valid nonetheless.

When Mom and I victoriously finished the trek an hour later, a Kea parrot landed beside our packs and hung out with us for a while as if to congratulate us on a trek well done.

When the German girl and her boyfriend caught up with us again--they had added on a side hike for extra exercise cause the trek wasn't enough for them--she was bummed to have missed the parrot.

I was sad for her, too. ;)

May you all be enjoying your own paths...no matter the speed.

much love,
Rachel and Karen

P.S. Turns out we weren't total wimps after all. Just a day behind us, a young woman from Sydney stumbled off the main trail, blacked out, and woke up facedown on a ledge that fortunately, had broken her fall down the mountain face. Miraculously, she didn't have any major injuries...she was just a bit shaken up.
P.S.S. The day after we began our trek, the beginning part of the route was closed off when a storm we blew a tree over and damaged one of the bridge crossings. The date after we ended our trek, the high mountain pass we hiked over received snowfall.

Tales of New Zealand I: New Zealand Dreaming....

Nelson, New Zealand
Monday, November 17th

Greetings from the South Island of Nelson....I'm seated snuggly between Mom and Steve at an internet cafe in the small town of Nelson (imagine a spring-like "Witches of Eastwick" nestled in a valley along the Pacific Coast) as a cool wind whips up a light rain outside.

It's been two weeks since Mama Chihuahua, Baby Love, and I have arrived in the Land of Sheep, Rugby, and Maori Culture. We've not a single regret since arriving that we chose to come here.

After an intense year at home, we've felt the relief of traveling to an English-speaking, first world country that doesn't require a phrase-book or an intolerable number of vaccines. It's been a welcome change from the type of travel that Mom and I usually take on.



From our first touch-down at the Auckland Airport where we were offered FREE! cups of hot tea and coffee (and weren't expected to buy a carpet as well) while we waited for our bags (which actually made it! Air N.Z. is my new favorite airline!) to every encounter we've had with Kiwis and other travelers we've been amazed at the authentic kindness and helpfulness of the New Zealanders. Even the taxi drivers (who appear to be higher educated than the average American) and bus drivers are kind (one pulled his bus over after we had descended a curvy mountain pass and watched over a sick passenger, offering his own personal water bottle after she threw up on the side of the road).

The roadsides are free of litter and perfectly kept-up. The trails are so well maintained you could probably take roller luggage instead of backpacks and have an easier time of it. And the merchants are so generally helpful they'll let you make local calls from their phone or give you directions anywhere you need (without sending you to their brother's carpet shop instead). Even the town of Nelson has dedicated "Night Ambassadors" who walk around downtown on weekend nights seeking out and helping drunk people make their way home safely.

It's just so dang...well, CIVILIZED. I think that several years of ago I might have been bored by the comfort here but this year it's the perfect balm for my rather fatigued traveler's soul.

Kiwi Highlights:

Highlights for me in the last two weeks have been a visit to one of my new favorite museums...the Auckland National Museum with a live Maori Dance Performance and four floors of incredible exhibits....featuring a replica of a 19th-century New Zealand town, a simulated pyroclastic flow (extreme volcanic eruption), and a 15-foot Moa bird.

Eating hot Turkish chicken kebabs and home-made honeycomb and chocolate gelato in downtown Auckland. Walking through the Auckland gardens with Mom after a hard rain and a full rainbow appeared behind us....

Eating smoked cheddar cheese, locally-made rhubarb/raspberry jam, and multi-grain bread with glasses of New Zealand-made Sauv Blanc as we watched the sun set from the linai at our friends Kevin and Jenn's in Nelson. Watching Mom and Steve race each other to finish off a bowl of steamed, fresh green-lipped mussels dipped in garlic butter sauce. Spotting an Orca Whale torpedoing out of the water off the coast of our Abel Tasman trek.

Taking a yelp-inducing cold shower during the third night of our trek beneath a eucalyptus tree with a handful of cheap dish soap that I found....it was the most invigorating shower I can remember since I had a hot bucket bath during the winter in Nepal! Walking barefoot across wet, sandy estuaries during low-tide on our trek and walking through the rainforest listening to the melodic call of the Tui bird (imagine a canary leading a symphony). Eating Edam cheese and sesame crackers on a white sand beach and watching blue-black, orange-beaked oyster catchers lead their week-old peeping chicks out to sea. Meeting other mothers and daughters along the way...a duo backpacking together, a mother and daughter who have a jade-carving business together and sell at the Nelson Market, and a mother and daughter who have a bead-making jewelry business together. (I've seen more mothers and daughters working together here than any other place we've traveled.) Running into two fiesty older women who were collecting whitebait (think of minnow-like sardines) for their morning scrambled eggs...

In all, it's been an incredible trip so far. We head to the mountains tomorrow for two days of hiking and exploring before Steve heads back home and Mum and I continue to Queenstown for our next trek, the famed Routeburn.

Thinking of you all and wishing you the best along the way-

much love,
Rach, Mama Chihuahua, and The Beloved Badger

Photograph by Genaro Molino of The Los Angeles Times
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Gratitude from New Zealand: The Tea Fires

Nelson, North Island
New Zealand

Monday, November 17th, 2008

I've waited two weeks to write my first blog of our travels here in New Zealand...A part of me has just been reveling in feeling that this has been the first actually relaxing time we've had on a trip in a long time (especially compared to the trials and tribulations of Morocco) and now that I've caught up on news from home I have another reason to postpone stories of trekking and stuffing our bellies with locally-made edam and camembert.

We've recently learned about the Santa Barbara Tea Fire that has destroyed countless homes and I've felt humbled by the thought that several of our friends have had to evacuate themselves and their pets and most beloved possessions in a matter of minutes. One friend's family home was saved while another's was burnt to the ground right after she managed to evacuate herself and her dog.

It's hard to write about spotting Killer Whales and trekking through rainforest when I know that so many people have been in chaos this week. I am so incredibly grateful that Steve and I are safe and that our home and our cats are safe and in the good company of our girlfriend, Meredith.

This whole year up until this trip to New Zealand has felt heavy, like a time of transition and purging for myself and many of those whom I know and love. I have been looking forward to this trip for many months after a difficult year. For me personally, I've sold my condo in a short sale right in the midst of the Housing Crisis, my computer crashed, I sold the majority of my stocks in the spring, my car died on a road trip and I had to abandon it, my stepmum's cancer returned more aggressive than before, the Gap Fire consumed the hills above Goleta, and Steve and I lost several young friends to strange deaths over the summer.

And just as I thought that the year was coming to a peaceful end, the Tea Fire has taken Santa Barbara by complete surprise and ravaged the lives of many people whom we know. Many friends and family members have had similar ups and downs this year. My higher self has to believe that there's something happening on a cosmic level in the world, a purging and transition to a new world.

So instead of writing this first blog about New Zealand, I'd like to just reflect on a few things that I am grateful for from this year and celebrate the light during occasionally dark times:

The Top Seven Blessings That I Am Grateful For:

1) That I am in good health and sitting between two people whom I love dearly in a beautiful place on a warm sunny day: My Mamacita and Baby Love, Steve.

2) That our kitty kats are safe at home along with the pets of those we know.

3) That my uncle had a beautiful wedding with his fiancee, Teri, and that my cousin and her husband are happily pregnant back in Indiana (along with two good friends in Santa Barbara)!

4) That I have the incredible gift of music in my life....playing with Robby, Doug, Joel, and Billy in King Bee for eight years now!...and now have the opportunity to involved again with the very healing African Dance and Drumming Community through my good friends, Lisa and Budhi.

5) That I can afford to travel to such a beautiful place and continue to be transformed and rejuvenated by these travels with my Mother and now, with Baby Love.

6) That I'll be able to visit with my Dad and Wicked Stepmum and some of my family for a White Christmas in Indiana this year.

7) That when I return home, I'll be returning to one of the most magical, beautiful, and special places I know of and to a community of friends and "family" whom I treasure deeply in....Santa Barbara, California.

For those of you jonesing for some travel tales and sick of the touchy-feely sentiments, stay tuned, I will be writing again soon.

All my love and gratitude to each of you. I hope that you are all safe, happy, and healthy and, that if you are experiencing your own 'dark' times, that you're able to celebrate the light that you do see in your lives.

much love,
Rachel

P.S. On a more political note (please stop reading here if you come from a red state) I have to add that I am also supremely happy that the popular winner of the presidential election was the victor of the presidential race.

"Vignettes From Morocco"





The colors of the Sahara are sublime at sunset and sunrise...





I've finally finished editing several thousand photos from my trip earlier this year to Morocco. Here is a short selection of a few of my favorite slices of Moroccan culture and landscape. Although Morocco was one of the tougher trips Mama Chihuahua and I have had in the past several years of our travels, I will say that working on these photos has helped me redevelop my appreciation for the textures and sensations of all the things which I did enjoy about this part of North Africa...the tang of spices, the amber cast of the Sahara at sunset, the sinful creaminess of homemade pistacchio ice cream, and the chaos of the Djemaa El Fna at dusk.

"A civilization rich in types and models unchanged for centuries, ... But that it has survived until our own times, that we can see it, we can touch it, we can mix with its people, is a miracle that never ceases to astonish."

Andre Chevrillon, Marrakech dans le palmes, Paris, 1920.
www.everythingmoroccan.blogspot.com

This was an incredibly majestic and surprising set of Roman Ruins in the North of Morocco at a World Heritage Site...gorgeous in the late afternoon light-







The salads in Maghreb are surprisingly refreshing....





Riding the train from Fez to Marrakesh with a group of young Moroccan women returning home...

July 24th, 2010
Santa Barbara, California

Mother Daughter Photo Shoot
Ginny and Mary Howard

"I love my mother as the trees love water and sunshine - she helps me grow, prosper, and reach great heights."
~Terri Guillemets



I still remember when my Mother and I were photographed for her 60th birthday. We had put the photo shoot off for years hoping to be in better shape, to be toner, thinnner, younger and so on. Then we realized that it may never happen. We weren't getting any younger and there would always be something that we didn't love about ourselves. The most important element was rejoicing in the now of our relationship and loving ourselves body and soul whatever age. Now of course, when I look at the photos I think of how courageous we were to have the photos taken and, of course, I think I look wonderful!

It's truly a special treat to be in front of the camera and a truly magical process to share it with your mother.

How I love to photograph women! Especially mothers and daughters. I'm very close with my own mother and our relationship--through good and bad--has shaped so many of the relationships I have with people close to me. To me the bond between mother and daughter is especially indelible...our roles often juxtaposing throughout our lives. We begin as daughters and occasionally take on the mother role with our own mothers then settle into a comfortable sisterhood during the best times in our relationship.


I was contacted by Ginny Howard through a mutual friend. She was drawn to my style of portraiture and wanted to treat herself and her mother to a 60th and 80th birthday present! Her mother was an absolute sweetheart and a very good sport. When I arrived, she had no idea that Ginny wanted to have "intimate" portraits taken but Mary tentatively and courageously stepped up to the plate. By the end of the shoot, I could see in her eyes that she had had begun to trust me more. I'm so happy with how these beautiful women "showed up" in these photographs and for the photo shoot.

June 28th, 2010
Mer's Bridal Shower!

Thankyou to those of you who were able to make it on Sunday! It couldn't have been a more beautiful day between the gorgeous weather, delicious food, and beautiful energy that you each brought. I look forward to continuing the celebration together this fall with Meredith and Tim!

Enjoy the slideshow...if you'd like any of the photos, you can click on "View Gallery." Once in the gallery you can view the pictures. In the upper lefthand corner of the picture will be an option to "download photo." You can also download all of them at once.

Much Love, Rachel

P.S. Mer~ I thought you'd really get a kick out of the song I used! ;)

Review of Hollywood Film, "Rendition," by New Line Cinemas
Starring Reese Witherspoon, Meryl Streep, and Jake Gyllenhaal
Set in Morocco, North Africa

Although watching torture scenes of a husband and father at a far-away prison in North Africa isn't usually at the top of my list for things I'd most like to do on a Friday night...I have felt immensely curious about this new form of state-sponsored terrorism. A couple of years ago in an Amnesty International Magazine, I read about one German man's experience of "extraordinary rendition" at the hands of the CIA (kidnapped, tortured, and humiliated before being dropped off in the middle of nowhere on a country road in Albania...how's that for a European vacation?).

Post 9-11, it's truly incredible to see a Hollywood film bringing such a heavy and clandestine operation to the big screen and it's evident that award-winning director, Gavin Hood (Tsotsi), has done his research on the subject. Often, films can oversimplify the mess that is war and propaganda but "Rendition" gloriously succeeds in humanizing all of its key characters--from the overbearing Muslim prison warden who oversees the "interrogations" to the senator's aid who is pulled between saving his career and aiding his ex-girlfriend's struggle to track down her husband--and their struggles to fight for their loved ones.

Basically, the film centers on an Egyptian-born American engineer (Greencard) husband/father who doesn't make it back home from a business trip in South Africa. His wife (Witherspoon), pregnant and distraught, soon discovers that the government--which claims he never boarded the flight--is lying to her. Meanwhile, a city in Morocco (shot in Fez and Marrakesh) is being torn apart by recent "terrorist" attacks by fundamentalist Muslim groups and a young, green post-traumatic stress CIA agent (Gyllenhaal) is placed in charge of "overseeing" the Egyptian-American's secret torture. Throw in a ruthless Muslim prison warden, a cruel and ambitious CIA-linked politician, and a young Muslim girl falling in love against the wishes of her oppressive father...and you've got ample fuel for tension.

From the very beginning, Rendition is gorgeously shot and pays special attention to develop its characters' needs and desires. The dialogue is impeccably-written and authentic and the casting is spot-on. One of the greatest treats was to see both Muslims and Americans human and flawed in their own individual ways.



In its final scenes, Rendition is haunting and compelling in showing how through the process of "hunting" down terrorists--often innocent people with families-- we are creating victims. Often, the chosen "jackals" or interrogators will torture until prisoners are compelled to "confess" to relieve themselves of unerring pain and torture. One man advises a growingly dubious special agent (Jake Gyllenhaal),
"We have a saying in Morocco, if you beat your woman every day and you don't know why, then she will." Gyllenhaal's reaction is priceless.

The film also pokes fun at the U.S. government's repeated denials of institutionalizing torture. Gyllenhaal--high on opium and deeply troubled by the week's events--confesses in a phone conversation to his supervisor (Streep), "This is my first torture."
"The United States," hisses Streep, "DOES NOT torture." Although it's cliche, one can't help but be amused by her venomous denial.

If you do rent this movie, make sure to take an extra bit of time to view "Outlawed," a documentary on victims of rendition that is included in the special features section. If you had any doubt that rendition is taking place, this will be the final nail in the coffin. It will be well worth your while to listen to a few stories of men who have been "kidnapped," transported from prison to prison, tortured, and held for months and years without any legal representation or access to a court or contact with their families.

Wake up. This stuff is truly scary.
Check out the American Civil Liberties Union article on Rendition.

"Infidel: Looking for Asylum In A Country Near You"
A review of controversial Dutch-African activist Ayaan Hirsi Ali's memoir

"If you are a Somali woman alone," Hirsi Ali remembers her devout grandmother's words, "you are like a piece of sheep fat in the sun. Ants and insects crawl all over you, and you cannot move or hide; you will be eaten and melted until nothing is left but a thin smear of grease." In Somalia, a woman is nothing without a brother, father, or uncle to protect her. She is vulnerable and powerless…nothing without her family or clan's honor.

After a recent and conflicted trip to my first Muslim country—see my blogs on Morocco--both my mother and I have been truly curious about the life of a woman behind the veil. As a writer and photographer, I want to say that we were respected as women and that the Western stereotypes of oppression that we have of Islam are overinflated. I'd like to say that my first experience in a Muslim country was a pleasant one. But I can’t. Ever since our trip, I’ve been struggling to walk the line between hasty judgment and overly-exagerated moral relativity.

That said, Hirsi Ali’s memoir was like a sharp shot in the arm that shook me out of my politically-correct stupor. She’s a vibrant and courageous woman in an era when religion is more politically-charged than ever before. The first Muslim woman to be elected to Dutch parliament, Hirsi Ali quickly became known for her vocal criticism of Islam through various public interviews, editorials, and an inflammatory documentary--Submission--she made with filmmaker Theo Van Gogh (think of an irreverant, Dutch version of Michael Moore) depicting the Quran's treatment of woman. Shortly afterward, Van Gogh was brutally stabbed to death in broad daylight by a Muslim man. Speared on his chest was a religious letter condemning Hirsi Ali’s life as well. She has been in hiding ever since and opinions of her are mixed ranging from the belief that she’s a hero—Time Magazine has named her one of the "100 Most Influential People of 2005"-–to claims that she is a thoughtless neoconservative intent on gaining fame and stirring the political pot for her own selfish aims.

Whatever your political beliefs, it’s difficult not to be pulled into the story of her life’s struggles or to not feel the slightest nudge of compassion for a woman growing up in a culture of violence and oppression.

Infidel follows Hirsi Ali’s vivid childhood spent between Somalia, Saudi Arabia, and Kenya. She grows up beneath the heavy hands of her traditional grandmother and a mother who was often abusive. She experiences excision--or female circumcision--as a teenager when her mother was away on a trip--, a forced marriage she wasn't even present for, and escapes from Mogadishu before rebel forces take over the city and destroy most of her clan's members (her native country has since spiralled downhill).

Without giving away the course of events, she makes her way to the Netherlands, a country quite unlike her native Somalia. In her eyes, the Dutch extol the virtues of reason, practicality, and open-mindedness. She immerses herself in these new concepts and faces her questions of Islam. How can a religion evolve if its followers are not allowed to question? Why are woman expected to submit completely to a man and to Allah? She finds that as Holland is welcoming Muslim refugees, its Dutch citizens' are weary to criticize the values the religion conveys.
To her, the real root of social problems among immigrants in the Netherlands "is abuse, and how it is anchored in a religion that denies women their rights as humans."

Hirsi Ali has been called many names. I've spoken with many Dutch friends who dislike her immensely because they believe she's brought many problems upon herself. But Infidel is truly compelling. It is a vivid account of a woman struggling to recreate herself after having been conditioned in a religion and culture which makes her needs and rights the lowest possible priority. She doesn't mince words and, by the end, it is apparent that although she embraced fundamentalist Islam during periods of her early youth, she is no longer a fan of Islam.

Infidel is truly a fantastic and alarming look at one woman's life in Africa. This is a time to be compassionate and tolerant but also not to be blind. As Hirsi Ali says, "What matters is that governments and societies must stop hiding behind a hollow pretense of tolerance so that they can recognize and deal with the problem [of conflicting faith-based values and governments]."

I highly recommend this book to anyone interested in learning more about women in Islam, the Middle East, modern politics, terrorism, and freedom of speech. It's truly compelling.

After reading Infidel, I watched several speeches and interviews that Hirsi Ali gave. Here is an excellent short speech she gave that I found on youtube and especially liked.

*If the video does not appear below, you may need to try viewing this in Firefox or Internet Explorer. Blogger is having problems with Safari and embedded videos. You can also view the interview on Youtube.