I’ve been writing in the blog, mostly about Living Bridges from my travel adventures. But here is a most extraordinary Living Bridge I had the great honor to be part of. I am sharing for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the soulful connection among living adults from many different walks of life. We all had one thing in common: We were in close relationship with one married couple: Nancy McCarthy and Bruce Herzog. They were both only children and were childless.
 
They chose to leave this planet with love, generosity, practicality and no waste.
Here is the Reader’s Digest version:

I met Nancy in 1994 in a photography class at International Center of Photography, NYC. My life was enhanced and changed significantly by our friendship. I even relocated to Bucks County as a result of this relationship. Not only did we create photo images in joint projects together in our many classes, we invited each other into our lives outside the classroom. As a result I knew Bruce, Nancy’s husband, and ultimately about 99% of all the other peeps in their lives. And there were many.
 
I speak in past tense because both of these dear friends succumbed to Multiple Myeloma. Upon Nancy’s death 3 years ago, all of us friends and family were invited to celebrate Nancy’s life at their home in PA, a home they lovingly and carefully designed from ground up. It was intended to house their many guests and provide a peaceful retreat. And it did just that. And more.
 
I can write a book about Nancy and her extraordinary life but my goal here is to share an experience both she and Bruce created for themselves and for all their friends and family. With great and precise detail during their simultaneous illnesses, a plan was created and eventually unveiled to us after Nancy passed. We were invited to the house to celebrate Nancy’s life and  to choose from her huge collection of apparel and accessories purchased on their many trips abroad.  Nancy lives on in our closets, in our hearts and on our bodies!
 
In 2019, three years after Nancy passed, Bruce died. Once again, we were all invited to their home in PA to honor these two outstanding human beings. We celebrated Bruce’s remarkable life with five friends storytelling with laughter and tears on Friday night. Impossible to talk about one without the other. Their lives were  entwined in the best way. Sad and happy, we gave a befitting going away party to two veteran party-throwers. Not only were these two remarkable in their individual and collective ways, but the people with whom they surrounded themselves, extended family for decades, are remarkable as well.
 
So much community, love and support during their health struggles over the past few years was itself a testament to their humanity, but the ongoing, authentic friendships over the years was something I personally haven’t seen elsewhere in my adult life. We all attended parties celebrating every holiday, birthday, and life changing event at the McCarthy/Herzog home. Always playful and meaningful, these extraordinary events were the mainstay in everyone’s lives.

Back to Bruce’s memorial: After anecdotes were shared, we were presented with a bowl and a spoon. Combined together in the bowl were both their ashes. This was so befitting their devotion to each other; we were invited to take a spoon of the ashes and spread wherever we chose on the 12 acre property. This, to me, was the most awe inspiring action I could never have even imagined. To think that they so clearly expressed this request prior to passing was and remains for me a true lesson in divinity. The sacredness of life, a shared life.

On Saturday morning those of us invited to partake in the distribution of household possessions each chose a number from a hat. Bruce had written: “Have good food, reminisce about those acquisitive characters, Nancy and Bruce, and have a good time while looking over goods.”

I was #6 and thrilled to acquire a puma sculpture, an amazing piece of art which hangs in my house.  It was the only thing I really wanted but with so many exquisite items in the house I inevitably ended up with Zulu baskets from their Africa trips. We continued the process of choosing starting with #1 and going to #40, choosing only one item each time. Then backwards from #40 to #1. We did this for 2 days till 5pm on Sunday. Whatever was left was to be donated to charities. We worked within the constraints of the estate’s executor, PNC Bank, which designed this event according to Nancy and Bruce’s wishes and with the assistance of several friends.
 
While this may sound rather strange to some, most of us felt this was the best way they could have chosen to utilize their many collections for the greater good. We all now have extensions of our dear Bruce and Nancy in our homes both for every day, practical  use and for sentimental reasons. I feel their presence in my home daily with the happiest of memories. Losing them both has been a very difficult adjustment for all the tribe. They were the glue holding the family of choice together.
 
I was honored to be part of this unusual “family of friends”.  And I loved this unusual process.

I swear I did what I was supposed to do: Took anti-altitude sickness pills and exercised diligently on the treadmill prior to arriving in the 12,000 foot high city of Cusco. As recommended, I took it nice and slow (which is not my style, mind you) prior to striking out on the hilly streets. I drank lots of water and chewed the cocoa leaves. I arrived on January 4 and by January 10, much to my surprise and disappointment, I was in the SOS Cusco Medical Center under the care of Dr. Grover Quispe Orihuela.

Thank God my travel buddy Maren forced me to see a doctor because I was quite sick with altitude sickness and bronchitis, a hefty combination if you want to breathe. And live.

The doctor spoke excellent English and, while the nurses did not, their round the clock care was beyond anything I have ever experienced in the good ol’ USA. Oxygen, antibiotics, and a nebulizer for 4 days brought me back to life, at least enough to exit Peru and head back to NJ. The doctor, who was competent, caring and extremely handsome,  even sent me to my apartment on oxygen with an aide to help me pack to go home. I was originally scheduled to stay till January 22 but left on the 16th. Never made it to Macchu Pichu nor the Sacred Valley. Never got to hike up 14,000 feet to villages with Maren and explore, photograph and write about the Inca residents. Never got to participate in sacred rituals with shamans.

But I took it as part of the “adventure” rather than feeling sorry for myself. I even had Roku thanks to Maren’s brilliance in bringing it to Peru. I got to watch Netflix and sleep a lot. A real lot.

So here are a few tips from my experience:

• Take the anti-altitude sickness pills as directed.
• Do not travel if you have even the slightest inkling that you might be catching a cold. Planes are the worst germ habitats for humanity. Wear a surgical mask even if you are healthy.
• BUY TRAVELERS INSURANCE. I used AIG. They prepaid a return business class ticket and reimbursed me for the return coach ticket I could not use on United. While I had to pay the clinic for their services upon departure, I saved all the necessary paperwork and was reimbursed in dollars when I got home. Save all your paperwork! And by the way, 4 days in the clinic with x-rays, EKG, drugs and food: $1300. No kidding.
• Go to Macchu Pichu and the Sacred Valley before you visit Cusco. Elevations there are lower.
• One more thing: move around on the long plane rides. Get up and walk in the aisle every hour. I ended up with a blood clot in my leg when I got home.
  
  

I am prone to bronchitis when I catch a cold stateside, probably about once a year. I can’t say for sure if that will be an issue for you, but it is something to think about.

Be safe my Blog Friends….happy trails till we meet again in the Blogoshere! And may The Force be with you!

While visiting Cusco, Peru, the gateway to Machu Picchu and the Sacred Valley, to explore both Inca and Catholic cultures and tradition, I discovered Jewish life in this 12,000 foot high city in the Andes. Who knew?
 
It was lunchtime at Papacho’s, a casual hamburger restaurant in the historical center of the city. Right there on our table was a sign advertising breakfast in 4 languages: Spanish, German, French, Portuguese and Hebrew. The Hebrew was so unexpected that I was compelled to do some digging.
 
I learned that most Jewish Peruvians are either descendants of those who fled the Inquisition or mid-nineteenth century Jews who came from Western and Central Europe. Jews also arrived from Eastern Europe and the Ottoman Empire pre -World War I. Most live in the capital city of Lima where there are three synagogues and two Jewish newspapers. There is still a dwindling population of Jews in the Amazon Basin city, Iquito, where a mattress shop serves as a makeshift synagogue.

The Jewish population of Cusco, however, is made up mostly of young Israelis, 40,000 of whom  descend upon the city per year after finishing military service.  Travel after military service is  a rite of passage for many, a transition from discipline to freedom. Attracted to backpacking, rafting, rock climbing and hiking as well as the archaeological remains and sheer beauty of the cobblestone alleys, green velvet surrounding mountains and sweet disposition of the local population, the young Israelis find Israeli flags, Hebrew signs advertising various businesses and even Israeli pop music welcoming them from the shops. Some restaurants serve falafel and schnitzel and I bet in another season or two shakshuka will be the new favorite dish.
 
Some Israelis have relocated to Cusco and opened restaurants, food delivery service and nightclubs, saying it’s easier to open a business and be entrepreneurial in Peru. Even some Peruvians who own restaurants offer Israeli food as well. In addition, there is a popular hostel named Beit Asimha (House of Happiness) with a large hamsa above the entrance.
 
Cusco has its very own Chabad-Lubavitch Center established in 2006 which caters to Israeli and Jewish tourists. Shabbat meals are served every Friday night during summer high season to approximately 300 Israelis. Rabbi Ofer Kripor and his wife Yael claim to hold one of the biggest Passover seders in the world with 1200 participants. The center has a restaurant offering kosher food, classes, synagogue services and more. It is located at Calle Vitoque 631. What’s app number: 972522623770.
 
I have often said that in spite of everything, we Jews are still everywhere. Even here, in a city of 7 churches, I am happy to say we can find our “mishpucha” (family).

This is Day 3 in Cusco, Peru and, like so many trips I take, I am here thanks to an invitation by a friend. In this case, Maren Elwood from Carmel, CA,  invited me to blog about her project, On-Site Expeditions. She is a Visual Anthropologist studying the descendants of  Saqsaywaman and ancient stone architecture.

​We have rented a two bedroom apartment in San Cristobal community overlooking the historic Plaza de Armas. The view is stupendous. At night the street and residential lights on the surrounding mountains appear like magical twinkling stars. 

Tomorrow I begin learning Spanish two hours a day at Maximo Nivel, a language school. They also offer cooking and salsa classes. I’m in.  If I had my druthers I’d have visited the Sacred Valley and Machu Picchu prior to Cusco so I am passing that valuable information on to you. They are at lower altitudes. I will  visit both these prior to leaving this fascinating city.

One must beware of alpaca vs synthetic. Hold the garment up to the light. If the color is uniform, it’s likely alpaca. If you see red, blue or green sparkles, this indicates synthetic material. Wool feels soft and cool. 
 
I visited the Center for Traditional Textiles of Cusco on Avenue El Sol #603. It’s a non-profit organization promoting the empowerment of weavers in ten villages through the sustainable practice of Peruvian ancestral weaving in the Cusco region. Through workshops, educational opportunities and the promotion of their textile art, weavers are enabled to maintain their identities and textile traditions while improving their families’ quality of life. www.andeantextilearts.org.  Donations are appreciated.

Right now I am sitting in the bar of Belmond Hotel Monasterio, mesmerized by the beauty, eating trout ceviche (third time in 3 days), drinking Malbec and talking to you. This hotel was a monastery built in 1595 on the site of the Palace of Inca Amaru Qhala. Catholic priests were trained here. The chapel was added after the earthquake of 1650 and is decorated in Baroque style with original paintings framed in gold plate. Breathtakingly beautiful. Visiting here is a must: Plazoleta Nazarenas #337.
 
More about the history of Cusco in another blog. I won’t bore you with too many details, I promise. If you are inclined, “Exploring Cusco” by Peter Frost will provide you with plenty of historical facts.  Hasta la vista!

It’s been quite a while since I have blogged about my travels because the journey I have been on is only about people, not places. I am  referring to my 90 year old parents’ aging process. There is no preparation, no guide book, no map. I find myself groping in the dark on an emotional roller coaster to parts unknown, searching for some light to guide me and them on this path.
 
I am the only woman I personally know who has both parents alive…. but not well. Witnessing my mom slip in and out of lucidity and helpless to lend a guiding hand as she continues on the Dementia Road to Hell is truly the saddest experience of my life.
 
My dad struggled with the decision to place mom in a safe facility with professionals who can engage her in activities and watch over her. It took him a long, painful time to accept the reality of her situation. He has always been a man who solves problems, fixes tough situations and helps people find their happiness and security in this crazy world. Now the woman he has loved since high school days, been married to for 69 years, the one dearest to him, needs his help and he is unable to provide  a solution to this horrific disease that has grabbed her brain and scrambled it.

He, too, is not well but his is physical deterioration, not mental. Handicapped by COPD, congestive heart failure, sleep apneia, and AFIB, he continues to move forward using a cane to stabilize his every step. He has fought cancer on numerous occasions and won. He is a persistent, courageous warrior who finds meaning in keeping alive for his family: wife, 2 daughters, grandson and son-in-law. He still asks me, his 68 year old unmarried daughter, if I need money. Amazing.

My dad now lives with a caregiver/companion. He fought my sister and I on this decision, holding tightly onto his pride and independence. But we are concerned for his safety and we insisted. What if he fell, had a stroke or heart attack? Who would be there to pick him up, call 911? He insists on driving short distances and, while he is careful, who knows what can occur? Taking away his license and car will inevitably happen but until then we keep fingers crossed and pray for his safety as well as others’ on the road.

I look at my 90 year old parents with awe and admiration. They have lived full lives. I ask myself: at what point is a person old? Too old to have quality of life? What if there is nothing to live for, to look forward to? Why are we not legally allowed in most states to make our own decision regarding how long to remain alive? I want to be as kind to myself as I have been to my sick pets, letting them go rather than allowing them to suffer.

I can’t know what lies ahead but I do know I don’t want to spend my last years living in a facility, drugged to keep anxiety at bay and playing bingo. Or trying to. At least that’s what I think now. And I’m not even talking about the cost to keep alive in old age. Who can afford it?
 
When will we wake up to this epidemic and take control of our future years? I know I am asking myself. Are you?

Phuket is about a 1.5 hour plane ride from Singapore so, thinking we might escape the heat for a few days, my friend Jo Rifkin and I got out of Dodge, so to speak.  But we didn’t escape the heat. In fact, it was even hotter than Singapore. We stayed at Karon Beach which turned out to be a very touristy area. Our hotel was filled with Russians. The beach was across the street from our hotel so we made our way on the burning hot sand to the dreamy, delicious water to cool off.

With only a few days to relax,  we decided to take boat trips to islands and snorkel. The Phi Phi Islands (pronounced Pee Pee) boat trip offered us a day of sightseeing at Monkey Beach, Phi Phi Don Island, Viking Cave, Pitch Cove, Loh Samah Bay and Maya Bay. Snorkeling was less than I had hoped for but a treat nonetheless.

Another day we visited the Surin Islands. The Sea Gypsy Moken Village at Ruwai is inhabited by a gypsy community which managed to survive the tsunami. They live in raised thatched roof huts, fish and sell their handmade jewelry and trinkets. They  have their own language and religion. Litter is everywhere, including floating in the water near the shore. Not very friendly, very poor people. I  would skip this. The Nemo or Pineapple Gulf was far more pleasant as well as snorkeling at the Mae Yai Gulf and The Tao Gulf.

The Phuket Elephant Sanctuary was my favorite outing because I LOVE ELEPHANTS. And they deserve to live in peace and safety away from poachers and cruel owners who torture them to entertain humans. This is a sister sanctuary to The Elephant Nature Park in north Thailand where I spent time volunteering a few years ago. There are only 7 elies here so far. This is a worthwhile half day visit.



If I were to return to Phuket, which is unlikely since there are so many new places for me to experience, I would stay away from the maddening crowd and rest my weary head at either at a resort or an airbnb.
 
See you soon!

Soon after returning from Ethiopia and Israel I heard from my dear friend, Jo Rifkin, saying she is going to Singapore to visit her daughter, son-in-law and grandkids for 3 months. She and  her S.O., Norman, were packing up their Pittsburgh life of 20 years and contemplating a possible relo to Singapore. Would I like to visit? Opportunity knocked. I answered.  Two weeks later I was on my way…23 hours flying. One stop at LAX from EWR.

Jo warned me about the heat but seriously, this sweltering heat was way worse than I imagined. Singapore is a beautiful city-state and island country in Southeast Asia in case you didn’t know. Very close to the equator and humid. Like melting kind of humid. It’s a benevolent dictatorship and I’m not so sure this is a bad thing. No homelessness. No graffiti. Barely any crime. No drugs. Flowers blooming everywhere. Not a drop of garbage to be seen. In fact, there weren’t any trash cans in sight. Not even in the metro stations which, by the way, were efficient, immaculate and easy to navigate. Take an escalator in or out of the metro and everyone stands to the left so  those in a hurry can pass on the right. Signs are in English, the first language in this global commerce, finance and transportation hub. Did I mention no gum chewing? No gum sold here. Want a cab? Call and they appear. The driver  lets you know exactly when he will arrive.

The government provides assistance programs so acute poverty is rare. Subsidized healthcare, financial help for education and to buy apartments, money for the disabled, free money to exercise in gyms, and more. Yes, government is big here. But it also seems to care for the quality of life of its residents, rich or poor. Not much middle class here.

Ex-pats live well here. Last I looked, Singapore has the world’s highest percentage of millionaires, with one of every six households having at least one million U.S. dollars. Shopping on world famous Orchard Road, in Little India, on Arab Street, in flea markets and more will provide plenty of juice for the shopaholic in you.

It is quite expensive to live here but if you like living in a state controlled country where safety and security of its citizens is a priority, you can tolerate the rain forest climate and you have a high income, this could be for you.
 

Teaching English in Ofakim is yet another place where volunteering is highly desired and  appreciated. Contact Michal Zur for this too. Her info is in the Arad part of this blog.
 
Next blog: Visiting Singapore and Phuket

Hearing the stories of the 5 Ethiopian Israelis who traveled with us made me rethink some of my priorities and what I appreciate. Walking in the Semien Mountain Range at night with no map or flashlight? Seriously? How dare I ever complain about anything. This was a life-changing experience. What could have left these folks bitter and weak has made them stronger and all the more generous in spirit. The true spirit of the Ethiopians is one of gentleness, kindness and peace. How unfortunate that such wonderful humans have had to endure such terrible misfortune!

There are approximately 8000 Falash Mura people in Ethiopia waiting and hoping to leave. Many converted to Christianity for the sake of survival. The most recent group to leave in 2017 was 1300 people. 2700 had applied through their Israel relatives. 500 were rejected. 900 are still waiting to see if they will go to Israel in 2018 and there is no approved Israeli budget yet. To learn more read about the dilemma of who is Jewish and who isn't,  you can check out Law of Return.

I went to Hurfeish and lived with two separate Druze families for 4 days. I was sent here by the Metro West Jewish Federation of New Jersey to prepare 8 Lacemakers for a trip to the United States. 

The Druze are the nicest, most hospitable folks I have ever known. Upon entering a Druze home, out comes coffee with cardamom or tea with fresh mint, fresh fruits, cakes, cookies, and nuts. And you must partake or you will insult these kind souls.

The Druze originated at the end of the 10th century in Egypt, a monotheistic, secretive religion blending Islam, Hindu and Greek philosophies.  Families all live together until the kids marry and move into their own homes, which are either next door or around the block. Family is a central value in this village. They are not Muslim. Marrying outside the religion is not accepted. They have a choice in choosing whether or not to live a fully religious life. They believe in reincarnation. Their sacred text is called Kitab Al Hikma (Epistles of Wisdom). There are no Druze clergy, ceremonies or rituals as they believe that would distract from one’s connection with God. Druze women may seek higher education and employment. Druze villages exist in Israel, Lebanon, Syria and Jordan. They adapt fully in their adopted homelands and are a very close-knit, family-oriented people. The Druze in Israel speak Hebrew and Arabic. There are about two million Druze in the world.

There are about 6700 people in this village. And about 2 Million in the world, which includes the United States.

The “Lacemakers” was initiated by a woman named Afaf Faris, who leads a group of 70 women who meet every Monday for 2 hours to crochet, knit, sew, embroider and share their lives. The “Lacemakers” make hats, sweaters, scarves, gloves, socks, key chains, handbags and sell them from a very old stone building on one of the oldest cobblestone streets in the village.  They contribute to the family income which gives them a sense of purpose and pride. 

When they travel to the United States with either a husband, father or brother as is the Druze custom, they will be hosted by various families in the community. For most of them, airplane travel will be a new experience.

To learn more about the "Lacemakers" check out this article:   www.bbc.com/travel/story/20160808-the-women-who-never-leave-home

I also had the opportunity to teach English to some of the Druze kids in Elementary School B in Hurfeish. The 5th and 6th graders were very enthusiastic and excited to practice speaking English with me and each other. We played some games, created little skits in English and enjoyed the chocolate snacks I handed out after the lessons were completed. Now I am working on an email exchange between some of those students and some here in the U.S. so they can learn about each others’ cultures and speak with one another in English.

Stay tuned for my next post about Arad and Ofakim, Israel.

Sorry it’s been a while but I am back now and excited to continue! Before I go on about Ambover Village here’s a little more about Ethiopia:
 
The nickname of Ethiopia is “Land of Origins” and has been used as Ethiopia’s official tourism motto since 2016. The name comes from “Lucy”, whose earliest remains of our human ancestors were found in the Awash Valley. I wrote about her in an earlier blog. But now the Israelis have found remains of an older humanoid so it looks like Lucy will lose her status. Sorry old girl! 

Ethiopia is the birthplace of the wild coffee plant known as Arabica. I am enjoying the Ethiopian coffee I brought home, so sweet and smooth, and wish I had bought more! The Blue Nile, earth’s longest river begins in Ethiopia. There are astonishing varied landscapes in Ethiopia as well as ancient churches, monasteries, ruins of palatial structures and medieval forts. Nine sites have been registered as UNESCO World Heritage Sites, the largest number for any African country. The Semien National Park is one of these which I visited. But more about that later…. Much to learn about Ethiopia. 


I found this great website with the complete timeline of Ethiopian Jews.
Check it out by clicking on the timeline below.

We followed Belaynesh up a steep mountain path to what was once her one room, childhood home. I had to stop several times to catch my breath as the elevation was quite high. Imagine her trekking up and down the mountain to attend school and to fetch water several times a day.

 

Also with us was David Ermiase, now a social worker with Ethiopians in Ramat Eliyahu. David grew up outside Ambover in another village and walked here to attend school every day. He showed us where he sat in his former classroom and told us about his escape from here to Sudan at age 18 with friends through the Semien Mountains. Bandits preyed upon them demanding bribe money. By the time he arrived to the Sudan border, his mouth was so dry from not having water that he completely lost his voice. This was his first visit to Ethiopia since he left. He declared this “the best day of my life” and cried tears of joy and sadness. We all cried with him.