How did I get here?

I really enjoy traveling – so much that, when I don’t go anywhere for a while, and drive by Newark Airport, I longingly look at the airplanes taking off, wondering where they are headed for, with dreamy eyes. I like the feeling of being somewhere where no one knows me, of discovering a new place, taking everything in, exploring, photographing. And knowing that I need to enjoy the place where I am as much as possible, because I’ll probably never return there. Too many places to see, not enough time.

I am originally from Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Was born to a poor family who could never afford to take vacations, so there was not a lot of travelling when I grew up. I guess we are born with the travelling bug or not. I was. In my early teens I started to wonder what was out there, how people lived in other countries. Wondered about their habits and culture. And then I realized I could not spend the rest of my life in Rio, I had to set off to, like a good friend says, “wander the earth”.

I originally thought about studying overseas, but quickly realized my family would never be able to afford it. Then I checked into au pair programs and other options. I had my eyes set on Europe, fascinated as I was with the old continent. I explored several options, and found several closed doors. But never gave up. Closing a door on my face is the perfect way to make sure I’ll knock. Repeatedly.

After graduating from college, I took a series of part time jobs and decided to go back for a second undergraduate degree in Literature. During my first semester, I made a new friend who gave me interesting tips about the kibbutz volunteer program in Israel. At that point, I had no professional perspective, had no desire whatsoever to stay in Brazil and decided to try it. Hey, I was looking for an open door, couldn’t be picky when one finally did open.

So, in July of 1995, after a series of interviews with a kibbutz recruiter in Rio, visits to the consulate, doctor appointments and such, I boarded on a plane for the first time in my life. The airline was called Aeroflot, a Russian airline that no longer exists. Headed to Tel-Aviv with a connection in Cyprus. I had no idea what to expect, but in my heart I knew I had to go. I remember crying all the way there. I come from a very close knit family and was leaving them for the first time, going to a strange country, with a language I didn’t speak, where I had no friends or relatives. Or money.  

The kibbutz movement started as a kind of socialist/ Zionist dream (kibbutz means “gathering” or “clustering”), and is traditionally based on agriculture (though this has changed in recent years). Each kibbutz is economically independent and self regulated. There’s no ownership. The kibbutz members are provided housing, health, education, food – all the basics – and all must work to keep the community alive. There’s a dining room where all eat together. If one needs a car to go somewhere, they need to reserve it, use it for as long as they need to, then return it. They never need to worry if their kids will have proper education or medical care. All is provided to the members and their families. Interesting concept.

The volunteers are given pocket money, housing and food in exchange for a few hours of work a day. Every few weeks, there was a trip to some interesting spot in Israel (Jerusalem, Masada, The Dead Sea). And on Fridays, there was a small night club with open bar (that turned into a mess sometimes). Oh, and a swimming pool. I got there in the Summer, so that was a great spot to hang out. I was sent to a beautiful place, way up north, near the border of Lebanon (I walked to the barbed wired border many times). My job consisted of picking pears, apples and plums early in the AM. I was assigned to some other jobs from time to time. Worked in the kitchen for a long while. It was a very unique experience. I had two roommates from South Africa and quickly realized that my English sucked. So it was a little hard to make friends at first.

I was planning to stay for 3 months and move on to my dreamed Europe. My very loose plan was to spend some time in, say, Italy, get some kind of work there and learn Italian. Then move on to France, and Spain and so on. That never came to pass. While in the kibbutz, I fell in love, got into a serious relationship and ended up staying in Israel for a whole year. At some point I had to get a regular paying job, because I had ran out of money.

I worked as a nanny for a family for a couple of months. And through that family I met the people who’d get me where I am today.

Fast forward a couple of months, and I found myself in New York. Central Park West to be more precise. I had never thought about living in the US, had no interest in visiting New York, and suddenly I’d wake up every morning and see Central Park. Life is weird sometimes, no?

When I got tired of the nanny life and stubbornly decided it was time to go back to my original plan of living in Europe, I was offered a job in New York, at the company I still work today. And the rest is history.

I went back to Israel a few times. Still have strong ties there, and many good friends. In fact, I considered converting to Judaism when I was planning to marry my ex. We wanted to raise our potential kids in one religion, and we both agreed on Judaism. That also never came to pass (not the marriage, the kids or the conversion). Still single, childless and Christian. Not complaining!

So, between 1995 and 1997 I lived in 3 different countries. But I didn’t feel like I belonged in any of them. Looking back, what I was trying to do with all the roaming around was to find myself, or maybe to run away from my issues, from my angst. So all this sounds very exciting, but that’s not how I felt at the time. I was lost 100% of the time, always looking for something that I had no idea what it was. I remember Krishna Das (a kirtan artist) once saying that, after he spent time in India for the first time, he felt so great, as if suddenly his life made complete sense. So he came back to the US and sold everything he had. His records, his jeans, all is stuff. He set off to start a new life in India. However, he said, there was one thing he couldn’t get rid off and it went with him wherever he went: his issues. So it was with me.

I still love travelling. Very much so. And this whole subject came up because I am preparing to take off soon for a few weeks (more on that later), but now I have a different feeling about the whole thing. For one thing, I love having a home to come back to. And my kitties too (did I say I was childless? I lied. I have a tabby called Luca and a Calico mix called Sophie). Knowing they’re waiting for me makes my returns that much sweeter. Now I enjoy the feeling of anonymity when I am visiting a new place. I enjoy feeling like a child seeing the world for the very first time. But I no longer have that feeling of not belonging anywhere, of floating up in the air, of being moved by the wind without direction. I also very much like to come back home and tell my peers what I saw, and share my pictures… and sleep in my bed and know what bus/ train to take or where I’ll end up if I turn right or left. I like to be able to spend a few weeks having all my clothes and shoes available to me. And as soon as the laundry is done, I start planning the next trip…