Coastline Conversations and Riviera Reflections

Imagine cruising along the French Riviera Coastline in a blue 1970s 2CV Citroën, with the rooftop open and the wind blowing through your hair. On your right, the glimmering turquoise Mediterranean Sea stretches out, and on your left, the rolling hills of the Alps rise up. As you pass by the charming villages of Villefranche-sur-Mer and Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat, people wave, smile and snap pictures of the car.

Now, add the smell of gasoline, the sound of honking, the sensation of sweat dripping down your legs as they stick to the leather seat, and your hair tangling into knots that may never come undone. Pictures may speak loudly, but they never quite reveal the full experience. 

Let's try another one. Imagine yourself on the beach, your towel carefully placed on the soft, round pebbles, and a feel-good novel in your hands, waiting for you to turn the pages. You have just returned from a refreshing dip in the ocean and now you're watching the waves roll in towards the shore, just a few feet from your toes. 

Now, add the sound of screaming children, the smell of sun screen and someone smoking pot. On your right, a couple is arguing and on your left, a group of teenagers just turned up the volume on their loudspeakers. Right behind your towel, an elderly man smiles proudly as he sets up his umbrella, shading you from the sun you have travelled over 2,000 kilometres to enjoy.

Ah, such holiday bliss.

While Instagram snapshots may differ from reality, I actually had a great time in France. I really needed to press pause for a while and spend some time just being, rather than always doing. 

After the coastline adventure and a minor heatstroke quickly remedied with coconut ice-cream, I decided to cool down with some morning yoga. I signed up for a class in the Parc de la Colline du Château, and on that day, there was only one other participant. "I love sports!" was one of the first things she said, and I laughed as it reminded me of my younger self. I still love soccer, floorball and volleyball, but due to joint pain, I can't play as much as I used to. Instead, I've had a to create a new identity for myself.

After the yoga class, Madison and I went for a stroll through the Marché des Fleurs, and she told me that she works in marketing and travels the world. Her belongings are stored in London, but she is free to live and work anywhere, which is also my dream. I felt so inspired after our meeting; it made me realise that there are many different ways of living - we just need to find the one that makes us happy. 

On the way back to my Airbnb, I stopped in a bookshop where a friendly Algerian, half-hidden behind a pile of used books, greeted me. "Vous lisez qu'en anglais? - Do you only read in English?" he asked as I picked out an English novel and handed it to him. "No, I also enjoy reading in French," I said with a smile. He then offered me a laminated French poem about domestic violence, which brought tears to my eyes. Unsure of how to respond, I passed it back to him, at which point he launched into a monologue about equality. "Si vous êtes pressée, je ne veux pas vous embêter... - If you're in a hurry, I don't want to bother you..." His eyes met mine, searching for permission to continue. "Non, non, je ne suis pas pressée - I'm not in a hurry," I said politely, though half an hour later, I did start glancing at my watch. 

Still, I truly appreciate the conversation we had about literature, life and politics. How often do we take the time to chat to a stranger for 30 minutes? Perhaps we should do it more often; it can leave us with a new perspective and some valuable insight. Before I left, the Algerian man gifted me another poem along with a parting phrase: "Nous ne passons pas travers à le temps, le temps passe à travers nous - We don't pass through time, time passes through us."

Even though I was in France, I adopted the Japanese concept of Yutori for the rest of my holiday. Yutori means living with spaciousness, slowing down to savour the world around us, and intentionally creating space to reflect, without being under constant pressure. Following in the footsteps of F. Scott Fitzgerald and Pablo Picasso who found tranquility and inspiration for their work in the charming town of Antibes, I relaxed my pace and allowed my mind to calmly shift from one thought to another, as if I were living in a poem.

An Australian Adventure

My whole body trembled and sweat poured down my face as I walked up the stairs at the Stamford Plaza Hotel in Sydney, Australia on 7 March 2024. My head was buzzing with nerves and excitement. It marked the first day of Neuro Transformation Therapy, the training that I had traveled all the way across the world for. At the top of the stairs, 110 unknown faces awaited me, along with one familiar face that I had only seen on Zoom. 

I always said that someday, I would go to Australia to fulfill my lifelong dream of hugging a koala. So when my other plans for this year were suddenly cancelled, I decided to turn "someday" into "now". Only to quickly realise how little I know about Australia. The visa requirements and the sheer vastness of the continent took me by surprise, and much to my dismay, I learned that holding koalas in New South Wales is illegal.

Nevertheless, I happily boarded a long flight to Sydney, arriving one week before the NTT event. As I navigated customs, my sister's warnings about Australia’s strict border control echoed in my mind and when a security guard waved me in a direction where no one else was going, I swallowed loudly. Would I be fined for the chewing gum and aspirin in my bag, or denied entry for some unexpected reason? Luckily, he led me towards an exit, where friendly blokes and sheilas greeted me with "G'day darling." 

Hoping to defy jetlag, I immediately went for a long walk, taking in the large city and strangely feeling at home. With six months of winter behind me, I eagerly soaked up the sunshine, and then finally, I saw it - The Opera House, as white as my skin, shining brightly against the blue sky. I had to pinch myself several times to make sure I was awake. As the sun slowly set, the hustle and bustle continued, with people strolling around and live music filling the air. 

Sydney Opera House

Sydney Harbour Bridge

The next morning, I crossed the Sydney Harbour Bridge, which reminded me a lot a of the Brooklyn Bridge in New York. After the walk, I sat down at a French café to devour a delicious galette, which fuelled me with enough energy to continue my stroll through the beautiful Botanical Garden. Despite my fears, the only "spider" I saw in Australia was the large bronze statue outside the art museum. And I only saw one snake, a live one up in the mountains. I did see many, many bin chickens though (a local name for the Ibis birds that use their long beaks to pick up food from bins).

My third day was one of pure bliss as I finally got to meet the koalas. Not only that, my guide had an arrangement with the family-run farm so we could enter before other visitors to help feed the animals. The biggest smile spread across my face as I saw their cute little eyes and soft leathery noses. We were also allowed to play with the adorable wallabies and kangaroos, who enjoyed a firm belly rub when they weren't too busy munching on grass or surveying something in the distance. 

Koalas

Kangaroos

After the wildlife park, we visited other areas south of Sydney, such as Wollongong and Morton National Park, and despite the windy and foggy weather that day, I fell in love with the coastal towns framed by mountains. Believe it or not, they looked exactly like the places I see when I visualise my dream future! The tour ended with a wine tasting at a local vineyard where I enjoyed meeting and chatting with other travellers. 

Somewhere along the way...

The following day, my friend from Canberra joined me for an exploration of Newtown, where we discovered the stories behind the exquisite murals and tasted food from all over the world. I really enjoyed digging into some vegan gluten-free tacos at a Mexican restaurant, while Mark preferred the meat pies at a local café. Our favourite, however, was a Turkish ice-cream with a sticky bubblegum texture and a strong rosewater flavour. 

In the evening, we were warned about a thunderstorm and considered canceling our tour to the mountains, but fortunately, we didn't as the clouds passed over night and we ended up having a gorgeous day in the Blue Mountains. The smell of the eucalyptus trees reminded me so much of Ecuador and the breathtaking views and cascading waterfalls filled my soul with joy. 

With my friend Mark

The Blue Mountains

Mural in Newtown

As if hiking in the mountains wasn't enough exercise, I embarked on a coastal walk from Bondi to Bronte the next day. Arriving at Bondi beach, Australia's most famous beach, was a surreal moment. Seeing the massive waves rolling in, the suntanned bodies, the surfers, the lifeguards and the warning signs for dangerous currents made me feel like I was in a movie. The coastal walk was extremely picturesque, with spectacular views at every turn. 

Bondi Beach

Coastal walk

Before I knew it, the week had flown by, and it was time to ascend the stairs at the Stamford Plaza, unaware that every other person there was just as nervous as I was. Yet within hours, we were high-fiving and hugging one another, helping each other through transformative exercises and staying side by side for 12 hours a day, taking in every word from our teacher Luke Hawkins.

Towards the end of the last day, I could barely stand nor keep my eyes open. My body was exhausted. But when my name was called, I danced my way up on the stage and my new friends clapped and cheered, just as loudly as I did for them. We made it! We healed ourselves, so that we can go out and heal others. We showed up, daring to be vulnerable and we took risks, desperately craving the rewards.

Two weeks after my Australian adventure, I still catch myself wondering if it was just a dream. The truth is that reality may not always align with our expectations. Reality is a little messier, a lot sweatier, a bit more awkward, more intense, more colourful, and way more fun. If we can overcome our fears, our doubts and our limiting beliefs, then we can unlock the potential for an extraordinary life. Even if it includes encountering a couple of bin chickens along the way.

 

With the legendary Lukes of Australia

Australia's most hated bird?

Between heaven and earth, the ocean and the sky

Flower island, pearl of the Atlantic, the Hawaii of Europe... the volcanic island of Madeira goes by many names, and this is what drew me to venture here for a week at the beginning of July. While usually offering a mild climate all year round, Madeira's weather can be unpredictable. "You will get rained on," my guide book said and sure enough, as the plane descended, the raindrops danced on the windows.

Madeira's allure, however, extends far beyond idyllic sunbathing and leisurely swims. In fact, most of the beaches here are made of pebbles so if you're looking for sandy stretches, you may want to head to the nearby island of Porto Santo, where sand has been imported from the Sahara desert. Not a typical beach enthusiast, I had instead planned a holiday filled with activities, from climbing volcanoes and swimming in secluded lagoons to diving with dolphins and learning how to surf.

My main goal was to conquer Pico Ruivo, the highest peak in Madeira at 1,861 meters above sea level. Two days after my arrival on the island, a guide picked me up at 5 a.m. and we drove up the mountains to witness a breathtaking sunrise above the clouds. From Pico do Arieiro, our starting point, we hiked along steep trails to reach the top. Not used to the altitude and the heat, I ran out of steam fairly quickly. Nevertheless, I persisted, putting one foot in front of the other, ascending what is often referred to as "the stairway to heaven."

While the stunning scenery was certainly rewarding, it wasn't enough motivation for me. To persevere with heatstroke and aching joints, I had to tap into my inner strength, my Finnish "sisu." What also helped was seeing butterflies gracefully flutter around me throughout the hike. These insects bring so much colour, lightness and joy. As symbols of powerful transformation, they also remind us to welcome change without trying to control the outcome. At the end of our journey, we will inevitably emerge different than when we started. 

Unaware of how challenging the hike would be, I had booked a surfing lesson for the next morning. So after only a few hours of sleep, I headed towards Machico beach to meet Roberto, the surf instructor. We began with dry land practice, honing our technique before plunging into the water. "Only one thing is certain," Roberto said. "You will fall." And fall I did, over and over again. But each time, I crawled back up on the surfboard and paddled out to wait patiently for the next wave to arrive. Eventually, I started to make progress and managed to stand up for shorter moments. 

"Believe in yourself!" Roberto shouted as he gave my surfboard a push. "This wave has been waiting its whole life for you to ride it. The only thing worse than falling would be not trying." Encouraged by his words, I gave it my all and in doing so, wholeheartedly fell in love with the practice of surfing and everything that it entails. It may have been my first lesson, but it will definitely not be my last. I can't wait to return to the ocean, catch more waves and immerse myself in the joy of surfing.

Staying in our comfort zone is not how we learn. Hence, for my next day of adventure, I impulsively booked a tour with Joao, a guide known for his spontaneous approach. "I never make plans," he texted me beforehand, "so you should be prepared for anything." He picked me up at 7 a.m. and off we went, driving along the winding roads of Madeira. A native of the island, Joao brought me to mesmerising waterfalls, hidden away from the crowds. We swam in the crater of a dormant volcano, walked along the ancient levadas (irrigation channels), hiked up a mountain and all in all, had an enchanting day. Twelve hours later, I arrived back at my apartment, utterly exhausted but deeply content with a sense of fulfilment in my soul. 

As a final adventure, I signed up for a dolphin and whale watching tour with seven fellow travellers. Early morning found us huddled together on a tiny speedboat, ready to embark on our ocean quest. "Look for birds," our guide Natascha advised us. "Where there are birds, there will be fish and where there is prey, there will be predators." Far away from the shore, a flock of birds started circling our boat and soon after, dolphins were jumping all around us. What a delight! One by one, we were instructed to slowly and silently glide into the water, clinging to a rope attached to the boat and breathing through a snorkel. 

I waited my whole life to swim with dolphins in the ocean, and the initial moments of my experience were absolutely incredible. Then, the dizziness hit me like a ton of bricks in the head, leaving me gasping for air. I tried gesturing to the people on the boat, but no one noticed as they were all too mesmerised by the ballet of sea creatures. Panicking, I hit the side of the boat and Natascha finally pulled my shaking body out of the water. "You have vertigo," she said gently. "Sometimes the depth can trigger it. Give it another try and I'll stay close to you this time." With her reassurance, I put on the goggles, grabbed the rope, slid back into the water and swam behind the dolphins while Natascha held onto my wrist. "I'm so proud of you," she whispered, beaming as she helped me climb back onto the boat. 

A mixture of pride and relief washed over me. I felt dizzy and nauseous for the rest of the day, but seeing the beauties of the ocean was definitely worth it. 

On this trip, I came to a profound realisation - embarking on adventures is as essential for me as breathing. I may not know what the road ahead looks like, nor am I sure of my destination, but I'm willing to embrace the uncertainty and take chances. The path is never linear, nor is it ever entirely smooth. There will be moments of rain, and there will be times when I stumble and fall. But I never feel more alive than on top of a mountain or far out in the ocean. These experiences serve as a reminder of how insignificantly small we may seem, and yet how remarkable and interconnected we are. In the words of 13th-century poet Rumi: "we are not mere drops in the ocean, but the entire ocean in one drop."

Passport Full of Dreams - A travel journal turned into a survival story

It's finally here!

I have put my whole heart into writing this book and I hope that it will bring my readers joy (along with a few tears) and perhaps encourage more people to share their own story. 

My self-help memoir is about traveling, adventure and yoga, falling in love, falling apart, falling down and rising back up.

It would mean the absolute world to me if you wanted to read the book. Part of the royalties will be donated to organisations that support mental health and/or education for young people in Ecuador. 

Please leave a comment or reach out me through social media if you would like to buy a copy.

 

Passport Full of Dreams - A travel journal turned into a story of survival

May you go further than the stars

It was always my dream to do the pilgrim walk to Santiago de Compostela so, when the leaders of my hiking group sent out an invitation to walk the last part of the Camiño de Santiago Portugués, I immediately accepted. There was no time to prepare, but after years of dreaming, I was more than ready for this challenge.

The adventure began with a twelve-hour car ride from southern Andalusia to Tui in northern Spain, our starting point close to the Portuguese border. Twelve hours in a van with a group of Sevillanos, all of us wearing our face masks of course. Spaniards are known to speak faster than bullets leave machine guns and the decibel of their speech has been recorded as one of the highest in the world, which may be why life in Spain often reminds me of a book title by Jonathan Safran Foer: Extremely loud and incredibly close. 

Only when we arrived at our first hostel did one of the women that I was sharing a room with say to the other: "Turn down the volume, please - we're in Galicia now."

Our first hostel had a pool,
which was heaven after a long day of hiking

Start of the Camino

Our first encounter was with a Gypsy woman wailing on the side of the road as we drove through a small Portuguese town. We didn't speak her language so the villagers explained that today was the day of her husband's funeral, he had committed suicide a week earlier and left her here on their doorstep with his pain. I tried to look into her eyes but she saw nothing and heard no one; even surrounded by people eager to console, she was alone with her grief and somehow, she will have to move on and find a new normal. 

On our first day of walking, I started thinking about what I need to be happy, and I came to the conclusion that I really don't need much. I certainly don't need many material things - of all the clothes I brought for the Camino, I could have done just as well with half. The lighter the backpack, the easier the walk.

Along the path, there are many messages and signs and one that you will see everywhere is the Latin word Ultreia, which means "May you go further than the stars." Amongst poetry painted on walls and hearts carved into trees, we came across a yellow and blue pair of shoes with a sign saying: "Yo hago Camino, NO maratón - I'm doing the walk, NOT a marathon." The path is the destination, hence there is no need to run towards the finish line. There should always be enough time to take a break, enjoy the surroundings, gaze at the goats, swim in the waterfalls, and watch the stars at night.

After a few days, I felt comfortable enough to let go of the need to engage in conversation all the time. Sometimes, I would walk by myself, other times in silence with someone next to me. Occasionally, an interesting topic would come up and we would walk and talk until we were out of breath. However, I also learned the skill of tuning out from the incessant chatter around me and tuning in to the sounds of nature instead. Whenever my mind would wander too far off the path, something would happen to bring my attention back, like when we were drawn into the forest by the enchanting music coming from two bagpipers standing behind a stone cross.

 

One of my biggest challenges was being hungry most of the time. On the second day, I only ate a small salad, which led to feeling weak and unmotivated on the third day. The hostels we stayed at served a good breakfast and during the walk, I would munch on dried fruit and nuts, but as much as we were moving, it wasn't enough. I hadn't realized that finding gluten-free vegan food would be so complicated in Galicia, or else perhaps I would have prepared differently.

On the other hand, there were other things that I had unnecessarily worried about before the trip, such as getting lost. The Camino is very well marked, all you have to do is follow the signs. Not having the right clothes was also a concern, just like blisters, sore legs, or a possible arthritis flare-up, none of which happened even though I didn't even have proper hiking shoes. I did the whole walk in my Nike trainers and it was absolutely fine.

Obviously, we considered the risks of Covid-19, but we mostly stayed within our group, wearing face cover and maintaining distance. I feel much safer up in the mountains than out on the streets anyway. Sunburn and fatigue are also valid issues to keep in mind and there were definitely moments, even days when I didn't want to put one foot in front of the other anymore. To keep going, I would think of something a Finnish war veteran said when he visited my school long ago: "You'll be surprised at how far you can walk after you think you can't walk anymore."

In total, we walked 120 kilometers in six days. In order to get the official stamp and certificate, you need to walk at least 100 kilometers but, certificate in hand, I can assure you that this is not what the Camino is about. What matters more is reflecting, pushing your limits, finding something beautiful inside yourself, and learning from the people that you meet along the way. 

They say that on the Camino, you will never walk alone. I experienced this through God's powerful presence, as churches and crosses are everywhere, but we also crossed paths with some interesting characters, for example, an elderly woman in a green bikini and a golden cross, who was feeding a goose on the beach. She told us that the bird's name was Chris, he's about six years old and she loves him more than her dog.

At a café by the side of the road, we met a man in his 80s with three golden crosses around his neck, selling charms in the shape of cats and shells. "Why does one have to die at 100?" he asked. "Can't they create one of those app things to make us live until 120?" His eyes sparkled as he made us laugh and buy more of his jewelry.  

There was also a woman in her forties walking the Camino on her own and we immediately bonded as it turned out that she was a language teacher like me and about to start a yoga teacher training, too. Then there was a wrinkly Portuguese man with a feathered cane walking in the opposite direction as well as two Australian dudes slowly limping and smoking their way forward on the path. 

On the last day, I walked mostly on my own until another group of Sevillanos caught up with me at a crossroads where I had stopped, unsure of which way to choose. "Are you afraid of us?" they laughed behind their masks, nudging me with their elbows and using silly voices to ask me for a picture. A group of guys in their thirties, they were convinced it doesn't matter whether you go left or right so I followed them to the left. We chatted as we entered the city of Santiago de Compostela together and they asked me about my ambitions in life. 

Reaching the cathedral is one ambition that I have now completed. As I stood there looking up, surrounded by new friends, I thought of all the other pilgrims who have come before me, and those who have yet to arrive. I thought of how one adventure is really just the beginning of another, and how many of us choose different paths in life or advance at a different speed than others, yet eventually, we reach the same destination. After all, as spiritual teacher Ram Dass observed: "We are all just walking each other home."

In front of the Cathedral in Santiago de Compostela

48 hours in Granada

He's a carnivore, I'm a herbivore. He's an atheist and a communist while I believe in Jesus and liberal rights. He's also a smoker, an extrovert, a reckless driver and everything else that I'm not. This larger-than-life Andalusian was my guide in the Sierra Nevada mountains and during our four-hour hike, he used more swear words and smoked more cigarettes than anyone ever should, but he also made me laugh more times than I could count. It was the most fun I'd had in a long time.

Meeting my opposite was a great reminder of who I truly am. As my guide, he led me across suspension bridges, held my hand when I slipped on gravel and helped me crawl up to the highest mountain peak before showing me the crosses drawn for fallen rock climbers. Only afterward did he share with me that actually, he's afraid of heights. He invited me for a beer and some blood sausage after the hike and found it hilarious when I asked for an orange soda and some tomatoes instead. 

Hiking near the village of Monachil

The main attraction of Granada is the Alhambra, a majestic fortress hovering over the city. Overtaken by the Catholic Monarchs in 1492, this royal palace is said to be the most popular monument in Spain and one of the world's most amazing masterpieces of Arabic art. It has been declared a Unesco World Heritage site and receives nearly three million visitors a year so if you're planning on traveling to Granada, don't do what I did and forget to book tickets for the Alhambra in advance. Still, I wasn't too disappointed. Walking up to the Mirador San Nicolas at sunset to enjoy the stunning views of the city, the Alhambra and the mountains was enough for me.

La Alhambra

The fortress is not the only piece of Arabic heritage in Granada. As this was the last city to be reconquered by the Christians after centuries of Muslim reign, the Arabic influence is still clearly visible in the architecture, especially in the neighborhood of Albaycín, as well as in the food. My friend and I also felt like we were constantly surrounded by tall, dark and handsome men but then again, this is true of anywhere in Spain. As far as the food was concerned, I had been warned in advance that Granada is not exactly a vegan-friendly place. Arabic shops and restaurants are everywhere and meat is often served with a side of water pipe. I didn't try either of those, but I very much enjoyed the Moroccan mint tea. 

Moroccan teahouse

On Saturday night, my friend and I walked into a taberna that served tapas the old-fashioned way, i.e. we were offered a free tapa with each drink order. So we had a couple of glasses of wine and the waiter kindly brought me some vegetarian food as well. For this, and many other reasons, I would definitely recommend a weekend away in Granada. It is the perfect opportunity to get lost in mystic alleys between white-washed houses and then find yourself on top of the mountains.

This is my happy mix - a little bit of the extreme, a little bit of downtime and to top it off, a glass of vegan wine with a dear friend. I may be on a time-out from many things in life right now, but my thirst for adventure has not been quenched; I'm just learning how to find the right balance.

Life is a journey and everyone we meet along the way can be a teacher so before we judge those who are different than us, let's remember that they may be crossing our path in order to help us take the next step and guide us in the right direction.

Happy hiking in Andalusia

A City Escape

My first week in Madrid, I walked almost everywhere and saw almost everything. I visited every museum, every church and every palace and ended up feeling a little jaded. Like I've seen it all before. A graffiti drawing here, a rose garden there. Another statue of someone who lived a hundred years ago, another painting of Jesus or the king. Yawn. It wasn't until I went on a day trip to the monastery of San Lorenzo de El Escorial that the surroundings finally took my breath away. That's when it hit me that I'm living on historical grounds. That's when I realized that I can't keep walking around in the dark when the sun is shining; I have to open my eyes so that I can let the light in and learn from the past. 

The monastery of San Lorenzo de El Escorial was built in the 16th century and has been declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Although often frowned upon by the Spaniards, this imposing palace is one of the main monuments of the Spanish Renaissance and it seemed magical to me as I wandered through the rooms where princes dined, kings died and monks prayed. There's the chair that Philip II was carried in on his last journey to El Escorial in 1598, there's the Queen's room with a rare 500-year old organ and there's the pantheon where their bodies still rest. Or at least the caskets with their names on them can be found here. 

My favorite part is the royal library, which is absolutely magnificent. The ceilings are covered with frescoes painted by Italian artists and 40,000 ancient books have been turned around on the shelves so that their pages can get some air. Some of these books have been here for over four hundred years. They have been through fires and wars and they still stand. They survived. 

I walk back to the train station through the Prince's park, enjoying the fresh mountain air and admiring the giant trees. I take a deep breath and one last look at the mountain peaks before boarding the local train to Madrid. I've always loved being surrounded by mountains. They make me feel safe in a hectic world where nothing ever stays the same, except the mountains. They don't move. And somewhere in between them are the pages of our books. Our wars are the mistakes that we don't like to talk about and our fires are the regrets that burn inside of us until there is nothing left but ashes. Yet somehow, we survive. We become a little rustier and a little dustier, but we still stand. 

Few of us can afford to live like royalty, but while we're here, we can make the most of what we have and enjoy the little things in life. And if we're lucky, we may get a chance to walk down the Prince's path towards the sunset at the end of the tour. 

Paseo del Principe