I've spent much of August being a guest. This is unusual for me; being a guest puts me in the vulnerable position of potentially being a bother to someone—my worst nightmare—but I got over myself and had some lovely stays with good friends in beautiful cities.
Taking my host for a walk
A fun byproduct of being a guest is that you get to try on someone else's habits and rhythms for a few days, and maybe bring some of those souvenirs back home.
I always love developing a little habit on vacation that you might carry with you long after you've returned. When my mom and I visited Puerto Rico, we had a tiny balcony off our hotel room and drank wine together there in the evenings. This is still a treasured Mari-and-mom activity, and I always think of my mom when I relax on a balcony.
I haven’t been in Spain for years but my mealtimes are still Spanish; I adopted the schedule and never stopped.
I bumped into a stranger at a museum in San Francisco and he said "No worries" in response to my apology. I thought that sounded nice and tried to incorporate it in my speech; now it's one of my most-used phrases out of habit.
(I like the idea that we can carry around strangers through words.)
My customs come from different chapters of my life, various people who crossed into my path and then swerved out but left tiny legacies:
I had a Colombian roommate long ago who ate guava candy with cheese, and I still make that sweet snack often.
I once asked a coworker for the name of her perfume and I wear it to this day, and frequently think of that person who's surely forgotten me by now.
I used to live in a house where I could hear Gnossienne No. 1 playing on guitar at all hours of the day; now I voluntarily listen to it almost every morning.
I regularly make a sandwich that was on the menu of a cafe where I was a barista 10 years ago; it's out of business but the sandwich is alive and well in my lunch rotation.
I tote around all my chapters in the way I behave every day: bits and pieces stay with me from people I haven’t seen in years and places I can't return to.
Here are some momentos I picked up from being a guest this summer:
Ful for breakfast: I am hopelessly nosy (ahem, curious) and I relish being let in on candid hours of people's days, particularly on what they eat when they're not actively hosting. I was thrilled when I came downstairs at my friends' house and they were drinking coffee and sharing a small platter of ful (stewed fava beans) for breakfast, topped with tomatoes, parsley, lettuce, and feta.
Brilliant! It always feels good to put a leaf in your mouth first thing in the morning, and the creamy ful with accompanying pita was an abundant flavorful way to begin the day: my new favorite Saturday 11am meal. You better watch out, Waffles...
Satisfying serveware: All my hosts served coffee in big chunky mugs, which were glorious to sip out of—felt very Gilmore Girls or wise magical grandmother with long nails clinking her cup. I particularly loved these black clay mugs from a friend's stint in Bogotá.
New scents: I'm a person whose nose always wants to be smelling something (have I mentioned how much I love NYC?) and it's rare for me to discover a new scent that I haven't yet encountered. Enter: my wonderful hosts!! They brought the following smells into my life and I highly recommend them:
Flamingo Estate soaps: I'm not easily wooed by a bath product, but...I don't know how to convey how good this smells. Imagine putting your nose in a bouquet of eucalyptus, lavender, and sage, and let's say you collected this bouquet in a wild meadow in your favorite country, and let's throw in a nearby seaside and air that smells like the autumn equinox. It's dusk after a day of exploring and your clothes insist on retaining the scent of pine, bonfire, salt, and oranges. That's kind of how this soap smells.
Patchouli candle: I would have never picked up a patchouli candle myself because...I don't want to smell like a dorm room?? But my friend lit this candle during dinner and I kept gulping in the scent in between bites. It evoked memories of a ceramics shop in Manhattan, a bathhouse in Andalusia, and a jazz bar in Lisbon. These are pleasant things to evoke. Good job, candle.
Oil by the bed: One of my hosts put a petite jar of ylang ylang essential oil by the bed and I thought....What a touch! I smelled it to go to bed and I smelled it to wake up, and it gave me a warm happy feeling each time.
Exercise Jewelry: I took a couple workout classes with my friend in her hometown last week, and I was inspired by how much jewelry she wore while exercising! I don't know if I could handle multiple bracelets while Pilates-ing, but I love the idea of self-expressing even in my basic-of-the-basic yoga uniform.
My mom and I recently got these matching gummy bear pearl necklaces (!) and it's my perfect exercise jewelry: whimsical and expressive but unobtrusive during pushups.
Here we are in our twin necklaces, though my pink bear pendant is hiding behind my hair in trembling excitement for the Brandi Carlile concert we're about to enjoy...
Being the worst one in class: I recently started taking some hard (to me) classes at a fancy (to me) gym and I've gotten incredible at being the worst one in class. I took this talent with me when I visited friends and joined their workouts.
As body-aware as one may be, a new type of exercising always throws you off a bit, and I embrace being thrown off as much as possible. It adds a great element of play to an otherwise overly-serious environment to openly laugh at yourself. I make eye contact with others and invite them to laugh at me too.
When I take classes that I know I'll be good at, my ego gets way too involved. But if I take classes that are novel and challenging for me (I'm looking at you, Ropes and Rowers), I'm just proud of myself for getting through it no matter what. Plus, I like to think I make others in the class feel better about themselves. Who knew you could provide an altruistic service AND check off 'Leg Day' in the same hour?
"Atmospherics:" When I was staying at my friends' gorgeous haunted house, I did some writing from their comfortable living room sofa. One evening, my dear host said, "We need some atmospherics in here." He turned on a couple low lights and lit the fire and...voila! Atmosphere achieved.
I'm one of those insufferable creatures who is extra attuned to my space (i.e. very picky) so lighting and music and mood are important elements of a room, but as soon as I plop down on the couch and start hurrying through emails or turning on 90 Day Fiancé, I forget to actually create the environment I claim to cherish.
So I've been reminding myself "Atmospherics!" as soon as I sit down to do something in a given room, and look around to see what mood I could create: I light the candle there, turn on the music here, lower the lighting in the corner, open the window nearby. Now if the cars would stop honking outside, we'd really be in business.
Kitchen Talking: Being a frequent guest reminded me that the kitchen is the most wonderful place to linger and chat. The dining area is a container for compliments, polite questions, decorum, and gratitude ("Lovely meal, how is work? Such a nice time with you, loving the curtains!") but the kitchen is for gossip, secrets, late-night snacks, the last drink, and everything left unsaid.
I had so many gorgeous kitchen chats over coffee in the morning or chocolate at night and it brought to mind sobremesa, the Spanish art of spending time at the table after eating (the most important part of the meal comes after the food).
All the good stuff seems to come out in the after-hours, the hallways, the minutes you should be sleeping, the dishwashing and cleaning up. These luscious chats can't be forced, but going into the kitchen is a good place to start.
Framed momentos: As I mentioned, I am nosy. Or maybe I'm just a Libra? Or a highly sensitive person? Or a [insert Instagram carousel here that explains why I enjoy looking at other people's things, as though this isn't most likely a universal human trait]?
So I really, really enjoy homes that are partial museums: displaying all the chapters and inklings and stories of the people who live there. My friends have a spectacular home where every corner tells an anecdote from their past. You could ask them about it, or you could mentally fill in the gaps and imagine your own story. Either way, it's a delicious experience to be in their home and be constantly sparked with wonder over all the framed ticket stubs, post-it notes, old photos, and concert posters.
I plan to frame a couple valuable books soon, and a few more cards/letters that mean a lot to me. I started by framing a meaningful little note right next to my bed, and much like the ylang ylang essential oil, it's a warm happy way to wake up.
Simplicity: Though I typically try to begin any new season with a word of intention, this time the word found me: simple. It was a good, simple summer: the way fresh bread is good and simple, the way a slice of an overripe peach is good and simple, the way the best relationships are good and simple.
No fabulous vacations abroad, no parties, no adventures: Just a lot of talking with friends, and eating green peppers outside.
My hosts also showed me the value of simplicity when I stayed with them: lavender sprigs on my pillow, a bouquet of sunflowers from the farmers market on my nightstand. I recently read the short sweet book Be My Guest by Priya Basil, a meditation on hospitality from a Sikh perspective with ideas from all sorts of philosophers. It came down to such simple truths: Love and serve your neighbor, share what you have. My hosts embodied this so well.
All my greatest pleasures this summer were so simple: My friend Amanda sent me audio recordings of book passages she loves (I highly recommend reading out loud to your friends via voice notes or voicemails!) and I'd listen to them while walking through the park. I made colorful food. I read interesting books. I potted plants on my new terrace:
I may continue this theme through fall, and endeavor to be a good guest and simple good host: Smile and greet the folks at the front desk, provide cold water immediately, look for the empty glass at the table and fill it up.
Wishing you a gentle end of the season, and an atmospheric September!
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