Lisa Niver's Blog: We Said Go Travel, page 433

USA: The Marmot, My Mother, and Me

A particularly fat marmot has been following me for a while now, peeking over and disappearing behind the granite boulders along the trail. He can smell my M&Ms, I just know it, and thinking about them makes my mouth water. Marmot scampers twenty feet in front of me and perches on top of a rock, looking chubby, greedy, and bold. His fur glows lustrously in the high mountain sunshine. I sit to rest, my back against a boulder and my rear end in the grey dust. Besides the M&Ms, I am carrying ten days worth of food locked tight in a bear canister. This is the highest past yet, and the loneliest.

The John Muir Trail is a 221 mile stretch of hiker’s paradise: with eleven high passes, 46,000 feet of ascent, and opportunities for some serious solitude, following a north-south route that passes through Yosemite, Sequoia, and Kings Canyon National Parks. This hike is just what I needed. That’s what I told myself.

But today I have been crying.

Today I am haunted by a dream from the night before, from which I awoke breathless and shivering. My mother was dancing in the kitchen. She had a perm, and her cinnamon-colored curls bounced around her head, like the way she looked when I was seven years old. She smiled such a painfully bright, wide, perfect Miss America smile at me that when I awoke, gasping, it was all I could see. Sitting in the dirt on the John Muir Trail, it still is.

I am sitting below Muir Pass, and at just under 12,000 feet, it’s the highest pass I have yet to cross on my north to south journey; from here they would only continue to get higher. The sky burns blue, without a wisp of cloud, without even the distant, fading trail of an airplane. I feel so exposed, as if a slight wind will send me tumbling down all the way to the forested valleys below. Here Marmot and I rest above the tree line, with ten days of pure wilderness stretching out in front of us, and I have never felt so far from the world. I open the coveted pack of M&Ms.

My dream, tauntingly happy, replays in my mind. I grab the heels of my boots and yank them off one by one, throwing them away from me in the hopes that all we need is a little time apart, and then I’ll start loving them again. My feet ache, as they have for the past twelve days, and my big toes have long since gone numb. Then I start crying again. Marmot sits on a rock and stares.

I feel my mother’s presence here. She has been shaking me awake, inside my tent. In the morning my eyes fly open, and while I lay on my back in my blue sleeping bag I search for her briefly in the darkness. She is an image flickering in and out, like the reel of an old, old film. As my eyes adjust to the morning light, she disappears completely, and I wriggle into my hiking clothes to start a new day.

I dream of her almost every night. She is haunting me. But what I have been praying for—that the memories of the last weeks of my mother’s life be replaced by the real her, healthy and alive and dancing in the kitchen—has started to come true. Sitting below Muir Pass I believe my mother is sending me better dreams, delivering me from grief, slowly. And below these mountains, although it has only been two months since her death, I even feel grateful.

Here all I can see are craggy, grey peaks, snow clinging to their highest pockets, and several glassy cerulean lakes. Up here it looks like the face of another planet. This could be Mars, I think. Or the moon. No trees, no people, not a single shrub to pee behind. Not even the faint chirping of a bird. Cupped inside these shells of mountains, the living world lay far below and out of view. Except for the marmots. I smile to the wide-open sky, and continue my climb.

About the Author: Marisa Monroe is an English teacher currently living in Gijón, Spain. Her most recent adventure was to raise money for charity by walking 1,500 miles through the U.K., France, and Spain.

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Traveling as a Single Woman in Dubai

While I now travel with my husband, I have spent the last 7 years travelling alone, and as a woman I am a huge advocate for travelling solo.  I was never willing to forgo a trip just because friends didn’t want to come along, and the experiences I gained from travelling solo have done wonders for my confidence and really shaped who I am today.  Not only does travelling alone completely push you out of your comfort zone, it forces you to interact with those who you wouldn’t normally interact with.   You’re free to wander at your own will, and don’t have to compromise your bucket list or itinerary to suit the needs of others!

While travelling alone as a single woman may have been a strange concept in the past, today it is very normal and quite common – everybody’s doing it!  I have honestly never really found myself in a position where my gender made it harder or more inconvenient for me to travel; however challenges do still exist in some countries despite the world generally being more open to women who choose to travel alone.  One such country is the UAE.

Megan Claire in Dubai – travelling alone as a single female in the United Arab Emirates.

The United Arab Emirates is a Muslim country with very strong religious roots, and as with any country, travellers are expected to respect the local culture and customs while there.   The UAE is one of the safest places in the world to visit – however I learnt pretty quickly while in Dubai that women travelling alone are somewhat of a novelty, and attract a LOT of unwanted attention.  Never once did I feel unsafe while in the UAE, and my trip overall was a phenomenal one; however there were many instances when I felt incredibly uncomfortable.

As such, here are some tips for travelling through the UAE alone as a woman.

Dressing:

The biggest challenge I faced was respecting Islamic traditions while trying to dress for the desert heat!  Being a Muslim country, modest dress is expected.  Revealing, tight or short clothing is not appropriate by any means, and you will genuinely offend residents by not adhering to a modest dress code.  I was asked to put clothing on by a hotel security guard at one point while making my way from the hotel pool back to my room.  Singlet tops, spaghetti string shirts or dresses, shorts or short skirts should be left at home.  Not only will clothing like this offend the locals, you’ll stick out like a sore thumb, and you’re asking for sexual harassment.

Local women resting in Dubai after shopping. Photo Credit: Flickr CC user emmamilley

Don’t be overly friendly:

One of the biggest reasons to travel is to meet new people, and form new friendships.   Immersing yourself fully into another culture and becoming friendly with the locals is how travellers truly experience a destination.  However in the UAE, be mindful that acting in a friendly manner, while normal in your home country, can be misinterpreted as an ‘open invitation’ by Muslim men.

I spent a lot of time at the private beach facilities offered by my hotel, which was a big help in escaping unwanted male attention, however there were some times I couldn’t even escape this while on the hotel grounds.  During one of the days spent at the hotel, I became lost while walking around the Atlantis water theme park, and ended up underneath the slides in a ‘staff area’.  A kind young gentleman escorted me back to the main area of the park, and we engaged in general conversation on the walk.   At the end, however, instead of a handshake he went in for a kiss, and only narrowly got my cheek after I turned to avoid his mouth!

I promptly spent $40 on a fake engagement ring to wear around during the rest of my time in Dubai!

The best way to handle unwelcome attention is to completely ignore it.  Ignore the wolf whistles – there will be many – and do not engage in eye contact with any strange men trying to grab your attention on street corners. Ignore any unwelcome comments, and if you are being directly harassed, making a lot of noise generally embarrasses the person involved.  Police in the UAE take sexual harassment extremely seriously.

I purchased a fake engagement ring to wear in an attempt to curb unwanted attention from Muslim men.

Don’t Drink:

The laws in Dubai are incredibly strict when it comes to alcohol consumption.  While alcohol itself is not banned, you can only purchase it at Duty Free Shops when entering the country – residents of Dubai need licenses to purchase alcohol from liquor stores, so you won’t be able to as a tourist.  Drinks can be purchased at bars, hotel clubs and in restaurants; however it’s honestly not worth it.  Being drunk in public is just as serious an offence as drinking and driving.

Benefits:

As mentioned above, travelling alone has many benefits.   The great thing about being a woman in the UAE is that women are normally seen first at post offices, banks and police stations, and quite a lot of places have queues set up just for women!

Even airline stewardesses employed by Emirates are expected to dress modestly. Photo Credit: Flickr CC user Ammar Adb Rabbo

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Venice Beach, California: More Than a Boardwalk

I began pacing around the apartment, searching the archives of my mind a memory that fit just right. I wanted to write about a place that gave me equal feelings of gratitude and awe. I had been to many places both near and far – shouldn’t this be easy?

Was the music too loud? Was it the dreaded “writers block” I had heard so much about. Did it really hit when you least expected it? Perhaps, it was my waiting until the last minute to figure out the place that was adding a little stress. I usually worked well with some degree of pressure. Next time, I vowed to start well in advance. My New Year’s resolution was settled – to never again procrastinate.

My roadblock wasn’t the writing, so I decided to take another circle around the apartment. I repeated in my head…what special place was I looking for? Then before I could get up, I had it! It wasn’t a place that was beautiful or inspirational, in fact it was somewhat uninspiring simply to look at (made mainly of concrete, wood and steel).

In fact it was a little seedy and sometimes smelled of fish. It’s where an eclectic mix of seabirds, locals, fisherman, domestic and international tourists do their own things. It is a stones throw from the tumult of the world famous Venice boardwalk and a mile or so from another Southern Californian (SoCal) icon, the Santa Monica Pier.

It sits at the edge of the Pacific Ocean with nothing between it and the Hawaiian Islands due west. It gets two thumbs up in the sunset department and overlooks the iconic Pacific Palisades. The Palisades foreshadow the beautiful splendor and winding scenic drive northbound via Malibu.

You may now realize, I have chosen the Venice Beach Pier (V.B.P.).

The pier at the south end of Venice Beach, California is where I contemplated my life. It’s where I would attempt to meditate, ponder and re-ponder my destiny, while just taking it all in. It’s a place that arouses the five senses with some of the best sights (eclectic people and scenic vistas galore), sounds (kids chasing squawking birds, fisherman gossiping in Spanish and tourists gawking at surfers), smells (the sea breeze and freshly hooked live bait), the touch of the initial carved benches and all those tastes just off the pier’s edge.

Quintessential V.B.P. eateries include; Hinano Cafe – where Jim Morrison is said to have eaten and caroused, C&O Trattoria – family style Italian food (great for celebratory groups with their in and outdoor seating), The Terrace – a classic beachfront brunch spot, and The Cow’s End Café – a place to grab a healthy portioned deli sandwich and a fabulous warm take-away beverage to accompany your walk to the pier’s end. Finally a pseudo Tiki-Bar, The Venice Whaler – where patrons fill upper and lower patios while they can listen to music, watch sporting events, eat contemporary pub grub and tilt their elbow’s back beachside.

Now back to the V.B.P.

I have a spot on the benches at the end of the pier, where I sat on several occasions, and pondered my past and future. I could watch the sunset everyday from that very spot. It’s where I decided travel was my life’s inspiration and calling. In between, I tried desperately to capture moments of being humanly present. It has always stirred my interest in enlightenment. It may still seem odd to choose as a place of great appreciation, though it has the two distinct components I feel for it – awe and gratitude.

I am forever grateful of my times of introspection walking down the wind and sand swept pier deck. I would sit and revisit a trip I had just finished or imagine the place I wanted to head next. I then tried to take in and enjoy the SoCal vibe, as unique as Venice Beach itself.

The awe factor derived from the shear iconic grandeur of the crescent shaped bay, where so many dreams painstakingly came to be or were more easily derailed. In my case the awe of possibility, for my life, and how I could make others lives better in the process.

I don’t have enough words to explain a life’s work in progress, but I will say it’s these special places in our comings and goings that anchor our dreams within physicality. It helped solidify mine – to travel and write. The Venice Beach Pier is one of the places I am most grateful for. It has filled me with awe and the breath of inspiration.

I truly believe my outlook on life changed for good on a visit to that pier. My purpose was solidified. The rest they say – is still unwritten.

About the Author: Having traveled the earth in search of a happy stomach, Jeff continues to follow a path to food loving destinations. He hopes to walk off the calories en-route to more great tastes. Read more about his passion for food in travel by checking out his new landing page, Food in Travel.

Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter  our next Travel Writing competition  and tell your story.

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South Korea: Foolhardy Acts

Banks of neon from street to stars seared my retinas. Seoul at night. I was in South Korea for a specific reason. To find work. But not just any old work, acting work. Being cooped up in London, too poor for acting school, no real experience of note, meant I was just another face in the crowd. I had heard Seoul was looking for foreign faces. Internationalizing their ever growing media industry.

The streets of Seoul shopping central, Myeongdong were overwhelming. I knew nobody, spoke none of the language, understood nothing of the customs. I had arrived earlier in the day, and struggled to recollect how I had ended up there.

With what little money I had in my pocket, in most countries I would have possibly failed. But Korea, the people and the timing saved me. There is an invisible aura of possibility that hangs over the city. People go about their business, not scrambling over one another, but teaming together to bring Korea in line with other leading nations.

Staying at a youth hostel, I became friends with one of the staff there, a guy from Brazil, and soon got to spending time with the owner. Knowing about my foolhardy goal of kick starting my acting career in Seoul, possibly more out of pity than anything else, he offered me a free bed in exchange for four hours per day volunteering in the hostel. This was my lifeline. Winter was setting in and I spent the remaining money I had on a winter coat from the sprawling market at Dongdaemun. There are numerous large buildings stretching over a mile, each one packed with market stalls over ten floors high. For such a small country, often the scale of Seoul can be impressive.

It was enough to buy me the time to make contacts and get the right visa to start me off on a three year span that would see me featuring in Korean movies with the stars. By the time I left Korea, I was a minor celebrity appearing weekly in television shows. I learned Korean and started to get better roles. But without that help from the hostel owner Danny, and from everybody who would buy me a meal, keep me alive, offer me a chance to perform, I could not have done it.

I think what I am really thankful for is the goodness of people. That we live in a multicultural world that certainly has its ignorance and its disagreements, but that allows a stranger to feel welcome. Eager to give something back, I have helped as many people as have needed it ever since. Korea taught me to be a better person. At the heart of travel is enlightenment. To learn and understand another culture so far away and to assimilate, to see that people really are the same worldwide, is the essence of travel. It is why travel is an addiction, and it is one I hope I will never be cured of.

About the Author: Paul Stafford works in the film industry and as a writer. He spent three years working in Seoul, South Korea in lieu of going to acting school. He currently lives in London and studies a masters in screenwriting.

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Nevada, USA: Venturing out in the Valley of Fire

Back when dinosaurs roamed the earth there were great sand dunes in what is now know as Nevada. Eons marked by wind, water and shifting red sands created the Valley of Fire. Weird and wonderful rocks and fissures mark the landscape today. Striations in sandstone and limestone carved by natural elements stand out in stark contrast to smooth faced boulders. Red sand stretches out for miles, with the horizon broken only by jagged sandstone formations. Depending on the time of day, the rock color varies in intensity. Blazing rusty reds seem to emanate with fiery heat as the sun marches across the sky. Some of the rock appears to have been poured out in layers of cream interspersed with duller reds. As the day moves on, shadows start to overtake the rock, creating deeper hues.

It’s a hostile desert land. It’s difficult to imagine that the drought resistant vegetation with thorns and spines provides any sustenance to the hardy wildlife and birds that inhabit the area. However, as stark and inhospitable as it is, nomadic peoples wandered through the region. The Gypsum People, Anasazi and Paiute were some of the more notable tribes. Signs of their presence are still evident in petroglyphs, some dated back more than 3,000 years, etched high on the sandstone formations found throughout the park. With no permanent water sources other than a few natural stone tanks that collected infrequent rains, the area was used primarily for religious rites, ceremonial purposes and hunting. The Valley also saw its share of renegades, hiding out from either the law, warring factions or other pursuers.

Today, the park is recognized as Nevada’s largest and oldest state park. It is a popular stop for hikers, campers, climbers, history buffs seeking rock art and those with a thirst for intriguing scenery. Walking the trails, perhaps those trod by ancient people, is a humbling experience. Rocks in the shape of beehives, waves, portholes and more mark the way. Staggering rock walls loom overhead as hikers trek through slipping red sands or over the slick rock faces. The sky can be incredibly blue, with little cloud cover evident. Observant day trekkers might spot large black ravens perched on outcroppings or following visitors hoping for a handout. It’s even possible to see small flocks of desert bighorn sheep as they forage for food, scrambling about, finding tenuous footholds on almost sheer rock.

Less than an hour from the glittering neon lights of Las Vegas, the Valley of Fire State Park creates a sense of natural wonder. How did all this rock get carved? It boggles the mind to consider the power and the time it would have taken to create all of this marvelous landscape. Why did ancient people come here? Was it out of desperation or to come closer to perhaps a mystical and magical place? Whatever the case, Valley of Fire State Park evokes a variety of sensations- an appreciation for natural beauty; a sense of disbelief that anything could survive here for any length of time; and the idea that this park is a natural wonder that everyone should have the opportunity to enjoy.

About the Author: Cynthia Scarborough is a native Floridian. A freelancer, her favorite destination is anywhere in the South Pacific.

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New Zealand: Home Away From Home

When I got on the bus in the morning, I had a backpack, an empty guitar case, and no idea where I would get off. Franz Joseph Glacier was an endless expanse of turquoise blue. The morning sun’s rays glinted off the ice like porcelain waves. The silver crampons strapped to my feet left pinpricks in the snow, small pockets that invited erosion. I slipped through caves and over massive crevasses, staring at my toes more than the surroundings.

When I returned to the hostel, I boiled my last serving of rice in the communal kitchen. I used the free wifi to book a seat on Nakedbus to leave in the morning, and drifted back to my bunk bed with intentions of a peaceful sleep.

I was greeted with a stunning mess. My backpack was torn open; clothes strewn about the room. I clutched my laptop to my chest, the rush of electricity buzzing against my rapidly beating heart.

I picked through the scattered ruins of my possessions that littered the floor. I had locked up my valuable items, all except for my second-hand guitar that wouldn’t fit in my locker—and was, predictably, absent. I repacked my bags slowly, questioning my roommates as they wandered into the room. I talked to the hostel receptionist, who offered sympathy, tea, and a gentle shrug. I curled up under my cotton sheets and accepted my fate, adamant to get as far away from Franz Joseph as possible.

Physical locations do not determine one’s impression of a place nearly as much as people and experiences do. Despite my horrible luck at the hostel, I had engaged with others on my tour and created a few quick friendships. My comrades met me at the bus stop to say goodbye. “This is the first Easter I’ll spend away from home,” I admitted to the group that gathered around me. “So far, it’s not going so well.” Unable to replace my missing guitar but determined to raise my spirits, the girls managed to sneak a massive chocolate bunny into my backpack. I love travellers.

I fell into Nelson as the darkness descended, cloaking the mysteriously vacant Town Center in night. I followed fellow backpackers to their previously reserved hostels, all of which were full. I stifled the panic that stirred in my stomach and forged into the motel district. The evening was unfolding rapidly. Eerie creatures eyed me from the shadows. I calmed my imagination with rational reasoning as ‘NO VACANY’ signs screamed in my face. It was Easter weekend and there was a rugby game in town. I was 18 years old, on the other side of the world, and without food, water, or shelter. I hiked back to one of the more welcoming family hostels, debating between begging for a spot of floor to sleep on or wandering around the dimly lit corners of the city for the evening. The compassionate hostel owner spent four hours on the phone receiving rejection after rejection. I held my head in my hands, her whimsical accent dancing over my depressed form. Just when I had given up hope, she turned to me with a smile. “There’s an old pub in the industrial section, on the outskirts of town. They’ve got a few bunk beds, and they’ll take you in.” Relief flooded my bloodstream, and for the first time that evening, I let my tears flow freely.

When I arrived at the pub, I carefully locked my belongings beneath my bed and slipped downstairs. The bartender greeted me kindly. “I can pour you a pint, but the kitchen’s closed.” I covered my growling stomach and smiled faintly, retreating to the common room to write. A man with unwashed hair and bare feet immediately recognized my stooped demeanor. His glossy eyes bore reflection and understanding. He nibbled on a modest plate of beans, apples, and rice. With a sad smile, he offered me his fork. I truly love travellers. I was overwhelmed by the kindness of strangers in lieu of my naive stupidity. Time and time again, travellers have provided for me, shared with me, and supported me. This experience was no exception.

I fell into my bunk bed that night, warm beneath wool sheets and belly full of nutrition, listening to rowdy rugby fans celebrate in the pub below. Families across the city snuggled together in twilight while I nestled within my own type of travelling family, full of awe and gratitude towards the wonderful world I am blessed to explore.

About the Author: Alison Karlene Hodgins is an award-winning travel writer, newspaper columnist, and writing & publishing student currently residing in Kelowna, BC, Canada. When she’s not boarding international airplanes or feverishly hunting for the best hostel, Alison can be found braiding hemp bracelets, editing her debut travel novel, and drinking copious amounts of tea. Follow Alison on Twitter @AlisonKarlene, on Facebook at Alison’s Adventures, and on her travel blog.

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Our Bangkok, Ramkhamhaeng

Though it happened years ago, I can still see the picture clearly—the day we met, the moment that set our history in motion. It was a bright Monday morning in November. We had met in the courtyard, waiting for class to begin in the small, windowless meeting room at the JL Bangkok, a featureless hotel on the outskirts of the city. We were twenty-somethings, disillusioned college graduates fleeing the desolate professional landscape of modern America. Gap years and career breaks were common among the Generation Y crowd; we were simply the next in line.

I moved from person to person as if I were striking up conversation with vendors at the farmer’s market. There was a girl with short, wavy blonde hair. She was from Wisconsin. A scar running down from her left eyelid split her cheek like a lightning bolt. We talked briefly, and then the door opened. I followed her into the room. We were learning to be teachers, and though we did not know it at the time, we were going to start a life together.

Every morning over the next two weeks, we met in the courtyard. We would often go to look for breakfast together, lost in the mysterious ebbs and flows of the language, picking out whatever looked good: coconut jellies, neon-colored orange juice, thick coffees that coated our tongues, omelets littered with bird’s eye chilies. We were curious, bemused, and growing wildly in love with Bangkok.

After class, we would break off from the rest of the group and explore the cramped neighborhood alone, slipping into the shophouse bars, noodle shops, and boutiques in Ramkhamhaeng. We shared stories, came to tears as we sampled fire-hot, inscrutable cuisine, and held each other up when we were riding on the boat that cut through the canals. At night, slipping between the shoulders of passersby on the cramped sidewalks, our bodies touched, too.

We talked about the past and the future, growing closer with every word. An audible charge, an extension of the colorful new environment that we had settled into, electrified our speech. Soon, there was no one else. Bangkok was ours and ours alone.

Saying that we got to know each other quickly would be an understatement—by the time the training course had come to an end, we were already a couple; a few weeks later, we moved in together. Since then, we have traveled all over the world. From the red-brick temples in Bagan to the cold streets of Hanoi in December; from my basement hideaway in the northwest corner of Indiana to the spray-painted corridors of Valparaíso; from the depths of loneliness to the highs of emotions—we have gone everywhere hand in hand. Separately, we left our lives in America and, together, we built one that began in the courtyard of a small Bangkok hotel.

At this time of year, with the holidays fast approaching, it is good to reflect on all that we are grateful for. When I look at pictures of the places I have been or read notes from my journal, my mind always returns to those first days at the hotel, where I learned how to appreciate beauty in everyday life—amor fati. History—our history—does not move in a straight line, and it never will. As we navigate its winding route, I can look back to Bangkok and be thankful.

About the Author: Craig was raised in a small Indiana town. When he turned 25, he moved to Bangkok, found a job and decided to stay a while. He has a passion for running, craft beer, and live music. Read more about him and his work at Odd Years Travel.

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Lanzarote, Canary Islands: Challenging Assumptions

Lanzarote – such a tiny island with such a huge impact on my life. I came there with no expectations. All I wanted was to work and learn Spanish, but…

From the first moment I came there, felt different because I didn’t speak the local language. I had some basics, but expected that this will take a lot of time to manage the language. Was I rejected because of that? On the contrary, people talked to me slower, explaining all the words, repeating If needed and NEVER laughed at me or showed dissatisfaction. Step by step they helped me to master the new language and adapt cultural differences, which was the basic what I needed in order to integrate. No more weird moments!

Parties – inseparable part of the island’s life. You attend them sometimes more often than planned. I was asked not only go together to the clubs, restaurants, but also – house parties. I felt truly privileged to be a part of their groups. As a vegetarian, didn’t want to come to the barbecue parties, because for me  it sounded too problematic. Have they thought this is problematic? Not at all. They’ve asked me in, baked vegetables and told me never think that I might be a problem for someone. So, the next thing I’m very grateful for is accepting me for who I am. This had such a big influence, because now, no matter where I go, tell everybody that I’m vegetarian and I’m proud of It.

Another thing that fascinated me that much was that I was treated like a real woman there. I am from eastern Europe and men there are really spoiled, they don’t even try to do something for a woman. In Lanzarote, it was totally different. They paid for the meals, took me to the most beautiful places and didn’t expect anything back. All they wanted was to make you happy and just to be with you. Now I know what It’s like to be treated like a queen and this attention is not like in Turkey, Egypt or other similar countries. This is a sincere fascination.

I’m very thankful to this culture for teaching me relaxation. No, I’m talking not about relaxing while meditating or enjoying SPA procedures. This is a more relaxed attitude. Before coming there I was so stressed. Every single rush seemed the most important and If something happened not according to the plan – I simply freaked out. In the beginning, It was hard to adapt that calmness. It seemed too much delaying. I asked them to fill in documents and they promised to do it next day, week, month. I thought that they are so reckless. However, what I’ve noticed later is that world doesn’t fall apart if you come 5 minutes later or if you send documents 2 days later. This isn’t disrespectful as we might think, this is flexibility. Basically it could be called – more thinking about yourself, but not selfishness. Here’s a thin line between these two, but once there, you know how to separate them. Trust me, this new attitude helps me save some extra energy, which would be wasted while stressing out because of things you cannot change.

Last, but not least is romantic awareness. Now I know what’s a true love. No, I’m not talking about serenades (though that would be nice) or crying lover begging for love on his knees. It is not what we saw in soap operas! I had a chance to feel a real love there. Nowadays, romantic people are equaled to boring. These who want to become friends first – time wasters. In the 21st century we have no time for that, right? However, true relationship is so important. Me and my boyfriend started from being just good friends who came to the movies or picnics, were strolling on the beach every evening and did all other “old fashioned” stuff. Later, I let him hold my hand, even later he dared to kiss me…It all evolved into something deep and very special. These people back there know how to love, that’s what I know for sure.

To sum up, despite work and language I’ve learned essential lessons. My opinion about Spanish people is mistaken. No, they’re not slackers celebrating fiestas and drinking Sangria 24/7! I’m talking about those lovely islanders who taught me to believe in myself, who showed what the true friendship and love is. I will always appreciate that, because it totally changed my life.

About the Author: Egle Kudriavcevaite: I used to write travel articles for some time. Now I write about anything what inspires me. The most inspirational are different cultures, people and breathtaking views.

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Nigeria: Nature’s Romance

I always wondered when Frank told me that the sun kissed the earth. He kept at it though, chiding me for not knowing such a simple thing. I asked him, Is it the same type of kiss that people kiss? He laughed till he ended up coughing and his eyes almost jumped out of his head. Today I saw them kiss.

Frank’s parents and my parents were close since both our moms worked at Champees, the fashion house at Mayfair, while both our dads were Chelsea fans. Frank and I attended the university high school and had become fast friends. He had been to my house a couple of times but I had never been to his because it was far, at Opa. We lived on the university quarters.

When Frank had succeeded in piquing my curiosity enough about the sun and the earth kissing, I desired to see it for myself. He told me he couldn’t show me except I came over to his house. I thought it was only a ploy to get me to visit. I told him, I can’t come on my own you know. And your place is far. He only nodded and walked away musing aloud about how I would never get to see it. Nature’s romance, he called it.

‘Frank’, I had called him that day in the hallway as he walked away. He turned only slightly

‘I’d come’, I said.

He turned to face me

‘How?’

‘The Easter break is close. I’d find a way.’

And I did find a way.

‘That can only happen if your father agrees’, my mother said after much prodding

My father was watching Chelsea’s game when I asked him. His team was winning. He said yes, I could go.

Today Dad drove me to Frank’s place. Frank’s house was located beyond hairpins that held much traffic. I stared outside the window and noticed the whistling pines, mud houses with raffia roofing and cairns just in front of them, cement houses with rusted roofs, mango trees, lazy clusters of elephant grasses and rings of hills in the distance. It was a beautiful scenery. The air was clean too and as it slapped against my face I fell asleep.

It was Frank’s voice that woke me up. He was calling my name.

I sat up and looked around. My dad had just parked the car in their compound. Frank urged me to come out so I did. Then I looked around. The compound was chic. Large and idyll, not like ours that was small and neatly arranged with interlocking stones all through the length of it. This compound was almost bare, with only the sprawling blue house at one end, a shed and scrawny chickens sauntering about.

We ambled towards the main house.

‘So are you ready to see nature’s romance?’

I laughed, ‘Have your parents ever heard you saying that?’

‘Romance?’ He laughed. ‘When you see it you will know what I mean.’

The parlor was spacious and artsy with gleaming hardwood furniture and angular paintings. We greeted all around and Frank pulled me to the backyard and holding my hands, ran for a while before I stopped abruptly, already out of breath.

‘Sorry’ he said. ‘I just can’t wait. It’s almost time.’

‘For what?’

‘The kiss. Let’s be quick.’

When we got there, we both sat. It was a small clearing not far from his house littered with overgrown trees, pretty flowers and shrubs that hung from either side to form a triangle-like shape from which one could see mountains and dense forest below. It was like standing on a hilltop. They were beautiful but there was nothing spectacular about them. I soon slept off.

The constant tapping, more like slapping, of Frank caused me to jerk. He pointed to the small triangle formed by the leaves and then I saw it. It was aesthetic. It was sunset. Not just sunset, but sunset that had everything in it. Nothing hidden. The sun had come down completely to touch the hills leaving in its wake streaks of red, blue and yellow in the sky. The reflection of the resplendent sky caressed the spruce flowers and leaves and changed their colours, not leaving them out of the camaraderie. It was like their pigment had been foisted into submission to the beauty that danced in the sky. I was awed, my mouth agape as I stared at this wonder. It was indeed as though the sun and the earth were kissing. I could stay here forever. We watched till the sun finally retreated. I lay back on the ground and promised I would come there every day that Easter.

That was my best Easter ever. I saw what Frank meant, it indeed was Nature’s Romance.

About the Author: Adebayo Caleb is a student of Law at Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile-Ife, Osun State, Nigeria where he writes from and heads a team of writers known as the Creative Writers’ Niche . He writes fiction, non-fiction and poetry. He also loves travel writing and freelances for a number of National dailies. Read more on his blog, or find him at twitter: @lordkeldicon711

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Lock You Love in Paris

Paris as you all know is the Romance Capital, and the city of lovers. So, whenever you are next in Paris, this is not to be missed. I think you can just make it an ultimate gift for your loved one. How about an idea of locking your love forever at the Lover’s bridge. ‘Lover’s bridge’ this is what I would like to call it.

You get to explore some really interesting aspects of the city, which you happen to miss otherwise if you are not on foot. You have to compromise on one thing for sure. Choosing comfort or locking memories to cherish forever, which is more important for you.

Some might find it silly, but trust me it is really fun to do such silly things at times, that too to make someone special feel how special they mean to you. Though I was really not as lucky as some of you might be in giving this gift, but I do have it in my travelling agenda, that whenever I am next in this romantic city, I will not be alone, and will surely do this ‘So Silly’ deed for my honey pie.

Just to the left bank of the Louvre museum you will see the Seine river and all you need to do is, keep walking besides the river, you will reach Pont de Arts, in no time. The bridge looks so attractive and the crowd will itself grab your attention and will come to know that, yes, this is the lovers bridge.

You will find the lovers locking padlocks onto the chain link fence of the bridge. The idea is to lock the padlock and throw the key in the river which signifies eternal devotion and promise to be with each other forever, with a promise kiss on the bridge. I really don’t know from where did this custom come from, but I heard it was the Chinese who had a similar place and believed in locking their soul forever.

People also say that, if the lovers kiss each other on this bridge they will be together forever. Many artists, musicians, travelers often come and sit on this bridge, may be looking for their loved ones! So, even if Parisians might not call it ‘The lovers bridge’ with the twinkling lights from the far away Eiffel Tower and the view which is as beautiful as ever, there is no better place for romance.

However, one advice that I would like to share, please do not forget to carry your own padlock as buying one might be a real turnoff and would just make you rethink about your lovely gifting idea and an opportunity that you don’t know, when will come next. Still in case you plan to buy there is costs around 5euros for one padlock, which obviously does not make much sense. So, once you get the chance to be in this lover’s paradise and experience the French romance in Paris, please do not let it go! Sitting in a small cafe’ and sipping lattes’ with one you love the most will make every single day Valentines day for you.

About the Author: Swati is a PR professional who loves to take life as it comes. Loves to travel and bring new places close to her readers through her eyes in her words.To read more follow her on @lostswati or on Facebook.

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