Lisa Niver's Blog: We Said Go Travel, page 452

South Korea: The Forgotten Charms of Changdeokgung Palace

I soaked in the sights as we whizzed by, mostly dazzled by the half-melted snow on the ground. I exhaled out a breath of cold air which fogged up the chilled window of the bus and doodled the word ‘Korea’. I was finally here! The homeland of Korean pop music and Korean food. It was day 1 in Seoul and there was much that came across as strange or unfamiliar to me, namely their winter season. No matter how prepared I thought I was, I was not.

Arriving at the Changdeokgung Palace, our tour group eagerly hopped off the bus. My nose, startled by the sudden attack of coldness, began to water like a leaking faucet. Chills raced up and down my spine, and at that moment I wanted to return to the warm embrace of the heater in the bus. However, I grudgingly followed our tour group as we approached the towering pillars of the palace gates.

We stood at the entrance of the Changdeokgung Palace listening to the enthusiastic dialogue of our equally animated tour guide, recounting the palace’s remarkable history. I was losing interest fast. I was no history buff and had zero interest in attending a history lesson. Time was of the essence here! I wanted to leave and explore famous shopping hotspots. While attempting to distract a grouchy stray cat, I gathered that the Changdeokgung Palace was the most favoured palace of the past Joseon kings. A treasured monument, it was designated to be a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1997. With that the tour group trooped in and I trailed unwillingly behind, bracing myself for the inevitable.

Stepping in, it was like I just entered a winter wonderland. Powdery snow from a few days ago was sprinkled on the ground like fairy dust. Except the walkways which were cleared of snow for the tourists, the ground was mostly covered in snow. With the massive architecture as the background, I felt as though as I have been transported 600 years back to the Joseon Dynasty during its winter season.

It was mesmerizing.

So magical.

It was a sudden 180 degree attitude change. Craving to know about the history of the palace, I followed closely behind, hanging on to every word. We stopped at the Injeongjeon Throne Hall, it was used to discuss major state affairs between the past kings and the state ministers as well as to receive foreign diplomats. Peering inside, a lone throne remained, surrounded by the dark and drabby interior of the hall. All at once, my imagination started to work its magic. The thin film of dust that covered the throne disappeared; the bright colours that adorned the walls were restored. I saw a bevy of ladies-in-waiting and eunuchs waiting expectantly by the side, silent but alert. The state ministers kneel by the sides in two neat rows, heads bowed in reverence, each slightly jittery. The atmosphere tingled with tension, a frown or a single gesture could mean getting exiled to some godforsaken land or even, decapitation!

I turned to face the large expanse of courtyard, this time I was loyalty. Dreamily, I pictured the large crowd of subjects kneeling before me with utmost deference and slight apprehension, as I descended the stairs like a fairy floating down from Heaven. What an ego boost it gave me! Our next stop was the Seonjeongjeon Hall, it was the Government office for the state ministers where they held daily meetings. Among all the buildings which stood on its own, the Seonjeongjeon Hall stood out exceedingly well, its structure and exterior design was a portrait of brilliance, its vibrant colours and intricate patterns brought life to a seemingly sombre palace environment.

We strode on, often pausing to hurl fresh snow at each other. Our tour group passed the royal family’s private living quarters, each more massive than the previous. Finally stopping in front of a nondescript looking house, its lack of size and colour made it seem like a misfit in the overall majestic grandeur of the palace. With further explanation, it was known to be reserved for the King’s favourite concubine, in an attempt to give her some resemblance of a normal lifestyle. The only irony was the several servants’ quarters surrounding the main house.

Regretfully, our 45 minutes tour in Changdeokgung Palace concluded. As I stood at the entrance from where I entered moments ago, I gazed wistfully around the palace grounds, saddened that the time spent was so fleetingly short. Yet, I was relieved that I could experience this ancient beauty personally, it was beautiful not because of its majestic structure and dynamic colours but it was the beauty of the passing of time that enabled this precious monument to exist today. For this, I felt blessed beyond words.

About the Author: Amanda Jane Yap from Singapore, a student studying for a Diploma in Tourism & Resort Management in a local tertiary institution. Her interests include reading, writing and travelling. She hopes to explore the world before she dies.

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Spain: Rejuvenate in Majorca

Located a few hundred kilometers south of Barcelona, Spain, Majorca is a longtime favorite getaway for many Spanish tourists. Travellers visiting the small Mediterranean island of Mallorca spend the majority of their time enjoying world class sailing, rock climbing on cliffs overlooking crystal blue ocean waters, swimming at secluded beaches and breaking out the binoculars to bird watch with the hopes of seeing the ever elusive Elenora’s Falcon. The secret of this charming island has spread outside of Spain and today, it attracts over 8 million tourists from all around the world.

Mallorca’s climate is nearly perfect year round, with comfortable summers and warm, dry winters. This makes holiday villas in Majorca a very popular destination for any month of the year. Picking a place to stay is usually the first priority for tourists arriving on the island. With the amount and variety of accommodation, picking a place to stay can be tiresome. Some visitors choose to stay in hotels, others in all-inclusive resorts lining popular white sand beaches. All these options are good, but none of these options can compare to renting a picturesque holiday villa that Majorca is famous for.

What exactly is a villa and what makes them a better option than a hotel or resort? A villa is a private residence that is made available to vacation travellers going to the island. Many of these residences sit on private land and have multiple bedrooms with living rooms, kitchens, private outdoor decks, pools and verandas. Hotels and resorts cannot match these options many travellers wish for. The majority of travellers that decide to rent out a villa think doing so is a better option than booking a single room at a hotel or resort. They believe this because the price difference between a nice hotel and resort is negligible. In essence they pay the same amount of money or in some cases, less and get more out of their money. It is for these reasons that visitors on a honeymoon, a family vacation or any guest wanting some privacy to themself find that a holiday villa is the perfect option for them to get away. The final reason why villas are better than hotels or resorts is that the majority of Majorca’s villas are located on the northern and western countryside of the island. The location of these villas makes accessibility to the best-secluded beaches, rock climbing and mountain hiking great outdoor activities. Since most of the hotels, resorts and hostels are located in city centers, it is harder for guests to truly enjoy all the activities that Majorca has to offer.

Many people think they cannot afford staying in a villa because they associate them with being expensive and out of reach. This could not be further than the truth. In actuality, there are many villa options for people of all budgets. The most economical type is known locally as a “Casita.” Casitas are much like un-serviced apartments and are a good option for those on a budget. They usually have one or two bedrooms, a dining room, and kitchen and are self-serving. On the other end of the spectrum are villas classified as “luxury.” These luxury villas include everything a casita has to offer as well as other amenities such as a maid, chef, chauffer and a personal assistant.

Obviously, staying in villas on Majorca is a great alternative to a hotel or resort and can be a memory that lasts a lifetime. However, searching for the perfect holiday villa in Mallorca can be a time consuming and frustrating affair. To make it as fast and seamless as possible, the great people at Villa Parade have a fantastic website and is a great starting point to searching for a villa to rent. I cannot wait to go!

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Dave’s Travel Corner: Bountiful Bohol

Thank you to Dave’s Travel Corner for publishing our story on Bountiful Bohol. We are thinking of all the people of the Philippines as they recover from the recent Typhoon.

FROM DAVE:After fifteen months traveling around Asia, George and his wife Lisa were headed back to the United States. But before they left, the earthquake in Bohol, Philippines hit. They want to reassure everyone after the earthquake in Bohol that Panglao Island with the beach resorts are currently open for tourists. Some of the heritage churches were destroyed but most tourist operations including the Loboc River Cruise are back in operation.

In Manila we lodged at the Remington Hotel located conveniently near Manila’s international airport which helped us avoid the hectic traffic and we easily boarded our flight to Tagbilaran, the capital of Bohol Island. Ricky Tio and Rissa Gatdula-Lumontad at Cebu Holiday Tours organized our transfer and stay on the lovely island of Balicasag. Upon arrival, Manila’s big city tension faded into a tranquil island vibe. We circumnavigated the entire island on foot in half an hour; during our stroll, young children enthusiastically waved and said “hello” as we passed by. One fisherman requested that I help him haul a boat to shore and taught me where to properly place myself.

Since no cars are present on Balicasag Island, the only noise we heard at Balicasag Island Dive Resort was wind rustling through the trees and waves lapping at the edge of the pretty white sand coastline. Balicasag Island Dive Resort’s twenty rustic bungalows are spacious and equipped with basic yet sufficient amenities for most travelers. Other than amazing diving, the theme here is to relax, read, and rejuvenate. Both Joy who worked reception and the dive master Raul provided us plenty of information about aquatic life and the village community. At Balicasag Island Dive Resort restaurant, we sampled tasty fish and chicken adobo entrees as well as the signature Philippine dessert, Halo Halo.

READ THE FULL ARTICLE: CLICK HERE
More about our journeys? Check out our memoir, Traveling in Sin. Now available at Amazon.com

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Finding Built-in Zen and a Babysitter in Bali

There seemed to be no strangers in Bali. Locals on the streets of Ubud waved to us, shopkeepers gave us free fruit and beautiful dancers in ornate gold headdresses invited us up on stage with them. We even flew kites with Balinese boys at a beach in Sanur. It helped that Kurt and I had our five-year-old son, Eddie, and our three-year-old daughter, Kasey, in tow.

Each driver we hired to take us sightseeing instantly became a new friend. Putu, a young, skinny man who had spiky black hair and wore a mint green button down shirt, was our favorite driver.

“I love to practice my English,” he told us on our way to visit an elephant preserve. It turns out Putu is the fourth child of his family. In Bali, there is an interesting custom of giving each child a particular name according to birth order.

The first child is named Waylan; second is Made; third is Nyoman; the fourth is Ketut and then it starts over with Waylan for the fifth child. Understandably, confusion can arise and many parents give their children a common variation of the established name. Putu is a variation of Ketut.

Eddie immediately connected with Putu, who fielded questions about every vehicle we passed. “Putu, why is the trailer set up that way?” “How can it take a big turn and not tip over?” “Why do all those men ride in the back with those antlers?” (Yes, why do they?) Putu offered thorough answers.

“Putu, do you have your own kids?” I asked after he picked us up from the elephant preserve. I knew family was very important in Bali.

“No, no, but I hope someday.” He added, “My mother wishes it so also.”

“Oh, it will happen,” I reassured him. “You’ll find someone nice, and you will make a great father.”

“Yes, you think it is so?” He broke into a full-on smile. Looking over his shoulder, he gazed at the kids for what seemed like a full minute before returning his eyes back to the chaotic road with tentacles of traffic.

“Definitely,” I answered.

Our next stop was Tegalalang, one of Bali’s famous rice terraces. We couldn’t see it initially. Several shopping stalls obscured our view. Because the road was lined with various vehicles, including mega motor coaches, Putu suggested dropping us off. He then would drive around the area while we took in the terrace. Meanwhile, due to “relaxed” bedtimes, Eddie had fallen asleep in the back seat. He desperately needed the nap. Putu saw me looking at him.

“I will watch Eddie and you go to see Tegalalang.” He nodded and smiled while the engine was idling. I didn’t want to wake Eddie, so Kurt and I got out of the vehicle with Kasey, and then Putu drove away.

We dodged shopkeepers peddling sarongs, dragon masks and wind chimes. Making it past the hagglers and souvenir stalls, we stopped above the terrace at the top rim and gazed down.

It looked like a Roman coliseum with descending rows of green steps interspersed with palm trees. The curving rows were alternating tiers of green – a completely green rainbow offering shades of emerald, jade, evergreen, chartreuse, lime, cucumber, broccoli, asparagus, Brussels sprouts and whatever else you could find in the green spectrum.

The colors surpassed even the expansive hues listed in a J. Crew catalog. Toward the bottom tiers, a constant breeze blew the longer rice stalks in unison, making it look like giant centipedes were wriggling away. Meanwhile, the clonking of large wooden wind chimes, and tinkling of the smaller metal ones coming from the market stalls provided a soundtrack for the moment.

At some point, while absorbing all the green and completely Zenning out, I realized something. “Kurt, we just left Eddie in a running vehicle with a guy we only just met today whose name is Putu, and there are probably about 4,000 Putus on this island. We don’t even know the license plate number of his vehicle!” I didn’t even know the make of the car. Then after about a few seconds, Kurt and I looked at each other and shared the same expression. Complete calm. It’s Putu we’re talking about. No worries.

Perhaps the “serenity now” feeling that emanated from the terrace, or the intense humidity was dulling my soggy senses, but I was completely at ease. I had total faith in Putu.

We took some photos and savored one last moment of tranquility. Weaving back through the market, we saw Putu on the road next to the idling car. He waved vigorously to us, beaming as always. Perched on his back was Eddie, who also waved. Raising his extended arm up and down, Putu turned to Eddie, clearly pantomiming an elephant to amuse my perfectly safe son.

About the Author: A freelance writer, teacher and traveler, Stephanie Glaser studied in the Netherlands during college, and more recently, taught high school in Adelaide, Australia as an exchange teacher. Currently, Glaser lives with her family in Colorado where she teaches public speaking and writes about her travel blunders for her blog Travel Oops.

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Barlowganj: Ordinary yet awe-inspiring.

Barlowganj: Ordinary yet Awe-Inspiring

I have often read in glossy travelogues, of exotic landscapes and glittering cities. I have heard of places so far off the beaten track that sometimes, there is no track. All this proves how beautiful our world is.

I am truly blessed to work at a college near the picturesque hill station of Mussoorie in the state of Uttarakhand in India. But beautiful though Mussoorie is, I will not describe this hill station here. What I will tell you about instead, is the quaint hamlet of Barlowganj where I live, around five or six km from Mussoorie.

It is, as I mentioned, a hamlet. There are no snazzy departmental stores or pristine parks. But the beauty of the area redefines the truth of the word simplicity. No matter how many times you look, you can never get your fill. Wherever you turn, the mountains greet you with stately poise. The roads meander neatly along hillsides dotted with wildflowers. The air is clear, crisp and clean and a deep breath brings in the smell of pine, wood smoke and water. Small streams put music into the air with their tinkling and chattering. Birds look inquiringly at you, unafraid to peck at crumbs on your table. Speaking of tables, Barlowganj has three or four cafes that are really these tiny tea-stalls offering piping hot noodles, strong sweet tea, fresh buns and fluffy omlettes, stuffed with local herbs. You can sit at one of these ‘street cafes’ and watch the world go by.

For the enthusiastic walker, Barlowganj is bliss. The paved road winds along, offering breath-taking views of the lower hills, green valleys and tiny villages perched precariously on patient hillsides. From any point as you stroll along, you can see women with baskets of grass, men chopping wood, the occasional horse-cart clip-clopping by, and as you smile in appreciation, a gaggle of school children wave to you on their way to the local school.

These are little things. In the true sense of the word awe-inspiring, not many would agree with me when I say I find this the best word to describe Barlowganj. But then, everything is a matter of perspective. I find it truly amazing that the bus-stop at Barlowganj is as big as my bedroom. I find the local buses awe-inspiring in the way they have passengers both inside and on the roof but still deliver man and cargo to safe destinations. It delights me that the college I work at has its very own stream where I can sit for hours and watch the fish go by. As for Manor House, the college at which I work, with its gray stone edifice dating back to 1853, it is a sight that never fails to evoke awe. With its statue of St George slaying the dragon and its 76 year old Clock Tower, Manor House is the landmark of Barlowganj. St George’s statue, the epitome of valor and righteousness, stands in the middle of a crystal-cool, clear fountain, inspiring visitors, members of faculty, students and workers alike. The melodious chimes of the clock set in the Clock Tower, sound every quarter of an hour and, at one time, could be heard as far as Mussoorie. It has mellowed down the years, gathering a rich old timbre and becoming an indelible part of the landscape of Barlowganj.

I find this place peaceful. In the modern world, where peace is a rare commodity, Barlowganj has that rare combination of being part of the Universe, yet a separate world in itself. For me, this is awe-inspiring. I can sit for hours at the Old Cross, gazing over hill and valley, with only the occasional mountain goat and the tinkle of its bell for company. And if I wish to rejoin the world of man, a bowl of piping hot noodles is just a few steps away. That and the company of a passing stranger.

About the Author: Stormy Hazarika is a writer at night and an English teacher by day. She is an avid reader, curious explorer and believes Heaven is right here on earth.

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Malaysia: Ghost Stories of Taman Negara

I walk in the treetops of the oldest rainforest in the world, balancing on wobbly bridges that sway with every step.

I stare into the trees, looking back in time. If I squint a little and let my imagination take over, I can see majestic dinosaurs stomping under the canopy.

Located next to a winding river, Taman Negara is the the most famous national place of Malaysia, and is home to  elephants, sun bears, and millions of red ants.

Even tigers still live deep in the forest, although most guides don’t want to see one, even if the tourists do.

During rainy season, every evening brings a torrential rainfall, causing the river to swell. In a few months the floating restaraunts will close, and most businesses will shut.

Only a few will stay for the rainy season, including a friendly musician named Aban. I met him one moonless night when he was playing guitar, surrounded by a group of drunken Malays.

“Come join us!” They beckoned as we walked by to our hostel. My other friends were tired, but I went to grab my ukulele and came back to join the fun.

Aban was the main musician, singing songs in Malay and English and plucking the guitar. When he heard I was from California, he broke out in a beautiful rendition of Hotel California.

After the music died down, Aban started telling ghost stories about the area. I was riveted when he told me about Grace, an American tourist who went missing in 1991. She was last seen at the Canopy Walkway, and after that disappeared into the forest without a trace.

Six years later, an Indian tourist was hiking alone. She heard voices calling to her . . .  and she followed them. For the next nine days she survived in the forest without food or water. Luckily she was discovered by some hunters and was airlifted to a hospital, and she survived.

Six years later, a local girl was with a photography group on a peak far away from civilization. Entranced by her small subject, she lost the group, and for 19 days wandered in the forest, following the river. She too survived, but barely.

Something eerie like this happens every six years in Taman Negara, Aban told me. The most recent story was about a boy swimming in the river with a group of 15 friends. At one point they noticed he was missing, but assumed he had gone back to the hotel unnoticed. A few days later, his body was found.

That night as Aban told me these stories, looking out at the slowly rising water, I felt shivers in my spine. Luckily the last tragedy occurred only 3 years ago, so I was safe… for now.

Often, when I travel, I feel like an outsider looking in on a mysterious world that is unaccessable to me. Its only in rare moments when I feel included with a group of locals who will tell me their stories.

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Talent behind the Taj

The Taj Mahal does not disappoint. It is beautiful. The curves of the dome, the snow white of the marble, the glitter of the inlaid stones, the rippled reflection in the lake, the birds that soar in the bluest of sky, the sunrise silhouette in the dawn light- all of it, every inch, whispers of the love story for which it stands. I am not sure what to think of the romance, nor of the high maintenance Queen, but the architecture sings, lullabies and hums of a liquid gold love. It is post-card perfect from every angle. A true wonder of the world.

And yet, it is afterwards, in the saw-dusty workshop of a sweaty Agra sideroad, that I feel like I have witnessed something really special. Watching a seventy year old artisan work alongside his nineteen year old grandson, shaping tiny fractions of gems and setting them into marble stone, confuses my emotions. Tears spring to my eyes, the lump in my throat swells and a smile splits my face all at the same time. The men’s fingers are rotten and sore from the relentless grinding of the emery wheel. Flecks of sharp stone split their fingertips as they smooth them over the ancient tool, then wash them in a movement so quick it makes my eyes hurt. Desperate not to stain the marble with their sore hands, they keep a dish of water next to the ever-turning spinner.

Every part of the design is shaped individually. The magnolia flower they are working on today has more than 130 pieces and will take 5 days to complete. Once the gems are shaped just right, grooves will be cut into the marble with an iron chisel and the motif will be fitted together perfectly. The stones are set with special glue and, being the ancestors of those Taj Mahal master craftsmen, it is a secret I am sure they will keep well. The glue sticks to the ends of their bloodied index fingers; it is painful work. One mistake, one shard cut too small or misshaped by a fraction, and the family will lose the sale. Watching these artists at work, sitting humbly in the back room of their rented workshed, metres only from the Wonder of the World, I have never felt so lacking in talent or patience. If the Taj Mahal is magical, then it is these craftsmen who are the magicians.

About the Author: Hannah Thompson-Yates: I traveled to Asia for the first time in 2010. Fresh from university in rainy Wales, I was a fair skinned, weak-swimmer with little tolerance for spicy food, cockroaches or long bus journeys. Six months later and I was hooked. Three years later and I still can’t bring myself to leave this wonderful part of the world. I love to travel, write, teach and indulge in serious amounts of sunshine and naan bread.

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Dreams come true: a trip to London

I am pretty certain everyone- especially a person who loves to travel – has a bucket list. I’ve always had one and there were three major “entries” there: New York – blame Anthony Bourdain for that- , London – thanks to my English teacher back in general school- and Athens – thanks to The Legends of Olympus.

London was the first of these cities I’ve had the immense pleasure to visit. Lady Fate has worked with me and by early 2011 I had two round trip tickets to London; tickets which I had own! We booked the accommodation and waited eagerly for the departure date.

We’ve got some friends who are students studying in London , and who gladly told us how to plan the transfer from London Luton to the hotel – located in the Bayswater area – and also made sure to remind us what not to miss in London.

One thing they didn’t tell us, though, was that the free wi-fi, in 2011, was hard to find. Or where it should have been working, it wasn’t. And, as true citizens of this computerized world, we decided to “just hop online and we’ll talk once you get to London”.

On our first day in London we immediately discovered that the internet at the hotel refused to work but we found a lovely pub nearby. The net worked enough to let us send some messages to those friends of ours. And because when you are in London you eat pub fare and drink beer, this girl got tipsy. I did have an excuse: I was up at 4 a.m. in the morning and didn’t eat much, either.

The next day we started visiting the major sites of London. British Museum was first on the list and where we spent the bulk of time. Then we were off to St Paul’s Cathedral and Temple Bar, before we got too cold and tired and head back to the hotel. In the evening, just like any young couple, we’d roam the streets to find a pub or at least a place with wi-fi. We did find the pub, but not the wi-fi. We also tried a certain fast-food restaurant who was supposed to have free wi-fi but no luck there, either. I wonder what our friends were thinking.

On day three we tackled the Tower of London, Tower Bridge, Big Ben…London Eye. Wait what? Yes, that giant wheel considered a tourist trap by some, was one of the parts I loved about London. I have a thing for seeing cities from above, of course. Then we were off to Westminster Abby from where we walked to Trafalgar Square and took the tube back to the hotel. Yes, in the evening, back in the search for food and free wi-fi. We found the first but not the latter.

Last full day in London was dedicated to watching the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace, walking a lot in the parks and getting souvenirs. By now we decided not to bother with the wi-fi since we ran out of days in the city to actually meet up with our friends.

We had a blast in London and we were both grinning ear to ear in each photo we took. It was a shame we didn’t manage to actually meet up with our friends who study there during that trip. Since we do plan to go back, maybe this time we’d use the phones to send messages and plan a meeting.

All photos by Traveling Cricket and may not be used without permission.

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Virginia: The Mid-Lothian Mines

History off the Beaten Path – The Mid-Lothian Mines

For visitors to Richmond, the capital city of Virginia, there’s lot to do – museums, history tours, shows, restaurants. But I’ve always liked to travel off the beaten path to find the places not on the tourist brochures. If you’re like me, wanting to see those places that only the locals knows about, then the Mid-Lothian Mines might be for you.

About forty minutes south of the downtown center of Richmond is the town of Midlothian, Virginia. Right off of one of the main shopping roads is a small trip of forest, and a tiny parking lot that you’ll miss if you drive by too fast. This unassuming little spot between housing developments and strip malls is where one of the first coal mining ventures in America began.

Bring your walking shoes (hiking boots not necessary), because the main trail through these woods is gravel, with a few side trails of packed dirt. It’s not a long trail, nor a difficult hike; in nice weather the trails are popular with cyclists, mothers pushing strollers, couples walking their dogs. It’s a refreshing and leisurely woodland stroll that takes you out of the busy roads and bustling commerce that surrounds it.

All along this gravel path are markers that tell the story of the discovery of coal in the 1700s and the building of one of America’s first commercial railroads for the transportation of the coal. The plaques feature pictures of artifacts found in the area, and images of the men and boys who worked the mines.

The Grove Shaft, busy and profitable during the mid-1800s, is the only landmark remaining from this early Virginia enterprise. The stone ruins come up suddenly as you’re going along the path, like finding an unexpected castle hiding in the woods. The crumbling stone walls are protected by a chain-link fence, but there’s a narrow trail around the perimeter of the fence, enabling a view of the old mine shaft from every angle. Ruined stone towers and deep imprints in the earth tell of a time when this place was more than just a scenic woodland stroll.

Though these mines may be small, and visible only from above ground, the entire Midlothian area is worth visiting. There are plenty of shopping and restaurants, and more history just a few miles away at the Chesterfield County Museum.

Across the street from the mines, accessible by foot via a pedestrian tunnel under the road, is a scenic paved walking trail around a small lake. Just look for Woolridge Road on a map, then when you find the little lake, look for the undeveloped woods across the road. That’s where this little piece of history is hiding, this well-loved but not-so-beaten path that locals like myself love to travel on.

About the Author: Grace Robinson is a writer of fantasy, and a fan of arctic places, world music, mythology, and linguistics. She is a world traveler and author hopeful. Grace currently lives in Virginia with two rabbits and a lot of books. Find more on her blog.

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Amor Barcelona

My trip to Barcelona was a quick decision made while planning a month long holiday to London with my folks. I’ve been to other parts of Europe but never to Spain so Barcelona seemed an ideal breakaway to adventure out on my own and indulge my hunger for travel.

I departed London on a cold Monday afternoon and arrived three hours later at Barcelona’s El Prat airport. I was anxious having landed in a foreign city at night. Everywhere I looked, instructions were in Spanish and the locals I spoke to couldn’t understand English. I eventually found a taxi and headed to my hotel situated on the outskirts of the city. While driving through the streets, I got my first taste of the Spanish culture that fills Barcelona. This Catalonian capital does not sleep and the bustling continues long into the night. The energy instantaneously engulfed me and going to sleep felt like a waste of precious time.

My first few hours of day one in Barcelona were spent navigating their Metro system. I purchased a three day Metro pass and proceeded to get insanely lost. However, being lost proved to be the best way to see the hidden gems and rich history of the city. I stumbled upon buildings and creations that I certainly I wouldn’t have seen on a guided tour. I eventually discovered Las Ramblas, a long street lined with green trees that were picture perfect against a clear blue Spanish sky. I spent the rest of the afternoon browsing through Las Ramblas, nibbling from the La Boqueria food market and strolling through the surroundings.

In the evening, I headed to Camp Nou for a match between Barcelona and AC Milan. I walked into the stadium and was immediately amazed by the size and capacity. I took my seat up high and watched as events unfold beneath me, the stadium filled up to its capacity of 98,787. The teams emerged to the overwhelming screams from the FC Barcelona faithful passionately belting out their anthem (El Cant del Barça). I found myself captivated by their passion and wished I could join in their chanting. The match was enthralling, nail biting and very high paced. I watched as Lionel Messi entwined his feet around the ball and mesmerized the crowd with his skills. The night ended with a well deserved victory for Barcelona. I left the stadium filled with awe and gratitude, it didn’t take long for me to realise that I was witness to the greatest team of this decade and to the best player in the world currently.

After my enthralling first day in Barcelona, I wanted to take in more of the many wonders it has to offer. I woke up on a rainy Wednesday morning and set out to visit the Sagrada Familia, an Anton Gaudi masterpiece. The architecture left me astounded; each corner I turned to in the structure revealed a story. I left Sagrada Familia wanting more and made my way back to the Camp Nou for a stadium tour. The tour has everything to captivate football fans, the technology is beyond what one would expect from a football stadium tour. I enjoyed a few hours roaming the stadium and spent my afternoon browsing the official merchandise store. I headed out into the rain and back to my hotel.

The following morning I journeyed to Park Guell, another of Anton Gaudi’s works of art. Park Guell is a stunning park with nature nestled amongst beautiful structural designs. The park is bustling with tourists and made lively by the locals. On my walk through the park, I stumbled upon a local music band playing vibrant Spanish tunes coupled with comical dance moves. I spent my morning at leisure, hiking through the park and enjoying the spectacular panoramic views of Barcelona. I left Park Guell and made my way to the city centre, I wanted to get lost again, enjoy the narrow side streets and old buildings that fill Barcelona. I then found myself in the medieval Gothic Quarter of Barcelona. What happened next is a feeling that remains with me to this day. I came across the Barcelona Cathedral and upon entering the Cathedral I felt an instant spiritual upliftment that brought tears to my eyes. The enlightenment I experienced that day is what draws me to Barcelona and it’s this feeling that makes me light up when I hear “Barcelona”.

This city has been ingrained in my heart and soul. I felt at peace walking the streets of a city that captures every inch of your being makes you want to go back for more. For me, Barcelona has become my guilty pleasure and I will certainly be returning to indulge my addiction. Mention Barcelona to me and my face lights up instantly.

About the Author: I am a passionate football fan that loves travelling and incorporating football into my travels. I am also an animal lover and want to see them protected for many generations to come. Twitter handle – @deepa910

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