Lisa Niver's Blog: We Said Go Travel, page 454

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.

The post Barlowganj: Ordinary yet awe-inspiring. appeared first on We Said Go Travel.

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.

The post Malaysia: Ghost Stories of Taman Negara appeared first on We Said Go Travel.

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.

The post Talent behind the Taj appeared first on We Said Go Travel.

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.

The post Dreams come true: a trip to London appeared first on We Said Go Travel.

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.

The post Virginia: The Mid-Lothian Mines appeared first on We Said Go Travel.

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

The post Amor Barcelona appeared first on We Said Go Travel.

The Slow Travel Movement

Travel, of course, suggests movement, and adventure implies a well-planned trip gone wrong; yet when my partners and I started Sobek Expeditions, back in 1973, it was a radical departure from the typical travel provider train station, something perhaps akin to the Glacier Express, which bills itself as the slowest express train in the world. The idea was to take the long way, the multi-day trek over a pass, rather than motoring through the tunnel so that the world winds down and delight and enlightenment seep in.

The more granular you go, the bigger the universe. The meander is the beeline of poets, and we are all poets in some stage of reduction, unwinding the path, like a mountain trail to a spring. And the more we see the more we realize we have yet to see, the paradox of plenty.

William Blake presaged the movement in “Auguries of Innocence” when he wrote: “To see a world in a grain of sand, And a heaven in a wild flower. To hold infinity in the palm of your hand, And eternity in an hour.”

Richard Bangs on the fast raft to Wonder 

Slow Food, of course, is the international movement founded by Carlo Petrini in 1986. Promoted as an alternative to fast food, it strives to preserve traditional and regional cuisine and encourages farming of plants, seeds and livestock characteristic of the local ecosystem.

We didn’t name what we offered in the travel space as “slow,” though that was the nature of how we designed and conducted travel, and now it has a proper designation, which is exciting. Today slow travel is an emerging movement, and can be applied in many ways, but I would boil it down to this: Slow travel is the deliberate deceleration of a journey so that the small looms large, the particle becomes profound, and the blood races with the adventure and discovery of the Amazon in every dewdrop, the Everest in every trail stone, the Redwoods in every swath of grass, and the galaxy within every snowflake.

Slow travel can be applied to any journey, as it is more about the noticing and absorption of all the available input, rather than the pacing. There have been movements when I was crashing through a major rapid when, as in a snapshot, I would freeze the world and drink in all the details, and then allow a mindful interpretation over time.

Slow adventure involves risk… the risk of discovering truth and meaning through examination. It’s not really a juxtaposition of active and passive, or rabbit and tortoise. You can choose any adventure, which often means an experience that ushers beyond a comfort zone, and fashion it to slow adventure just by opening eyes, arms and hearts a bit wider, and letting the delights, as well as the inconvenient, pour in.

I began my professional career as a river guide on the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon, and was then a card-carrying member in the cult of adrenaline. But with time I discovered that as many, if not more, thrills can be had by hazarding the mountains of mind, the incognita coordinates of the spirit, all of which are accessed through the legwork of the lingerer on the negligible trail.

Richard Bangs flying with The Blue AngelsThe gifts of understanding are presented to those who travel and seek. It really doesn’t matter which category of travel undertaken, but rather in deciding how to travel. For to move is to permit change, and to open doors of perception. If opened slowly, considerately, then bouquets of clarity and compassion rush in, and we might indeed discover a quiet place in ourselves that is a state of grace.

The “Ultimate Slow Adventure?”: A long life examined and enjoyed…

 

The post The Slow Travel Movement appeared first on We Said Go Travel.

My Trip to Yosemite

When I was in third grade, we had to do a report on a landform in the United States. I spent days trying to think of a topic. At the age of nine, I really didn’t know what the world was like. Of course, I’ve seen programs on the nature channel about national parks, but I never really understood the point of preserving these areas. I asked the teacher if I could do my report on Yosemite National Park, but she told me it was too broad of a topic.

I was disappointed when I heard this news, but immediately a more specific topic popped into my head. I remembered something I had once read in a book about Yosemite. It was mentioned briefly, accompanied by only one fact: it was the tallest waterfall in the United States. I knew most people had no idea what Yosemite Falls was, but that was what excited me. I wanted the opportunity to prove myself to the other students. Most of them were bullies who had been spreading terrible rumors about me the whole year. I wanted to show them I was smart, and I did. I got an excellent grade on the project, and I was really proud.

I met a lot of challenges while I was doing this project, but I persevered and wrote a great essay. Unfortunately, I had to present it to the class, and I have always been afraid of public speaking. So, I asked my mother to help me practice. Even in elementary school, I had some experience writing, and my report instantly painted a beautiful picture in my mother’s head. She suddenly wanted to see Yosemite falls, and she wanted to go as soon as possible.

We planned the trip for summer break, but sadly, my mother developed cancer and had to go through treatment that summer. As soon as she finished chemotherapy, we rescheduled the trip to celebrate. We planned it over spring break, and I would be spending my birthday there.

The day spring break began, my mother woke me up at four o’clock in the morning. I was really tired, but I didn’t argue.

I was perfectly happy to show up at the airport at five, and then board the plane at around six thirty. The flight was long, and we stopped for a half hour in Houston. I ate lunch there, and then we boarded our connecting flight to Fresno. From there, we drove to our hotel, which was located about an hour outside of the park.

The next day, we began the drive to Yosemite Valley. We rode across bridges, through tunnels, and on long, winding roads which hugged the mountain sides, only feet from a sheer drop. I am still amazed that I wasn’t nervous, even though my parents were. Something inside me told me that there was something to look forward to. I was right; the first view of Yosemite Valley was the most amazing thing I have ever seen.

We came out of a long tunnel to see the valley which had been hidden from view. As soon as I looked, I was speechless with shock. Tall mountains surrounded us, reaching higher than any I have ever seen. It’s impossible to imagine the beauty in the valley unless you’ve been there yourself. I had expected a slope covered with sequoia trees and wildflowers. I found paradise instead. Round dome formations jutted out of the mountains. Huge trees, taller than I had ever thought possible, grew everywhere. I had expected to see only Yosemite Falls, but I could clearly see every waterfall in the valley. There we so many. The water rained down, every droplet glittering like a crystal. Leaves of every color littered the ground. Little red squirrels ran everywhere, along with other small native animals I’ve never seen before. When we parked and stepped out, the air smelled sweetly of wildflowers.

We spent twenty minutes enjoying the view and taking pictures, and then headed down to the café for lunch. I hastily gulped down a tuna fish sandwich, waiting to see more of the park. We spent the rest of the day in the valley, and my birthday seeing the giant sequoia trees, which had impressed me the most.

After my trip, I learned to love nature. The streets of the city seemed dull and lifeless. It took me weeks just to stop thinking about Yosemite for a moment. My personality has changed from my visit, and I began to think about the world around me from a new perspective. Yosemite was definitely the greatest place I’ve ever been, and probably the most beautiful part of the whole world.

About the Author: My name is Rebecca Rhodes and I am thirteen years old. I am currently enrolled in 8th grade and I am looking in to a writing prime for high school. I enjoy writing and love to share my experiences with others.

The post My Trip to Yosemite appeared first on We Said Go Travel.

Dave’s Travel Corner: Traveling in Sin is a MUST READ!

Thank you to Traveling Cricket and Dave’s Travel Corner for the review of our memoir, Traveling in Sin.

“If you are looking for some motivation to grab those plane tickets and pack those bags, “Traveling in Sin” is the book to read. With the wealth of information on land travel in Asia, on how to solve visa issues and also how to take advantage of the best things countries have to offer, the book is a must read for anyone who dreams of traveling the world.”

The review begins: 

“When traveling, flexibility and solid team work are essential”- Lisa Niver Rajna

When I travel I love to read. It makes the long train, bus or flight times go by much faster. Therefore, on my recent vacation (September 2013) I started reading “Traveling in Sin” during my flight to Bari, Italy. I was immediately hooked.

The book is a travel memoir, a collection of stories, very useful travel information and quite a bit of romance. It is written in two voices: those of Lisa and George; which at first felt a bit …strange. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to follow the story. But, as it turns out, the two voices actually complement each other, making everything easier to understand.

Lisa and George met online in January 2007. Soon after, in the summer of 2008, they went on their first trip together in Fiji. This is when George told Lisa about his dream of traveling the world. And that’s how their 11 months journey in Asia began.

“Traveling in Sin” tells the story of this couple, the journey that they follow as their relationship evolves during long term travel. Especially for Lisa, it is a journey of discovery: she loses weight, and gains courage and confidence. And George is there to help and encourage her.

READ THE FULL REVIEW

Buy the memoir, Traveling in Sin, at Amazon.com

WATCH: The Video Book Trailer

Traveling in Sin is a TOP TEN Hot New Release! from Lisa Niver Rajna

The post Dave’s Travel Corner: Traveling in Sin is a MUST READ! appeared first on We Said Go Travel.

Israel is Real

Shortly after accepting a full-time job at the French Theatre of Rome, I was invited to replace an employee – too far into pregnancy – on a secret destination journey. My friend and now boss, Frédéric Lachkar, had planned this surprise to reward his team members for their hard work and success of the musical Sans Papiers: 80000 tickets sold in over 80 Italian cities during the 2011/2012 tour. So instead of sweating in my new office, I joined in!

On the morning of June 5th, 2012, Fred’s beautiful wife dropped us off at Fiumicino airport. Aside from our guesses, we still didn’t know for sure where we were headed, so Fred let out a hint:

“Exactly 35 years ago, the Arab countries forced Israel to fight a war. It only took us six days to win and make them vanish!” He sniggered.

Considering his strong Jewish identity and passion for Israel, we weren’t too astonished – yet not less excited – when queuing to check-in for Tel Aviv.

Beppe’s olive skin, dark curly hair, and thick beard cost us a good half hour interrogatory, but we eventually made it through the Israeli customs, and rented a big enough car that would hold us all. Automatically, we picked our strategic positions for the week: Rémi and I rushed to the back to continue to laugh; Beppe, Vicky and Ele occupied the middle bench seat, Robby held the country map up front, and Fred cheerfully drove along the roads of his past.

We first stopped at Fred’s dear friends, Françoise and Jean, who had kindly offered to host us for the night. As we arrived in front of a little green gate, Fred pushed its black handle, and we followed him through a short passage that led to the main entrance. We rang the doorbell. A few seconds later, Françoise affectionately embraced our boss, and her large family appeared in the background: husband, children, and grandchildren gave us a warm welcome, and then quickly took our suitcases to the top of the wooden staircase.

“Tell them to go help themselves at the buffet.” Françoise told Fred in a Southern French accent that he rapidly translated to Italian.

On a blue and yellow tablecloth, Françoise had arranged traditional dishes loyal to kashrut or kosher (Jewish dietary laws). Also common to the Middle Eastern and Mediterranean cuisines, these included many colorful delights: pita bread, carrots, and celery to dip in a bowl of hummus, eggplant salad with mayonnaise, fried falafel and matzah balls, ptitim – or Israeli couscous – with tomato sauce… It was not even 6 p.m., but each of us grabbed a plastic plate, filled it thoroughly, and moved to the white table dressed outside in the patio.

Originally from Nice, Françoise and Jean had moved to Israel with their three children in 1991.

“As Jewish, we never questioned our choice; as parents we inevitably did.” Françoise revealed with a semi smile upon her face.

“Why?” I wondered.

“When a bus filled with kids returning from school explodes in the nearby street; when you could’ve spared your children with the military service, and end up sending them to Gaza instead; believe me, you begin to wonder whether Israel was a selfish choice.” While others were cracking jokes on the opposite side of the table, Françoise’s youngest daughter, Audrey, carefully listened.

“Either way, our children would’ve never accepted to leave. Israel is their home, their culture. Hebrew is their language, you understand?” I understood. My parents had also done a move from France to Italy in 1991. Still, it was different: we weren’t tied to a religion or a language. We spoke English and French at home, and attended international schools in Rome – a very safe city.

“How was the military service?” I asked Audrey who was about my age.

“Incredible. I had the time of my life, really!” She exclaimed.

You, with such innocent features! How could you have the time of your life with a gun in hand? I was shocked. Shocked and impressed. Because, despite the violence – that I don’t intend to diminish – there was some inspiring beauty to this: a beauty that my multicultural background would never enable me to fully seize or feel. Israel goes beyond the waving of a flag in the name of nationalism; it is about people, who – loyal to their religious and cultural ideals – crossed borders to stand together in a crowd before history’s uncertainties.

About the Author: Julie Beretta: With her multicultural French, American and Italian origins, Julie has always been a dedicated traveler. Since she discovered the sharing of her stories enabled her to travel some more, she also became a passionate writer – who now mainly strives to travel so she can write; and write so she can travel more.

The post Israel is Real appeared first on We Said Go Travel.