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Europe: Unique Winter Experiences

Four Unique Winter Experiences in Europe

There’s something about traveling in Europe during the winter months that is quite unlike anything else I’ve experienced. There are those that utterly despise winter because of the uncomfortable temperatures and short days (which is understandable) but contrary to popular belief, a trip to Europe during the winter can in fact be rather pleasant. It might be that perfect light for photography, the enjoyment of eating and drinking indoors or just simply not taking part in the peak season crush.

With airline tickets and sometimes hotel accommodation being a little cheaper this time of year, the only “splurges” for a trip to Europe in winter would be my travel insurance and extremely adequate winter clothing – especially as I am coming from a warmer Aussie climate!

Changing of the guard, Stockholm

Despite the freezing temperatures (and I mean it), watching the changing of the guard is truly a great experience. With your face and hands most definitely already numb, you can get up close and personal with the procession due to limited numbers. While, the event isn’t as grand as during the summer months, it gains extra character as the snow begins to fall and is crushed under foot during performances by the military band and soldiers. Oh and did I mention this gem is free?

 

Epiphany, Florence

Epiphany commemorates the arrival of the three kings in Bethlehem and in celebration a “Cavalcade of the Three Kings” takes place in downtown Florence. Intricately dressed drummers enchant the public with their skill, whilst colourful Renaissance flags distract the audience momentarily as they are thrown between bearers as the procession moves from Palazzo Pitti towards Piazza del Duomo. With what seems like the entire city taking part, it is difficult to move through the small cobbled corridors without getting caught up in the action. Make sure you have your camera ready to capture this yearly event.

Tiergarten, Berlin

Berlin’s largest and most popular inner city park that is great for outdoor activities during the summer months is transformed into an enchanted, alabaster paradise during the winter. As people retreat indoors to escape the subzero temperatures, the limited crowds make it an idyllic place to relax and explore the paths that traverse the park and frozen lakes. Just be careful not to slip!

Astronomical Clock, Prague

Join the crowd huddled in front of the gothic Old Town Hall tower and watch the procession of the Twelve Apostles on the hour. As the bells chime, the clock opens to reveal rotating statues – the Twelve Apostles. The 600th anniversary of the clock was celebrated in October 9, 2010. For an extra treat, catch the last chime at 9pm, for an eerie experience you are not likely to forget any time soon.

There are plenty of other great winter experiences to be had in Europe, and off course travelling during winter will mean you can enjoy many of them crowd free!

About the Author: Justin Hendry is a keen travel writer with a passion for travelling to Europe and discovering unique experiences in every corner! Currently completing a Bachelor of Media at Macquarie University, he enjoys escapism through the spheres of travel writing, reading and music, in an attempt to fend off the natural progression of maturity and responsibility.

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China: Lost in Transition

China: Lost in Transition

Where does one buy chopsticks in Beijing? This isn’t simply a zen koan, the questions the masters ask their students in order to break habits of thought and open their minds. This question, that I asked myself one evening while contemplating the leftover spicy beef in the white cardboard box, on the third shelf of my fairly empty refrigerator, in the kitchen of my Beijing apartment, had real-life applications. The spicy beef was from last night’s dinner that I had da bao’d (the past tense of “take away” in Chinglish?) from the restaurant across the street from my home in the Just Make Building.

“Just Make what?” you might ask, everyone does. It was the restaurant with the elegant women, dressed in shiny satin chi-pao that were high necked and slit up the side, flanking the entrance and quietly luring in customers with their beauty. In winter their outfits changed to floor length red wool coats with white furry collars, making them look like Asian Santa’s helpers.

In my kitchen were forks, knives and spoons, but not a single chopstick, let alone a pair of them. I wanted chopsticks. I wanted to delicately pluck each morsel of beef from its tangy sauce. I wanted to savor each bite slowly, so much easier with the pinch and grab of the sticks rather than the scoop of a fork. I wanted to be an accomplished chopsticker, prepared for that day when the witty, wealthy, handsome expat of my dreams invited me to dinner. I certainly wouldn’t want to embarrass myself by inadvertently catapulting a slippery mushroom or chunk of eggplant into the air and marking my ineptitude with an oily brown stain on a pristine white tablecloth, or worse, his pants.

I weighed the possibilities. Around the corner was the “wet market” that sold fruit, vegetables, meats, rice by the scoop or the gunny- sack, and cooking oil in plastic gallon jugs. Next door was the tiny liquor store selling green glass flasks of baijou the local rotgut, handy when you needed to throw back a good stiff drink, but hardly the stuff for sipping delicately while swirling clinking ice cubes. They also sold cell phone cards, cigarettes, candy, and tasteless, sticky Chinese ice cream bars, but probably not chopsticks. Half way down the block was the even tinier shop, no larger than the master bath of an American McMansion, selling a virtual flower garden of colorful plastic buckets and mops, and shiny pots and pans. It overflowed the tiny space and oozed out onto the sidewalk. After taking stock of my neighborhood, I really had only one choice – April Gourmet, the grocery store specializing in catering to westerners. It was conveniently located on the first floor of Just Make, right past the Italian restaurant, the French butcher, and my nail shop, where on sunny days when business was slow, the girls in matching shirts and knock-off designer jeans played badminton on the sidewalk using a low hedge as a net.

I grabbed a hand basket and headed up to April Gourmet’s second floor. I walked past the bin of Mrs. Shannen’s bagels. Mrs. Shannen was neither Jewish, nor Irish, but Chinese, and she baked a perfect bagel. I cruised past the cornflakes, (Yup, the ones with the rooster), the Digestives from England and cereal from Sweden. I found the young clerk stocking paper goods. A quick “Ni Hao,” “hello,” being one of seventeen Chinese words I knew, started the conversation which quickly dissolved into a series of gestures. I held out my index and middle fingers opening and closing them like scissors. I pointed at my mouth and rubbed my belly. Until, eventually, the young man had an idea. He led me to the plastic cutlery. I reached for the pair of chopsticks buried between the packages of beige forks and knives, and he rewarded me with an ear-to-ear grin. Oh what a smile! His curiosity got the best of him. “What these call English?” he asked. We practiced -“chopsticks, chopsticks, chopsticks.”

I left the store with my chopsticks, French chocolate pudding, Indonesian ginger chews, Irish butter and a sense of euphoria. I could do this! I could live alone in a foreign country even if I couldn’t speak the language or read the signs. I could heal from the cataclysmic events of the past year, the death of my father and my marriage. Walking out of the store, I knew the answer – I would “Just Make” a new life. In China I became brave. I became bold. I was outgoing in situations where I used to be restrained, gregarious when I used to be reserved. I found new levels of competence. I found a powerful, creative voice hidden in the keys of my computer. I became free.

About the Author: Shari Cassutt is a retired kindergarten teacher from the United States and an aspiring writer. She put the finishing touches on this entry from her hotel room in a Beijing hutong where she was staying during her first trip back to the city, five years after her year of adventure and transformation ended. She is now proud to say she can eat peanuts, chocolate cake, and single grains of rice with her chopsticks.

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Panama: Peace and Tranquility under the Sea

Stuck in a concrete jungle, I yearn for those long summer days where I felt free. Every morning I would awake to the familiar sound of waves crashing up against the dock; the ocean was calling to me.

I was never a morning person but in Panama I practically jumped out of my bed with a smile on my face and a skip in my step as I eagerly got ready for work. The walk to my job was brisk but always included a breathtaking sunrise over the vast and endless body of water that surrounded the tiny island of Bocas del Toro.

Upon arrival, with a large coffee in hand, I would often find myself lingering on the edge of the dock, dipping my toes into the cool water and taking deep breaths so that the fresh ocean air could fill my lungs. As people started to arrive for their scuba instruction, I knew that I was one step closer to entering into my underwater world.

It is hard to explain the feeling that you get when you let out all the air from your BCD only to slowly sink into the unknown. At first your body panics, doubting that small contraption lodged in your mouth, but that feeling quickly dissipates and is replaced by excitement and awe as you enter a whole new world. As I slipped underneath the surface, I left behind all my troubles and worries. I was welcomed by infinite silence and a playground that was waiting to be discovered.

Hakuna Matata became my daily phrase after only a couple of weeks on the island. In Canada I was told that after University, an individual needs to find a job, to settle down, buy a house and/or start a family. My mother would often ask me about my life and my future, pestering me with exhausting questions like “when are you going to getting married?!”

Yet the second I hit the water in Panama, I felt a weight being lifted off my shoulders. Life in Bocas del Toro was simple; people walked at a much slower and serene pace. I quickly learned that there was never a shortage of smiles on the island and laughter could be heard for every direction.

In fact, island living set me free and taught me many life lessons. As my life slowed down [almost to a snail’s pace], I learned to appreciate the little things. Stress had become a complete waste of my time. I learned to smile, laugh and live every moment to the fullest. Possessions became unimportant as they had no real impact on my life. Those shoes, fancy clothes and/or flashy accessories had no place in Bocas; all I needed was my scuba equipment and swimsuit to find true peace and tranquility.

And whenever I glided effortlessly through the rows of brightly colored corals that lined the bottom of the ocean, I felt free. Free of anger, stress and sadness. The water healed me and washed away all my negative feelings and emotions. Instead of fretting of what might be, I lived in the present. I chased squid, played with lobsters, searched for sharks and yearned to uncover buried treasure. The ocean had transformed me and life had become perfectly perfect.

About the Author: A self-proclaimed travel fanatic, Yvonne Ivanescu has embarked on a number of unforgettable adventures across the globe. In 2012 Yvonne launched Under the Yew Tree, a website about travel, beauty, food and fashion in South America. For more South American travel tips, follow her on Twitter  and Facebook.

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Myanmar: Bikes in Bagan (video)

Watch: Bikes in Bagan, Day 4, Myanmar (Burma)

 With our bikes from New Park Hotel, we explored many temples including: 

Gu-byauk-gyi (wet-kyin) with incredible paintings but you cannot take photos or video for preservation reasons.

Gu-byauk-nge: Due to its smaller size, you can see all three of the four seated Buddhas at once. It has lovely celling paintings.

Alo-pyi

Ywe-haung-gyi

Ananda

That-byin-nyu

Shwe-gu-gyi—in this temple we went up to a higher level and could see the old city and a literal sea of stupas. There are thousands of stupas of all shapes and sizes. The building occurred over two hundred years and was at the same time that the Khmer were building Angkor Wat in Siem Reap.

For lunch we stopped at Sarabha for cold water, chicken with cashew nuts and vegetable curry. The temple by Be nice to Animals restaurant is a yellow one with a mirror disco Buddha. I think it is either Min-o-chan-thar, or Tsu-taung-pyi.

At Ananda Paya there is restoration and reconstruction inside and out. We met part of the team from India. There are six restoration workers in Bagan for eight months working to restore the paintings. We were told it is a seven or eight year project with $11million dollars being spent by the Indian government. The four large standing Buddhas at Ananada are truly gigantic.

For sunset, we biked to near Buledi Temple. People used to climb Buledi but now that is not allowed any more. When George was in Bagan over ten years ago, you could climb nearly all the temples. Many are now closed to preserve the ancient wonders. The colors of the sunset highlighted the brick work on the surrounding temples. A stunning display of nature and buildings constructed for reverence.

This movie is from our 28 days in Myanmar (Burma) from September 28, 2012 to October 26, 2012 and our year TRIP in South East Asia, see all the videos from our trip.

THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT! Our YouTube Channel is OVER 100,000 views and our new book is listed on Amazon as a HOT NEW RELEASE! We appreciate all of your interest for our journeys! Next contest starts September 11! See you at the Festival of the Pacific! Lisa and George

Buy our memoir, Traveling in Sin, from Amazon.

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Nuh, India: Starry Nights

Gazing long into the endless night skies sprinkled with diamond like stars had always fascinated me.

In the autumn of 2004, came an unexpected opportunity. It brought S.P.A.C.E. in my life. S.P.A.C.E. i.e. Science Popularization Association of Commutators and Educators is an organization which promote science and in particular astronomy. The moment I heard about it I felt a sense of joy and I knew instantly that this is a life time opportunity which cannot be missed. In spite of facing some turbulence from family and some negative suggestions from my friends on how my studies can get affected by pursuing an extracurricular activity such as this which demands a lot of time, I never gave a second thought to the decision I took instantly while sitting in the conference room of my school attending the introductory workshop from S.P.A.C.E.

On 30 April 2005, I realized what I would have missed in my life if I would not have heard of my heart to pursuing my dream.

As a part of the program offered to us by S.P.A.C.E. were 2 nights in 1 year in which they would take us to a remote sight separated from the glorious life of city to observe the night sky in its full glory.

The first of such night was on 30 April 2005 when I went to the magical land of Nuh. Nuh is a small village in Haryana, India which has hardly got a population of few hundred at the most. Its serene environment, surrounding hills and scenic beauty can mesmerize anyone. Nuh is not a popular tourist destination and so to observe the beauty of the place one needs to have an urge to find peace.

My first trip to Nuh, India and for the matter of fact, every subsequent visit to that place somehow brought me closer to myself. It was like discovering my own self. Whenever I think of that place my heart fills with beautiful memories and it replenishes me with joy and happiness.

Not only did I reconnect with myself but I connected a lot with the locals of that place. Staying with the local people was a great experience, the one I could never have if I hadn’t joined the astronomy club. Listening to their stories, working with them and sharing our lives proved too fascinating for them as much as it was for us.

But the main exciting part of our trip used to start after 12 am when the night sky is usually in its full glory.

From our resting place we used to move further on the outskirts of village where the darkness seems to engulf everything. It used to be so dark that our torch beams seemed to stretch miles when pointed towards the deep dark sky. The instant I first arrived at this deserted place I was in complete awe.

Without any lights in the vicinity of the place the sky seemed to be a blanket of thousands of stars. It was the sky like I had never seen in my life.

I never understood what was so special about that place but somehow lying on the ground staring deep into to sky surrounded by small hills, observing hundreds of star patterns gave me a reason to believe in my own existence and the reason behind it. The aura of that place at night used to make me feel connected with the universe at once.

Everything about Nuh is special to me. Whether be it the people there, our resting place, our observation site, the forest or the hills. I believe the place itself can give a sense of peace to anyone one who is in dire need of it. To me, Nuh gave me a reason to believe that I am not only a part of this universe but that too an important one. It gave me the much needed sense of freedom. Even today when the frustrations of life start to take a toll on me, I prefer to go to that place and spend a night in this wonderful magical place whose magic lies in its simplicity and quietness.

About the Author: Aakash Baweja from New Delhi, India. I am an IT engineer, an amateur astronomer and a part time actor. I love travelling especially to places which offer plethora of scenic beauty.

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Contraband: Kyrgyzstan and Kazakhstan

Contraband: Border crossing between Kyrgyzstan and Kazakhstan

The late afternoon sun was relentless as we waited in no man’s land between Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan. A slight breeze came up from the river separating the two countries, so we stood on the bridge in an attempt to feel it on our burning skin. The river, equipped with sharp rocks and fast rapids was the perfect border, the gravel path on the Kazakh side too wide to jump across and graded so that any footprints were ruthlessly visible, barbed wire fences poised to greet any intruders.

It was a busy border crossing with hustling and bustling in both directions; a lot of people waiting in no man’s land like we were. We watched on as hoards of ladies stopped between the borders to get dressed into entire bags of clothing, tags still visible, nobody batting an eyelid. Every so often a border guard/army official/policeman would saunter through no man’s land from Kyrgyzstan to meet a border guard/army official/policeman from Kazakhstan. They would shake hands, exchange cash, hand over a passport or two and return minutes later to their respective posts.

As we waited the crowd suddenly became thicker, and before we knew it there was a group of about sixty people frantically pushing each other and screaming. They were alarmingly desperate, scrambling over the massive overground pipe to get onto the road, but we had no idea what the ruckus was about.

An army truck began reversing out of the Kazakh border area and into no man’s land. The crowd moved forward, thrusting themselves at the truck, and we watched in horror as the vehicle reversed into the throng, the people at the back pushing forward towards the truck, crushing all who were at the front. Did they have refugee family members inside the vehicle? The trampling and stampeding was bordering on inhumane, but we couldn’t help but be enthralled by the commotion.

The truck stopped reversing and a man dressed in an army uniform climbed out of the driver’s seat and stood aside whilst a man in civilian clothing appeared from the passenger’s side and made his way through the jostling crowd to the back doors. The group was so tightly squeezed against the truck that he didn’t seem to be able to get to them and just when the crowd was becoming uncomfortably indignant towards him, a stocky lady in a yellow t-shirt suddenly rose above the horde and with supporting chants, managed to heave herself onto the back ledge of the truck.

We watched in amazement as Yellow T-shirt and Civvies opened the back doors of the truck into the swarm, shoving crowd members into each other in the process. We really had no idea what to expect once the doors were open – were they all going to jump in to smuggle themselves across the border? Were people going to jump out? Would the truck be full of illegal goods or food products? Then Yellow T-shirt started holding up handbags, shopping bags, children’s backpacks, brief cases and other small pieces of personal luggage. For each item she held up, a selection of crowd members waved their arms and called out, presumably attempting to claim that item. Now it looked like some sort of charity delivery, but these people didn’t look like they were particularly poor and why would something like that be happening in no man’s land?

The army officer who had reversed the truck and was standing aside spotted us watching what was going on and obviously bored, approached us. To our delight we were greeted with limited English and he went on to enlighten us as to what the situation was.

“Contraband,” he spat, disdainfully gesturing to the items being tossed around in the throng and going on to explain that the Kyrgyz people go into Kazakhstan to sell their goods. “Kyrgyzstan, little money. Kazakhstan, big money,” which also explained all the ladies in seventeen layers of clothing. He ruefully told us about how they import goods to Kazakhstan every day, and every day they take more than the personal limit. Every day the excess goods are confiscated, and every day they are returned. He rolled his eyes and made a circle with his finger, indicating the vicious cycle that he, the smugglers and everyone else at the border were involved in every day.

And there we were about to leave this place behind us, continuing on our trip across the world. The freedom of our lives compared to the oppression and struggle that so many people have to deal with on a daily basis had never been more apparent to us than it was at that moment. It’s sad but true that sometimes we need to witness something awful to truly appreciate the freedoms that we are blessed with.

About the Author: Eilidh Robertson: Originally from Scotland I now live in Australia, and amidst a variety of jobs my adult life thus far has revolved around travelling. I’m doing my best to experience the untouched corners of the world as much as possible and my most recent trip was an overland roadtrip by car from Australia to Scotland. Find me on Facebook or check out my blog.

(Because of the sensitive nature of border areas unfortunately we weren’t able to take any photos of this experience, so instead I have included a picture of a Kyrgyz bazaar.)

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Switzerland: Hiking the Eiger Trail

Change sneaks up on you, each tiny increment like the wings of a hummingbird, hovering with seemingly invisible forward and back strokes near 80 times per second, until finally the bird lifts and soars away.

But hummingbirds don’t hover at Jungfraujoch, the icy top of Europe that sits between the Mönch and Jungfrau mountains in the Bernese Alps in Switzerland. Here, at 3,471 meters above sea level, I found little but an ice castle guarding, not a king or a queen, but the largest glacier in the Alps mountain range, the Aletsch.

I love the majesty of mountains, but hate the way their shadows cast darkness over the places below.

That said, I’ve always found being in the shadows preferable to standing at the top of the peaks, perched on the edge of nothingness. To put in bluntly, I’ve been afraid of heights all my life—none of the challenges I’ve taken have ever eliminated it. I guess that’s why I’m still a prairie girl.

Fear, however, wasn’t about to stop me from experiencing Switzerland’s Jungfraujoch or the Eiger Trail, one of the world’s most famous hikes.

My morning at the mountain top disappeared in a whirl: In and out of the ice palace rooms and sculptures; through the Sphinx observation hall and terrace; a walk on the snow trail that leads to the 120 sq. km. glacier; even smiles for friends on the zipline that flew them down from the castle until they dragged their feet in the snow to stop.

After that, it was time for the Eiger Trail. I’d been getting in shape for months, however, in Saskatchewan we can’t even imagine a landscape as steep as the Alps, never mind hike it.

I boarded the train down the mountain, braced my feet against the incline to keep in my seat, and rode to the Eigergletscher railway station where I nervously exited.

The mountain stretched above and below me, so I felt tucked into the belt of a tall, skinny giant. It was easy to find the trailhead where it started at a lone wooden gate with no fence attached.

There didn’t seem to be a counter to log the number of hikers, nor would the gate keep animals of any sort from the train depot. After a few moments, I had to ask the guide accompanying our group what purpose it served.

He said, “If you’re too big to get through, you’re probably not fit enough to make the hike, so should take the train to a lower level.”

Question answered.

I stepped between the posts, thinking a gate measure at home might embarrass a lot of Canadians into considering their fitness level more seriously.

The Eiger Trail, now that it stretched out in front of me, seemed little more than a cow path twisting and turning down the mountain. In fact, hikers shared the trail with numerous cattle, the bells around their necks cling-clanging a tune that reminded me of Heidi, the famous Swiss character I’d met in a novel during childhood.

I kept my fear of heights at bay by keeping my eyes focused on my hiking boots, and my thoughts on where to stab my trekking poles into the worn path. Left. Right. Left. Right. The rhythm controlled my breathing and my fears.

Lumpy pebbles and pointy rocks clattered away, tumbling down the mountain as I poked at the ground. I didn’t want to follow them…

Most of the first half hour the path curled down, but then we came to a section where it snaked up a steep incline. Ten minutes into it and my legs felt like rubber sticks. I sat, pulled out my water bottle, and contemplated turning around and returning to the train.

No.

I forged on, one foot after another, following cows, following the group I’d come with, following the steps of other hikers who’d passed this way a decade, even five and ten decades ago.

Pretty soon only the mountain mattered. The sun, a yellow smiley face in the empty blue sky, encouraged me on.

The trail grew tougher again and I pulled myself along by rough ropes hung from weathered posts, panting as I caught glimpses of what must be a village far below.

A waterfall splashed over rock above me, its gurgles mixing into the harmony of cowbells.

Another half hour passed.

Cattle grazed ahead, blocking the path, and we slowed again, waited for them to move. I smiled, turned until I faced down the mountain and caught a breeze that caressed my face.

At last, I stared at the grassy alpine slope spread out around me, so steep I felt I could leap off and fly. I realized I was the hummingbird, finally free of the thing that had challenged my independence—fear.

About the Author: Linda Aksomitis teaches the online courses, Introduction to Internet Writing Markets and Publish and Sell Your E-Books, through community colleges around the world. She has conducted class from the top of the mountains in the Yukon to the rainforests of Borneo to the Mayan jungle in Mexico.

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Barefoot Freedom: Redwood Trees in California

Barefoot Freedom: Climbing Redwood Trees in Santa Cruz, California

by Amberly Young

The sun has just set and a soft blue glow radiates from the heart of the forest. My feet are bare and I feel the moist earth beneath my soles.

These trees are hundreds of years old, I think to myself as I walk, gazing up into the canopy.

The only noise is the gentle breeze shifting through the branches and the quiet crackle of my footsteps on the dry pine needles.

The redwood forest of Santa Cruz, California surrounds me, and I lose myself in the beauty of the swaying saplings and deep red trunks. An ancient wisdom reverberates around me. I follow the path by the meadow, crossing the field I recognize from full moon drum circles. Past the small bridge over a trickling creek, the trail winds through trees as wide as trucks and as tall as skyscrapers.

I pass the Wishing Tree, a small oak, where people write their prayers and dreams on slips of paper and tie them to branches in the hopes of being heard.

Finally I reach my destination. In the center of a small clearing she stands, a 150-foot tall douglas fir. We call her Tree 9.  A swing twirls lazily from the lowest branch, along with a rope ladder inviting you to ascent the magnificent giant.

No one else is with me today, although I often bring my friends here to show them one of my favourite places on our university campus. We go to school in the middle of a magical redwood forest - the University of California at Santa Cruz. I selected this wonderland as my top choice, turning down the competitive and prestigious UC Los Angeles. I didn’t want to live in a city, surrounded by buildings and traffic.

I’m proud of my decision, I think as I climb up the lower branches. Though I’m alone, I feel safe, I know this route, I’ve done this before. I lose myself in the rhythm, wrapping my arms around branches as big as my waist, always maintaining 3 points of contact, stepping close to the tree where the limbs are strongest.

Already I feel a sense of calm, and find myself forgetting to worry. My typical cycle of thought shuts down as I continue up the tree. She beckons me up, up, up. I feel my heart race as I ascend, my brain warning me that I wouldn’t survive a fall from this height. But I trust my body, and remember to breathe, and I trust this beautiful tree that has stood here, in this spot, since before I was born, since before my great grandmother’s grandmother was born.

Near the top I feel her swaying. She is supportive but not stiff. She weaves with the wind. Her limbs are thinner now, some no thicker than my wrist.

At the very top, there is sort of a seat, a plateau, a place to rest. Now I can relax.

Stretched before me are hundreds of other trees, each a majestic being in itself. Together they are an undulating forest of deep green, clustered in threes, cascading far into the distance. I can just make out the ocean, a dark blue under the softening sky.

Behind the trees, nestled in the forest, there are the classrooms and dormitories and laboratories and libraries and lecture halls of my university, but I can’t see them. Here I can forget everything and just sit in my gratitude for this world I was born into. Here I can meditate and appreciate my being, my freedom to climb, to explore. Here I can relax and ease into myself, part of the forest, silent, smiling, thankful.

 

About the Author : Nature lover Amberly Young is a traveling writer, photographer, and musician.  After she graduated from university in Santa Cruz, California, she hopped on a plane to New Zealand, stayed there for a year volunteering on farms, and then spent 4 months travelling in Southeast Asia. She is currently living in Melbourne, Australia, finishing up her one-year working holiday visa, before traveling more in Asia. Check out her website at www.whereisamber.com

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America: Our Freedom

To me, feeling free means escaping the daily struggle of life in America. The daily expenses, the daily stress at work, the daily drama. But curling into a ball, hiding inside, or going ‘crazy’ spending money on materialistic nonsense is no escape.

My particular escape is when I find myself breathing heavy, feeling my legs getting wobbly, and my head pounding. This particular escape starts under the calming shade of greens and near the bubbling sound of a stream. This escape continues through winding trails in and out of the tree line, following ridges, pastures, and fields of flowers, oceans, sunrises, and sunsets.

This freedom is tough. Sometimes I am too tired to eat. The humidity of New England feels like a wave I can’t get out of. The never-ending walls of rocks I have to scale with a clumsily packed backpack take a toll, but the challenge is all part of the freedom.

The lone moose, with its handsome, colossal frame that glances at me and continues on its way is freedom. The music from robins in the morning during my watered down coffee is beautiful. Meeting others in search for the same freedom is enlightening. Telling stories over salsa and rice is clarifying. Writing in journals and reading old books by flashlight and wondering if things are okay is peaceful and provoking.

And the most freeing part of my freedom hikes is at the top of the mountain I’ve decided to dominate. The immense view of a peaceful world, where there is no violence, no hate, just beauty. This nature that so many have never even seen is my real freedom.

I breathe in the unpolluted air and consider how many times I thought about turning back but never did. I couldn’t and never would because the struggle to get to the top is just too tempting. Having done it many times before, I realize the beauty and tranquility I will eventually encounter if I can just keep walking. The celebratory sandwich or smashed strawberry while dangling my legs over the cliff, watching the millions of trees rustle in the high winds, is a treat for only the most free, the biggest fighters. Laying down, taking in the sun, feeling my hair blown in every direction, I feel my body begin to cool, my damp shirt clinging to my skin. My aches and pains as a new hiker are wonderful. They’re proof of my fight for freedom, so I stand back up and stretch my muscles.

Hiking back down is a different pain. My muscles are tired though I am not out of breath. I am still in awe from my surprising accomplishment, excited to reread my thoughts in my journal and to relive my adventure in pictures. I think about the other mountains I would like to hike next week and how I will manage escaping work for a week for a real trek. For now, my escapes will be sporadic, but I am working towards becoming free all of the time.

When the dangerous rocks seem to subside, I reach a slow jog and eventually increase my pace. I run through the woods, exhausted and sweaty, after having just hiked for a day or maybe the entire weekend. I run for what seems to be eternity, back out of my freedom, back to the parking lot where my financed car is parked. Back to the road that takes me back to civilization, to work, to bills, to school. I run back to my family and friends to show them what I have reached and what I will continue to reach as a free person.

About the Author: Jackie Aldama is a software engineer and computer science student originally from Boston. She lived in Mexico City for most of her teenage years and plans to pack up to explore again once she finishes her degree. Jackie recently started a website where she shares travel stories and plans locally and abroad. Follow her on twitter @band0lera

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True Weight Loss Story: Diets in Review

Thank you to Dani Stone for her article about my True Weight Loss Journey in Diets in Review.

Lisa Niver Rajna is a member of the prestigious Traveler’s Century Club, a unique group limited to travelers who have visited 100 or more countries. She enjoys trekking to new locales so much, she even co-authors a popular blog with her husband, We Said Go Travel. Over the last few years, Lisa has been hiking, biking, boating and walking across Asia but there was a time when she could barely walk a mile without feeling exhausted. She has so many stories she could write a memoir, and she did, but the adventure that gave Lisa the most satisfaction was her weight loss journey. Though it spans years and thousands of miles, it’s one of her favorite tales to share.

In 2001, Lisa was single, fit and working on a cruise ship. Then, the tragic events of September 11th enfolded. Subsequently, her company went bankrupt, she stopped traveling, moved in with her parents and turned to food for comfort. Her weight crept up so slowly, she actually argued with her doctor who told her, “I don’t care if your clothes still fit. You gained more weight.” After an honest self-assessment, she finally saw what the doctor was trying to tell her. Initially she started walking, and made it her mission to keep going until the weight came off. At the time, Lisa was a science teacher. ”For three years, I walked to work. It was two miles each way,” she said. “There were several other teachers (who were younger and lived closer) who all drove every day. When it was rainy, cold or dark, it was hard to keep going but I chose to walk.” She was making great strides in her weight loss when she met a man named George. Their whirlwind romance led her to join him on a year-long sabbatical in Asia. Shortly after their arrival she exclaimed, “I’ve lost 12 pounds, I’m skinny now.” When George replied that he hadn’t noticed, Lisa was angry but then realized that although the comment seemed brusque, he was right, she still had a long way to go before she felt fit and healthy again.

Continue reading the article.
Buy our memoir, Traveling in Sin, from Amazon.

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