Lisa Niver's Blog: We Said Go Travel, page 290
October 20, 2015
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October 18, 2015
Birthday Wish & Lisa on TV
Hello from Jerusalem. I am celebrating my birthday in Israel. I have a wish that you can make come true! Will you help me grow my YouTube channel? I want to get to 1000 subscribers and 400,000 views by the end of 2015.
Right now I have 736 subscribers, 367,016 views and 387 videos. 36 is a very important number as it is twice 18 which is the number for LIFE in Judaism!
A great number to celebrate for my birthday! Thank you for all your support of my website, social media and YouTube videos. I was recently on television and wanted to share some of the segments with you! Please like, comment and subscribe! Todah Raba! Thank you and Happy Birthday to me! Lisa
In Las Vegas with Dao Vu on ABC’s The Morning Blend:
Video: The Morning Blend Dao Vu and Lisa Niver
Lisa & Valder Beebe talking about Fall Travel in Dallas Texas
Video: The Valder Beebe Show Fall Travel with Lisa Niver
Lisa on NBC with Meaghan Collier “Studio 4”
Video: Tis the Season for Fall Travel Meaghan Collier & Lisa Niver NBC Studio 4
I loved my stay at the Hilton Garden Inn in New York City!
Video: Grateful in NYC
I am GRATEFUL for all my amazing travels this year and look forward to more adventures. Please share about your grateful adventures in my Gratitude Travel Writing Contest! Happy Everything to YOU and THANK YOU for your support! Lisa
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October 17, 2015
48 Hours in Montreal: Top 8 Things to do, Via FlightHub
By Jess Marchand
Montreal is home to both Anglophones and Francophones, the delightfully queer and the wonderfully straight, both old and new architecture, delicious cheap eats, intricate upscale meals, swanky clubs, laid-back bars, and so much more.
If you’ve ever visited Montreal, you know a couple things for certain: They love to party, they love to eat well, they are a beautiful people, and the culture is so varied that everyone who visits the city feels at home. Never been? Check out these 8 things to do and see and we guarantee you’ll want to immediately begin planning your weekend getaway in Montreal!
Take a walk up Mont Royal for one of the best views of the downtown core and of the city’s ports. Walk up the winding gravel path or cut straight to the chase and take the wooden stairs to the top, but the view from the Mont Royal lookout is worth the short trek. Bonus: If you find yourself in Montreal on a Sunday (in the spring, summer, or fall), spend a couple hours in the afternoon hanging out with thousands of locals who show up to play music, eat, and hang out on the Park Avenue side of the mountain for the weekly ‘Tam Tams’ event.
Grab brunch in the Old Port and take a walk on the old cobblestone streets of Saint Paul and De la Commune. For delicious brunch, we recommend the meat lover’s plate at le Cartet and for lunch, try something off the fresh menu at Olive & Gourmando (our favorites: The Cuban sandwich or the ‘Egg on your Face’ Panini!). After food, be sure to walk around the Old Port and take in all of its charm. Dessert? Grab a beaver tail on De la Commune, or course!
Visit the Olympic Stadium to see where magic happened in the 1976 Montreal Olympics. For maximum amounts of fun, go on the first Friday of the month (winter not included) for the Montreal food truck festival! Alternatively, visit it in the fall and checkout the beautiful Gardens of Light next door at the Botanical Gardens!
Take the shuttle bus from the Jean-Drapeau metro station and visit the Montreal Casino, known to be the largest casino in Canada! Whether you enjoy playing a few hands of blackjack or not, the Casino is located on an island facing Montreal and is definitely worth checking out (if not for a little gambling but at least for the view of Montreal that it affords)!
Take in a show at Quartier des Spectacles, the entertainment district of Montreal. Montreal is known to host some of the best festivals in Canada and two of the best are run out of this newly renovated district: The Montreal Jazz Fest and the Just For Laughs festival (taking place in June and July respectively). Not visiting in the summer? No worries. This neighborhood hosts the Montreal Opera, the Montreal Symphony Orchestra, and the Grand Ballets of Montreal so there is always something going on for visitors to check out!
Between the months of October and April (sometimes June if they’re on fire), head down to the Bell Centre and catch a Montreal Canadiens hockey game. You haven’t experienced the magic of a sports match if you’ve never been to the Bell Centre while the Canadiens are winning. They’re known to be one of the most intense hockey towns in the world and the excitement of the stadium on a winning night can bring tears to anyone’s eyes.
Take a stroll through LaFontaine Park! Bring a blanket, a picnic, some music, a book or some friends and you’re set. They have a charming man-made lake, a sports centre, and plenty of shade and green grass for you to enjoy an afternoon of relaxation. Alternatively, head up to the Villeray neighborhood and take out a southern BBQ-style picnic basket from one of Montreal’s top restaurants, Dinette Triple Crown. If you’re not on a diet, order the “Big Nasty” sandwich— we promise you won’t regret it. There’s a park across the street so you’ll still enjoy that picnic feel you were searching for.
Headed to Montreal in the winter? There are plenty of great ski/snowboard mountains to choose from. To the south is a bigger mountain, Bromont, and to the north you’ll find the smaller but still great Saint Sauveur, Mont Avila, and Mont Habitant. A little further north and you’ll reach Mont Tremblant, a local favourite due to its larger size and variety of ski paths.
There are so many great things to do in Montreal that we weren’t able to list plus dozens upon dozens of unmentioned, incredible restaurants. You can kayak down the Lachine Canal, visit the Jean Talon/Atwater markets, rent a BIXI bike and ride along the water, explore the Biodome, climb the steps of the impressive Saint Joseph’s Oratory, or check out one of their many museums (McCord Museum, Montreal Museum of Fine Arts, Montreal Museum of Contemporary Art, etc.). Your trip to Montreal is waiting!
About FlightHub
FlightHub is the largest Canadian online travel agency and they commit themselves to offering a travel booking service that is simple, quick, and seamless. FlightHub devotes themselves to negotiating the best flight prices possible with over 210 airlines worldwide. Follow them on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram for travel inspiration and cheap flights!
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October 16, 2015
Art Destinations of Bogota
Lisa Niver exploring local street art in Bogota, Colombia
Paris and Florence: art destinations. Sure. But Bogota, Colombia? Absolutely! Lisa Niver, founder of We Said Go Travel, was fascinated to discover so many artist hot spots in Bogota. Don’t miss these on your trip!
Graffiti Street Art Tour– Graffiti art is allowed in Bogota and can be seen all over the city. Art Dealer and Street Art Tour Guide Federico Ruiz explains that the city provides blank canvases for many street artists with large, plain walls. The Kiss is a piece of graffiti art from 2013 that is 10 stories high, a can’t miss stop on the art tour! The Kiss was painted by 5 artists, one of whom was also a tour guide for Lisa! His name is Juan Garcia. Another particularly widespread mural is called “Meeting of the Styles” and features artists from Argentina, Barcelona, and various local artists.
A photo posted by Lisa Niver (@wesaidgotravel) on Aug 16, 2015 at 6:49pm PDT
El Museo Del Oro– Lisa loved El Museo del Oro (Museum of Gold). It was filled with thousands of historical, gold artifacts. The Poporo is a must-see piece, and the symbol of El Museo del Oro. It was the first piece collected for the museum. For a museum with ‘gold’ in the title, it might be surprising that every piece is not dripping in the shiny stuff. El Museo del Oro boasts the largest collection of pre-Hispanic gold found anywhere in the world, but also features beautifully crafted, ancient pottery.
The #gold #museum in #Bogota is truly outstanding. The collection and curation makes this place a must see. #colombiaismagicalrealism #aviancateconecta #travel! A photo posted by Lisa Niver (@wesaidgotravel) on Aug 13, 2015 at 4:34pm PDT
Artesanias de Colombia– Bogota hosts numerous talented artists and craftsmen, however Lisa was fascinated by one, in particular. Local artist Maria Iris has an amazing talent for basket weaving. It is tradition that men harvest the palm and the women weave it into baskets. However, basket weaving itself is a tradition in patience, taking a month to create a small (absolutely perfect) basket. Many of these artists have studios in the T Zone, a popular shopping district.
A photo posted by Lisa Niver (@wesaidgotravel) on Aug 13, 2015 at 5:05pm PDT
Bogota is a truly unique destination. Don’t forget to check out the Unexpected Gems of Bogota for more must-see spots! Thank you to Avianca and Procolombia for a wonderful visit to Bogota.
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October 15, 2015
Floating Up The Social Ladder; How Hostels Helped Me
I have never been a part of a clique. In grade school I became friends with my teachers but was never a teacher’s pet. I thought practical jokes were clever but was never the jokester of the class. In high school, no matter if I joined a sports team or musical theatre I never quite fit in one place or another. I was a self-diagnosed social floater. My teenage-self desperately felt the need to belong to a group of people to know who I really was.
Throughout these younger years I developed my wanderlust. When I became old enough to go somewhere on my own I was bombarded with instructions to never travel alone. The stories I heard frightened me and made me feel inadequate. Finally, canceled plan after canceled plan from my friends made me realize if I sat around waiting for someone to go with me for all of life’s happenings I may never get to spread my wings and fly. Then, one snowy afternoon I sat down with my computer and broke a sweat; I had purchased one ticket halfway across the world… just for me!
Solo travel was the plunge I needed to start putting my social floating into good use. I began conquering my fears and directed my energy into making friendly connections once I arrived at a hostel. I arrived alone, made friends from all over the world, and learned more about international lifestyles and cultures than anyone fearfully sitting in a classroom back home. I was discouraged to talk to strangers and told to avoid conversations with the people that I knew nothing about. The interactions I chose to take part in while staying in a hostel are ones that do not translate well into typical society. Today, I am okay with breaking those norms.
Making my lodging at youth hostels takes me away from my “normal” and shows me that socially floating actually means being able to get along with a broad spectrum of people. These people have lavishly shown me that it is okay to be myself and to make some of my own rules. Individuality no longer weighs me down but fills me up! I feel comfortable handling situations on my own and dive into my curiosities of others’ cultures. My ability to socially float has given me the freedom I need to finally fly in with the rest of them!
The reason why hostels have been so liberating for me is that there is no better place to find a spectrum of people. Nothing brings people under one affordable roof like the budget of a twenty-something traveler! It is because of the differences that discovering a new culture so special and interesting. Exposing myself to the flow of inter nationality within travel hostels throughout the world has grown my independence and sets my personality free to run. Spending any amount of time in a building where no one is familiar with one another is a social floaters dream! Every new conversation begins with the question, “Where are you from?” and can easily lead to a conversation that goes into the wee hours of the morning.
Delving into one’s interests, hobbies, dreams, and fears is commonplace in hostel-conversation but doesn’t always show up in other settings. When I was driving through the magical country of New Zealand, I decided to pick up a pair of hitchhikers on my way to the city of Wellington. During the short trip, I made small talk with the hitchhikers and found out that they were from France. The couple had been working on local Kiwi farms while traveling New Zealand. Our words had not gotten much further than that by the time we arrived in the city. I dropped them off with an “au revoir” and no exchange of information.
After spending a week in Wellington at a friend’s house, I hopped on a ferry that sailed to the South Island. I explored the wine country with family for a couple days and finally got my travel legs back when I set off for a more rural part of the country alone. After arriving to a quaint Kiwi town, I checked into a hostel and began cooking a scrumptious, typical meal of Five-Minute Noodles. I struck up conversation with a boy at the dinner table and found out that he was writing postcards back to his family in France. Just as I began talking about the French hitchhikers that I had recently met, his travel partner walked into the kitchen and I recognized they were one in the same! I ended up running into these two whilst on the South Island not once but four times. Needless to say, today we are great friends.
This friendship would have never been born without breaking the guidance given to me by my small town American society. It was necessary for me to travel alone, book a stay in a hostel, and strike up conversation with a stranger. Sometimes the fear others have placed in our ears can get the best of us. We end up missing out on incredible experiences. By breaking through these cultural fears and taking our own paths, we not only bring joy to our own lives but into other’s lives as well. Slowly the world becomes a better, bolder, freer place to float.
About The Author: Hailey Hennessy is an American travel blogger with a passion for stepping out of her comfort zone. She is 23 years old and loves indulging in different cultures… especially the cuisine! Along with foodie, Hailey is also a nature-lover, proud feminist, and amateur yogi!
Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter the Independence Travel Writing competition and tell your story.
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October 14, 2015
Gokarna, India – A Wave of Solitude
Gokarna, India – A Wave of Solitude
As I sit here listening to that Windows ‘sample’ music track – The Maid with the Flaxen Hair, I try to make sense of what my first solo trip meant to me and if it meant anything at all. If I can take a trip all by myself, I can do bigger things too, perhaps I thought. I don’t know what these things are or how they came to be so important to me. The whole trip shrouds itself in mystery – the seed of a decision to revisit a place I’d been to last year, the denial of the apparent futility of this act, the strange impulse of going through with it hours before departure, the being oblivious of where the bus leaves Bangalore from, the breathless sprint of one and a half kilometres to reach panting at the bus operator’s office thinking ‘this is what happens when you go alone’ – only to be told the bus hadn’t arrived yet!
10 hours later, when I stepped onto the final, slippery stones that lead to my favourite beach, Kudle (you have to trek down to the beach from where your auto drops you), I smiled a knowing smile. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw then. It seemed like an act of personal vengeance, as if someone had entered my mind, opened a little box labelled ‘Colourful memories of Gokarna’ and thrown them into the raging sea that I had before me now. As if someone had plundered the shacks and cafes that lay so beautifully last November, overlooking the dozens of foreigners that spotted the beach. What lay before me was a naked stretch of sand that the sea repeatedly and angrily tried to clothe with waves belonging to a rather stringent moral police. Between cursing myself and trying to take in the nature’s fury, it was clear to me – I had come as a tourist once, I was returning as a traveller.
All was closed except a cafe, a cottage that couldn’t exactly close down because it was an extension of somebody’s home and that omnipresent ‘German Bakery’ that for some reason, ceased to exist for me during this trip. The important question to ask however, is – if this all bothered me? As surprised as I am to utter this, the answer to that is NO. Though the strangeness and unfamiliarity was more pronounced because I was alone and the place was deserted, I was far kinder to myself than I usually am. There were stretches when I kept joking loudly to myself as if one would talk to a dear friend, thinking ‘ I don’t remember the last time I was on a date with myself.’
Being alone on a trip is many things in one – satisfying, boring, revealing and frightening. There were times when I had epiphanies about my life and if it can matter in the larger scheme of things and there were also times when I was certain if I didn’t share it with someone then and there, the moment would be lost forever. There were times when I was giddy with a strange sort of power over my own actions and times when I felt extremely vulnerable to the vagaries of nature. So I was thinking – This incredibly beautiful sight is the reward of my own decision to take this path on the trek, treacherous though it is but one slip and who’s there to raise a cry if I go hurtling down to the waters below, anxious to swallow anything that comes its way?
There are two things I learnt about being human that day, things that make me an aspiring travel writer today and a proud, independent individual in my own country – the nature of fear and the nature of compassion. It’s amazing how far fear can spread when it often was only in our heads. It had permeated my existence so far to become an unchallenged reality. Equally amazing was the realization that we are essentially all the same, just a victim of our circumstances and thoughts. Somewhere in that realization, I broke all the limiting monologues that people around me had ever tried to bind me in and breathed – I was finally free to fly, I said, over the roar of the waves.
Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter the Independence Travel Writing competition and tell your story.
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October 13, 2015
Morocco’s Gift
Sometimes, a single week is enough to change your life. Sometimes, one haphazard beginning is enough to change your world.
I arrived in Fes well after sunset, in the company of a classmate from Paris and a guidebook that neither of us had read. The next five days passed by in a whirlwind: the narrow, twisting medieval streets of Fes, redolent with the smells of leather and kiln smoke, where toothless men on donkeys shouted balaak! to warn pedestrians to get out of the way and where the work of traditional artisans blurred into a fabulous display of painted pottery and cactus silk scarves, elaborate metalwork and intricate mosaics. An overnight bus brought us to the edge of the desert, where we rode our camels out among the vivid orange sand dunes and played drums and sang with our Berber hosts under the stars. Out under the Milky Way, as we watched bright comets shoot across the sky, I made myself a promise: I would return to Morocco one day. Not just to visit, but to live.
My fascination with Morocco was not one that many people understood. In the early 2000s, most of my friends in North America could barely find Morocco on a map. One branch of my family seemed to think I had become obsessed with the tiny European principality of Monaco. Those who did realize that Morocco was a country in northwest Africa asked me in hushed voices why I wanted to spend time in such a strange and seemingly inhospitable place.
It was, indeed, difficult to explain. How do you tell people who have never left the US about the colors of the desert, about the play of light and shadow among the dunes? How do you explain the magic of the sunset call to prayer as it sweeps across a medieval walled city, passed along from one minaret to the next? How do you capture the warm hospitality, the endless cups of mint tea shared among new friends? It’s nearly impossible to express how deeply Morocco had marked me in just a few short days. The need to go back felt like the need to sleep or breathe.
Two years after that fateful first journey, my vow to myself came true and I returned to Morocco to live. I hiked in the High Atlas Mountains and wandered among the Roman ruins of Volubilis, strolled around the picturesque port city of Essaouira and haggled in the souks of Marrakech. Every day in Morocco was a gift. With each new place, with each new adventure, I felt my wings opening a little wider. Every day, I felt a little bit more free.
Though I have returned to the US now, Morocco remains the country of my heart. My whole career now is dedicated to building cultural bridges between the US and North Africa, and to helping the people of North Africa thrive. From my haphazard beginning so many years ago, I’ve built a path to change my life. I’ve taken the gifts that Morocco first gave me, and I’m using them to try to change the world.
Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter the Independence Travel Writing competition and tell your story.
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October 12, 2015
Where the Soul is Home
When the soul pulls toward a certain direction it is best not to ignore it. For as long as I can remember, my soul pulled toward somewhere else, somewhere far away from where I was born. Despite the sense of wonder and adventure that the world inspired in me, my desire to explore parts unknown meant I was alone in my family. Indeed I was the sole, would-be world traveller among a host of homebodies.
Growing up in a sleepy, industrial city with a serious sense of wanderlust seemed to put me out of touch with my contemporaries, my teachers and especially my family. This lead to a strong pull to leave my hometown in search of a greater adventure.
My first international sojourn was a semester abroad in France while I was still in high school. As a 17 year old, I gulped up everything that I thought was new in wretched excess. I stuffed my face with pastry and developed a taste for both wine and espresso. I tried my best to ape the accents, behaviors and that famous, effortless French je ne sais quoi attitude with gumption. I felt free, invigorated, challenged, and like I had found my new, dream home. In short, I lost myself in the folie, but my French counterparts were always quick to remind me that I was not in fact, French and likely never would be. So as much as my mind wanted to believe that I belonged there, my heart knew otherwise.
Nevertheless, once I returned to my hometown, I felt even more ill at ease there than before I had left. Now I knew that home was somewhere, but it was neither France, nor Central Alberta.
After high school, I moved to a bigger city for my university studies and spent my summers doing wildfire dispatch in the Northern boreal forests of my province, but even those two changes of scenery did not quench my appetite for adventure. So following my French excursion was a trip to England with my father after I graduated to visit our distant, aging relatives. As we navigated London’s jam-packed streets, narrow and winding country roads and conversations that left us feeling like our interlocutors had just made fun of us in that dry British way, I waited for the inspiration I felt in France to wash over me, but it never did. England was not where I belonged either.
Soon after the England trip, I moved to Canada’s beautiful west coast for my graduate studies. I relished in Vancouver’s unmatched beauty, but struggled to connect with the city’s rhythm the way I had with other places. The search would continue I resigned.
After a series of short international excursions, I eventually made my way to Mali for a 5 month work contract. I thought that surely this was the kind of adventure that would quench my wanderlust, so I set off for Bamako with unbridled enthusiasm. Yet as I settled into my routine with my colleagues and host family, I still felt off-kilter. Living in Mali presented a lot of challenges, and the culture was very different from what I was used to which meant I constantly felt like I was fumbling through my daily interactions with people. Still, despite my fumblings, when it came time for me to leave, my host family and neighbors crowded around my taxi, sullen-faced, not wanting me to leave. I had learned to love them immensely during my time there, and now I realized how much they loved me too. As I made my way to the Bamako airport, I cried in the back seat alone, yet surrounded by love.
I learned in that moment, that home is where there is love. Home is also where there is excitement and adventure, family and friends, and whatever else makes the soul happy. Home can be anywhere those things are found, and those things are found everywhere and in everyone. Home for me is not any one place, and I belong anywhere that my soul feels like it’s home.
About the author: Thea is an aspiring world traveler who has visited 17 countries and an avid outdoor enthusiast. In between trips she enjoys hiking in the Canadian Rockies, cycling, canoeing and kayaking and SCUBA diving.
Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter the Independence Travel Writing competition and tell your story.
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October 11, 2015
The Reclusive Tibetan Roadways
I had been backpacking around China alone for a couple of months. I was (until my money ran out) free – free of restrictions, and free of responsibilities. The only problem I had was that I couldn’t speak a word of Mandarin beyond ‘hello’ and ‘thank you’. This wasn’t such a problem in the big cities where a bit of English was spoken, but in the more rural areas I had to resort to smiling and nodding enthusiastically. Although frustrating, I tried to look for the positives in my inability to converse – it was strangely liberating – I was free to transcend social conventions to some extent.
I had come to China looking to break the mundanity of my former office job. China is such a vast and varied country that every day offers something new and challenging. I was happy to be alone, free to pick the next day’s adventure without interference. I had taken control of my own destiny, rather than idly watching the weeks fly by from my computer desk. So far, I had spent most of my time in the relative safety net of the cities. With the time on my visa running out, I decided to try and get off the tourist trail.
In southwest China, straddling the border between Sichuan province and Tibet is a string of roads that carve a route through the Himalayas, connecting the little villages along the way, forming the ‘Tibetan highway’. Although Tibet is an autonomous region of China, access for western travellers is largely restricted to tours run by Chinese travel agencies that, arguably, provide a very sanitised view of the region. The Tibetan highway never crosses into Tibet though, allowing you to explore the villages at your own leisure, without constraint, offering an authentic flavour of Tibetan culture.
I planned a route that would take me from south to north by bus, through the mountains at altitude, unsure of what to expect along the way but drawn by a fascination with Tibet and it’s struggle for independence from China. I travelled by day and slept in whichever village I reached by night. It was better to travel by day to enjoy the gorgeous panoramas available out of the bus windows. Whichever direction you looked in, the view of the mountains and valleys was good enough for any postcard. The buses I took were old, broken things that made too much noise and offered little in the way of extravagance. They often had ripped seats and wall-panels, exposing bare metal and springs. They were comforting if not always conformable, a reflection of the area – cut off in the foothills, industrious and unconcerned with luxury. My life was in the hands of drivers who threw those jalopies around tight mountain corners with little concern for the ominous drop that was only ever a few inches to one side. The temperature changed from near freezing to sweat inducing from hour to hour, and whenever a window was open, the interior of the bus would fill with dust kicked up from the gravel roads.
I felt excited and free on the buses; they were a fun experience in and of themselves. I started to feel hamstrung by my lack of language skills though. I usually shared the buses with rural men, travelling from one village to another, often accompanied by their livestock and regularly poking their heads out of the windows to smoke. Spending upwards of 12 hours a day on a bus without talking to anyone was beginning to dishearten me. I wanted to talk to the people, to get to know the area better but I couldn’t.
Then, at a stop near a little one street town of wooden buildings, a man garbed in a single red sheet wrapped around him like a toga got on and sat next to me. He spoke to me in English. He was a monk who lived in Tibet, who was on his way to see his mother. He asked me about myself and where I was from and why I had come to China. I found it difficult to put into words – that I wanted to see the world, and I wanted to be in control of my life but I wasn’t sure I was. He said he wanted to see the world as well, but he could never go as far as Europe or America because he would be too far from his family. He said his studies in the monastery he’d been in since a teenager helped him feel in control of his life though. We talked more and found we were the same age – born on the same day! “I think we are the same person,” he said, “but we are living different lives.”
About the Author: I am a part-time web developer and part-time traveler with a fear of flying and a love of trains. I’m currently living in London, plotting my next getaway.
Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter the Independence Travel Writing competition and tell your story.
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October 10, 2015
Palestinian Pride in Nebraska
I gazed out the window of our beautiful condo and noticed a boy who had to be at least 7 years of age or younger outside kicking a deflated soccer ball while laughing so loud and carefree. Despite the fear, he still managed to smile from ear to ear. The aroma of fresh produce of all sorts filled the helpless city. His beautiful olive skin toned face was covered in scratches and permanent scars. He was dressed in ratty pajamas that were plastered with dust and sand from the rough and demolished streets.
Several minutes of kicking the soccer ball back and fourth, he rushed across the unstable pavement to escort an elderly man to a food stand where he then paid for a freshly ripe mango and gracefully fed it to him. In that moment, I realized this is where I wanted to be.
Palestine was the place I could call home.
The people of Palestine were the bravest and most courageous people in the whole world. For example leaving Palestine requires a visa that could take a maximum of 15 years to receive. Also, the Gaza security barrier run by Israel is only open for a limited amount of time and can close whenever unannounced; Palestinians must endure hours of interrogation for simple travel requests. From dealing with power outages every day, to running out of water, and never ending nightmares from past massacres, all of us Palestinians have one thing in common. Interdependence from all over the world.
The Palestinians living in the Gaza strip depend on each other for survival items and shelter. Other Palestinian emigrants living all over the world hold protests and rely on each other for support when it comes to defending their country. Palestinians living in Gaza face many difficult hardships every single day of their lives. Every year the city of Gaza rapidly depopulates because of poverty.
When the Israeli barrier allows emigrants to enter, my family and I travel and spend the summer with our relatives. Only seeing them once every three or four years is extremely difficult and devastating, but the amount of joy and happiness we experience when we reunite make up for the loss of time.
All of my relatives in Palestine encourage me to follow my own path and stay in America, but to also stay true to myself and never forget where I came from. Despite the misleading propaganda plastered all over News networks, I believe it is my responsibility to inform everyone the truth about the daily struggles these innocent Palestinians face every day.
Whenever I visit Gaza, I’ve always seen strangers go out of their way to help others, whether it’s one paying for another’s cab fair, or helping a woman haul her groceries into her apartment. These genuine acts of kindness prove that humanity still exists regardless the amount of destruction the city faces on a daily basis.
I hope one day I’m able to say that Palestine is a free country and the Israeli conflict is settled. I feel blessed to be living in the United States and exposed to unlimited opportunities, but I know in my heart Palestine is where I belong.
About the author- Rana Sharif was born in Omaha Nebraska, and was raised by Heyam and Muneer Sharif. Her parents came to the decision to emigrate from the Gaza Strip in 1993 to the U.S in hopes of discovering new opportunities and a newly improved lifestyle for their kids. Rana spends her free time writing stories of all genres, listening to music and traveling.
Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter the Independence Travel Writing competition and tell your story.
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