Lisa Niver's Blog: We Said Go Travel, page 313

The Paraguayan Twist

It was as I was walking out of the airport, being hit in the face by the dry heat and bright sun, surrounded by dark-skinned natives wearing sandals and drinking terrere. Or perhaps it was as I sat in the taxi, sans air-conditioner, riding along the city’s highway measuring at 3 metres wide, whilst peering out the window at two young boys casually riding on a horse alongside my vehicle. It was sometime then, during my first few hours in Paraguay, when I realized that visiting this country wasn’t just going to let me cross off another country on my ‘travel-around-the-world’ list, but rather that this country, with its different temperatures and smells, would provide some personal, meaningful experiences that would stay with me for a long time.

I was not mistaken.

The 8:00am taxi ride on Tuesday to ‘Mariscal Lopez’ where the weekly farmers market was held in the car-park below the mall, was unlike the markets I had previously been to. There were many varieties of vegetables and fruits, honeys and cheeses, all set up nicely by these dedicated, hardworking farmers trying to earn some dollars with which to feed their families.

But it wasn’t just that. The Paraguayan twist, as I like to call it, appears.

There were young boys, unable to attend school as they had to help their families earn money, holding big wooden-woven baskets, offering shoppers to carry their purchases as they made their rounds between the farmers, in exchange for a few Guaranis (Paraguayan currency).

Another day whilst shopping at the mall, I noticed something else, another Paraguayan twist. The items in the stores were so expensive, more than I, an average-earning young adult from England, was accustomed to. Then I realized, in Paraguay, there is no middle class; there is high class and low class, rich and poor. The stores are for the rich, so it is expensive. The marketplaces, where they sold second-hand clothes, shoes and watches, held every morning on the side of the main road leading to the supermarket – that was for the poor. The contrast, so startling.

Whilst driving around in my friend’s car, I see mothers laying by the streets, their babes in their arms, begging for money and food, whilst their young barefooted children, wrapped in clothes much too large for them, run between cars, knocking on the windows, asking for donations. I turn my eyes away, it’s hard to see. They however cannot just turn their eyes away, this is their life.

I visit the poor area, what we Westerners would call ‘slums’ without giving it a second thought. For these people, this ‘slum’ is their life. It’s the place they wake up in, with the morning light, and the place they come back to at the end of a long work day. It’s the place they call home.

I look at one of these ‘homes’. The family sits outside, legs stretched, drinking the cold, beloved Paraguayan tea known as terrere, whilst sweating in the baking hot sun. But they smile, they chat and they laugh. I look at the cardboard roof, the walls made out of metal sheets, and the broken chair peeking out of the bare-furnished house. I hear singing and turn to see children dancing. Happiness amidst poverty. The Paraguayan twist.

But there was one thing, one incident, one moment, which was so powerful, that it has stayed with me until today.

Whilst staying with my friend’s family, we decided one afternoon to go on an outing. We drove to a nearby park and started strolling along the path, whilst chatting amongst ourselves. A young Paraguayan child ran up to us. Dark-skinned, dirty clothes, broken teeth. The picture of neglect. He must have been around seven or eight. My friend tensed slightly as the boy glanced at her daughter. Her 5 year old daughter skipping ahead, white-skinned, blond hair, cutely dressed. We quickened our pace, not wanting to be cruel, yet nervous he may be sick, as it seemed as though he had no one to care for him and teach him hygiene. He followed us, and we let him, although we kept glancing back uneasily at him.

Suddenly, before we could stop it, he sprinted over to my friend’s daughter and offered his hand to her. She looked at him, smiled and took his hand as they continued to walk together. We stood still in shocked horror, as we automatically shouted ‘nooo’, our adult minds placing him in the box of dirt and filth and our ‘rich’ daughter in honour and cleanliness. Yet in the second before her mother quickly pulled her hand away, I saw before me the most beautiful thing. Walking together, holding hands, a white-skinned, rich, innocent girl, with a dark-skinned, poor, innocent boy.

 

The Paraguayan twist.

Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter the Gratitude Travel Writing competition and tell your story.

The post The Paraguayan Twist appeared first on We Said Go Travel.

New Zealand: An Unexpected Journey

article by Dean Nelson @GayWhistler PART 1 OF 2

An Unexpected Journey to Middle Earth

I really enjoyed my flight with Air New Zealand from Vancouver to Auckland, non stop on their Boeing 777-200. I arrived in plenty of time to YVR – Vancouver International and was greeted by a friendly smiling face behind the Air New Zealand premium checkin counter. The agent said, “Mr. Nelson, we had been expecting you!” I had been upgraded from economy to premium economy. I was really excited as I thought I would be able to try out the airline’s “cuddle class” known as their skycouch however on the 777 that seat category is unavailable (sky couch will be in service starting in October 2015 from Vancouver to Auckland).

I was able to use the electronic boarding pass on my apple watch which made going through security really easy, however checking in to the Air Canada (Code-shared with Air New Zealand) Maple Leaf Lounge, I had to remove the watch so it could pass under the scanner. Not very practical, but the novelty was fun. Boarding the flight to Auckland, the gate agents only wanted to see the paper boarding pass that had been stamped proving your international travel documents had been verified, so could not use the Apple travel feature for this international flight.

Checking in for my flight from YVR to AKL w/ @airnzUSA #a4t + #appleWatch (at @lufthansa) https://t.co/UiLm0YtSF5 pic.twitter.com/djYHf3LqeR

— Dean Nelson (@GAYWhistler) May 11, 2015

I had a good seat, 24A, for the outbound flight I did not see the sunset (a K seat would have been better) even though I had the whole row to myself I could not lay across the seats as the arms of the chairs are permanent, though had a lot of leg room and managed to get a good night sleep.

I suspect the Airline’s safety video must have played in and out of my subconscious with their captivating tale of Middle Earth and flying safe.

When I arrived into Auckland I was greeted by maori warriors and of course by the massive Weta Workshop dwarf sculpture. I had an idea of what my trip to New Zealand was about, but when I jumped into my rental car and zoomed my way down the highway towards Rotorua I began my unexpected adventure! I was really taken with the beautiful green rolling hills, the highway was easy to drive (once I wrapped my brain around I needed to be on the right side) and made excellent time. Since I had arrived so early in the morning I was able to make Hobbiton my first stop.



I really had not planned to take in the sites of the film set of the epic “Lord of the Rings” and “Hobbit” blockbuster movie franchise, but since I was here I thought I should check it out. It was, after all, on my way to my destination. There was something really special stepping onto this farm in the middle of nowhere that suddenly you are swept into the movie magic and could imagine seeing Bilbo and his cohorts mingling about the Hobbit village. We learned how Peter Jackson was able to make the actors appear smaller or bigger depending on the shot. It was all very fascinating and really glad I made the stop.

Next up was to take in the adrenaline roll down the hill with a Zorb. Imagine what it would be like to be like “Ant Man” and get shrunk down and get swept up in a ball racing down a hill… well, no shrinkage needed with Zorb… just dive in and enjoy the roll down the hill.

After being tossed about it was time to continue my journey towards Rotorua. I had been traveling now for some 26-hours and thought it would be best to check in to my hotel.

After checking in and relaxing for a bit, aka a quick 30-min power nap, I found my second wind and was off to explore this wonderful Geo-Theromal city. The scent of sulfur became quite nostalgic for me as I had been here some 14-years prior and had many good memories. The city had grown a lot since my first adventure and really did not recall too many familiar places other than Whakarewarewa – the living Maori Village.

After wondering the village and taking in the Maori culture I headed to my “perfect cure” for jet leg… a night at the spa! As the sun faded behind the hills across Lake Rotorua I checked in for my hot springs experience under the starry sky.

The Polynesian Spa is one of the oldest commercial hot springs in the Southern Hemisphere dating back to 1878. The alkaline pool Whangapipiro (now known as Rachel Spring) and the acidic pool Te Pupunitanga (referred to as Priest Spring) have both been used by the Maori for generations for their therapeutic, healing and curative properties.  The spa experience was wonderful.  It reminded me of the Onsens in Japan.  The primary difference is in New Zealand all the thermal pools are co-ed and bathing suits are required.  It was wonderful to just relax in the warm waters and stare up into the night sky. The night I was there the facility was fairly quiet so it was like I had the whole place to myself.  Had a great night sleep after.

Travel Resources

– Air New Zealand flies non stop from both San Francisco and Vancouver to Auckland. Visit: airnewzealand.ca

– Car Rentals – I use CarRentals.com to see what is out there and then will check the car company direct. In this case I used and rented directly with NUcarRentals.com they had great rates. The only down side was their office did not open until 7AM, so I had to wait at the Airport for 2-hours (5AM arrival) however weighing the extra $70 to have the car 2-hours earlier by using Avis really did not seem like such a good use of my budget (both time and money).

– Hobbiton Movie Set Tour – was actually quite interesting. It was expensive at $75 but that did included a guided tour and some great Hobbit Lager or non-alcoholic Ginger Beer after the tour.

– Zorb Rotorua – just down the road from Hobbiton are a variety of adventure tours to be had including Zorb!

– Need to unwind from an active day? I suggest the Polynesian Spa. It is a full service geothermal spa but if you want any body work done, I do recommend booking well in advance as they do book up quickly. polynesianspa.co.nz

Follow me on Social Media

You can follow Dean Nelson on Social Media at @GayWhistler on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Tumblr, Pinterest

Be sure to follow @WeSaidGoTravel for other great travel tips and ideas

The post New Zealand: An Unexpected Journey appeared first on We Said Go Travel.

The Day that “One Day” Happened in the USA

I was raised solely by my mom after a nasty divorce to end an abusive marriage. My mother often had multiple jobs throughout my childhood, but with the legal fees and menial salaries we were often tapped out. A lot of people in the world have it worse than we did, but it was a struggle.

I remember playing paper dolls with my mom in my bedroom one Saturday she was off and I was pretending they were traveling. She suggested that they see Europe so we put them in a shoebox, meant to be the airplane, and they toured ‘Europe‘ for the afternoon including the ‘Alps‘ which was the door frame. My mom loved England especially and she would always say ‘one day’, though I’m not sure she meant it. We weren’t exactly in a position to pick up and go anywhere.

Fast forward through the years, my mom got a better job and I worked almost non-stop to pay my way through college. The idea of Europe would still come up but it seemed fantastically ridiculous. Or was it? My graduation enabled me to find a well-paying job so I suggested that we go and in Summer 2014, we finally booked our tickets! We’d fly into Rome, Italy and fly out of Inverness, Scotland all while taking a train to see the places in between; a new city every day for 7 days. It was a sweet high to be able to reach that point in life and it felt lightyears aways from the little girl playing with paper dolls and wearing her cousin’s hand-me-down. We choose to go in October because a big work project of mine would be finishing.

Jet-lagged we get off the plane in Rome, Italy and the first stop is the Vatican. My mom was enthralled to see the place she watched on television every Christmas, it was surreal. Next stop, Florence Italy a lively and beautiful city that made me want to learn Italian and live there instead. I rubbed the boar’s nose indefinitely.

The cab drops us off at the hotel to drop off our bags before seeing the Uffizi. I love Renaissance art so beyond excited, we make our way from our room down the stairs to the street and suddenly my mom trips down the stairs. I speak broken Spanish which means I speak little to no Italian and I wonder how I’m going to ask for help. What do we do? She can still walk so we limp over to the Uffizi and we’re there less than an hour before her ankle has swollen to twice the size. A second wave of terror attacks me, maybe she is really hurt. Needing to rest, we decide to leave the museum. Walking out of the Uffizi is not a short journey and as we pass many rooms of art I’ll never see I’ll admit that I cried. I thought if I was going to cry in the Uffizi it would be over the art. I never cry, I’m an amateur boxer plus who cries on their dream vacation?

Waking up the next day, my mom talked of going home. I couldn’t help but to be so angry. I wasn’t angry with her falling, it was an accident and I know she wasn’t parkouring down the stairs. I felt like we were dogs and the Universe pulled the biscuit away from us right before we could eat it. It was such a tease. I cried for a second time as we moved from Florence to Milan.

We end up staying and moving from Paris and then England via RailEurope. Thankfully we had booked a double-decker bus tour of England so my mom was able to sit as we toured her dream city. As we asked the tour guide to point out MI-6, because she’s a huge Bond fan, I asked her if she was happy we stayed and her face in the photos said it all.

Finally, we reached Inverness, Scotland and we go on a Jacobite boat trip to find Nessie. Red-nosed after time on a chilly Loch Ness, the boat drops us off at Urquhart Castle and though she can’t walk around it very much, my mom was the happiest I had ever seen her.

It made the struggle, all of it, worth it and it inspires me to get up every day and try harder; to take the long hours and big projects if we can keep living this life. I can’t really call it a dream vacation but I wouldn’t trade the time with my mom for anything. Her ankle healed and we’re already planning our next vacation, though next time we’ll probably stay on the ground floor.

Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter the Gratitude Travel Writing competition and tell your story.

The post The Day that “One Day” Happened in the USA appeared first on We Said Go Travel.

Rainforest Retreat in Australia

Rainforest Retreat

I’d closed down my life in Vancouver, Canada to embark on a new life in Byron Bay, Australia.  True Love requires us to be brave and take chances.  Only problem – it wasn’t true love.  Don’t you hate when that happens?

            I needed to retreat – freak out in private – and figure out what on earth to do next.  I couldn’t run back home.  I’d sold nearly everything I owned. Luckily, my friend Penny offered me her cabin for a few weeks while she was away.  It was nestled in the rainforest near Broken Head Nature Reserve. It was a sign.  I’d hide in Broken Head with my Broken Heart.

             The cabin was right out of a Grimm’s fairy tale.  I was greeted by a note on the rough-hewn kitchen table. After reading about where to find sheets and towels and the compost bin, Penny had written, Oh, and don’t worry about the bush rats, your houseguest will take care of them when he’s not hibernating on the rafters above the fridge.  The little hairs on the back of my neck stood up on full alert.  I had my back to those rafters.  I turned around in the slowest of motion and looked up.  A forked tongue was flicking in my direction and unflinching eyes were boring into me accusingly like I was the intruder. I moonwalked right out the door, and raced up the hill to the main house, hoping for a little advice.  Like, how to find a snake removalist in the Yellow Pages.

             The environmentally correct activists living in the house – the kind of people who risk their lives jumping on whaling ships with protest banners – looked at me like I was The Great Canadian Wimp.  They proceeded to explain Python 101 to me like I was a herpetologically challenged child.

            “It’s just a carpet python. It’s not an African Rock Python.  It can’t hurt you.” 

Well, that explained the National Geographic show I’d seen of a snake in Africa devouring a pig the size of … me!    

            “This rainforest is their home.”

            They made me feel as if I was the Serpent in this Garden of Eden.  Maybe I was.                                         “It’s winter.  They’re just chillin’.”

            The lecture was finished off with a contemptuous What is your problem, City Princess?  eco-warrior sneer.  Geez, Greenies can be Meanies.

            Chastened, I trudged down the steep forest path to the cabin.  When I got to the threshold, I stopped and made a decision.  With shoulders thrust back, I walked in with authority.  I looked directly into that python’s eyes, cleared my throat, and gave my first, person-to-python speech. “Monty,”(it just came out). “You and I can live here, together, in peace.  Just stick to the rafters.  Thanks, mate.”

            I was finally learning about the importance of setting boundaries.

            For someone who grew up in suburbia with neighbors on all sides, it was daunting to go to sleep all alone that first night in a dark forest.  Well, almost alone.  Monty stuck to his end of the bargain, and stayed in a stupor on his rafter. Still, I tucked the mosquito netting in the mattress extra tight.  

            I’d grown up in a boisterous family home, and always lived in shared housing with lots of chatter.  This foreign silence was unnerving. But, by the end of the week, I found the symphony of silence extremely soothing.  The cicadas, frogs, lizards and crickets were hibernating as well, resting their voices for the upcoming Summer Opera.

            Monty and I coexisted peacefully in our rainforest hermitage in companionable silence. Nothing beats a roommate without vocal chords, especially at six a.m.   Monty never used the last of the milk, or played loud music late at night, or ate all my cookies. 

            When I felt lonely, the trees gathered around the moss-covered cabin, and consoled me with their unwavering strength and gentleness.  We will prevail, they whispered.  And so will you.   

             One night, sipping tea and reading in front of the potbelly stove crackling with warmth, my peace-loving companion snoozing on the rafters, I smiled.  The trees had become my neighbors, the swoosh of the fruit bats’ wings the only traffic, and the distant waves, rumbling and tumbling at King’s Beach, beckoned me to come and play whenever I was ready to come out of hiding.   

            The day before I left, Monty slithered into the forest, and I got a bit teary. I was used to hugging my roommates when it came time to move on.

 

Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter the Gratitude Travel Writing competition and tell your story.

The post Rainforest Retreat in Australia appeared first on We Said Go Travel.

New York City: The City that Never Sleeps!

When I saw this, just by reading the first sentence, I knew exactly what I was going to write about. Everyone has that one place that they dream of going back to, no matter how many times they’ve been there. For me, that place is New York City. The “City that Never Sleeps” where “dreams are made of”. I couldn’t agree more.

As I write this, I’m listening to “Empire State of Mind” by Jay-Z and Alicia Keys. It’s one of my favorite songs! I feel so attached to NYC and music can bring me into it. I have a whole playlist of NYC songs for when I need inspiration to follow my dreams.  My biggest dream is to live in New York City, and to attend college there. It’s my home! NYC has so many opportunities, people, and places to go. The lights, noise, taxis…I love everything about the city! I used live in the outskirts of NYC, so every weekend we’d take a quick train in and spend the day there. Since we used to go every weekend with my dad, I’ve become attached to the city. I didn’t think much of it then, but now that I’m older it makes me truly appreciate the memories made there. I often ask myself…how could someone not want to be here? To spend the rest of their life here? I know I do!

With regards to the future, I have many hopes that lie in that city. Not only do I love just walking around, but I also love sitting in a small cafe and just taking in the sights,  watching the world go by. I just love being in New York City. It has an energy like no other place in the world. It’s full of life! Just the thought of living in New York is my inspiration…it keeps me going. Having a dream is wonderfully inspiring, but making it come true is the best feeling in the world.

All my friends say I’m obsessed…I’d say in love was a better word for it! My lock screen, home screen, twitter profile picture, computer background, and even my room are decorated with pictures of New York. I love waking up to those pictures, because it inspires me to go for my dreams, and live the life that I want to. It brings that feeling that I get when I know I have a dream…and it tells me that I have to keep going. Throughout this time in my life I’ve learned that yes, you have to be realistic, but you also have to follow your dreams. New York City has the power to change me, to wake me up. I just feel so alive when I’m walking around and it’s truly empowering.

Similar to what Alicia Keys said, “If I can make it here I can make it anywhere”, I believe that making it in New York City would be a dream come true. Being in this city inspires me to be different, to be brave, just to be myself! I used to be afraid to tell people my dreams about living in the city, but I’m not afraid to tell people who I am now. I’ve found that it not only changes me, but also helps those around me. I’ve noticed a change in their actions, as well as my own. Having a dream has opened my eyes to how to survive in the world. Visiting and thinking about New York City has made me positive and excited, and I’m trying to tell others to follow their dreams as well! Dreaming about New York is the only thing keeping me sane sometimes. I could go on talking about NYC for hours…so I’ll just end saying that you have to follow your dreams, never give up, and do your best to live the rest of your life happy. Good night, New York City.

Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter the Gratitude Travel Writing competition and tell your story.

The post New York City: The City that Never Sleeps! appeared first on We Said Go Travel.

Ireland Sings of Courage

     I’ve been living on soda bread and black tea for nearly a week. The sun has been slumbering for twice as long, cradled somewhere behind the wooly gray canopy of clouds. The locals speak lyrically, though, brightening the days. Poetry rolls off their tongues even if they are complaining about growing paler from lack of sun, or grabbing a pint with breakfast today because the tea alone isn’t warming their bones. I am running out of money, and I have no plans of where I’ll sleep. I am beginning a trek 15km between towns, down a dangerous road in the rain because the bus fare was overpriced. My funds are dwindling, and I am anxious, but my heart also beams. It’s all worth it, for I am in love with this place, and love is an emotion-filled ride. I soon forget my human troubles when I am surrounded by a sea of Irish green fields dotted by horses trotting merrily in the distance. Emerald mountains appear, and I feel free as the fae that enchant Ireland. I’m alone in Connemara. 

       For all my childhood, Ireland was interwoven with threads of wanderlust in my soul. The tune of a tin whistle made me feel home. The celtic music and stories enchanted me like a siren across the sea. At twenty years old with little money and even littler a plan, I bought a one-way ticket to Ireland and threw myself to a chariot of true adventure. My elders scolded my spontaneity, and worried themselves sick, but my courage and passion were brighter than my destitute. I wanted to commune with Ireland’s magic. I needed to experience the faith and bravery that accompanies a lone trip. 

      On Ireland’s whimsical west coast, I stumbled off the bus onto cobblestone streets of  laughter and merriment. In Galway, a festival was unfolding with fiddles, fire dancers, bagpipes and bodhrans. I danced free and wild with nomadic women in skirts that opened like blossoming flower petals. I had angelic conversations with Guinness-drinking prophets over the meaning of life. In the morning, I walked to the sea, where dolphins shimmer in foamy waves. A sweet Galway grandmother made me breakfast in a cafe- eggs, tomatoes, baked beans, and a pot of tea. She tells me of her magical childhood summers spent in Connemara, and insists I wander that way. 

      After leaving the grand party in Galway, I was alone again. The celebration faded to silence. I was uncertain of this winding path to Connemara Park, and I was lonely. It was my loneliness, though, that brought me to Ireland in the first place. As I began walking, I remembered why I was here. For such a young woman, my situation resembled a midlife crisis. My young, naive, bohemian marriage collapsed. My life had been overwhelmed with ambition of producing my own independent film, and working strenuously under the pressure of a broken heart. I was fragile as a porcelain doll and frightened. My whole idea of what my life would be came undone. I desperately desired to remember what made my heart shine. A blank canvas of freedom lay before me. I wasn’t strong nor confident, but I was courageous. 

     Here in Connemara, courage greets me. The grass. I feel the poetry in this land. I love the way the misty hues of gold and gray sky settle upon the green. I feel the Spirit of Ireland. She is a tragic yet beautiful song. She is a mysterious fairytale. She is a gentle lullaby, yet a warrior of the forest, a carrier of the flaming lantern, the merriment of men who sit in stone pubs making music. Ireland is where the childlike wind meets the ancient land, to perform a dance in between worlds, painting a picture like an illustration in a children’s story. Ireland is a goddess in a long emerald dress. She will never let the song of the land die, and she will forever preserve the magic within her. Ireland is courageous, even when she has wept. Ireland is courageous, even when she wasn’t strong.

       Courage is different than strength. Courage may be as vulnerable as a broken heart and an unknown 15km walk with nothing to eat but soda bread. Courage may not contain clarity, but instead may resemble a muddy kaleidescope of uncertainty. Courage brought me to Ireland and carried me through my journey, lighting my heart’s embers into an inspired inferno, a shining light that has forever been a reminder of joy in my heart. As I walked through Connemara, alone with only the spirited land surrounding me, my loneliness was transformed into bliss. The gentle rain faded, and sunbeams broke through the heavy sky for the first time in weeks. My journey was just beginning. 

Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter the Gratitude Travel Writing competition and tell your story.

The post Ireland Sings of Courage appeared first on We Said Go Travel.

Restaurant Spotlight: Captain Kidd’s in Redondo Beach

The next time you run away from Los Angeles to the beach, stop at Captain Kidd’s in Redondo Beach. Captain Kidd’s is a seafood market and restaurant located in King Harbor in Redondo Beach. It was founded in 1976 by the current owner’s father. Today, John operates the business and travels around Southern California for the best seafood he can find. Also a local fish market, Captain Kidd’s offers a huge variety of fresh seafood options. Here are a few of the can’t miss items from my trip to Captain Kidd’s.

1. Mexican Prawns

These battered prawns were absolutely massive and perfectly crispy! A life-long prawn enthusiast, I was delighted to find such a perfect prep of one of my all-time favorite foods. This is the perfect order if you’re looking for something fried and delicious.

2. Clam Chowder

The clam chowder was creamy to perfection. Often times, my biggest problem with clam chowder is a lack of clams, but at Captain Kidd’s, this was not an issue! The chowder was packed with clams.

3. Fresh Crab Legs

The fresh crab legs were the first thing to disappear on our table. These were the perfect crowd-pleaser. Everyone wanted them! They were delicious and fresh, served with butter and lemon.

4. Scallops

I’ve only ever had overly complicated scallop preps, with elaborate sauces and garnishes. These were simple and delicious!

But I saved the best for last…

5. Smoked Salmon

Captain Kidd’s smoked salmon is smoked in a 38-year-old brick oven. It was tender, richly flavored, and did not disappoint. I’ve had some quality smoked salmon preparations before, but this one wins! This is the absolute must order, when you go!

On your next weekend trip, head to Redondo Beach! And be sure to stop by Captain Kidd’s for the best fresh and simple seafood around.

 

The post Restaurant Spotlight: Captain Kidd’s in Redondo Beach appeared first on We Said Go Travel.

Je Suis Paris.

The year 2013 was a bad year, to say the least. I had nothing to show for it except a failed marriage, the sale of my first home, and the emotional baggage that could rival that of Britney Spears, circa 2007. And all before the age of 30. I had hit a very low point in my life and the few friends and family that did know about my situation only knew what was on the surface; I couldn’t explain to them why I had actually seemed to make such a mess of my life. For reasons that go very deep, it had dawned on me that I was merely sleepwalking through my life, not actually living it. The things I said and did were to appease others, I had grown passive, and my life had become someone else’s; someone I no longer recognized. At that point, I needed something drastic, something completely out of character…something life-affirming. And I wasn’t going to find it living where I was. I needed to escape for a while, if only to think. So, a month before my 30th birthday, I booked a 12 day trip to Europe…by myself. And I learned more than I had ever expected.

Amsterdam, Brussels, and Paris were my destinations. Just me, myself, and one big open mind to keep me company. My first stop was in Amsterdam, and the next three days that I spent there were eye-opening, to say the least. Wandering the streets of the unknown was quite exhilarating and I wanted to take as much of the city with me as I could. Same with Brussels. Once I arrived in Brussels and dropped my luggage at the hostel, I was off and running. There were sights to see, things to be tasted, people to encounter, and history to learn. And as I immersed myself in each city, I began to feel a sense of awareness, empowerment. Any anxiety I had felt before I left began to evaporate and for the first time in months, I was beginning to see myself again.

It wasn’t until I arrived in Paris that that concept really hit home. It was my second day in the city and as I was wandering down side streets in the 1st Arrondissement, looking for this hidden gem of a restaurant, everything suddenly came into focus. Here I was, in a foreign country alone, my mediocre French just barely getting me by…and I was not afraid. I was not afraid of where I was, what I was doing, or where I would end up. It was as if I truly discovered who I really was in that moment. And I cried. Cried for letting myself get lost in the rat race of life. Cried for not having had the strength to realize it sooner. Cried for finally having the guts to admit that I hadn’t failed; I had learned. Through all of the heartache, the sorrow, the stress, and the overwhelming emotion, I was stronger than I gave myself credit for. The life I had known up until this point had crumbled. But now I knew that I could rebuild it on my own. It was time that I stepped up and became master of my own destiny.

We find our bravery and inspiration in times of despair. While my entire trip taught me life lessons, it was in Paris that I came full circle. A calm had descended upon me as my self- realization took hold. I was brave to walk away from a marriage I had convinced myself I wanted. I was brave to jump head-first into a Euro-trip alone, much to the discontent of those closest to me. And I was brave enough, and inspired enough, to look inside myself and find that woman I had given up on; the strong, independent woman who was perfectly capable of hitting the reset button and forging a new life for herself, on her own terms.

I am Paris and Paris is me. It will forever be my touchstone, my comfort and my future travels there will always hold a certain excitement and a sense of belonging. Prior to my excursion, I had left pieces of my heart fractured and broken. Paris made it whole again. And I became my own hero once more.

Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter the Gratitude Travel Writing competition and tell your story.

The post Je Suis Paris. appeared first on We Said Go Travel.

Her Beauty and My Bravery in India

Her Beauty and My Bravery in India

Stood there before me was this ancient piece of architectural wonder.The Gopuram(tower like structure of Hindu temples),erected in the shores of this, once bustling port city,Mahabalipuram,in Tamil nadu of South India, would make anyone gape with wonder of how the people of 700AD, with no engineering advancement and technology, could build such a monument of awe inspiring height.

Walking along the shore brought back vivid memories of my school days.I have been there many times before, but it was the first time that I was there after I chose this life of a traveler.

Her name was Kavita which means ‘Poem’ in the regional south Indian language Tamil. She was an epitome of elegance. It may sound as an exaggeration if I said ‘she was the desire of every hormone raged teenage boy and the envy of every insecure teenage girl’. But, to me it was a fact not an exaggeration…

We were all standing around the tourist guide. I remember her standing opposite to me. Behind her was a wall fully sculpted with Hindu dieties.The guide was going on about how that city was a great port city under the king Narasimavarma;about the mythical tale of how Lord Vishnu came out from the stone walls in the form of lion to kill Hiranyakasipu,the king who insulted him;about how, that place once had seven Gopuras and then how that only brave Gopuram withstood the wrath of the sea. But, at that time these stories failed to fascinate me as much as Kavita did.I exchanged some shy glances with her.I always wanted to tell her how beautiful she was and how I wanted her by my side. But,growing up in a dysfunctional family,confidence was never my strong trait

My mom and dad,I remember,would fight like tom and jerry.Sometimes my mom would say good things and some days she would spit venom from her mouth.The typical feature of growing up in a dysfunctional family is that you have to walk on egg shells. You would never know how you will be responded. I was neither bullied nor pampered rather just neglected. So at a very young age I started finding comfort amidst nature. Now let me go back to Kavita. We were all then standing in the beach,clad in our school uniform-mandatory dress code so that it would be easy for our teachers to spot us if we were ever lost in the crowd.Kavita and I were fooling around in the beach. We were good friends for a very long time.There were times when she preferred to be me with me rather than her other friends.But I did not want us just to be friends.’But why would she want me as her boyfriend? She was too beautiful.’I thought

I know not if it was the wind or the sand or the mythical tales that the guide told us gave me courage.

“I love you Kavita.Would you be my girlfriend?” I stuttered.

To my surprise she hugged me and said”why did you take so long to say this?”So,what I always wanted also wanted me, just that we were seperated by a chasm of my insecurity and fear.

And thus I had my first girlfriend at the age of 17 in this same place.At that time, to me, it was the bravest act that I had ever did.

Now that I have traveled a lot and experienced a lot,I would say insecurities are a sure sign of having a big ego and real bravery lies in losing your ego.

In my opinion a man,who never forgets to smell the roses along the path and one who breathes without any worry of the past and any fear for the future is the real brave man.

After all those travels and experience,if I’d have to suggest one act of bravery to anyone,I’d tell them to live the moment,for it is all that really exist.

LIVE HERE AND NOW.

Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter the Gratitude Travel Writing competition and tell your story.

The post Her Beauty and My Bravery in India appeared first on We Said Go Travel.

Skippy in Guyana

My momma told me how Guyana would have festivals and the people would laugh and cheer. There was children that would laugh while she played on the field. All this excitement brought me joy knowing I have my ticket to experience the land of feeling something. I packed my bags and walked to the plane to reach to Guyana. My deprived body took a tole on me, but when my eyes opened again it awoke me to Guyana. My arrangements went through a rush to be in the land of fresh air.

The car I drove in went through the limit for me to reach at the center and once I was there, people gathered around laughing; reminding myself that my mother words were true. The joy of horses that my dad described so intently to me occurred in my mind knowing I needed to arrive there. When I went to the stables I saw horses eating grass and a horse with caramel color in need of a companion, I decided to ride with him. It took effort to get on him but once I did I called him Skippy out of his hidden leaps of fate. He went with speed and I had to hold onto him before I fell but I knew he wouldn’t have made me fall, we were friends. I saw the Essequibo river from here , a delightful sight to see with my pal. Guyana may be small and not have many luxuries but this river was it.

The largest river fulfills Guyana making it whole. The tourists must be gushing about how this river having a length of shiny petals. Being stuck with my thought didn’t let me realize how tired Skippy was. He lay down on the grass while I sat beside him. We decide to look at the stars, they blush around the dark. It was a enchanting moment, but my dazing of the star turn to sleep. Gladly, Skippy catch me from the hazard of brain damage. I lay around his body and drowsed to sleep. I awoke by a tickling hard enough making me sneeze, it was alright Skippy was there. This hotel of mine is a current place of warmth for me. Knowing so I had to go to the Demerara river, it may not be like the Essequibo river but it’s worth something.

Skippy and I got there by a cruise but once we arrived it was empty. People must be over exaggerating the Essequibo river, leaving the peace for a crowded hemisphere. It was okay because I was feeling alive. Skippy was in the mud relaxing, it made me laugh seeing how playful he was being but I was forced to clean him up. It actually didn’t happen since I was drag into the dirt, not a fine definition of being my originate classy self but I didn’t care I was with my best friend. This trip of the life of my parents is paradise I’ve been needing. I feel a variety of freedom with Skippy to the point I knew I’m okay. I cuddle with Skippy for the second time feeling brave.

Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter the Gratitude Travel Writing competition and tell your story.

The post Skippy in Guyana appeared first on We Said Go Travel.