Lisa Niver's Blog: We Said Go Travel, page 317

Carpe diem in Serbia

They told me to stay connected, to be there, always online. They said I have to check all my accounts every day, mutiple times a day. And I listened. Then they told me I could find everything I needed there, staying in my house, on the bed, scrolling. All I had to do was to enter a couple of words and there it was, all the information. One morning I found myself checking my e-mail the minute I got out of the bed. I wasn’t even awake, my eyelids were glued, but I knew I had to do this because what if something had happened? I had to know.

On the other hand, they said: ”go live, build a life you are going to be proud of when you’ll have wrinkles from smiling too much”. Sew any kind of memories on your clean canvans, using any type of thread. Colored, black or white. Carpe diem, they said, carpe diem.

But how? How can I live the moment when I know I have to check everything? When did it happen? When did we replace the smell of a good book with the icy light of the computer screen? When did we choose to send a private message than invite out on a date? When did we decide that sharing our meetings, dinners, gifts is more important than actually making them happen? Why don’t we just lose it for a minute, look around, laugh with our friends, eat cupcakes, enjoy the sun, the music, every little particle surrounding us? Why is this so hard?

I found out it’s not that hard. You just have to go to Serbia, in the summer, to the Exit festival. Having nothing but a bag of clothes, a tent and something to sleep on, we went there in the middle of the summer. We had our phones, but we couldn’t call back home. We sometimes had internet connection, but only for a short while.

So we were disconnected from our lives as usual, but connected to something bigger.

The city? Novi Sad, a small but full-of-life town in Serbia. Although summer was at its peak, the streets were sprinkled with young voices and colorful clothes. Just like the buildings. During the day we would go around the center, trying to feel the vibe, the pulse of Novi Sad. It was quiet and peaceful. We could hear students laughing every now and then, but most of the time the only sounds were those made by little girls running to their grandmothers and young people going to the supermarket or the whispers coming from the little restaurants .

At night, the city came to life. All the peacefulness had vanished somewhere, hiding in the corners, waiting for the sun to rise. On the road to the castle where the Exit festival was held, we could see life in its real meaning. Music filled the air, not too loud, just enough to invite you to go faster. Groups of young people from all over the world were laughing, taking pictures, making friends. From the bridge, on our way to the castle, we stopped to look around. Lights of all colors were covering the Danube river with spots of magic. So this is what carpe diem means:. No phones, no checking, no virtual connections. Instead, we talked to a lot of people of various nationalities and the only thing we had to think about was what stage we should stop at first and the only connections we had to make were holding hands so that we would not get lost in the crowd. But we did get lost in the moment, in the music, in the chambers of the students’ dorm, singing songs and enjoying stories from different countries. These were my threads and last summer was my canvas.

This trip was the moment when I realized that I had to start living my life the way I like, that I have the courage to change something. Serbia helped me make the change by showing me how to value every moment, how to make the most of every second, how to discover different parts of me.

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

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The Jungle Road in Belize

With one step off the jetliner, this California Golden Boy became a foreigner for the first time. Rolling green hills covered in golden poppies, fields upon fields of vegetables or fluffy white cotton, and multi-lane interstates stretching over the horizon – they do not exist here.

This was the jungle.

The Belizean air was heavy and moist. Thick, gray storm clouds gathered in the west, consuming the final rays of the setting sun.

The road forward was in darkness.  My path, however, was clear.

With my brunette bombshell at my side, I slipped behind the wheel of a golden lance. My weapon for this quest: a Trooper, sturdy and powerful, yet intractable.

Its handler offered a modern-day talisman: an emergency beacon to shine bright in the darkest shadows of this land. Foolishly, I declined, and hold up my crudely-drawn map in the day’s fading light.

My overconfidence may be my downfall.

I urged the steel beast forward. My quest began as daylight vanished.

The drops were sparse at first. Then the heavens opened up. My chariot pounded and my sight blinded, as Mother Nature conspired with her jungle offspring to thwart my journey at its start.

I realized, the road too, was my enemy. Doubt bubbled upward and a flash of fear came over me. My lover caught the minute change in my countenance – but missed the resolved look which followed.

I make her a silent promise. I will not be defeated. Not today.

My gaze intensified as our golden chariot splashed along the slickened road. Between curtains of rain, I saw twin lights, coming closer. A larger beast behind them charged by — close enough to touch! Too close on this narrow lane.

More lights ahead. No beast this time. It was a village. I slowed my pace – but not slow enough — and slammed into small barriers protecting a perpendicular pathway crossing the road. We bounce hard. Though we were shaken, our chariot rumbled on, unfazed.

Our search continued for the turn to take us dangerously deeper into this damp, darkened hell. My princess spotted it. We barreled past.

While my reactions were instant and my instincts true, I struggled to put faith in my vehicle – and every moment on the road presented a challenge.

I brought the Trooper around, backtracked, and made the turn southwest.

Minutes became an hour. Even with half of the journey complete, the rain refused to give up. My confidence had grown, and I stole a glance at my love, hoping to revive her faith in me.

She looked ill. She was holding her personal talisman — our last hope should all go wrong – and it too, was dark.

We are alone, she said with her eyes. Disconnected. Apart.

I saw worry overtaking her. I tried to reassure her. We will not fail! But I knew my actions on that hellish night would speak far louder than my voice.

We splashed through another jungle village, slowly this time. The sheets of rain had thinned. Then, another village – except there were people.

It was a town.

It was the town! We’d arrived at San Ignacio, the beating heart of the Cayo!

As if defeated, the constant downpour that’s dogged this journey subsides. The end of this quest was near! I smiled and imagined unleashing a raucous laugh at the jungle road and its accomplices as this child of the golden sun emerged from the darkness, victorious!

 The road is forked. A final challenge: One direction surely brings me success; the other, danger and even death.

Yet, something was familiar. I had foreseen this moment! A vision of a river crossed by two bridges: One tall, sturdy — a welcome sight to a road-weary traveler; the other was low and rickety, occasionally vanishing under rising floodwaters.

I guided my chariot ahead, past darkened doorsteps. A bridge came into view as a child emerged from the shadows. It was a boy. He was waving – no — gesturing. And, yelling.

A shout from my love and I turned to face the bridge. A beast roared across, bearing down on us with blazing white eyes! I begged my vehicle back, moving clear with not a second to spare.

My mistake hung there, tangible — another foolish choice. I backtracked, again, to the fork.

My path was clear.

I stopped my chariot to size up the tiny bridge and the promise of salvation on the river’s far bank.

We inched forward onto the wooden span at a snail’s pace, a mere foot to spare on either side.

Finally, we’re across!

Minutes later, we arrived at our inn, exhausted. But, victorious!

Later, reflecting upon that road less traveled, I realized when my fear subsided, it was replaced by faith. Not in my Trooper, but in myself.

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

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Beyond the Yellow Tape in the US Virgin Islands

The bright orange pumpkin in front of an unlit house would read, “Please only take one,” and I did, always. When the speed limit said 55mph, I drove 53mph. The stakes, big or small, were rules, and rules were meant to be followed. There were times I wondered what was off the beaten path, but I could get in trouble! By whom you ask? I’m not exactly sure but the mysterious they would surely find out and somewhere a gold star would be peeled away from my chart.

Packing for vacation, I made sure my bag weighed a little under the 50lb limit, to be safe. My boyfriend Josh and I were off to Saint Thomas, the Virgin Islands. It was not an exotic destination, but it was perfect for what I needed – a break from the exhausting 50 hour work weeks. Or, perhaps, a break from the everyday rules to which I so desperately clung.

We arrived to the hotel and grabbed the daily itinerary. On the top there was a quote, “Welcome to Paradise, let loose.” I smiled and folded the paper into my purse. It was 3:00PM and we were exhausted from the flight (a 5 hour layover will do that to you) so we napped and had a nice evening of dinner and drinks. The next day, I eagerly awoke and grabbed the day’s activities. 7:00AM Yoga with the Sun. That was out of the question. It was already 9AM and my idea of vacation was not exercise. 10:00AM Scuba Dive Lesson. 10:00AM Iguana Feeding. I absolutely adore animals and so it was a no brainer. We hightailed it to the buffet to eat before the real feeding.

It was exactly 9:50AM by the time we finished the last sip of coffee. We headed down to the trail where we would meet the local animal guide. 10:00AM no sign of the tour guide. 10:03AM other travelers arrive. 10:07AM crowd grows restless. 10:11AM crowd ditches the feeding and heads into the lunch dining area.  By 10:15AM I could see the scuba instructor going into the deep end of the pool with 3 beginners and felt a tinge of regret; clearly our guide was out today. I bent down to snap some pictures of the green scaly monsters and was ready to be on my way, when one of the other travelers ran back with a bin full of day old lettuce leaves. He put the bin on a big rock, grabbed a handful and walked over to his own corner to feed the fiends.

I took a few greens and tossed them into the air. An army of iguanas came running – their legs spastically waddling as they raced to the food. In no time, I was surrounded. Just as I was about to pet one, a sign caught my eye. Do not get too close to the iguanas. I hesitated. My life was one big rulebook.

I looked around and saw nothing but paradise. I thought back to the first day’s itinerary and I kneeled down. The iguanas swarmed me and crawled onto my knees, and I felt myself let loose the months of work and deadlines. More importantly, I felt my grip to the rulebook loosening.

It seems miniscule. How could only five iguanas break years of a habit? But it was not just them. They led the revolt but they had backup.

A few nights later Josh and I passed an empty hall. The door was cropped open and we peeked inside. All the chairs were on top of the tables for the workers to vacuum but the dance floor was vacant. Even though there was no music, and it was not kosher to my rulebook, we went inside and danced in a room of emptiness. It was a romantic moment that I will always look back on and smile. That very same night we entered a newlywed’s game. We’re not married but my state of mind allowed me to stretch the boundaries. We took home 2nd prize and a belly full of laughter. On the very last day Josh got his bracelet cut off but I hid my arm under my purse. We ate one more all-inclusive sandwich from the buffet.

When I write about this, I hope that readers understand how big a step this has been for me. Yes these are victimless crimes, but to me, each one opens a new door. This one travel experience allowed me to forever see, beyond the yellow tape.

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

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The Ocean Beneath the Storm in Australia

Even with the protective wet suit I paid extra for, I got stung.  Red jellyfish regularly roam the waters where I grew up and my first jellyfish sting was half a world away in Cairns, Australia, on a boat tour of The Great Barrier Reef.  Inside my hand it felt like my nerves were slowly burning.  The pain was seething, as disorienting as the storm quite suddenly blotting out the midafternoon sun.  From the boat I could not identify my attacker inside those turbid waters.  A reel of dangerous creatures played in my mind, the box jellyfish of particular fascination since my arrival to Queensland.  Just that morning the lady at the front desk of our hostel had used the deadly box jelly as excuse for why she had remained off the reef.  The pain remained localized, indicating a less brutal fate, but there were other reasons to be frightened.

 

The boat that had seemed stately in the harbor rocked atop the roiling liquid surface like a runaway cradle, and I could only hope that the saltwater crocodiles that lurked beneath these continental waters lacked the stamina to venture this far out.  Nausea and growing skepticism about the protective capacity of our seafaring vessel gnawed at me just as our tour guide announced on loud speaker that sharks had been seen nearby.  He sounded jolly about it, oblivious clearly to the fact that a movie recently had been made about the real life disappearance of a couple touring the reef, who presumably died from shark attack after their tour boat left without them.

Panic fiercely rose within – the ocean was everywhere, our boat was small, we were hours from shore, I was trapped.  I wanted off, away, to be back in the harbor, to have this day over.  We were spending a shared average of five dollars a night to backpack our way around the world, our bank accounts at best anorexic, but I wanted to scrap all future destinations for an immediate air lift out.  Others were doing it, retreating, I repeatedly watched them go.  For a few hundred we could leave too, retreat to the safe quarters of our hostel, perhaps get a beet root burger or some frozen yogurt, anything but the imagined finality of this ocean excursion.  I wanted to feel solid, stable ground, to regain equilibrium.  I convinced my partner we should leave but as we approached the man arranging the transfers I saw him signaling the air lift to depart without any more of us.  The storm was too serious.  It was not safe.

It was at that moment, between courage and collapse, when I learned of my bravery.  My only choice was face the storm, face the ocean, face the sharks, crocodiles, jellyfish, that or face my imagination as I sat paralyzed on the deck.

My partner stayed behind but I lowered myself into the water.  Of the dozens left, only a couple of us were that brave.  I was handed a flotation device, a foam noodle, advised even the strongest swimmers could be swallowed by the storm.  I sensed the water was deep.  How deep I could not tell.  The dimension was distorted, by the violent curling of the waves, throwing me sideways every time I attempted to stay still, by the muted palette the impish storm painted into the molecules of water and air.  Without light to illuminate the oceanic landscape I had to trust my intuition, trust that from behind me a shark would not with bladed grip clamp down on my feet, or surprise me from the side, trust the salty slap of the waves would not shove me under.

I focused on what I could control.  There were dangers, everywhere, but danger need not also hedge from within.  What was going on inside me, that I had control over.  I felt with my hands the sultry curves of the waves.  I listened to the ocean vent her frustrations.  I looked back to see my partner standing there watching, and then I looked within.  Even in the dark it was beautiful.  Coral caverns coiled like mighty beasts, and wild fish added breathing color to the calm underworld.

How could two such different worlds exist within feet of each other?  Above tumult, below peace.  With each stroke I felt my initiation deepen, into an ancient ritual of bravery.  Conquer what consumes you, take back your breath, focus on what you can control.  Fears splashed away, I forgot about the sharks, the sting of my hand, the rocking boat.  I felt drenched instead with the inner peace of the ocean beneath the storm.  I watched that harmonious world silently surrender to its natural rhythms and I felt hopeful that I too had that power.

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

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Bravery: “Don’t Go Into the Woods” in Maryland

  BRAVERY: “DON’T GO INTO THE WOODS”

How many times had I dived my whole being into something, or someone wanting it to become a success? This is how I felt exactly about my personal life’s journey; but, I didn’t want to go there. I didn’t want to go into the woods. Then, a time came when I finally said “enough, no more illusions”! I was over the lifestyle I was creating or not creating for myself. Each time I thought I was being lead into a career, a relationship or a place to become complacent as home. Nothing had manifested the way I truly wanted things to happen. I mean things were happening but, I wasn’t content with them. I had no idea what I was doing, or where I was going. I had some serious unveiling and unraveling things I had created. I needed to evolve with my experiences. I really had to go deep within myself and ask my soul what it was seeking. I had to go into the woods.

 The woods became a symbolism for morphing my truth. I gave up everything; job, potential partner, home, family and friends to find out what my soul and heart were trying to tell me. I literally packed myself up, moved across the country, with what little l salvaged over the years. Then, I needed to find a place; a space allowing me solitude, peace and quiet that would nurture me back to knowing who I am. Well, it didn’t take long for my inner guidance, divine source or whatever one calls getting to know one self; guided me right to a quiet rural horse boarding farm. My good friend offered me free room and board for a while in a renovated barn as her home. It sat off the beaten path surrounded by horses, dogs, geese, a cat and nature. During my stay, I walked and wandered the unknown land discovering a nature trail that paved thru the woods.  This was the unveiling my soul was seeking, exposing and expressing for me; to enjoy the fresh air, scenery, awaken my dormant senses, and lighten up my darken mode. Instead, of “don’t go into the woods”; I could not wait, because I was happy being out in the woods. Oh, there were times I was being forewarned to;” be careful there are things that happen to people out on trails”. However, I thought about this warning and took it as a message to be brave, have the courage, and the guts why “don’t go into the woods was so scary.

The woods became a ritual, a sanctuary; I had not only walks in the woods, I stayed and played in the woods, veered off to explore other trails, sat by a stream to write and read poetry. I visited the woods on crisp, cold windy days meditated with the trees. I watched joyfully the animals, birds, and foliage that lived and inhabited the woods. I observed and learned there’s a synchronicity to our life’s natural rhythm; our cyclic patterns are not really any different than natures. We’re all living and breathing beings created by the same divineness, source, or creator. This vitality empowered my heart and soul; wanting it to expand to everything and everyone surrounding me. I could feel the magic arousing my imagination boldly with authenticity and creativity; by sticking it out and going into the woods.

I became like an innocent babe though, not naïve, gullible, lost or afraid anymore of the woods but, revered, wiser, tranquil and reborn. I became no longer the same person who first thought she fought a losing battle with her personal life. Now, I am the woman who knows she can create and experience her life as she pleases. I can appreciate living and loving my days freely with much gratitude; guided by my intuitive divine guidance. I enjoy my moments more often; paying closer attention consciously and mindfully to what I think, say, and do before I act. I act upon using my skillful perception balancing my motives and intentions to what I might cause or effect for the greater good. I understand better I transform with my life’s flow; I can always change or transpire the way I live. I have more confidence and a clearer vision my future will have joy, peace and much love. First, I had to surrender my fears holding onto a life I had no longer serving me. I had to release it all to become who I am. There’s one thing I am certain about the cliché “don’t go into the woods” I will always have a break through within my life’s story. I’ll take a deep breath and venture back into the woods.

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

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The Merlions are coming to Singapore

The Merlions are coming to Singapore

 

On a humid summer evening in 2005, I stood outside the door of my service apartment in the heart of Singapore, panic swelling in my chest. I valiantly attempted once more to open the door, and failed. I was surrounded by my three suitcases, which appeared to stare up at me in mute rebuke.

 

I had landed in Singapore just two hours earlier. It was my first time travelling alone outside my home country India. I had travelled widely before that. In fact, by age twenty-four, I had covered more than ten countries. My formative years were spent in Oman, during the roaring eighties. Using Muscat as our base, my family and I had travelled to Europe for a whirlwind tour that lasted fifteen days but left us with years of precious memories.

 

Later when my sister moved to Belfast, I stayed with her for a stretch of four months to help her take care of her toddler daughter.

 

Each time, I had the benefit of being accompanied by an adult. Even when I visited my sister as a precocious twenty-year-old, I handled the passports and immigration interviews by myself, but my mother assisted with filling up the required forms.

 

So when the opportunity to travel to Singapore for a work assignment landed in my lap, I jumped at the chance, without even sparing a thought to the fact that I had never travelled alone.

 

For me, bravery is possible only if I don’t think too far ahead. If I project too far into the future, my wondrous imagination steps in, and conjures up scary images that put most realistic worst case scenarios to shame.

 

While the Indian monsoons were in full swing, I boarded a Singapore Airlines flight from Mumbai airport and landed at the Lion City five hours later, shortly after dusk.

 

As I stood there staring at my keys, wishing for a magic wand that would open the door for me, an elderly gentleman emerged from a room a little ahead, talking into his cell phone. Normally I would rather swallow raw eggs than accost strangers for help, but on that day, I threw caution to the winds. I patiently crouched nearby, waiting as a tiger does for his prey, and the instant he hung up, I sought his assistance in opening the door. It posed a challenge for him too, but he managed it, and I thanked him profusely.

 

Over the next few months I broke a record of personal firsts. For the first time, I rode alone in cars with strangers – respectable estate agents – to look for good houses.

 

Once I did select a house, I moved into it, set up the gas and electricity connections, signed the agreement with my landlord and paid him rent in cash. Those were things I’d never done alone.

 

I opened a bank account with difficulty, having to hunt for a bank that would accept my Q pass (a work permit given to less-experienced professionals).

 

When my mother visited me for a week, I took her to an AR Rahman concert. We took a cab and returned home well past midnight, driving through roads illuminated by street lamps.

 

In time, my husband joined me in Singapore. Barely two years later, we decided to pack up and move to India. He went ahead and took the trip back home, so while returning too, I de-cluttered the house, donated surplus baggage, and packed everything on my own.

 

On the evening I had first landed in Singapore, I sat in the three-bedroom service apartment with all the lights on, as the sinking feeling of loneliness and depression crept into my bones. I called my sister. She instantly detected the gloom colouring my voice. When I shared my problem, she said, “You have done very well! What are you worried about? Do you know how proud I am of you? Even I haven’t done what you achieved on your own.”

 

That’s when I realized the import of her words. She was always the “brave” one in our family, and even she had never undertaken a cross-country move in her early twenties.

 

At the turn of the fourteenth century, a Prince named Sang Nila Utama accidentally came across the land that was Singapore. He spotted a lion which disappeared in a flash into the jungle.  He considered this a good omen and named the city “Singapura” – combining the Malay words for lion (“Singa”) and city (“Pura”).

 

So Singapore came to be known as the Lion City. Its symbol is the merlion – a half-lion, half-fish creature.

 

I can say for sure that the city brought out the lion in me.

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

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No more excuses in Scotland

Hostels.  They help you save money, give you an excuse to make new friends, and introduce you to new smells.  That experience was exactly what I was heading to while on the train from Newcastle to Scotland.

Many people say they would love to travel, if only they had the money.  Truth is, even with a lot of money, most of them would never make it out of the country.  That’s what fear does to you.  It helps you create excuses so as not to do something.  For me, my fear was the exact opposite.  My fear last year was going home for the holidays.

The moment I got off the train into Scotland, I was greeted with many vibes, all at once.  The tourists were happily strolling, most of them with lovers, taking photos of… well, who knows what half the time.  There were also locals, entertainers, and some homeless people on the streets.

I found myself on a main street, looking up at a gothic style church.  What an amazing construction!  I only saw these in art history books, and fell in love the moment I took a step back into time and felt the passion that went into these.  I took out my little notebook and pen, and began drawing (or, my version of drawing, anyways).

It was always the details.  Details fascinated me.  I carefully marked each corner and found my mind creating stories for each line that went into it.  Not even stories that made sense, just little random adventures.

Suddenly, the guns started going off.  The little bird looked down, frantic and desperate, but determined.  There!  On the edge of the corner was the little music manuscript he had dropped.  He slid down the roof, then carefully plucked his beak into each crevice to balance his way down the side.  His wing was causing blinding pain and was still bleeding, but he made it.  Once he secured the manuscript in his claw, he started searching for the easiest route back to the bagpipe player.  With the booms of the guns lighting up the sky, he knew it wasn’t going to be easy…  

“Sorry, are you drawing?”  I looked up to find a woman trying to peak at what I was doing.

“Yes,” I said.  But I wasn’t drawing, not really.  I was telling a story.  Drawing implies artistic talent.  I suppose it would make sense if I were artistic, considering I was a fine arts student, but I just never quite got the hang of it.  I guess I liked being ironic in the same way that mom liked being sadistic.

Mom loved Christmas.  She loved it because that’s when the family all got together.  The family also always drove her mad every year, hence her sadism.  This particular Christmas, however, she wouldn’t be there.  She passed away within the first week of the New Year.  What was it going to be like without her?   I didn’t want to know, so I ran away—at least for the holidays.

I swore when she was on her deathbed that I would live with no regrets, and thus far, I’ve done just that.  But now I was finding myself one semester away from graduating with a degree that didn’t make sense for me.

Just walking through the streets of Edinburgh, full of history, of morbid ends and vengeful beginnings, full of stories that made listeners laugh or inspired them to try harder or just simply to be thankful that their bodies will probably never be dug up from a grave and sold off for research and money—it made me realize the mistake I made and was in denial about.  I wasn’t an artist of paints or vector lines.  I was an artist of verbal imagery.  What sense did it make for me to be following someone else’s dream instead of my own?

The thing about fear is even though you may have amazing experiences because of it, you may also miss some important things in life.

A couple of days after I got back into the states, I got a phone call.  Papaw, my mom’s dad, passed away on the same day that she did last year.  Time’s unpredictability is a hard lesson to learn.  Of all the days that went into a year, how was that even possible?

While mom was sick, she kept saying how once she got better she was going to do what she always wanted to.   No more excuses.

I grew up always saying I wanted to be an author, but was too afraid to pursue it.

No more excuses.

 

Once the shock of the most recent loss wore off, I finally sat down with a pencil and paper.  Hostels, I thought, now that’s a funny story.

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

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Ladner and an inspiration called Dave, Canada

When it comes to inspiration, there is plenty to be found in this world. Some people experience epiphanies whilst standing on top of mountains, some minds are blown in front of pyramids, and some hearts are set a-racing whilst looking up at the stars. But I think a majority would agree that the most palpable and concrete of inspirations come from real people. And the wonderful thing about travelling is the presentation of opportunities to meet them.

I met one gem in particular during my time in British Columbia. The largest city in the ‘most beautiful place in the world’, Vancouver, is inspirational enough as it is, with glassy skyscrapers, a vast Pacific Ocean, imposing suspension bridges and mighty coastal mountains all jostling for attention on one horizon.

But if the little inspiration gland in your soul does not secrete its enzymes after even one visit, then you only need to look a few hours outside of this impossibly sumptuous urban space. Such wonders like the Okanagan Valley, Whistler, Wells Gray Park, The Chief in Squamish, Vancouver Island and the Strait of Georgia all play host to frolicking but marauding residents including moose, bears, cougars, eagles, dolphins and orcas.

Despite all this, even after all of that, some may still like to pretend to remain unimpressed. Ok, well I’ve got a trump card to play. My mate, Dave. If he doesn’t inspire you to summon your courage and steer your day from disaster, then I despair for you.

Come with me to a little suburb of Vancouver, named Ladner. Admittedly, it’s not high on everybody’s list, but this charming sprawl of detached housing is witness to, amongst other things, some rather wonderful views of Washington state’s Mount Baker floating over the morning haze that decorates the flats of the Fraser delta.

Mount Baker however – and I’m talking about an active volcano here – is nothing. Nor are the rest of the phenomena alluded to previously. Dave triumphs over them all. He is a towering mountain, with a vast soul, mighty mind and imposing determination.

Throughout his life, cruel Lady Luck has sent curses speeding toward him not once, but multiple times. Originally a victim of encephalitis, his motor function has become seriously impacted and he has been left trapped in a body that is constantly in pain. His only means of communication is through facial expressions and non-verbal exclamations.

But this does not define him. What defines him is his smile as wide as the horizon, his eyes that light up brighter than the midday sun, his character as warm, welcoming and defiant as an Indian Summer’s day in September, and his sense of humour as mischievous as it is soft and genuine.

It’s nerve-racking, and frankly terrifying, to be placed in a position of responsibility for such a monument of a man. But, both he and his beyond-inspirational mother put full trust in me and I was welcomed into their home and into their family. In no time at all, the fear had vanished and that wonderful place became my second nest.

The people of Vancouver saw us venture into town together on several occasions. Two friends studying art in the city’s gallery. A couple of mates looking up in awe at the achievements of athletes in the BC Place stadium. And a pair of lads heading off for a wander around Boundary Bay, to bathe in the serene scenery.

Dave has had more of an impact on me than plain old inspiration. Adversity (mine so trivial when measured against Dave’s) has less of a grip on me now – I don’t deserve to be sullen if these heroes of Ladner can greet the world with such benevolence and vivacity.

This wasn’t a traditional story of adventure. This wasn’t a story of how volunteering in Namibia caused me to question my purpose in the world, or of how clambering over the last lip of K2 taught me that nothing in life comes easy.

No.

It’s an account of a man teaching me what bravery is.

 

And that man, my friend called Dave, has inspired me to replicate that bravery within myself.

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

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Good things come to those who wait in Portugal

 

Good things come to those who wait in Portugal

The beach, the sunset, the palm trees, the beer on the other side of the camera and adding the feelings of an amazing week passed in Portugal, with its open and loving people, you get the recipe for a perfect moment. On the beach of Espinho, Portugal I decided that travelling is my purpose, that travelling is what my heart really wants and travelling is what I will do, no matter what comes my way. Nothing could stop me. Except my plane ticket, my job, my ill father, my loving grandmother and the feeling inside me that makes me put other people’s needs before mine.

Whilst walking along that perfect sandy beach, with the wind blowing in my face and the ocean cooling my feet, a lot of thoughts went through my mind. Should I stay or should I go? Will I be all right travelling on my own? How will I manage with money, or rather with the lack of money? They say you should live for the moment, not let experiences and opportunities pass you by. And stopping for a moment, looking at the horizon, I experienced serenity, freedom and purpose. Without answering the questions I just enjoyed the moment. I realised that the moment is perfect, that everything is just the way it’s supposed to be. Looking back at my life; every tear, every laugh, every problem, every fall, every fail lead me to this perfect moment, so why not trust life once again? Why bother with thinking about what I should or shouldn’t do, because life has a mysterious way of making everything right, at the right moment. Timing is important, you get what you deserve when you are ready for it. Like the waves, beating the sand against my feet and then taking it back into the vast Atlantic ocean, life is handling people like grains, making sure that they are always in motion, but also taking time to leave them still for a second, minute, month, just the right amount of time, to get grounded. Taking my time, getting grounded, I decided to leave the ground. Driving to the airport I caught myself thinking that I might be missing out, missing on opportunities, missing on other perfect moments on the beach, missing life, instead of just missing my plane and extending my walk on the beach, not sure where I would end up. But in my heart I felt the timing wasn’t right. Arriving on time, catching my plane back home and landing in the arms of my family I again knew that things happen just how they are supposed to. I stayed true to myself, arranged things at home so that I can leave with peace in my heart and mind.

You can change, you can and should put your needs and desires before everything, but at the right time. Patience is a virtue, and with trusting in yourself and staying true to your beliefs, your time will come. Espinho beach helped me realise what I wanted to do next in my life, and until that day arrived, I enjoyed the ride, I didn’t just wait, I enjoyed myself while waiting and time has passed even too quickly. Am I scared of going? Yes, but I believe everything is going to be all right, Espinho beach taught me that. And the excitement I’m feeling, waiting for the plane that will take me on my adventure, is amazing…but this is a start of another story.

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

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Independence & Podcast: May 2015 News

From Lisa & We Said Go Travel: We Said Go Travel Newsletter 63: May 20, 2015

Thank you to Mike Siegel from Travel Tales Podcast for interviewing me for his show. It was wonderful to talk about travel and We Said Go Travel with him. Enjoy the hour episode on his site. Click here to listen now to the full podcast.
My two  USA Today articles about Ireland are now live. I am writing about all destinations for USA Today 10 best not only Los Angeles. Enjoy Whiskey Tasting in Dublin, Ireland and A Day Trip to Wicklow.
Thank you to KLOUT for assigning me topics and an EXPERT rating in 19 categories. In Blogging, I am listed as the top 0.1% out of 44,000 experts identified. Out of 180,000 experts in Marketing, I am listed in the top 0.2%. There are 74,000 experts in Travel and I am in the top 0.1%. See them all:
My Klout designated expert categories: Adventure Travel, Social Media, Blogging, Social Networks, Education, Tourism ,Food, Travel, Journalism, Travel Writing, Leadership, Traveling with Kids, Los Angeles, Writing, Marketing, YouTube, Photography, Publishing, SEO  
Thank you to OOAWorld for including We Said Go Travel in the Top 10 Best Group Travel Sites!

 

Courage

At this time between Passover and Shavuot, I am counting the Omer with readings by Rabbi Karyn D. Kedar. Thank you to Rabbi Faith Dantowitz for the introduction.

From Day 36:

Courage to live. Courage to love. Courage to risk. Courage to fail. And patience. It takes time to become the person we want to be, to grow and unfold, to fail and persevere. There is a vastness between what is possible and what is real; an expanse of uncertainty, ambiguity, and doubt. When we are afraid, we are paralyzed, suspended in midair between imagination and manifestation. It is the natural course of things to have our dreams lay fallow; only care and determination make the ground rich and ready to bear fruit.

When we see our limitations as failure we are afraid. Be brave and step into your life.

Rabbi Karyn D. Kedar, Counting the Omer

We Said Go Travel Writing Contest

Winners from the Inspiration Contest will be announced in June and the Independence Contest is now open. Click here to learn more and enter this 8th writing contest. Thank you to everyone who has participated in all my contests!

YouTube

Thank you for watching my WSGT YouTube channel which is now over 325,000+ views! Enjoy movies from Los Angeles, Bermuda,  Puerto Rico, Palau, Guam, Hawaii, India as well as Bali and Lombok  Indonesia,  Southern Thailand, Myanmar (Burma), and Nepal.  To find all 352 Videos: click here for the WSGT YouTube Channel. I am over 1000 followers on Pinterest, and up to 680+ subscribers on YouTube!

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