Lisa Niver's Blog: We Said Go Travel, page 318

The Land of the Rising Sun; Japan

Since a young age, I had an odd relationship with fear. During the day, I would revel in light and ward off my irrational fears with rays of lazy sunshine. However, the night would bring with it the worries I had shoved away into the shadows so carelessly. Due to my experiences with the deaths of loved ones, I would dwell on endless scenarios and possibilities of losing the small amount of people I had left. I would console myself desperately by telling myself that death would never befall my remaining family- though I knew just as well as anyone else that it was an inevitable transition, always lurking in the shadows. I still managed to convince myself of this for years- until the day of March 11th, 2011, when the largest earthquake to hit Japan in years shattered my sheltered complacency forever.

I had always loved visits to the ocean. The cerulean waters were always so sparkling, so calm and innocuous. Although I am an incompetent swimmer, I felt I could surrender myself to the tender arms of the waves and relax with the assurance that I would always be delivered safely to shore. As I watched the news, a sweeping feeling of despondence passed over me as I realised that the ocean I had once trusted was no longer recognisable. The once kind waters were now ceaseless walls of waves- black with debris and bodies- lapping without clemency at buildings and their inhabitants. My head snapped as I heard the name of a familiar town and I realised it was the place I had once visited- where I played with the local kids in the summer afternoons. I stared at the unrecognizable carnage on the screen and wondered where they were. The reporters announced the rapidly growing death toll as images of destruction appeared. They weren’t statistics; they were real people- people who had families, identities, and lives. People just like me- yet they had lost everything. Would they rebuild- even after this? I found out only a few months later.

I was given the opportunity to travel with a small team of my schoolmates to one of the most heavily affected areas to serve. As we drove into our destination town on that frigid December morning, I was perplexed. Yes, there were signs of the terrible catastrophe that had occurred months ago- yet the town bore no resemblance to the pictures of the utterly defeated places in the news.

“Amazing,” a teacher remarked. “They’ve cleaned everything up.” We all murmured in agreement, gazing out the windows with wide eyes as we drove on.

We passed through a different part of town and finally witnessed the full extent of the damage that had been done. On either side of us were massive lots the size of three football fields, piled with rusted, broken cars- each stacked on top of one another. Every single one of those cars had once belonged to someone- be it an individual or a happy family of four. For the first time that day, a somber mood slipped over us and we were completely silent. We drove on past the grave of cars and into a residential area.

Then, I saw it: a newly built shop, standing proudly in the midst of the empty, destroyed shells of houses. It was a nondescript building that I normally would not think to look twice at. Yet, in that very moment, it sparkled under the golden rays of morning sunlight and I remember feeling the oddest sensation of pride and hope in my heart. This one little building that would be otherwise insignificant in a world of normality embodied the very spirit of the Japanese. I began to see similar buildings popping up like survivors amongst the skeletons of deceased houses, all bathed in the crimson glow of the rising sun.

When I feel consumed by fears of the inexorable, I remember how these people had witnessed the betrayal of the ocean on their towns and continued to exist, even while surrounded by reminders of their tragedy. They know that the darkness could return at anytime but still rebuild and live their lives without succumbing to the fear of being destroyed again.

On that day, I learned the true meaning of the rising sun. Just as with the tragedy that had befallen these brave people, heartbreak comes with life. Still, though there will always be times of darkness, the light will return and wipe your fears away in the blink of an eye. The sun surrenders itself to the lonely night everyday- yet, it pulls itself up from the depths of darkness to ascend proudly to the sky and cast its rays of light over the world once more.

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Both sides of alacritous travelling in Finland

Both sides of alacritous travelling in Finland

We flicker through perks of a traveler, whose kind of considerations you should be carefully including or disregarding as heavier or lighter luggage in a backpack. Could we prepare for ourselves if we momentally phased out into being of a different traveller.

An ancient philosopher entered into the concourse of costumed and jubilees and tightly packed bazaars on the narrow streets. There was no guide posts where is a calm place for mind. One would be a lost foreigner. Mark pleasing routes on map in advance. Avoid situations in midst of chaos, where you’d enjoy only by thought ‘how to get out of this hula-hooping compulsion.’

Travel, until you’ve settled. Till consistency is visible, hearable, or receivable. Search for a person and ask about the spot of your interest in a lavish culture. Remember courtesy with local people who would’ve no use whatsoever is global trending from the other side of astronomy. Not all people move on by same pulse. You travel to find an another.

Airing shows, rollicking series, pleas of ‘things are not looking good for this show.’ Fascination or allurement. You’d laugh and get in.

Accelerating life span of the levity. Fend for yourself. Inspect a hand through glasses of a burning critic. Calm depths. Look forwards to a kaleidoscopic observatory, where you’d make feeling at home.

After maintaining that end, you’ll gaze differently at any place in the world. Travel begins by ticking serendipity. Whether it is a cityscape or a desert or above cloud heights – weightily conquering hearts; a personal usage of space in thoughts. It could be the softest tickle under the chin, when you find a gesture to open conversation with a local. With compassion for the citizen who run of lives in glaring hustle.

When attention stays in a place shorter time, you discharge the last season and require the new one. Beware that feet go by accustoms. There’s many a slip ‘twixt cup and lip, would a crush of nectar quench that pathway?

Only endurer connection remains interactive over longer voyage. The ancient philosopher evoked what was lost from hearts, souls, their connection, the will to live charm of interaction.

An orchid was given at hand, when you took a seat on balcony of cafeteria. You have a while to relax your eyes on a view. What’d you rather see? A calm horizon, million islets at sea, mountainous falls or a cherry garden?

‘Realise day by day. One truth remains: never let anyone to map you, who isn’t ready to read the flicker of your expedition. Leave, if a stranger can’t give advice at the first glimpse.’

A reel of iridescence. I travelled to a horizon, where water touches the sky, and there’s a sliver of cliffs between. There I came to estuary waves didn’t touch the shore. Research the unimaginable.

What’s left in the heart is the upbeat, where to go, how to be, when it isn’t too late. If there’s a specific view into an individual relaxation, a layout has to be serving for the senses of the relaxer.

‘Never diminish yourself too far. Stay who you are. The ocean and pearly whites; keep the girl smiling.’

Tranquillising classicism, how to feel an oasis of other life. At least for a fifteen minutes a day. By whose lenses? What sorts of animadverts would you allow from strangers? Inevitably elating Moon. A human lives remarkably few thousands of days. A garden variety of nuances on palate, when your reincarnated spirit begins at the pure sensation given by your heart, body and soul.

You embarked on a voyage to find the oasis of peace. An ancient hall upheld by alabaster pillars, which are hardly known to exist anymore. Golden statue of sun facing from open-air vestibule welcomes every dawn upon a lush nature.

Imagine vivacity as your arrival, as if an unexpected tour of lifetime that is grown up for someone. The most important person you’d give out it all. If there isn’t placement or time or way to be, there won’t be echo. There cannot be a question nor answer.

What would you rather hear? Is it a hinterland’s lullaby? Gurgling millpond on top of mountain. Do your ears calmly extend a nested tree of birds nearby.

Travel in a quarter of wind that makes you feel a new normal. Freeing eureka. Invigorating capsizes of gestures. Bring a shake over any doorstep – voice of aura in presence – enjoyable frisson by everyone around. Your wink dips a tongue in sauce. Your beacon of hand whorls castaways to navigate little closer. Your absence leaves an empty place.

A dreamy body. Someone twinkles at an eye corner and you wake up from a doze.

© Samuel Sylf

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Nymphs in Umude Creek, Nigeria

The earth is hot beneath my feet as I find my footing within the sloppy path of rocks the color of mud earth, stratified as though stairs had been carved within. This rocky path to Umude Creek is flanked by thick bushes on both sides with huge vegetation and tall palm trees arranged in rows straight and erect like a line of soldiers on a regiment field. There is a dryness in the soft breeze that whoosh through the thickets and bushes letting of an eerie sound that leave me shivering under the bright orange haze of the afternoon sun.

This is a journey best made in solitude alone with nature and away from the hassle and bustle of my small eastern village in Imo state Nigeria. The time is right too for at this hour the sun which has settled low in the sky like a big floating orange balloon would discourage the village children from running naked and gleeful down the rocky path spinning their empty pails playfully. I do not have the courage to visit when they are making their daily rounds of fetching stream water and swimming like little nymphs. They would snicker at my feeble movements in water.

I have passed the rocks and turn into a narrower windy path that would lead me into the creek, my eyes feasting on the beauty of the forest with the keenness of an amateur tourist. There are several huge trees along this path their wide branches spread far to form a large canopy of green leaves. At a bend, I see a fat squirrel chewing a nut beneath a tall palm tree, its back hunched to form a furry brown ball. It scurries off at the sound of my approaching feet behind a small bush of glowing sun flowers. The entrance to the creek is lined up with bamboo palms and tall coconut trees with stooping stems. The resulting shade from the thick foliage of green vegetation around gives the area a picturesque effect. I moved closer to the water and peered in. The green moss underground gave the stream a greenish hue and I stood waiting for a sign that it was okay to try my resolve in conquering the gnawing phobia within me. I dipped my feet into the water watching the ripples appear then spread out in circular motions, disturbing a cluster of tiny fishes swimming close by. I am fascinated at the ease at which they move their slippery bodies swimming further and further away to the point where the current was high.

Inspired, I waddle into the water after the fishes and when my feet no longer feel the firm grip of sand beneath, I crash loudly, the water splashing into my eyes blinding me from hope into the darkness of my defeat. The sounds of my wild thrashing explodes in my head and mingles with the hoarse screaming of my mother as she writhes under the harsh grip of my father. My frantic thrashing finally brings me to the bank of the stream and I clamber out, melancholic and soaked to my bones. Exhausted, I lay underneath a coconut tree in my dripping clothes and close my eyes to the glare of the hot African sky.

My solitude is soon broken by the chatter of children and I see two small girls splashing in the stream. I feel envious of their confidence in the water then suddenly the smaller girl is being carried away by the tide. Her sister turns to me for the first time and screams.

“please save my sister.”

” I can’t swim.’ ‘ I scream back . ”perharps there is nothing I can do quiet well.”

“You can do anything if you choose the right reasons to act.” she replied.

There is a wisdom in her words that belies her age and suddenly I am seized with a compulsion to save the drowning child. I abandon my coconut shed and running briskly plunged into the deepest part of the runnning stream in search of the child and her sister who had dissappeared from sight. The plop sound of a dropping coconut nearby alarmed me and as my eyes flew open, I reliase that I had not moved from my coconut shed at all. My eyes fix on the spot where I had plunged in to save the girl and it dawns on me that I could conquer any fear if I found the right reasons. Inspired, I stood and walked into the calm stream. This time as I fell with a splash when my feet no longer touched sand, I didn’t thrash wildly like the darkness had closed in on me.

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

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Bravery is Where the Home Is In The Philippines

Ever since I was younger, I would hear stories about the conflict in Mindanao, a far region from where I stay in the Philippines. The evening news would be filled with hijab wearing girls, gun slinging boys and prisoners of war. And I often ask myself the question when will it ever end… will it ever end?

Just recently, the whole of Philippines was taken by storm when news broke out of a recent encounter between conflicting parties which rendered 44 of police enforcement dead. As for the casualties from the other end, the numbers were not as definite. The place of attack is a residential area wherein civilians and militants alike are residing. It is hard pressed to think that no civilian casualty ensued. This is the situation in the warring region for the past how many years.

As much as the conflict has never been resolved, despite the threat that looms the region every single minute of the day, I, as someone who is not in the direct line of fire and nowhere near a possible grenade explosion, manage to let the knowledge of the armed conflict rest out of constant awareness. It just came into full focus because of the said recent encounter.

Children of the region are robbed of the childhood that many in the more peaceful parts of the country experience. Men and women alike live in fear of their whole lives being torn down to ground zero. Residents tread with the anxiety of who is who, with the worry that they who shake their hands can be the same ones who thump their backs for the final blow.

And yet… they live. They go through the motions of life with death and conflict as their backdrop. They rely on their own versions of faith to save them but not without the wits to save themselves. They manage. They manage to eat, study, teach, love and most importantly, inspire despite what their situation gives them.

I know that time will pass and soon enough, this awareness would again take to the corners of my mind but as of the moment, Mindanao inspires me to brave. Everyday I would consider myself lucky for living through so many moments. Sometimes, despite how self-centered it may seem, I would feel proud because I managed to get past menial and relatively larger challenges.  However, as I hear about stories of war, as I see soldiers return to home base just outside our house,  I feel for those who have to put on the mask of courage in the most turbulent of times and somehow, what they are going through is so much bigger than what I have gone through and I am urged to do better so eventually I can do something for them.

 When I was pondering on the question on what place inspires me to be brave, I immediately thought about Mindanao. In spite of a global experience that travelling and studying abroad left with me, in spite of the many people I met there that are all brave in their own ways, it is the collective struggle that the people in Mindanao that tells me that no matter what situation one is in, there is no reason to stop fighting for one’s life. I have traveled to places wearing the lens of a tourist, an athlete, a student but one thing has always been constant, whenever I travel places, I am a Filipino. It is only fitting that the place that inspires me to be brave is in my country.

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

 

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In Thailand, I am Brave Wherever I Am With You

I gulped. I shook my head no. I refused to be reasonable. There was no way I was going back. I couldn’t breathe! I could die. I mean, that totally happens, right? And even if it doesn’t happen very often – well, who says it couldn’t happen to me? Nope. Not going back under the water.

Then I looked at my husband – his eyes had so much compassion and genuine concern. Sure, he also really wanted to dive deep down, to explore and discover creatures of the sea. I knew that. But that wasn’t what I saw – what I saw was someone who cared about me, who was concerned about my panic, and who was rooting for me. I just held on to his vest and stared at him for a bit. I don’t remember what he said. After a minute or two of just bobbing in the water I finally turned to our open water scuba diving instructor and nodded my head: yes. I will do it.

The moment I got back under water I was absolutely certain that I couldn’t breathe through my mouthpiece. Panic rose. Water entered my mouth. I wobbled and grasped at our instructor. But then I remembered to be brave. Don’t panic, I told myself. And, remember all the skills that you mastered perfectly well in the shallow swimming pool. I pressed the button and cleared my mouthpiece. I breathed. I pinched my nose and equalized my ears. I began to descend, down in the open sea with no bottom in sight.

Finally I let go. I conquered my fear, if only for those few initial moments.

And then I saw it. It was so beautiful – the water was perfect turquoise, the sun was filtering through in spots, and so many beautiful creatures were swimming all around. Brilliant colors – yellow, coral, periwinkle – amazing patterns, fantastical shapes. This world was so completely wondrous.

We swam on to find an underground cave. For a moment I thought – no way. But then my husband flashed the ‘ok’ sign in question, and signaled forward. So there I was, just gliding gently careful not to disrupt the fragile habitat of underground corals. Hands on my chest, gently moving my feet to propel myself forward. Breathing! I had to remind myself to trust and to be brave – but I did it, I didn’t panic.

Thai Islands in the Andaman Sea are known to inspire a lot of positive emotions, but bravery doesn’t really come to mind as a top contender. But for me, my first association with Koh Lanta is bravery. I learned that day – gulping for air and bobbing up and down in the vast and mighty open sea – that I can conquer my fear, that I can let go, and trust myself not to panic. I am brave!

 

But really, it’s more than just Koh Lanta, or the Andaman Sea. It’s my husband. You know that song by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes – I am home wherever I am with you? It’s like that but I am brave, wherever I am with him. Koh Lanta is just the first place that comes to mind.

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

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Love Is Bravery in the USA

I am aware that I could’ve written about one of my favorite vacation spots, places where I feel I can lounge, relax, and regroup. However, when I think of a place that helps me feel brave and inspires me to save the day, no place stands out more than my mother’s house. Just to clarify, my mother’s house is not where I reside. In fact, I have not lived with my mother since I was three years old, a mere young one! Ever since then, I have lived with my grandparents in Pfafftown, North Carolina, a small, friendly town just outside of Winston-Salem. My mother resides in Graham, North Carolina, a small town outside of Burlington. Now, obviously, this is not very far from my home. Yet, emotionally, it is quite far from me.

I have been separated from my mother for most of my life. It’s not great, but hey, I’ve gotten used to it. What I have not, and will not, grow accustomed to is being separated from my two younger brothers. Hakim, the older of the two, is ten years old, friendly, and bubbling with enthusiasm! The younger of the two, James, is seven years old, just as enthusiastic as the former, and very, very loud. The physical wall that has separated us from each other is not the only characteristic that makes my brothers unusual and different; they are both autistic. To me, this is a difference that can be sad, disturbing, and yet also adorable; it is a difference that I have accepted easily and with open arms. I have taken them under my wing, so to speak, and when I go to visit them, we do practically everything together.

When I see my brothers, mentally and verbally handicapped, and educationally and communicationally stifled, I feel the strongest motivation to be brave, a desire I always attempt to share with them. And saving the day?? The day I want to save is tomorrow…the tomorrow that my brothers will have, the tomorrow that they could have. Who knows who they could be? Autism is a disorder, quite a powerful one. But it is not powerful enough to stop thoughts, dreams, hopes, and aspirations. It can’t be!! If it is, then what is the point of life? What is the point of life if you are to be stopped by a handicap or the ones you love are to be stop by a handicap? Seeing my brothers inspires me to want to do something, anything to save their day. Their yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Their yesterday because I insist that they not have fought through all of the obstacles they have faced in their young lives, all of the tough times and struggles, for nothing. Their today because when I see their faces, their smiles, their frowns, and their tears, I am moved…not only moved, but forced, to do something to help them. Their tomorrow because each time I say goodnight to them, I promise myself that I will make tomorrow a better day for them than today was. Tomorrow must be their day! And I must save it. I do not know how I will, I do not know when, but one tomorrow will be saved, one day they will have what they want, need, and deserve.

These feelings that seeing them brings upon me are not just basic emotions, such as sadness, happiness, love, and determination. They are all a very strong feeling, one that I sum up as bravery. I must be brave for them! If they are to believe the things I believe about them, they must see that I believe them! They must understand who they are, who they were, and who they can be. Not who they will be, but who they can be. No one’s future is set in stone. And my brothers’ futures are definitely not set in stone if I have anything to do with it, if I can save their day. I must. And for this reason, I can find the strongest, most viable reasons to be brave when I am in Graham, North Carolina.

 

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

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Mexico: Sharing a Day of Service with my Son

In March 2015, my 9-year-old son and I left Los Angeles by bus and spent a day in Mexico.

Our group of 20 volunteers visited an orphanage to play with the children and bring donations.  The drive was filled with uncertainty as we did not know what to expect.  My son was quiet, staring out the window at the unfinished houses.  Clusters of houses stacked close to each other along the road and on the mild rolling hills seemed forgotten about as they were missing walls, roofs or simply undone. The grey skies suggested rain but seemed uncertain about their true feelings.

During the drive, thoughts of the movie Annie were swirling through my son’s head. He was picturing mean heartless people running the orphanage yelling at the unhappy children who were forced to clean all day. When we arrived my son was stuck to my side like glue.  I asked if he wanted to do an art project or play sports with the older kids, or cuddle a baby but he was just silent, watching, shaking his head no.

He took in the scene; the younger kids drawing and blowing bubbles, young girls painting their fingernails and an older child lovingly walking hand-in-hand with a toddler.   He just watched.

About an hour in to our visit he asked one of the adult volunteers if there was anything he could help with and he ended up setting the tables in the lunch room. When the 80 children entered the hall, he handed out food on his own.  He eventually found his way to the middle of the room at a table with a group of kids he didn’t know, speaking a language he doesn’t speak and ate lunch with them.    He started to open up, showing his sideways smile as I watched from the other end of the room. 

After lunch he wanted to visit the babies.  We spent the rest of our time playing with an 8 month old boy.  My son held him, talked with him and got him  smiling and laughing.   By the time we had to go their faces were both lit up enjoying the connection of one another.

 

As we left the orphanage the skies cleared up and it was a beautiful day. The clouds were mirroring my son’s feelings, finally opening up to the blue skies as my son opened up to the knowledge that the kids were ok, happy, and loved just like him.

I believe you can find beauty no matter where you are.  I am surrounded by it in any location and in any situation.  I choose to pass this way of looking at life to my children. I find ways for them to realize that real life, full of beauty and connection to others is found in any place. It is important to shift away from our daily activities and open ourselves to others to learn about them and mainly ourselves.

My son is happily going back to visit next month.

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Be happy! Be brave! Be you! In the Galapagos

   Be happy! Be brave! Be you! In the Galapagos

       Like sun rises every morning so and I am rising every morning with new thoughts to travel, to travel far away, to travel somewhere where I can be brave, where I can be myself, where I can be free to fly like an albatross and to do great things and to be a hero. But what means brave? Some things are easy to understand and describe. A flower is a flower and a hand is a hand after all. However, other concepts are more difficult to interpret. What makes one person brave and another not? How can the word bravery be defined?

A lot of people hold a common misconception about bravery. They believe that bravery is the same as being without fear. But being brave and being fearless are two different things. Many people skydive, do public speaking, ask questions, or enter relationships not because they are unafraid but because they are willing to overcome this fear. Or perhaps they are willing to go ahead despite the butterflies in their stomachs. To some, this is a foreign concept that prevents them from trying new things. Being brave is ignoring fear for a moment and carrying on.

Bravery is also closely tied to selflessness. The book Divergent by Veronica Roth describes bravery as being the ultimate selfless action. The lead character states that “selflessness and bravery aren’t all that different.” Bravery is when you put yourself in danger to help or protect another. Mothers are brave when they give up sleep in order to comfort their child. Teachers are brave when they give up their own time to improve their teaching. Firemen are brave when they rush into a building to save someone trapped inside. Bravery is taking a risk to give something of yourself in order to make life easier for another.

Above all, bravery is instinctual. It is something that cannot really be thought through. Oftentimes, bravery is a spur-of-the-moment emotion that leaves little time to think your actions and consequences through. Brave people don’t hesitate. They can leap forward when others are still working their way through a problem. In order to be brave, one should not overthink situations. It’s an instinctive action that just happens. If you talk to someone that has just performed a brave act and ask them why they leapt into danger, their response is often “… I don’t know. I just did it.”

When François de la Rockefoucould spoke about bravery, he pointed out an important feature of the virtue’s true meaning. Then he made the distinction between people’s private actions versus their public ones, he made it clear that people who do good deed only to get rich or famous are not practicing bravery. True bravery is helping people or animals simply because their actions benefit mankind. It seems that we often misunderstand this aspect of bravery and make the wrong people famous while forgetting about others who show bravery throughout their lives.

If there weren’t any brave people, the world would be a much different place. Perhaps it would be a sadder one, lacking in policemen and nurses. Bravery is essential for humans to work together and for the world to continue to change and grow. It is courage, courage, courage, that raises the blood of life to crimson splendor. Live bravely and present a brave front to adversity.

 

J.K. Rowling, in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone: “It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live” so be brave, be strong and never give up.

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

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Serenity and Strength through Quiet Contemplation, China

 

Serenity and Strength through Quiet Contemplation

China

On the tail end of a solemn, exhaustive and grief-filled trip to witness my grandfather’s passing, Dad and I made a stop in Hangzhou, a city in Zhejian Province, a quaint and naturally scenic spot southwest of Shanghai. We thought that a quiet diversion would cox our battered spirits into better shape place before returning to New York City. When we arrived, the sky was an even gray, the air awash with a light and cool breeze typical of the region’s spring. The bus dropped us off near West Lake, a sprawling expanse of water whose temperament ranges from that of a demure, crystalline portrait glass to that of a tempestuous, roaring stream. In fact, standing under an open, three-tiered Chinese gazebo, I was unsure if the lake even had an end were it not for the soft undulating hills obscured by clouds in the distance.

                We strolled for a while along the stone-paved shore, crossing a small arched bridge while admiring the willow tendrils strumming the air. Our minds absorbed the calm of the water and we escaped our recent loss by assuming the form of two small specks submerged in nature. Dad suggested we take a guided boat to learn more about the culture of the place. While the lake was lined with smaller rowboats, some built with rectangular dwellings covered by wood-thatched awings, ours was a modern double-decker engine with floor to ceiling windows. Once on, the guide began to explain the legend of Leifeng Pagoda, a five story high octagonal tower considered the defining feature of the West Lake estate. Like all great monuments, the Pagoda has now been built and rebuilt several times. The cause of one instance of damage can be explained by a myth claiming that the pagoda’s bricks could would cure miscarriages. The tower has been raided and burnt by Japanese invaders and even struck by lightning. I stare at the lofty structure, contemplating the layers of history that had transpired in its place, as the boat hums past.

                Later in the day, we travel to Linyin Monastery, an oasis of tranquility and spiritualism among an otherwise dense patch of wooden, residential homes.  As we walked from the bus toward the opening of the monastic grounds, we passed several middle-aged women roasting freshly picked tea leaves in open air woks. The sights and smells of the stirred, charred tea leaves set the mood for the impending introspection and meaning that awaited. Before stepping through the monastery’s gate, our minds were tested by two disfigured people, beggars cumbered by melon-sized tumors, laying dirty and ill in tattered clothes – living reminders of the ubiquitous suffering the Buddha embraced as inevitable to life.  I make a donation and proceed through the red, wooden archway under the words “Linyin Monastery,” written in forceful calligraphy by a now-retired president.

                An instant wave of serenity and peace break in my mind as I enter the hallowed Buddhist grounds. The air smells of the moss covering the gray precipices that lines the walkway. The outside world loosens its grip on as I indulge in the never-ending here and now – the plants, the stones, and the sentiments of the Buddhas carved into the side of the mountain. As we walk onward, we pass several gazebos – engraved wood covered in red paint, roofs lined with lacquered logs, their curved ends pointing toward the sky they worship. I separate from Dad and take a short side trail, climbing higher until I reached an open clearing containing a small five story pagoda. I can see the grounds of the monastery and beyond, open clear and full of possibility.

 After my descent, I rejoin Dad in the main courtyard, a space lined with tall pine trees and iron incense alters – large vats weighted by sand and adorned with burning incense that permeates the yard with smoke. People stream into and out of the temple; a single word “Buddha” hangs on pink parchment, blessing travelers and reminding them of the religion’s purpose. Though I am not Buddhist, I swing my legs over the high entrance barrier into the temple’s main hall, stare at the golden statues reposed in meditation, close my eyes and take deep breaths. As I enjoy the air flowing through my lungs – the same air that grandfather could no longer lift his chest to take in – I start praying softly and earnestly ‘may my family be well, may my family be well.’ Dad does the same and we both find some strength to face the future.

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Wandering the Streets of Zanzibar, Africa

I came to wander almost every city street in Stone Town, Zanzibar, Africa because the hotel receptionist said to me, “A map? You don’t need a map, getting lost is half the fun.” She was right. And there was no map anyway.

Calling the narrow passages that were also unofficial obstacles courses ‘streets’ might have been an overstatement. Think of walking down the smallest alleyway in your own neighborhood and having to step over randomly discarded toilets, stray cats, sticks, bicycle tires, garbage, potted plants and that accurately describes the streets of Stone Town. Sometimes they were big enough for small cars and sometimes they were not. As long as your day ended without having collided with a bicycle, you’ve had a successful walking day in Stone Town. 

Yet in that jumbled mess lays a UNESCO World Heritage Area. The architecture is stunning and evidence of Stone Town dates back to the 8th century. In the 19th century it was one of the most important trading routes in the Indian Ocean region.

Many early European explorers also used the island of Zanzibar as an important base. David Livingstone was probably the most famous European explorer to do so. He had many expeditions over his lifetime throughout Africa. He was gone for several years and little was heard of his existence to the outside world. On November 10, 1871 he finally met with journalist Henry Stanley and the famous quote, “Dr Livingstone I presume?” came into existence.

Stone Town gets its name from the ornate houses built with stone by Arab traders during the 19th century. The Old Fort is now used as a cultural center with shops, workshops and has daily dance or music performances.

For a small donation, we took a wander around the old fort.

One of the biggest attractions for visitors is to simply wander the streets. No matter which way you go exploring, it won’t be that long until one ends up along the seafront or Creek Road as a reference point. If you do feel completely lost, locals are friendly and more than willing to point you in the right direction back to your lodging. If all else fails, you can just grab a taxi and tell them the name of your hotel and they will bring you back.

Part of the allure of walking around town is finding and viewing some of the 500 brass studded, wooden doors on many of the buildings.

For food, you can get as local or as fancy as you want. We decided to go out for a nice dinner one night at a restaurant called Six Degrees South. It was big, modern, snazzy, had a roof top bar and the food was excellent. The service was great and they were well set up for big groups or solo travelers.

After you have explored Stone Town, head up the coast. There are plenty of nice places to choose from. We stayed at Sunset Bungalows Kendra. Our room was a short walk from the beach which provided endless strolling. The water was bath temperature and we could have sat in there all day.

From a cultural and photographic view point, we found Stone Town to be interesting, worthwhile and a photographic gem. Other travelers we talked to did not enjoy Stone Town because of the pollution, litter, crumbling buildings and disarray. All of those things exist and they were not my favorite part either. It seems Stone Town would only be helping themselves to clean up the city and even just the tiniest bit would make a drastic improvement. I’m sure it’s easier said than done when the community is still facing so many poverty issues. However underneath all the mess is world class architecture and beauty. To me, a visit to  Stone Town allows the visitor to see what they want to see. I went there wanting to see it’s beauty, architecture and cultural differences, and for that reason I was not disappointed.

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If you go:

You have to buy water while on Zanzibar. Make sure you get to a shop and buy bigger gallons of water. Not only will this save you money, but plastic pollution is a major problem and eye sore in Zanzibar, so do what you can to minimize your impact.

We stayed at Safari Lodge. Some rooms were more unique than others, i.e., aesthetically appealing stone archways as you enter the shower, while other rooms were window-less. The lodge was clean, the staff was nice and some of their architecture made it a neat place to stay while in Stone Town.

 Six Degrees South is within easy walking distance of most hotels in Stone Town, was good value for money and we would recommend eating there.

Further up the beach, we stayed at Sunset Bungalows Kendra. We found the rooms to be be very nice, clean and comfortable. The beach is a short walk down a hill and the location is lovely. You can walk almost as long as you want either right or left and the water was so warm! There are plenty of restaurants around the area. Unfortunately, a few of us did get a touch of food poisoning we believe from some crab soup at their restaurant.  Aside from that, our stay was very nice there and we would recommend.

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