Lisa Niver's Blog: We Said Go Travel, page 328

Freedom in Singapore lah

 

Eight years ago, I met my first love his name was freedom. I was already gritting myself on cultured life of corporate world, the first 3 years was intense. I was most afraid of losing my job, even though I’m not earning as good as I was working. Everything came hastily, the stress, the questioning of how life is outside my career and even asking why not?

Why not give myself a break for a change, I started working right after college, I didn’t give myself the chance to prepare for what’s ahead of me because I was hoping to earn my own money and buy things I like or travel for a new start. Traveling alone, away from my parents peering eye, as they tend to watch me most of the time, I live in Philippines, still with my parents in an age of 30. This is embarrassing for a country that promotes liberty at such a young age, but as for me this is my parent’s right to hold me until I am not married. It is the just one of the reason why I have not tried travelling yet, aside from expenses.

Then came down the stress at work and my family issue, I just needed to get away for a while If I can’t come back sooner then I know it was the time I have been waiting to. My Mother permitted my decision to quit my job, I intended to reject her help because I want to do things my own. I planned things thoroughly, where I’m going and what I’m going to do when I get there.

My very first out of the country travel, away from anyone else I know, not the furthest country I could go but close to my heart as it is still in Asia, Singapore. For someone who has not been away from home it was an exhilarating experience. I was alone in a strange country that doesn’t speak my language, taste the food that I never thought existed, and I heave a long breath that feels like the first time.

I was scared on the first day that I needed to hear a familiar voice, but I shrugged the thought of calling back home because If there was any other reason I flew, it was to find my pace and independency. The next few days became an adventure, bringing my backpack with me, finding good places to stay that don’t cost much, eating foods; the challenge was to use the chopstick.

I was counting the days left for me to roam around; it felt heavy to leave such a wonderful place, where I finally found myself braving the city by foot, a place where I convince the new me to accept the fact that losing a father was not a thing I live by alone, and that my family is with me even if I was not a good help to them, financially.

The country, that even after this year I still remember basking in one of those solitude places smiling with a light heart for three weeks, the first plane ride and the first singlish was “How can lah”? when I asked how possible it was that I was there. And I still congratulate myself for the new found strength; brave.

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Caught by the Dawn in New Zealand

I did not recognise it for what it was – a panic attack. To be honest, a series of panic attacks; a spate of them even. I just thought I was perhaps, maybe, going la-la. And yet, I needed to rise daily, feed hungry mouths, and be a responsible, nurturing adult of the mothering variety. But first, I needed to breathe. I needed to remember that I could do this, that I wasn’t going to flee far, far away, never to return, and that in my bravery I would indeed succeed – although I was terrified.

And so my beloved, in his wisdom, packed me off with sunscreen, towel, and books. “To the beach you must go,” he ordered. To the beach I went.

Not just any beach, although all hold the mysterious quality of purification and peace; but to a special beach, dear to our hearts. To the stunning Mount Maunganui, in the aptly named Bay of Plenty, on the east coast of New Zealand. The indigenous, or Maori name for Mt Maunganui is Mauao, which translates as “caught by the dawn.” It sits at the mouth of the harbour to the city of Tauranga, which means, “place of rest” or “anchorage.”

I spent days ensconced at the water’s edge where it is said negative ions (those that produce healing and restoration) far outweigh the positive ions of the hustle and bustle busyness of the world. I bathed in waters as old as time, drenched in sea-saltiness. The ocean winds blew terror and despair away, and the little lion inside began to growl and roar once more.

Pristine sand cradled my weary form as I unknowingly “earthed” myself, years before I had Googled its meaning.

Mt Maunganui is surely one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. Globally remote, but civilized enough to provide restaurants and cafes that would easily compete on the world stage. Smoothies and juices to revive the body, after a day spent refreshing the soul in the surf.

Dependant on the mood of the tides, one can surf, paddle-board, or swim through the waves. A five minute walk to the other side of the Mount and you will find yourself as happily enjoying the still waters of Pilot Bay – perfect for jet-skiing, swimming, kayaking.

The weather is stunning is summer, and fair in winter. If you feel the need to don trainers, a walk around the base of the Mount will take about forty minutes; to the summit, up to an hour – dependant on fitness. (I confess, the first time I ascended Mauao, I literally stopped to see where a rescue helicopter might land should I need help in breathing!)

Returning home after my beachside sojourn I was once again brave enough to shed my doubts and fears; even though my terrible weeks of panic had rattled me deeply, I knew I could indeed be the mother I was made to be. I would survive. In fact, I would thrive to the best of my ability.

Perhaps it is true …. Tauranga had been my “place of rest.” The sun had risen again in my world, the dawn had begun near Mauao. We loved it so much, that six months later we moved there. How bold! How beautiful!!

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

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Gelatinous Rice Pig on a Flower

My peculiar visit to Hanoi had become more bizarre!

I used to work at the China Daily in Beijing. I figured I I would look into similar newspaper editing (while monitored by the state) work in Hanoi, which is where a paper called the Vietnam News is based. So I grabbed a copy of the paper and found the address and strolled on over.

Anyone who visited me at Metro knows we liked to keep the crazies out, but I had emailed this paper in the past with no success. I thought if I just showed up, the worst they would do is tell me to email a CV… or talk to me in Vietnamese and we’d all stand around, bewildered. I’ve learned that being brave sometimes means you need to let go of your inhibitions, no matter what the outcome of risk-taking might be.

So I looked in the masthead and demanded the editor-in-chief to come say hi to me! One of the deputy editors came down, and said they were good for editors but “have you done TV?” I replied that I’d been on it, guest reporting the Edmonton weather on Citytv and appearing on strange panel shows on Christian television.

“Good enough, do you want to shoot this untitled project about the Tet holidays, seen through the eyes of a westerner?” I was aksed. “Oh, and this other thing about random Hanoi night markets? Can you stay for two weeks?”

 I said “sure!” Pay is not as good as teaching ESL… But who cares?

Which brings me to the title of this article. Is it the title the name of a new band, or actually has something to do with life in Vietnam?

It does indeed, if you are shooting “Crossing Vietnam!” Yesterday was the last day of filming, but it was a long one… We went a couple of hours outside Hanoi to Nam Dinh Province, to the Vieng Market. This market happens only once a year, and I won’t get into the details but anything you buy there or eat there will bring you luck in the New Year.

Suffice to say, the place gets jammed with people, which made shooting TV challenging. I was meant to be looking interested while a wacky older gentlemen haggled over a pair of scissors, presumably to trim his wiry beard, when I had to swat away a hand from my ass as a pickpocket tried to steal the script out of my back pocket! Whether this will be left on the editing room floor remains to be seen.

I also blew a horn from an “antiques” vendor, even though all his stuff were imitations, and then the gelatinous-rice-pig-on-a-flower. Basically kids here love these little sticks with a little flower/cartoon character/animal on the end, which I thought was made of plasticene. In fact, it’s sticky rice! The camera crew set up and it was decided it would be good that I make one of these things with the vendor, but I was starting to become Mr. Crankypants by this point. It wasn’t like my inner diva was coming out, but we’d been at 11 hours and I’d been blasting a horn, trying to look interested at bonsai trees and now I’m making a pink pig sitting on top of a green flower out of sticky rice with 50 bewildered Vietnamese onlookers, and being told to smile while I did it.

Still, if that’s your biggest complaint, how bad can your life be? Getting outta there took forever though! Easily the most hectic traffic I’ve seen in this country, and I’ve seen some jams! Anyway, I said goodbye to the camera crew as that was our last shoot! Possibly forever? (sniff)

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

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Confessions from “The Most Interesting Blogger in the World”

One of these claims to be “The Most Interesting Blogger in the World”

I was surprised when I picked up a copy USAToday and saw an item that cited me as “The first travel blogger.” I doubt it, though I was early to the game, not long after Al Gore invented the Internet. In 1993 the term “blogger” didn’t exist, so what I was posting was a real-time serialized account of my travels. If that qualifies, then perhaps the first travel blogger was Henry Morton Stanley, who sent dispatches back by couriers from the dark heart of Africa as he sought the missing David Livingstone. The world waited breathlessly for each new episode of his true adventures, often published weeks apart by the New York Herald, whose circulation soared with these accounts that shared glimpses of an unknown world.

My beginnings were modest by comparison. For years I had produced an annual catalogue of adventure travel trips my company, Sobek, offered. It was a dream book of far-away places and itineraries that could get you there. It took ten months to create each catalogue, and most of our marketing budget, and it was expensive to mail. Yet, it was the best tool in our box for convincing the un-initiated that adventure and travel were worthwhile endeavors, satisfying ways to spend valuable vacation time and money.

Before Sobek, most vacations were of the horizontal type….getting to a beach and sprawling under the sun. I did my share growing up, as my folks trooped the family off to Rehoboth or Bethany Beach for a fortnight every August. What I realized was that more often than not we returned sunburned, bloated, tired, and ready for a vacation from our vacation.

Sobek offered an alternative. We began by offering trips down the wild rivers of Africa, which we had pioneered in a series of expeditions. We expanded to the Euphrates in Turkey, the Indus in Pakistan, the Bio-Bio in Chile, the Watut in Papua New Guinea and on. Then we expanded our activities, to trekking, diving, kayaking, skiing, horseback riding, biking, ballooning, adventure cruising, and on, I wrote articles about most of these adventures, as much to communicate the wonders and joys of this type of travel as to satisfy a personal itch, and to revisit what had been profound with a second, more reflective interpretation. These were not serialized accounts, but rather full-bodied narratives, and like a trip itself, with the natural arc of a beginning, middle and end. They could be read in one sitting, and if so inspired, a reader could pick up the phone and book a trip with us.

I was a keen evangelist for this kind of travel. I knew how transformative and positive these adventures were. I had witnessed my own change from a shy, hesitant unsure brume to someone quite different, and better, I believed. I had found purpose, confidence and vision.

But it was more than just personal growth. This kind of active travel promoted interaction between different cultures and environments, which in turn stimulated respect and empathy. This kind of travel was not just good for the soul, but for the planet.

I was a passionate proselytizer, and carried a satchel of catalogues wherever I went, handing them out indiscriminately, and like a Mormon missionary, trying to convert every passerby. But more often than not eyes glazed, excuses were made, and I was left alone in the trophy room.

Part of the problem, I believed, was the limitations of the catalogue. How could we adequately describe the power and the feeling of a three-week trek through the Himalayas in a couple of paragraphs, and a thumbnail photo? It was a pathetic simulacrum compared to the real thing.

So, when, in 1993, I read that Tim O’Reilly launched something called The Global Network Navigator (GNN), the first commercial web publication and the first web site to offer clickable advertisements, I drove up to Sebastopol in Sonoma County, booked myself into a B&B, and skedaddled over to the O’Reilly and Associates headquarters. I worked with Tim and his team, and in a few weeks we launched what may have been the first travel website, www.mtsobek.com . Nothing would ever be the same.

I was most excited with the dimensionality and spatial capacity of the web in regards travel. Where once we were confined to a single photo and a few lines of text to describe the emotional resonance of a place and experience, now we had near infinite space to convey slide shows, videos, audios (snow crunching; camels braying; gamelan music), and whole narratives to share. It was the closest thing to being there, and eliminated a raft of barriers.

But, it still wasn’t real time.

So, I decided to travel to the next level and create live coverage of one of our signature adventures: a private passage to Antarctica. It wasn’t easy. We needed a portable Inmarsat satellite system, which I flew to Ushuaia, Argentina, and mounted on our boat. The signal, so far south, could barely reach the birds, but it did, and we set out on a two-week expedition in which we reported regularly with daily dispatches, photos, video, and live chats. Anyone, anywhere with an internet connection and a computer screen could virtually join our voyage. The site we created still serves today:http://terra-quest.com/

There was no name for what we were doing, but today it is called blogging.

The exercise was a success, and was considered to be ground-breaking. So much so that Melinda French Gates invited me to visit her at Microsoft in Redmond, Washington, where she asked me to join the company and create and oversee a travel site that would feature authors filing regular reports from around the world. Michael Kinsley had just joined to launch Slate, and he was dispatched to persuade me to join the mission. I did, and founded Mungo Park, perhaps the first on-line travel magazine. What a heady time this was. We covered the first descent of the Tekeze in Ethiopia, a crocodile infested river that boiled through the deepest gorge in Africa.

We sent the likes of Martha Stewart, Tom Clancy, Mariel Hemingway, Jon Krakauer, Lyle Lovett, Jay McInerney, Stefanie Powers, Tom Robbins, Ziggy Marley, Jean-Michel Cousteau, Princess Fikre-Selassie, Nathan Myhrvold, Shari Belafonte, and many, many others to the far-flung and outrageous (Dr. Ruth to the Islands of Love).

But, it didn’t make money, or at least enough, and after a good run it was morphed into another Microsoft property, a nascent on-line travel booking site that would become Expedia.

I became Expedia’s editor-at-large and continued to travel and upload stories and media from all manner of coordinates. And I launched more sites that took advantage of the technology and talent and delivered compelling travel interpretations from scores of writers in the field: Well-Travelled for Slate; Great Escapes for MSNBC, First & Best for MSN, Richard Bangs’ Adventures for Yahoo, and RichardBangs.com for White Nile Media.

Now, of course, there are thousands of travel bloggers….the tools are there, and getting faster, cheaper and better all the time. And this is a good thing, as everyone who shares the profundity, the psychic and spiritual richness, and the insights of travel with an audience, like smoke across a border, seeps compassion, meaning and understanding into a wider consciousness. And inspires more to get out the door and explore.

Somehow, through this span I survived the mustard gas and pepper spray of evolution, and am now a seasoned veteran. And the table is today so deliciously full it feels like La Grande Bouffe, stuffed with richly rendered tales and with blogged arteries. But what could be better?

Follow Richard Bangs on Twitter: www.twitter.com/richardbangs

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Adventures in Arkansas

It all started over dinner in our first apartment. John was cooking, and we were talking about the future, as young people in love are prone to doing.  We were both bemoaning the fact that Stars Hollow, Connecticut, the fictional town from the television show Gilmore Girls, was indeed fictional. Wasn’t there any place in America that was similar? That’s where we wanted to move, to raise our kids.

A few vague Google searches later, we found a website that allowed us to take an in-depth questionnaire about what we wanted from life, and in return gave us a list of towns we might enjoy living in. I’m not sure where they got their data, but it seemed pretty thorough, so we decided to give it a shot.

Upon completion of this quiz, we discovered that we were apparently meant to live somewhere in Arkansas. Our top ten results were all in this state that neither of us had ever been to, nor, frankly, knew much about.

Shortly after, John had to leave town for about three months for his work. It meant three months of not seeing each other much, and neither of us was thrilled about it. So, we began to plan a trip. We planned a road trip, through Arkansas, that would allow us to check out a couple of the towns on our list. We decided to keep it low budget, being of limited means, and opted to camp at state parks and public campgrounds, only staying at one bed and breakfast along the way.

We departed at the beginning of August. We had to go north before we went south, as my cousin was getting married in Wooster, Ohio, about a three hour drive from where we lived. We had fun at the wedding, danced and drank – and the next day started our adventure.

From Wooster, it was about a six hour drive to our first stop: Lincoln City, Indiana. We stayed at Lincoln State Park. We arrived in the late afternoon, and set up our campsite before cooking dinner over the fire. It had rained earlier that day, so the skies were a little gray, but thankfully our first night in the tent was warm and dry.

The next morning, we woke early to eat breakfast and break down our campsite. There was a shower house just a quick walk away, so we got ourselves washed up.

For the next seven hours, we drove, through Indiana, Illinois, Missouri, and finally, we arrived in Arkansas, at Bull Shoals-White River State Park. From the moment we arrived, we were struck by the beauty we had never known was so close to us. The beauty of the Ozarks, the swells of green trees that changed to open fields – Arkansas truly felt like home.

Everything we experienced while in Arkansas was magical – and who would have thought it? When we told our friends and family about our adventure, the response was always, “Why Arkansas?” And before going there, we didn’t really have an answer. Now, if asked, I tell them it’s because of the entire town of Eureka Springs being on the national historic register, and having trolleys instead of buses. I tell them it’s because of Thorncrown Chapel, just outside of Eureka Springs, a tiny glass chapel nestled in amongst mountain and trees, made only of windows so you can soak the beauty in.

Why Arkansas? Because Lake Leatherwood City Park, a charming and quaint campground that we almost couldn’t find; because of the Wildflower Bed and Breakfast in Mountain View, a beautiful inn with a huge porch and rocking chairs located just a short walk from the town square, where local musicians converge each evening to play some good ol’ bluegrass. It’s because of the Ozark Folk Center, full of wonderful people who are working hard to conserve and remember the arts of days gone by. It’s because even driving down backroads in the middle of nowhere, each time we rounded a curve, we gasped because it got more beautiful than we had thought possible.

The drive back was bittersweet. We stayed in a hotel in Illinois, visited family there, visited friends in Louisville. We were happy to be home, in our little apartment, but Ohio seemed less like home, and more like a stepping stone. We had officially decided, without having to speak, that our hearts were in the Ozarks, and that’s where we wanted to be as well.

Hopefully someday, we will make our way back there. Or maybe in our travels, we’ll find our home in a different place, and look fondly back at our adventure in Arkansas as a trip that crystallized our priorities, and the direction that our life together will take.

 

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

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SpaghettiEis and Brandenburg in Germany

 

SpaghettiEis and Brandenburg

 

            Have you ever wanted to travel to Europe? Think of all the wonders of Europe – Paris, Madrid, Berlin. Berlin is empowering, industrial, beautiful, and cultural. You will stand in front of the Brandenburg Gate and feel all the history dawn on you. You will step foot on where history has unfolded greatly. You will become a part of history in your own way, and in the cities, or Stadt’s way.

 

            People will be fluttering around you, busy talking on their cell phones, taking pictures of the architecture, or walking quickly trying to reach their destination. The Brandenburg Gate will be laid out in front of you massively and beautifully. You will feel as if you can do anything in your power, as long as you are standing right there. Then, you may choose to walk a distance or catch an S-Bahn to the Holocaust Memorial. The 2,711 slabs of rock will dominate your perspective as you walk through the pathways of the monument. The monument is designed for people to walk through it and have difficulty knowing where to go, therefore feeling like the stones are getting bigger and bigger while you find yourself deeper and deeper into the matrix. You will feel only a sliver of what Holocaust victims were feeling when they were victimized by Nazi Germany.

 

            After you find your way out of the memorial, whether it is by yourself or with a group, a sense of accomplishment will pass over you. You will probably feel the need to go somewhere that makes you happy after you have been depressed by the Holocaust history. So, you may decide to go get some SpaghettiEis or eat some traditional German Bratwurst. As you order the food, you will get to talk to some of the locals in Berlin. Maybe you will even find someone who you continue talking to for some time. They will speak German to you, or they may realize you are from another country and just speak English with you. They will still encourage you to speak the language of German though.  It all depends. The Spree River will be dauntingly beautiful, and you will be amazed what travel can do for you.

 

            The city of Berlin will empower you and make you feel great. The history of the city and country will be everywhere, in the city sidewalks, and in the museums and memorials spread about. Not everyone there is proud of what has happened in the past in Germany, but it is guaranteed that a lot of people there are proud of what their country has become. It has overcome Hitler and the Nazis, has become one unified country, knocked down the Berlin Wall, and now has beautiful and inspiring culture all around. Everyone should get to travel to Germany at least once in their life and experience what travel can do to humans. Travel empowers, inspires, and makes people fall in love with cities that they will never forget. It creates memories you will tell to your grandchildren later in life, and it may create a whole new life for you and others. Berlin is a great place to travel to if you are interested in history and architecture, and everyone else alike.

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

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People of Panama

When we’re in middle school, life seems to be ever-lasting. We are care-free,

blissfully unaware of anything other than our immediate surroundings. We are,

effectively, trapped by our own developing brains that are beginning the search for

identity and meaning and leaving very little to be concerned about other’s. Middle

schoolers are selfish. They talk back. They roll their eyes when you speak of others and

their feelings. They don’t understand the bigger and more important concepts of this

world because biology is working against them. So, when my grandma offered to take

me on a cruise in the Caribbean over spring break in 8th grade, my first thought was,

“my friends are going to be so jealous!”.

The excursion we’d picked the day we would be in Panama cited a nice city tour

ending in a trip to the rainforest and the Panama Canal. Entering the city was like

stepping into a different world. The driver and tour guide explained that Panama really

doesn’t have driving laws, but the unwritten rule was that the “little car always stops for

the bigger car”. I was genuinely scared for the first time in my memory. It didn’t matter

that we were in a tour bus or that our guide was being so upbeat. The thought of a place

without traffic laws, signs, or functioning lights made the entire city seem much more

foreign than my suburban neighborhood at home. As we went deeper into the city the

poverty grew exponentially. To my left, the guide said, was the biggest shopping center

in Panama. The only issue was, you couldn’t even see it. There was a thirty foot cement

wall circling the complex with barbed wire jutting out at the top.

Someone asked why the wall was there, and the guide casually explained that it

was simply too dangerous to have people come and go as they please. There was only

one entrance and exit, and each had security guards posted and did checks on all the

cars coming in and out. I could look at the hard, grey wall any longer, but the view to my

right was worse.

There were apartments stacked six stories tall, if you could even call them

apartments. Most of the walls were so worn down you could see people walking around

inside, even the ones on the top floor. Extensions had been built precariously over the

street below, with as many as two extra room sticking out over the street, some meeting

with others in the middle. These rooms were covered with what looked like scrap pieces

of metal, pieces that we would throw into recycling without another glance back at

home. Dirty clotheslines ran back and forth between the buildings, with tattered shirts

and pants limply strung like Christmas lights. There were children as young as five or six

running barefoot between parked cars, holding filthy cans and rattling the few coins

they had, asking in colloquial Spanish for some change.

The chocolate croissant and fresh fruit I’d had for breakfast no longer sat well in

my stomach as I thought of the luxuries on the cruise ship in comparison to the horrible

poverty I saw here. I was scared, not only for myself as I translated the news flashing

across the bus’s TV screen into English (three shootings so far today, one major robbery

of a nearby bank) but for the people, the children I saw that were stuck in the only life

they’d ever know. These people were so incredibly brave without the slightest awareness

of how they were living their lives. It was the first time I’d ever truly feared for others

because of what they were suffering.

When I think of bravery, I think of the barefoot kindergarteners scampering

across the horribly dangerous streets of Panama City trying to bring home enough

change for their parents to buy a loaf of bread. I think of the mothers and fathers

working tirelessly to bring home food for their children, not knowing if they will be able

to eat next month. I think of the security guards at the shopping center who work there

every day not knowing if it will be their last because someone is desperate they have to

force their way in. I then think of myself and the way I was scared as we raced through

the busy streets. The bravery I saw in the people of Panama four years ago has seeped

into my own life. I am no longer a scared, naive thirteen year old. I am a woman with a

bright future who is forever grateful for the opportunities I have been blessed with and a

newfound courage to take with me as I reach out to what this world has to offer.

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

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Pompeii, Italy

I sit under a pillar of a city turning to ruin. Pompeii. How I wish I could’ve seen the people roaming around the common, the smiles and laughter. My mother trusts me enough  to sit here without causing too much trouble, being the boisterous son I am. The longer I sit here the more I feel at peace, I feel like I belong here. I am filled with courage as I think about the day of this great city’s demise. I slowly lay back on the pillar and close my eyes…

When I awaken, I am surrounded by Romans chatting with each other, bargaining for armor and daggers. A small girl knocks into me as she chases a mischievous boy. She whips her head and waves at me as if to apologize. I nod to acknowledge her. The boisterous chatter erupts from the many people, they all speak in Latin.

I can hear the hooves of a mule carrying various supplies in bags and carts hit the cobblestone path beside me. Suddenly, a shaking knocks me down to the floor along with some supplies from the small cart. I brush myself off and stand back up seeing blood run down my knee. What happened? I look up and see Mt. Vesuvius spewing out gases and ash so high I cannot see the top. A small boy starts crying, but the parent shakes her head and remarks “It’s only smoke.” That seems to calm him down, and he stops crying. The people continue with their daily lives, but something is wrong. I know something terrible is happening.

The clouds of ash cover the sun, and it turns dark. Many people look confused at what is happening. I have never seen anything like this. The sun is gone, and it isn’t from an eclipse. A woman looks at me as small rocks fall into her hands, then bigger rocks. I see a man collapse, blood running down his head. We have to get out of here; I know what will happen next. Panic sets in and people start fleeing to the openings of the city. I can see the ash cascading down the mountain. The reds and greys envelope all sights of green. I have to get out. I shove people out of the way. Run. I need to make my way to the gate. The small rocks pile up so far that they are up to my knees, and are wiping away the blood from my cut.

I’m almost to the gate. I’m surprised I can see it, considering the amount of bodies trying to cram through. I am so close to getting out when I hear a scream for help from a small girl. I can’t leave her here to die. I whip around and push everyone out of my way. I try to focus on her screams, but the cries of everyone else cloud my mind. I continue to trudge through until I break through the crowd. I target the screaming from a small hotel, abandoned. I run in to see the little girl who ran into me from earlier. Trails of tears stain her cheeks, and she is curled into a fetal position rocking back and forth. I run over to her and pick her up into my arms. There is no time to talk. I start coughing, the fumes are collecting in my lungs, almost causing me to double over in a coughing fit.

The gate is now almost empty, so I don’t have a lot of trouble getting through. The little girl’s face buries deeper into my shoulder as the smoke gets heavier. I can see the ashes plowing closer and closer towards the city. We aren’t going to make it. I see a cart with a horse and a rider running through the gates past us. I know what I have to do. I run after the cart which causes me to hyperventilate. The fumes go into my lungs with every breath I take burning the insides. I can see my vision go darker. I have to make it. I reach the small cart and lift the girl up to place her in it. She looks at me and with tears running down her crystal clear blue eyes. She gives my forehead a kiss, and I place her in the cart. She is safe from this unknown fiery disaster. I take a deep breath in relief as I see the ashes kiss my burning skin.

I open my eyes. Mother? Where are you? “Jonathan!” I hear her call. “There you are!” I wave smiling. She takes me by the hand and leads me to the exit gate. “So how did you like Pompeii? How did it make you feel?” I look back to the ruins and nod to her. “Brave.”

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

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Five Great Holiday Activities You’ve Never Considered

Five Great Holiday Activities You’ve Never Considered

Do you have a thirst for adventure and contempt for convention when you travel? If the thought of lounging around on a beach for two weeks fills you with revulsion, panic not: there are alternatives. Whether you want to sculpt your body, hone your intellect or nail a new skill, the world has much to offer those looking for new challenges when they travel. Check out these top activities for a break that breaks with travel convention.

Warrior training in Mongolia

Yes, you too can become a fierce and majestic warrior, just like Genghis Khan, but with a mortgage, and better shoes. Fly to Ulaanbaatar for some grounding in Mongolian history before venturing into the grasslands, donning some traditional 13th century warrior garb, and learning the not-so-subtle art of war. Horseriding, bow and arrow training and battle tactics are some of the new skills you’ll learn, just perfect for asserting your authority in the office on your return home.

Learn ninja skills in Japan

Have the adventure of a lifetime in Akame, and learn some important life skills at its ninja training school. You’ll learn stealth, self-discipline and control, all while wielding super cool weapons like throwing stars and the katana sword. At just Y1,700 for a ninety minute session, your official ninja certification is one savvy investment.

Fishing in Dubai

In Dubai, fishing is one of the most popular activities, and it’s easy to see why. Escape the heat by skimming out over the Persian Gulf, command exquisite views of one of the most otherworldly skylines on the planet, and grill freshly-landed food. Fishing charters typically cater to groups as large as ten, and make for a challenging afternoon for all ability levels. If it’s your first time, just be warned, it’s easy to get hooked once you’ve landed your first catch!

Wine and painting in Tuscany

If you need to feed your inner artist, treat him or her to an adventure in Tuscany, land of heavenly sunsets, wine and staggering landscapes. When you’re not lathering paint onto canvas under the tuition of experienced artists, you can trawl medieval towns, hike, cycle, and seek inspiration at the bottom of a glass of heady Tuscan wine.

Yoga retreat, anywhere

Sometimes, we all need to take stock, detox, and reclaim our senses with a little concentrated personal time. What better way to get away from it all than a dedicated yoga vacation? Whether you choose to venture into the mountains of northern Thailand, onto a Goan beach or chill in Ibiza is up to you, but a yoga retreat is a serious treat for stress heads.

There’s adventure to be had in every corner of the world, it’s up to you to go and seek it out.

Images by Google Images and Guilhem Vellut, used under the Creative Commons license. 

Author Bio: Chris is a consultant to FishFishMe, an online resource that helps you find and book fishing trips all over the globe.

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A Step Outside the Carribean

                 I stared out the plane window into the heart of Port Au Prince, Haiti. As I stared at the buildings, my mind flooded back to the trip to India when I was seven and the many mission trips we had been on to Romania. I was thankful for having been outside of the country so much and to be going to Haiti at age twelve. I wondered how similar this trip would be to the other multiple trips out of the country I had been on.

             The plane landed and our team got on the bus, which would take us to our destination, the town of Neply. An hour and a half later, we drove through Neply with a population of 2,500. As our team walked off the bus to the place we were staying, it was like walking into a new world.  We were greeted by several Haitian children who rapidly spoke Creole to us. I tried to use the limited Creole I had learned at home to greet them, knowing I was probably pronouncing everything wrong.

            We pulled our suitcases and bags inside the gate to the courtyard, where the American hosts showed us our room containing multiple bunk beds and a few windows. Once seeing our look at the beds, they told us that we would be thankful for no comforters and only one sheet because of the heat at night. They also told us the use of Wi-Fi had to be limited and when taking a shower, to use as little water as possible. We settled down in our room a little wide-eyed, and I already knew this trip was going to be different than our others.

            That night, my friend ran up to tell me there were a ton of kids asking to play outside the gate. I walked to the gate where my friend had already gone through and I put my hand on the door to outside. Fear of the unknown caused me to pause and wonder what I was going to face outside. “This is what we came here to do,” I reasoned with myself, ”Fear will only lessen the opportunities out there.” With that, I pushed the gate open and stepped outside.

             Immediately, I was surrounded by masses of kids talking very fast Creole and expecting me to understand. A toddler came up to me wanting to be held and a younger girl came and began to braid my hair. “There goes my personal bubble,” I thought with a laugh.

            Over the next week, I began to cherish the time I had with these kids. I appreciated when a love-starved toddler I had never seen came up, wanting to be held. I loved talking and trying to understand the kids speaking Creole and I enjoyed taking quick cold showers after a hot game of frisbee. I found myself constantly wanting to be with these kids who were looking for love, attention, and my time.

            I had the chance to help with the feeding program for kids who didn’t have enough to eat, and help teach kids who were child slaves.  Between those events, our team spent the rest of our time playing frisbee, and soccer with the kids. Any spare time I had was out talking and playing with the kids.

            Then, one night after we finished playing Frisbee with the kids, it hit me; we were leaving early the next morning. As I gave the kids hugs, I tried hard to compose myself, at least until I got to our room. But when one of the little girls through her arms around my neck and said in Creole “Eden, I love you and want you to stay,” I let the tears come.  She sat up and asked me why I was I crying. I didn’t know how to tell her I didn’t want to leave and I wanted to stay right there with her, so I just said “Mwen reme ou,” which means I love you.

            The next day as I stared down out the window at the disappearing island of Haiti I had come to love, I thought over the time we had had with the kids. I remembered when we all swam in the ocean together, the endless hours of frisbee, sitting under a mango tree trying to knock off the fruit, and so many other memories.  If I hadn’t taken that brave step out of the gate the first night, those kids would just be faces, not my friends.  True, my heart wouldn’t break every time I thought of them, but I would wonder what would have happened if I had left my comfort zone.  Taking that step out of the compound made it a lot harder to leave but that step also changed my life.

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