Lisa Niver's Blog: We Said Go Travel, page 345

That Headland, Indonesia

As I get to the crown, I make out the jutting headlands on either side. I feel the wind dissolve brine into my pores. I smell the air with rain approaching and listen to the waves crashing, interspersed with the click and clack of the cars rushing over the concrete slabs below. I love walking the gravel road to the headland. Even when pebbles get into my shoes and the wind stings my face, I am always thankful for the vista at the top of the path.

I am not at that headland now. That appreciation only exists in recollections. Where I am currently, is not where I want to be. I have gone from living in God’s country, to existing in a hell on earth. My days are filled dodging traffic and offensive smells, acrid smoke from burning rubbish filling the air. Teeming with people, there are no parks, very little flora and fauna and everywhere there is noise. A voluminous cacophony of shouts, motorbikes and “Hello Mister.”

On the eastern outskirts of Jakarta I bide my time. I have six months left on my contract and I dream constantly of that majestic headland back home in Sydney. Many people travel to Jakarta and thoroughly enjoy their time, but they are tourists and have the pleasure and luxury of free time. Many tourists only pass through this place. It is not a friendly city for a sightseer, unless one likes shopping malls and karaoke bars.

It is a crazy, busy place. It is the most inhospitable city that I have had the joy of living in, but it does have some of the warmest inhabitants I have encountered. Indonesians are lovely folk, but sadly their capital city is a disaster. As I have been told, Jakarta is a place to come for work. Most of the residents are not born here and when you ask where home is (meaning where in Jakarta), they will tell you about a place far removed from the hustle and bustle. No one seems to want to admit to being from here.

They are all from somewhere else.

My days are filled with the monotony of teaching English to upper middle class children with little respect for teachers, elders, or anyone else for that matter. At nights I write to a friend:

 

If you were here you might feel the same. Maybe you would like it and perhaps you would look at me and exclaim, “Stop your complaining.”

It is a culture that I am yet to understand. It is dichotomy of contradictions that fill me with a sense of foreboding, a sense of dread. Something is lacking in Jakarta and I can only surmise that it is a soul. On trips to Lombok, or Flores, or Bali, or even Jogjakarta I have felt a weight lift off my shoulders. I breathe calmer and I smile more. The sense of adventure returns and I run wildly to the next destination.

I am never alone in Jakarta and it is something I have a frightful time with. I miss those walks to the top of the headland that used to clear my mind. I hold on to those memories. It’s what makes me strong and hopeful.

At times it all makes sense. A child exclaims, “Mr, is this the right answer?”

It doesn’t last for long, and I go to the next class suffering from the tyranny of children raised by maids and nannies. I am grateful at the end of the day when I am home and the door closes to the world and the noise outside.

About the Author:

Mark is an English teacher from Sydney currently living in Jakarta. He likes to read and write in his spare time. One day he will get to go surfing again.

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

The post That Headland, Indonesia appeared first on We Said Go Travel.

Making a Living Out of Dead People, India

 MAKING A LIVING OUT OF DEAD PEOPLE…

We all travel for a variety of reasons mostly its business or pleasure. I embarked upon a journey since I was dejected with life, as my failures had surpassed my list of successes. I had become a recluse and solitude was the company I chose. The thought of seeking the purpose of my life, haunted my mind so I decided to head to the saintly City of Kashi, India, seeking solace in spirituality.

With nothing particular in my mind I landed at the holy Ganges or the river Ganga which flows from the Himalayas passing through different states of India before reaching the sea. One of the places it passes through during its long journey is Kashi, a holy city situated on the banks of Ganga in UttarPradesh.

As you enter the Ghats (a series of steps leading down to a body of water) Manikarnika ghats and Harishchandra ghats in Kashi you notice, dirty dogs fighting over a piece of flesh fallen from the pyre, the air filled with the fragrance of burning ghee (clarified butter) and incense and amidst this you spot, sweating individuals wearing white dhoti-kurta (an Indian style clothing), mouth stained with paan (betel leaf with cured tobacco for psychoactive stimulation) and sitting besides burning dead bodies. They are the kings of the Dom dynasty called Dom rajas.

Dom rajas are lean, thin and strong men who sit amidst the dead bodies that have been brought to the two ghats to be fed to the flames. These Dom rajas have existed since the Hindu laws of burning the dead had been written. They have been making a business out of selling piles of wood and cans of ghee, arranging pyres for all the dead who have been brought for moksha or salvation to these ghats. Traditionally it is always the youngest son of the family who becomes the Dom raja of the next generation. It is said that the heir to the throne waits for a divine sign from Lord Shiva before the coronation. The coronation involves a dawn to dusk ceremony to please Baba Shamshan Nath a variation of Shiva, the destroyer of life.

A conversation with a Dom Raja gave me an insight to their legend “According to the legend Godess Parvati, the wife of Shiva, lost the solitaire of her ear pendant while bathing at the Manikarnika ghat. She requested Shiva to ask the pandits (priests) conducting rituals on the ghats to search for it. Although the pandits found the solitaire, they debated over informing Shiva because telling Shiva would mean losing the opportunity of seeing Parvati. The pandits who did not want the find, revealed to Shiva. An infuriated Shiva cursed and condemned the pandits to becoming chandals (Chandal is a Sanskrit word for someone who deals with disposal of corpses) for the rest of their lives. Knowing nothing besides conducting rituals, the cursed pandits pleaded for mercy. Shiva obliged them by forgiving and granting, that besides being chandals they could also conduct rituals and would still be the guardians of the fire on the ghats. Ever since then the doms and their kings have been the guardians of an undying fire that still burns at the ghats and is used to set the pyre alight.

I started wondering about the purpose of the lives of these people and went into introspection about my own life. I belonged to a different social strata altogether and it was my ongoing comparison with others ‘successful’ in terms of societal values which made me feel depressed at the start of this journey. But only after seeing these Dom Rajas and their way of living for generations made me realize that life often has its own ways of teaching you things. The meaning of Life for me changed thereafter and if it hadn’t been for these insights that the City of Kashi offered, I wouldn’t have been more grateful about my life.

This experience made me feel strong and hopeful about my life. The first thing I did was offer gratitude for everything good that was bestowed upon me. This place changed my way of thinking about life. Little did I know that a clan of people would change my thinking forever, a clan who were Making a living out of Dead people.

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

The post Making a Living Out of Dead People, India appeared first on We Said Go Travel.

Feeling Ironic in China

Feeling Ironic in China

Gratitude; a place that makes me feel strong, free, hopeful and inspired.. as I was pondering this, with my cranberry white mocha with extra cinnamon sprinkles I wandered to my retreat, a small wooden pagoda overlooking the Han River. I cast my mind back to my busy summer. A place I had felt empowered? I thought of the summer I had spent working in Italy, relaxing in the Tuscan Hills, cycling down picture perfect canals just outside of Milan, stargazing on warm nights outside the Vatican in Rome. I reminisced about Canada and my time in buzzing Toronto and how alive it had made me feel, the magnificent roar as the Bluejays scored their only homerun, how the giant buildings engulfed me but yet I still felt a sense of importance walking around this city, as my dear sister phrased it, in her bizarre mix of Yorkshire and Canadian accent, “It’s like everyone here is connected by the fact we all know that here, in this city, were all a part of something amazing!”. I pondered Scotland – its beautiful moors and mountains that made me feel free and wild. It’s juxtaposed castles and cobble streets with trashy bars offering 2 -for-1 shots, and the food that made me never want to leave.

 

I scribbled notes on all these pages, manic spider diagrams webbed across my page, these incredible places and the different ways they had made me feel, but none were right. Gratitude? Then I realised, ironically, the place I felt most free, hopeful and inspired was here, in my Pagoda, overlooking the Han river, Fushun, Liaoning province, North East China.

 

This plain sweet pagoda is located on an island between two main roads overlooking the river. I have never encountered anyone else here, and I can understand why it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. The roads enclosing the island are constant with traffic; red lights one way white the other. These roads are chocha with irate taxi drivers blaring their honking horns , tyres screeching and people yelling – yet amid this sea of anger I feel calm. The star of my show, is the dark slow river that so beautifully reflects the cityscape with its neon lights. It perfectly mirrors the arches of the bridges creating almost symmetrical circles.

 

And it is here looking at the reflections I come to reflect on my day, to recharge my soul. It’s half an hour’s peace where I can curl up in the benches embrace, surrounded by a sea of people rattling around in tin cans, each living their own soap operas, and feel alone. Away from my ever questioning, ever enthusiastic students. Away from my ever demanding, ever pushing employers. Away from lifes dramas; the illnesses, the stress, the grief. This pagoda where I can empty my mind and fill my lungs with (polluted) air. I can watch the mirrored buildings flicker and become hypnotised by the lights, I can wade through my mind and plan my next years travels.. to find next years retreat..

About the author: I’m Holly, currently living and working in China.

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

The post Feeling Ironic in China appeared first on We Said Go Travel.

Gratitude To My Pinnacle in Nigeria

I stood there, lost in my meditation. I gazed at the space, feeling on top of the world.

The countless roof gave me a puzzle and the glory thereof made me cry. Not because I’m a crybaby or some calamities had landed on the roof. It was because I saw what makes me strong. And that ignites my hope.

That fateful afternoon, I focused on the sky. The warm breeze matched my temperature. And the sight was so much a food for me.

Before I went there, I was lonely and depressed, like no sign of happiness has ever crossed my path.

My friends saw me alone. My family became worried. They’d thought I was sad, disappointed or maybe worried as they were. Or maybe I was sorrowful for not achieving a goal. They even came to stare me up hoping their ginger in my sour soup would trigger the exhausted me.

But that wasn’t my meditation. I didn’t need or want that. They weren’t in the position to help. So I went the stairs to a very high height I could call “my pinnacle.” It was spacious and high that I could see roofs far away.

Then the spirit came. My hope rekindled. I felt that happiness again. My bones received strength. And my joints never fluctuate like before.

I got the help I searched for – a sight and sensation. I rejoiced over the victory, or maybe achievement. I felt happy being alone, right on my pinnacle. Or tower. Or mountain.

I saw houses, roads, cars, green pastury fields and other beautiful images I’ve imagined and desired seeing afar from a very high position.

That experience fueled my gut and engineered my pursuing my writing career at my best capability. I have the confidence to leave my friends and family, to embrace the exploration that sends cold sensation down my spine, and joy all over my face and mind. I felt high without sniffing any powder or gulping a bottle of alcohol.

Inspiring! Right? That’s it.

Because your inspiration medium is waiting too, to rekindle your hope and to emotionally back you up, somewhere, somehow.

It may be listening to music, writing, drawing.

Or perhaps travelling. Where highway lights bubble like paradise. And the vehincle speed engaging as ever. Where mountains and valleys lie between greener pastures, and the skies turn blue. Where the anime sprinkles on the field, playing and playing… Where the birds flip and flap, and sing the thinest suprano.

That may be your generating source. You should go re-generate. If it’s in Malaysia, go get it. If it finds its way to Australlia, fly over there. If it hangs on your roof, then get a ladder.

Yes, you know what you’re doing. Yes, you know your family won’t understand. Yes, you know your friends won’t concur with it.

But you need to solidarise with your inspirating source, anchor with nature and get the best no one can offer.

As for me, any opportunity to go high, I go. Any opportunity to climb the roof, I’ll do. To see the lovely habitation of the homo-sapiens. To regain strength and might for the world’s warfare.

Gratitude to my pinnacle!!! I would’ve not been more strong and hopeful.

 

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

The post Gratitude To My Pinnacle in Nigeria appeared first on We Said Go Travel.

Shanksville – Time Out to Remember

Shanksville – Time Out to Remember

Fall is a stunningly beautiful season in the Pennsylvania countryside. The hilly landscape rolls by, lush green turning to deep reds, oranges and yellows.  The road passes a series of small picture-postcard white farmhouses and a farm stand overflowing with pumpkins.

Visitors seeking the Flight 93 National Memorial must keep their eyes sharp. Signs, small, brown and rectangular, sit low alongside the road, not easily seen unless specifically looking for them.

Eighteen miles off the Pennsylvania Turnpike Somerset exit, outside the small town of Shanksville, the site sits high on a mountain overlooking the countryside.

Turning off Highway 30 and passing the entrance, the road meanders 3.5 miles through a new federal park emerging around the location of the 9/11 disaster. Newly planted trees dot the landscape, proud members of forty forest groves rising amidst the remains of decades of strip mining and one disastrous plane crash, one for each Flight 93 victim, signs of life and renewal growing out of deserted, barren mine cavities and unmarked remains.

Terrorists planned the 2001 attacks carefully, attentive to every detail – or so they thought – but could not control all factors. Flight 93 left Newark airport 25 minutes late.  The four terrorists aboard commandeered the plane, forcing everyone to the back of the aircraft. Passengers desperately called family and authorities on cell phones. Hearing about the strikes on the Pentagon and World Trade Centers, they realized their plane was destined for another target.

The passengers decided to fight back. The results, tragic for the victims, prevented a fourth plane from crashing into an American landmark in Washington, D.C., believed to be the Capitol where the Senate and House were in session.

I cannot imagine the fear, rage, and disbelief every individual on that plane felt. Yet they managed to come together – men and women, black and white, Republicans and Democrats (no doubt both parties were represented), maybe an Independent and Libertarian or two, young and old, probably the affluent and less so. They are a testament to what our country is all about.

People slowly walk around, reading sign boards and strolling down the path to the Memorial, a marble wall inscribed with the names of the 40 victims. Men shoot pictures with large mutli-lens cameras and people linger, staring at the peaceful fields surrounding the Plaza. The events of that horrific day years ago seem surreal, but the names of the real victims stare at us, shining in the golden sunlight.

The Memorial is probably the closest our country has to a national holy place.

My husband and I detoured to the Memorial on the way home from visiting friends. We are lucky to lead active lives, working, traveling, enjoying family and friends. The people on that plane that September day were busy too, but their lives were cut short, innocent victims of fanatics stirring up not only their world, but ours too.

It is difficult to place our Western-educated heads into those whose lives, history and culture are so different from ours, who believe it their mission to annihilate those who practice a different religion, and arbitrarily murder civilians.

We are confronted by people who do not believe in our values  – life, liberty, pursuit of happiness – who do not value anyone’s life, who find liberty an idea threatening their existence, and think the pursuit of happiness a Western fantasy. These people may win battles, but will never win the war for our hearts and our minds.

A visit to Shanksville gives pause, anchoring us for a moment in the realities of our harsh world. It is a time out from frenzied lives, a brief moment to be grateful for our life, as crazy as it might be, and thank those who helped build and preserve our country, our culture and our society, as flawed as they all may be. Stepping away from everyday problems and controversies, we view the big picture.

I renew a desire to make every day count, to appreciate and not take for granted my wonderful life. My husband and I could have been on one of those planes. Forget about putting things off. Shanksville reminds us life is precious and precarious. Live and enjoy life, be strong, and try not to squander the opportunities life presents. This is the wake-up call we leave with.

 

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

The post Shanksville – Time Out to Remember appeared first on We Said Go Travel.

My Wellington, New Zealand

My Wellington

As usual I’m running late so I pick a random t-shirt off my floor and throw it on, it doesn’t go with this skirt at all; the colours clash horribly but I don’t care because the weirder the better in Wellington. I run out the flat and slam the door closed behind me with a well-practiced level of force, not too hard as to break the latch but hard enough to make sure it stays shut in the wind. The flat is one of six wedged into a run-into-the-ground building up the road from Uni. The notorious Wellington wind whistles its way under the door and through cracks between the windows making the bunting lining the lounge flutter and our fingers numb with cold, but the view of the hills makes it worth it. Putting on my city walking pace I cut through the parliamentary grounds and slow to admire the impressive stone building that was one of the first to allow same-sex marriage, works on returning rights to the Maori people from the forces of British colonialism, and was the first to give women the vote and I feel a little bit of humble kiwi pride.

            It’s about 1pm, so lunch hour, and Lambton Quay is swarming with young professionals creating a river of colour in smart blue suits and paisley shirts, neat vintage dresses and heals. I reach Cuba Street and am instantly drowned in a wave of music. On my left a young girl plays the violin slowly and peacefully, contrasting but somehow complimenting the beat of makeshift drums by an old man with dreads who grins goofily at everyone who passes, even those who ignore him. The famous bucket fountain splashes rhythmically and a couple of old women create the chime of a triangle with delicate high giggles as they point at the road cone a drunk student managed to place on top of it last night. I’m not sorry when I get trapped behind a couple walking slowly and have to slow my pace; I take the time to look around me. It’s one of those rare bright sunny days where the wind is merely a breeze and everything seems to sparkle. The sun glints off a woman’s sunglasses who sits outside a café, her mouth moves but her voice is unidentifiable, lost amongst others all joining together in the rise and fall of a crescendo. I can’t help smiling when the couple in front of me joins hands, perfecting the scene, and find myself unconsciously singing along to the Ed Sheeran song being strummed by a young man sitting on a bench.

            I arrive at the café on time to see my friend Aysha walking towards me from the opposite direction. She waves frantically almost hitting a passerby with a bag of lollipops clutched in her right hand. Just before she reaches me she pauses to hand a lollipop to the homeless man sitting grudgingly between cafés,

‘sorry I don’t have any change’ she says. The man looks up at her silently with gratitude sparkling in his eyes.

            We walk into the café and sit down with Sophie who was waiting for us at the back. The café is full of students eagerly sipping cappuccinos they can’t afford whilst debating current affairs so seriously that creases furrow in their young foreheads as they plan to save the world. We share an impressive plate of nachos between us under the scrutiny of gig, protest and advertising posters lining the wall, only separated by artistic graffiti. I loose track of time while we sit there, the plate long since empty, discussing big important issues but mostly sharing stories from the weekend and planning the next. We talk over what we’re going to do when we finish our degrees but there are too many choices to come to a conclusion, a whole terrifying world of possibilities. We wonder what we are going to do with our pointless arts degrees, but not with much concern because right now it doesn’t matter, right now we can do anything. We’ll travel around Europe when we finish, even if we can never save the money to get there. And when we get back Aysha is going to make waves as a successful lawyer, Sophie will design something life changing, and I’m going to be a famous writer. At this moment, in this place, surrounded by these people nothing can stop us and anything can happen.

 

 Hannah Parsons

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

The post My Wellington, New Zealand appeared first on We Said Go Travel.

A Place Of My Dream Actualization in the UK

A PLACE OF MY DREAM ACTUALIZATION

As am aiming to study at the United Kingdom, I think it will pave ways for my career development and actualization of my dreams. I love education with passion and United Kingdom is a nice place for strong academic pursuit. The United Kingdom as a developed country has all it takes to make the environment a better place of living. The United Kingdom as a civilized and developed country provides work opportunities for graduates as a result of its economic stability. The United Kingdom is a friendly, welcoming place for people of all countries, cultures and faiths. United Kingdom courses gives one skill, qualifications and connections needed to succeed in a chosen career. United Kingdom has the vital and required apparatus used in science laboratories.  Students now find it easier to believe about the invention of some technologies and how some science related material came by as a result of the practical aspect of learning given to them. My country as a developing country did not have all it takes to make the standard of education worthy of emulation. They only concentrate on the theorical aspect with few science apparatus.

I did not just chooseUnited Kingdom because of the name but due to what they are up to. It is obvious that the United Kingdom hashigh teaching styles. Attributes such as creativity, innovation, teamwork and leadership are in high demand from employers worldwide. Many United Kingdomcourses are designed in partnership with business and are taught by industry professionals, so one can gain real experience for his or her future career. United Kingdom degrees have a global reputation for quality and employers worldwide recognize a United Kingdom degree as a sign of high academic standards. Living in the United Kingdom will not only favour my educational career but will also contribute to my social life. I do not think it will be difficult for me tobe conversant with the United Kingdom’s environment since they have all it takes to give my life a meaning.

The United Kingdom is truly one of the most exciting and productive places in the world for research, creativity and innovation. TheUnited Kingdom is a multicultural society, and United Kingdom campuses are international communities. By studying in the United Kingdom, I can gainan international perspective, learn about new cultures and socialize with students and teachers from around the world-valuable experience for a career in an international company. United Kingdom courses encourage me to develop critical thinking skills, creativity and decision-making, which can improve my career prospects with employers worldwide. Many careers require professional qualifications. The United Kingdom offers thousands of courses leading to internationally-recognized qualifications in fields such as law, accountancy, medicine, engineering, childcare, teaching, marketing and more. People in United Kingdom love new ideas— it has become part of their culture to think creatively and to keep finding new ways of doing things. As a student in the United Kingdom, i will be encouraged to explore my own ideas and to push   the boundaries.

English language skills are valued by employers, universities and colleges worldwide, and are a powerful tool in thousands of careers and improving my English is a great investment in the future. In the United Kingdom, English learning is about having fun and taking part. Instead of just listening to your teachers, your classes will involve game, problem-solving and discussion. You might also listen to songs, watch television or read magazines to practice your comprehension skills. I strongly recommend that if one has passion for learning and what to be at the forefront of his or her chosen career, the United Kingdom is a superb place to be.

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

The post A Place Of My Dream Actualization in the UK appeared first on We Said Go Travel.

The tranquility of spirit in Vietnam

Hanoi, Vietnam, is a beautiful place where most Vietnamese dynasties have left their imprint, consider one of the main cultural centers of Vietnam. Hanoi have not experience thru wars and time but the city has many interesting cultural and historic monuments influences by Chinese and French. There are bursting with people, fascinating scenes, and rich with cultural. Hanoi, a chosen place for me to involve myself in the cultural and also intend to free my soul from hectic life with the good geography surrounding. In the city, the sculpting of the architecture of Chinese and French which influences by Chinese and French which give you the experiences of mixture of both Asia and Western country in one place. Local people, discover the way their living, what they do for living, how hardworking for them to work for the sake of living. The city are very busy and bustle with motorcycle and also the sound of “horning” as well known. Every night, you can see their local people are sitting at the road side and enjoy their foods and beverage with a group of friends, family. Despite of the hard hectic life in the city, Vietnamese manage to work-life balance in certain circumstances. The moment of gratituition reflect on the life.  The locals are friendly and helpful, communicate yes is hard there but they are willing to lead you to the destinations so not to worry if you lost the way, you might can get some unexpected and that will be the surprise for you.

Since i was there, definitely I won’t miss the chance to visit to Halong Bay. Halong bay has play an important part in term of culture and history of Vietnam. It is also known as Vinh Ha Long, means “Bays of the Descending Dragons. There are approximately 2000 small islands around there with different form surroundings.” These island have been there hundreds of years ago which make the Halong Bay so stunning. There are some activities which is arranged by the cruise. You will be visit the surprise caves where you can see how the limestone forms. Plus, you will be visit to Titop beach. You can choose to swim or climb up the mountain 400 stairs to enjoy the view of Halong. It is really worth to climb and you will get an extreme stunning view in return. Upon visitation to the fishing village, there are floating house in the water where you can see family with 4-5 people stay in one small house.  In this small house, you can see how the family bonds togather, which is so sweet of them.  However, government have remove most of the floating house to the land in order to improve in their community but there are still houses are remains at there for tourism purpose. I have approached to the local community who are rowing the boat on the motives on rather to stay in the floating house instead of proper house in the mainland.  They responsed they prefer to not to change the environment afterall fishing is their main living since decades.  

Of course, staying overnight in the cruise is the best options to enjoy the amazing of Halong Bay to the maximum of life. The peace, tranquility, calm that able to brings you away from normal routines. Your soul, will recite what you have been in your life and discover what you would like to be in future. Morning Tai Chi is included in the cruise too. Imagine the slow Tai Chi with the breezy wind and the islands surrounding the cruise, how refreshing it was that boost the day. Night in the cruise, not to mentioned, look out to the sky, you can see glittering star and there come all the thought of your inner self.  The thought of freedom that spark you away, the thought of searching for the long lost passion in your life, the thought of improvise the life to be the person you wanna be.

-“All of us have passion in our life which is submerge deep inside our heart and mind, in order to discover, we have to go through journey” -

About the author

I am a person who like to travel and prefer to see natural things. Explore more places, experience the locals cultural is my main objective of traveling.  Capturing the beautiful world with my eyes, totally get caught in the beautiful places, treasure myself during the journey so that the anticipation of pursuit on my life will always spark.

 

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

The post The tranquility of spirit in Vietnam appeared first on We Said Go Travel.

The Journey around the world

The journey. Travelling. How I first got bit I’m not sure, but the bug certainly had me.

The only inhabited continent I’ve not visited is South America, and I have some good excuses up my sleeve for going there in the future. Every time you travel you end up with stories, have adventures. I’ve enough to write a book. Several. A lot of them you wouldn’t believe. I have a hard time doing so myself. But they’re true.

I ran into a lot of gangs when travelling. Not touring – that’s different. Artificial, unreal, harder to understand what a country is truly like. I’ve dined with elders from rival gangs, been chased and cherished by them, threatened with broken teeth or worse, turned down their invitations and stood my ground against them.

I hitched around the States with only my side bag, excess baggage stashed at some yank’s pad in some place along the way, always a party and a ride, to another party, another ride the next day, another place, another party, another person. How it goes. I’ve been lucky, attracted beautiful souls. Sometimes uglier ones. That’s life.

I’ve been attacked in Corsica and welcomed in New Zealand, chased in India and loved in Greece, robbed in Tunisia, and treated in Portugal. Bulgaria, Italy, Spain, France, Switzerland, Australia, Mexico and Wales. Oh the tales I could tell, would love to tell you.

One thing about travel is returning to your native land. Small things change, but big things get stuck. You move on, tumbled against the polishing stones of foreign souls and climes, but the culture doesn’t. On the surface, Numa Numa dance may have been replaced by Gangnam Style, but deep down it’s the same nonsense. Travelling is a wonderful way of deciding what really counts in your life, a way of pruning things that no longer serve you. If you’re stuck in one place, day in day out, it can be harder to do this essential life spring cleaning. One can take stuff for granted, get comfortable, stagnate, slip into bad habits. On the road, journeying, that does not happen.

In other cultures, tiny similarities and differences make you stop. People waiting for aeons in Japan to cross the empty road because the man hasn’t turned green, staring at bearded gaijin with audacity to walk through empty space. Or strolling down the middle of the road in Delhi, where pavements are more for decoration.

Crossed wires: eating snails in Japan, I described them as “Chewy!” The table jumped. I’d told them “Attention!”, army style.

At the end of the day, we’re all people. When we love ourselves, love each other, love the lands we live on, we get along. Despite language differences, there’s always a way to share a good story. I relish the opportunity now, after years of travel, to plant roots in the south of England, write that epic fantasy novel that has been gestating throughout my journeys, see where that takes me… I dream of writing other books in the sequence, in a hammock on the porch of a beach shack in Thailand, in homes of South America, somewhere warm and sunny and green and friendly.

A toast: to the journey, may it take us ever closer to ourselves and our dreams!

Wherever we go, however we get there, may we appreciate and revel in our journeys!

May we be all that we are, more than we ever dreamed!

May we meet on the journey…

 

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

The post The Journey around the world appeared first on We Said Go Travel.

Assateague Island Freedom, USA

The wind is chilly, blowing in from the Atlantic. Even though it’s May, and spring is hurrying on toward summer in the city, it hasn’t quite made it to the islands.

Chincoteague. Practically everyone in America has grown up reading about it, and about the wild ponies on neighboring Assateague Island. I pull my too-thin jacket closer as I walk down the deserted pre-tourist-season streets in search of a store open for business. The town looks rather forlorn, awaiting tourists and residents alike who have yet to arrive.

Finally, armed with coffee and a cinnamon roll, I start my rental car and spread out my map. From my quaint bed and breakfast, it’s not far to the bridge going to the wildlife refuge of Assateague. Hence the coffee and roll. I don’t like going over water in a vehicle meant for dry land, and I’d had plenty of that already in order to get to Chincoteague in the first place.

Once safely over the causeway, I begin to breathe a little easier. A glimmer of red and white catches my eye, so at a pull-off with a sign reading Lighthouse Trail, I park and get out. The trail is soft sand, leading me through tall, knarled pines that creak and sway in the sea breeze. Gradually the lighthouse appears again ahead. It gazes in weathered serenity back across the narrow channel toward Chincoteague. I look too, and realize that already the distant shops and houses seem like a different world. The quiet is absolute, interwoven but not broken by the water slapping playfully at the marshy shore and the age-old sighing of the pines.

On the walk back to my car, a woodpecker begins its rhythmic hammering close by, and I stop to watch. It occurs to me, with some surprise, that I’m in no hurry to go anywhere. I’m a city girl. I’m in a hurry on a good day. But not here.

The road continues on a narrow strip between marshy wetlands. It’s turning out to be a sunny day, so I roll down my windows. Before long, I’ve pulled off the side of the road and am ineffectually trying to shoo a plague of mosquitoes from the interior. When they have been evicted—mostly—I keep the windows firmly shut.

As I continue to drive, I begin glimpsing more than marsh through the pines. Finally I come within sight of the beach.

As a beach, it looks like just about any you’d find—though I prefer my beaches warmer. Reluctantly I take off my shoes and splash gingerly into the cold waves. Then I see what makes this beach—and this island—unlike any I’ve been to yet.

A group of ponies meanders from the woods, utterly ignoring the handful of early-season tourists raising cameras at them. One black and white foal breaks away to gallop with joyful abandon, straight into the surf. The rest of the group follow suit, turning the water to foam, tails and manes whipping in the wind.

This is how things should be, I find myself thinking. This is how animals were meant to live. Unconfined and unafraid, unconcerned with human affairs, able to roam woods and meadows, free to frolic in the ocean. And as the ponies wander, bodies glistening and manes dripping, down the beach, I wish I could spend my days the same way.

That evening, having had my fill of the seafood special from the lone open restaurant, I wander out to the dock I can see from my room. I wish I had planned to come a month later, for more reasons than my own comfort. The owner had said something about dolphins being common in the channel at certain times of the year, but not right now. The water is usually too cold until June.

I sit on the dock and watch the sun set behind the dark fringe of wooded island. Now it is that world of peaceful freedom which seems unattainably far. Today I’ve felt, for the first time in years, something mysterious and light—which I now realize was hope. Hope that freedom still exists, that strength matters, that meaning can still find me somewhere amongst the hectic fury of normal life.

As the island of Assateague slowly disappears into the shadows, I wonder wistfully if this is true. Or has this been a lovely dream, which will shatter when the onslaught of obligations returns. I stare into the calmly rippling waters, turned to molten gold, and dare them to answer.

A bigger ripple, a splash, and a gray head, almost invisible but for the wet gleam from its long snout. Then it’s disappeared, and the shimmering reflections make it impossible to see past the waters’ surface. But out of the dusk comes a sound, a clicking, that is almost like laughter.

And I laugh. Hope.

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

The post Assateague Island Freedom, USA appeared first on We Said Go Travel.