Lisa Niver's Blog: We Said Go Travel, page 360

My heart is my home in Indonesia

At this very moment, I work the ‘front office’ at a hotel made solely with old authentic teak, a destination you may not be aware on a crater-like mountain range in Indonesia. In other words, I am a receptionist at a hotel but I always like to say “going to the office now” to my girlfriend and friends to hide the truth of my wasted potential. “Stop hiding the fact that you’re a receptionist at a hotel Jem” is the final conversation after my look of evil eyes as she said the comment and some laughs, followed by me driving 90 km/hour on my bike getting to work early rather than late thinking about how free I am flying and enjoying the ride of my life.

I do love life; I live it driven primarily by curiosity with a pinch of clumsiness. Thankfully I have had my fair share of experiences getting involved in the best and worst of situations, living through all that I stumble upon – one of them being; dropping my GoPro camera in a den of wild dogs! “Oh James! Not again” was my family’s reaction on the occasion when we were enjoying the African Safari as I almost got everyone in the jeep mauled to death.

There is no such thing as coincidence in my belief, everything has its reason, wild dogs are a very hard find during Safari gaming; the family was lucky enough to get an up close and personal upside down ‘selfie’ of one in particular during my exploits! The ranger called ‘Promise’ got my camera back and he will forever be my GoPro hero.

I motivate all travelers to experience the safari games in South Africa at least once in their lifetime; I must also say the ‘amarula’ is the choice of beverage there. In Safari Gaming you can sit on a jeep for hours staring at an animal and feel at peace. I am a traveler myself; starting this year I can honestly say that I have been to 6 continents of the globe. I just need to witness the Aurora in both Arctic and Atlantic and then I may be called a world traveler.

Currently I rest my head on a rock called ‘Batu’, which metaphorically does mean a rock in my language. I found this now recent Tourist city of Batu, 4 years ago after travelling 4 years in both New Zealand and Australia, then finally United Kingdom. I was in search of farming which is my dream. ‘Money can’t buy life’; so from a young age I dreamt to have my own farm and live on it. When I found Batu, I was on the way to Mt Bromo to visit the ‘Tengger’ farmers who live there. The Tengger people have a radical way of farming and way of life. As you enter the Bromo area you can see all around you the vertical farming that goes on, all over sides of mountains and even on cliffs! I found the place I was looking for at last in East Java.

I spent 3 years as a farmer and I can honestly say it is the calmest, relaxing and peaceful experience I have lived through, just to be one with nature and to be able to see all the beautiful nature which grows step by step around you. I hate vegetables; unless I was the one growing them from the start then I love them! A lot of people in my country take organic farming for granted and the dream I have now is to successfully influence growing organic in my country, better economy for the farmers and a lifestyle that does not need to be expensive. I am starting from home this revolution, I have a green house outback and I created a farming ‘co operative’ promoting organic farming through tourism and selling produce which is affordable and chemical free.

My heart is where I call home, I am where I belong; my heart is the country which is my own, called Indonesia. There are around about 17,000 islands to visit; some parts are not even explored yet! Indonesia is the largest archipelago in the world and my dream is to sail the islands, taking all travelers from around the world as guests on my future Phinisi schooner. In hopes to help travel seekers worldwide to find the beauty within, encounter the enchanted Indonesia. From snow capped mountains to the depths of sea floors, this will not be my last log in our book of travels. No longer shall I feel like wasted potential, all thanks to the future I have here, time is ticking and I want to travel in time.

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

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Surfing Lessons in Costa Rica

Surfing Lessons in Costa Rica

A few years back, I vowed to learn to surf before turning 50. Then in a blink of an eye, there was only 6 months left to make good on my promise. ‘One day’ phrases start to sound sad instead of inspired if not acted on. At almost 50, ‘one day I will learn to surf’ has to transpire into a lesson or never be mentioned again. So I started researching the best place to learn how to surf, got a couple of unexpected credit card increases, an Air Canada seat sale popped up and before I knew it, I was headed for Costa Rica.

The western coast of Costa Rica has over 37 beaches marked for good surf and each of those with plenty of reputable surf schools. What I soon discovered is that trying to choose a good surf school in Costa Rica is like trying to find a good beer in Belgium. Though they may vary in style, they are all good. All you need to do is just start drinking.

With that resolve, I chose Mal Pais for my destination. The area is actually made up of the fishing village of Mal Pais with two perfectly crescent shaped beaches to the north of it called Playa Carmen and Playa Santa Teresa. Both with magnificent waves rolling in all day long.

For the first three days I looked into surf shop windows and admired all the surfers from afar. I was transfixed by one young man playing in the waves like Fred Astaire dancing on a flight of stairs. He made it look so easy and I found it hard to imagine myself like that. Closer to shore, I studied the beginners, standing up for counts of three to ten seconds, trying to get a straight ride in. That would hopefully be me soon.

On day four, I took the plunge and walked into a surf shop. An adolescent, with wind blown hair, took my $10 deposit and signed me up for an 8 am lesson the next morning.

There were three in the class. A man and a woman who had taken lessons before and were both well under 30 and myself. We practised the jump up onto the board on the beach and then carried our boards into the water. The instructor, a nice guy from San Jose who had been surfing since he was 7, helped carry my board out to the waves.

Ok get on. We’ll catch this one, he said nodding to an oncoming wave. I’m not ready, I thought and there was the wave and the wave kept coming. Time slowed down. You can do it, hop on, he said. So I did. Start paddling, he said. So I did. Ok go, he yelled and shot the board out.

I felt the wave pick the board up. I hesitated for a few seconds and then jumped up. Two seconds later I was down. But what a great two seconds! The strength of the ocean beneath, rushing forward all smooth and powerful. Even the fall was fun, all slow motion with soft foam rumbling in my ears. I shot out of the water, grabbed my board and headed back out.

Good, he said. Try to move in one motion. Hesitation kills the ride. It’s all about going for it, he added. We waited for three consecutive waves to pass. Best to catch the ones coming in single, he said. Then out of a flat surface a solitary perfect wave rose up where before there was none. (A wealth of lessons to be learned right there: faith, patience and full commitment to the task. I imagine mustering these three would help improve most pursuit in my life.)

By the sixth ride I was looking for waves on my own. My eyes on the horizon, a foolish permanent smile on my face.

“Can you feel it?” he asked. I nodded and my age melted away. I was a person, at any age, loving what I was doing.

Now back home on Prince Edward Island, I’m working on how I can get a week on some waves. I heard there is a good surf school and some sweet breaks on the south eastern shore of Cape Breton. Maybe I’ll head there this summer to take a few lessons and celebrate my birthday.

About the Author: I am a writer and photographer living in on a small island on the east coast of Canada where the winters are long and cold. Travel inspires me to jump out of bed in the coldes and darkest of days.

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

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8 Interesting Things to Do in Manchester

Manchester is a great jump-off point for a European vacation. Vacationers can fly direct from New York, Miami, Orlando and Las Vegas and then hop on to other popular tourist destinations like Turkey, Spain, Greece, the Canary Islands and other countries on Thomas Cook flights.

But before you move on to the other spots, first discover Manchester and the Greater Manchester area. After all, it is not the third-most visited city in the UK for nothing. Consider including these activities in your itinerary to make your Manchester visit more stimulating and worthwhile:

1. See the panorama from Peel Tower

Climb up to this iconic 1852 memorial on Holcombe Hill in Ramsbottom and be rewarded with spectacular views of Greater Manchester and its surrounding areas, including the Pennines. The tower is a tribute to Sir Robert Peel, British Prime Minister in the 19th Century and founder of the metropolitan police force. While in the area, take time to discover the heritage of the village of Ramsbottom and if you happen to be there in summer, take the opportunity to go on an excursion on board one of the preserved locomotives of the East Lancashire Railway.

2. Trace the 200-year march to British democracy at the People’s History Museum

Accommodated in a refurbished Edwardian Pump House, Manchester’s People’s History Museum features documents and artifacts of the fight for democracy in the UK, of which the city played a significant role. Britain’s political history is brought to life through interactive exhibits while the riverfront cafe at the ground floor provides a taste of the tumultuous past with its wartime menu.

3. Take a tour of MediaCity UK

This 81-hectare waterfront development is the new northern home of BBC. Visitors can see the network’s set-up and sets of some TV programs on a guided tour. Tickets for some TV shows are also available for those who would like to experience being part of the audience. Visitors can also see the latest films in state of the art cinemas. Other cultural offerings include the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra concert studio and the Imperial War Museum North. Sports enthusiasts can try playing football or netball at The Pitch, engage in watersports from wakeboarding to open water swimming at the Salford Watersports Centre, visit the Greenhouse where The Rugby Football League is based, or watch a game of cricket at the Old Trafford ground of the Lancashire Cricket Club. Of course, a trip to a “city” wouldn’t be complete without a taste of the local cuisine and shopping, which are offered at The Lowry Outlet, which also features weekend markets offering arts and crafts aside from locally sourced food.

4. Have an up-close Football encounter

Football fan or not, a visit to the National Football Museum should turn out to be fun, with its interactive displays and games, aside from the FIFA and FA collections. Behind-the-scenes football stadium tours of Manchester United and the City of Manchester Stadium can prove to be exciting as well.

5. Enjoy an evening of arts and culture at the Central Library

Manchester’s newly refurbished Central Library’s Library Live offers a program of performances and social activities worth checking out, from live literature, music, open-mic evenings to film nights.

6. Take a guided tour of the Town Hall

Manchester’s Town Hall is a one of the finest examples of neo-gothic architecture. It has grand ornate interiors and has a tall bell tower that houses several bells. The Clock Bell named Abel Heywood is the main attraction. Visitors can see stunning views of the city from here. Take a stroll around Albert Square to see interesting buildings and relax at an English pub after.

7. Have a glimpse of medieval living at the Ordsall Hall

A 13th century manor house, the excellently restored Ordsall Hall in Salford area is a magnificent showcase of a household in the medieval times. It served as residence of families from varied occupations and social status, from nobles to mill workers. It is rumored to have ghost occupants at present and is not only open to the public but also available for overnight stays for those willing to take their curiosity a step further.

8. Cruise the canals

Several boat trips are available for those who want to experience cruising the canals and learning about their history. There are trips up to Liverpool that pass through lovely countryside and historical industrial areas. This is a relaxing way to discover Manchester’s history.

After you’ve done all of the above, you may end up wanting to stay longer in Manchester before flying to your next destination!

*****

Photo credits:

Peel Tower: Andrew via Flickr

People’s History Museum: Neil Turner via Flickr

MediaCity: RHL Images via Flickr

Manchester Central Library: pedrik via Flickr

Manchester Town Hall: mark andrew via Flickr

National Football Museum: tatchie via Flickr

Ordsall Hall: Bernt Rostad via Flickr

Manchester Canal Cruise: Duncan Hull via Flickr

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Reinventing Happiness

It’s 7 a.m. and the metal bus outside my house rumbles to life. Drenched to the bone with sweet, sticky sweat, stiff and nervous, I arrived in a little Nicaraguan village called La Ceiba. I mulled the words over in my mouth like a smooth caramel, “La…Ceiba. La Ceiba.” The sting of diesel, the unsullied smell of camaraderie; each permeated my nostrils as I descended the metal steps of the rickety bus.

The streets, barely three meters wide, were bristling with life, every door left ajar. The distant echoes of children’s songs, the gentle rustle of the palms, the intensity of the sun on my bare legs; all characterized this small community. The dogs were the only ones to sense stranger’s breath; they began to bark from within the shrouded courtyards, the darkened back-alleys.

I gaze curiously at the little alabaster school we finally pull up to. Hundreds of eyes line the barbwire fence, each child on tiptoe trying to be the first to see the strange gringos. Still more create a barrage in the entryway, one pushing another creating a kind of swaying effect on the whole sea of children. Entering through the gates of the kindergarten I feel a soft touch on my left hand, the slide of flesh on flesh. I turn to face a pair of huge round brown eyes. Su nombre? Maria.

The 10-year-old Maria led me by the hand to the back side of the school, the streets of La Ceiba—poverty at its darkest. Maneuvering down the dusty road, the stench of stale earth engulfed my lungs burning my throat and my corneas. The strength of the sun was tremendous, no trees to offer protection from its blazing might. We passed structure after structure: most fabricated of cardboard and black plastic Hefty bags. The lucky ones had tin roofs. There were no cars, no garages, no evidence of multimillion dollar housing and floor plans. Yet people still emerged from their homes. Unembarrassed. Unshaken by their current situation. Young mothers with infants, small, shoeless children in rags, shirtless teenage boys—all led us into their homes without a second thought. All greeted us from within a doorway or behind a makeshift wooden fence. All were smiling from ear to ear.

It’s time to leave and I am with Maria still. Hand in hand we make our way toward the bus, walking at a snail’s pace so as to avoid the impending sting of inevitable goodbyes. She stops me. Qué? I feel my hand drop as she lets go of my hand for the first time in hours, only for a moment, and slips from her finger a small silver ring. Grabbing my hand, she slid it onto my finger before returning her hand to its customary place. Mi amiga. Te amo. I love you.

Later that night, retreating to my bedroom, situated behind a floral sheet hung where a door should have been, I peeled off my blue jeans. Relief. I sensed happiness rising in me like warmth, from my feet to my shins, my thighs, my chest. Hungrily, I inhaled the fragrance of Nicaragua and of my new home. The aromas of friendship, passion and humanity were overwhelming, remnants of a life in America which now seemed more foreign than here.

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

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Sunset Marquis Spa: A Hidden Gem of Rock’n Roll History

Ready to Relax and deciding which Spa to choose? Wondering about the Sunset Marquis Spa?

Wondering who stays at the Sunset Marquis since 1963? Actors, Comedians, Artists, Fashion Designers and Rock Stars!

Over the last fifty years, this luxury Hollywood Hotel has been a well-kept secret on a secluded residential street. The Spa is world class and the suites and villas are stunning.

When you explore this hotel and Spa you will discover art reminiscent of James Bond and a Rock’n Roll theme. On the road less traveled, discover @SunsetMarquis Spa, hotel, restaurant & pool. 

This stunning hidden gem has a hotel, spa, pool and restaurant. There is music history around every corner here at the Sunset Marquis.

The Spa Private room had a Rainfall shower head and a separate toilet area in the treatment which was very convenient. The room was nicely appointed and felt comfortable  if you wanted to stay for several treatments.

I loved my coco-vanilla scrub and massage with Christina! I plan to return soon. My friend, Susie, and I loved our day at this gorgeous hidden gem!  Start your day with Champagne or water and enjoy the orchids, art, koi pond, and fifty years of music history.

The “Sunset Marquis is 3.5 acres of Mediterranean oasis nestled on a hill just off The Sunset Strip, featuring casual luxury, an accommodating – and might we add discreet – staff, and a history that is the stuff of legend. “Party like a rock star” has become a cliché, a song lyric, and even an energy drink, but at Sunset Marquis, you can relax, dine, create and rejuvenate in the place where the phrase was invented.”

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Gold SATW & Independence Winners! Celebrate!

OCTOBER NEWS FROM WE SAID GO TRAVEL:

Congratulations to Ken Budd for his Gold SATW award for his article, Kenya: Holding Elijah on We Said Go Travel! This award is considered the Pulitzer prize of Travel Writing.

Winners Announced for 2014 Summer 
Independence Travel Writing Contest:


First Place Winner:  Monet Waits by Tina Murty


 
Second Place Winner: 1974 in Nepal by Kirsti Whalen


 
Third Place Winner: How Salamanders Led Me on My Travels by Tiffany Soukup



Congratulations to the winners and thank you to all the participants! The Fall 2014 Gratitude Travel Writing Contest is open. Free entry and cash prizes. Share your story of how you are a hero!
 
New on USA Today from Lisa:

Tee’s on the Green: Tastiest Burger in Tujunga 

The NICE GUY: A Bar-Lounge Hybrid by h.wood Group

10Best Holiday Attractions in Los Angeles

Article on Whole Life Magazine: How I stopped Binge Eating with before and after photos
 
As seen on Medium: Are Long Term Relationships the Key to Funding?
 
Interviewed by The Mid Game: 
“A great influencer is someone with integrity and something to say. Many people are making noise in the cyber world but an influencer shares their knowledge and stories and other people are drawn to learn more.” More great advice from veteran blogger and writer Lisa Niver of We Said Go Travel. Check out our interview with her here: http://bit.ly/1ydCF1t

SPECIAL THANKS to Tim Leffel for interviewing me and including me in his book: A Better Life for Half the Price.

Thank you for your support. Connect on  Facebook,  Google+, Instagram, LinkedIn, Pinterest,  SlideShare,  Twitter, and YouTube.

Thanks again! Lisa (Click here to sign up for this newsletter. )

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The Rising Sands in Oman

A wall of sand fills the windscreen, rising higher than my neck can crane and blurring into the heat-hazed horizon on either side. I swallow the grit sticking in my throat and give a pathetic cough. I don’t want to do this. I’ve said it several times but no one seems to be listening. My friend Marc is urging me on, filled with his own manic adrenaline rush. It’s okay for him. He didn’t roll the off-roader yesterday in training, and that was only on a 20-foot slope, into a soft ditch, with no one watching. Today, the golden wall stretches 320-feet up into a darkening sky. I’m second to the guide car on a sunset safari tour in Wahiba Sands, Oman, with eight Land Cruisers waiting impatiently behind me. Their camcorders are poised ready to post my tragic, if faintly stupid, death to the internet, and I’m terrified.

“You’re going to love this,” Marc says, bouncing in his seat like an excited child. I think I’m going to be sick and he’s not helping. “Remember, follow the guide’s tracks to the top. Keep the power on, high revs all the way, and for Christ’s sake don’t stop. You ready?”

I nod, fast and nervous, like a pecking chicken. Suspicious doubts flicker on his face as I put his Land Cruiser into first and then avoid his gaze. My heart is trying to thump through my ribs and sweat glistens on the steering wheel from my slippery palms. It’s now or forget it forever. “Perhaps we should…” Mark begins, but I jam my foot onto the accelerator and the sudden, high-pitched roar from engine drowns out his worries.

I’m hurtling at a sand dune taller than Big Ben, fighting against the giant car as it bounces through ruts trying to throw us off course. I’m sure we are going to slam into this over-sized beach and be swallowed alive by the desert. The revving becomes a painful wail and then we hit the slope and soar. A reckless, petrified mania takes over as we charge up the dune. My hands slip on the wheel and I’m sure the brute of a car is going to slide off the vertical line, dig its wheels in and flip over.

Marc is yelling instructions at me. “More speed! Come on. Everyone’s following you. Don’t touch the gearstick!” I stare wide-eyed at the fresh tyre ruts in front, desperate to follow the snaking line. “Straighten up. Watch it!” The wheel jerks in my wet hands, a violent lurch to the left as a tyre snags in a hole. I over-correct, slewing in drunken curves, wrestling to get back on course. My shirt is sticking to my back and sweat stings my eyes but I daren’t blink. Despite the mosquito-whine from the engine, we’re losing speed and I still can’t see the summit.  “Go! Go!” he shouts. “I’m trying!” I yell back. We both start bouncing inside the car, willing it up the last few metres. If I get stuck, so does everyone else, and then there is only one way to travel. Reversing down a 300-foot dune is guaranteed to end in a sandy coffin.

I glimpse the indigo sky through clouds of dust. “Come on, come on!” I scream. Just as I’m giving up hope, we breach the top of the dune and sand billows across the car. Buckets of grit screech beneath the windscreen wipers, hiding the stunning views over eastern Oman.

I follow our guide over the top of the dunes, slewing left and right through deepening trails in the golden sand. Day turns into dusty twilight. “Watch the edge! Watch the edge!” Marc squeals, peering out of the window at our wheels spinning in space.

The endless desert blurs with a vast sky somewhere on the horizon and our convoy stops high on a ridge. Nestled at the foot of the dune, I can just make out the ramshackle tents of the Bedouin encampment we’ll be staying at tonight. As the sun dips towards distant hills, the cars empty and passengers watch for the dying sun’s green flash but my eyes are elsewhere.

Shadows cut into the tracks behind us; black lines in the vast sea of sand. It is desolate and beautiful, a constantly shifting painting and I can’t quite believe I made it here to see it.

About the Author:

I won New Travel Writer of the Year – 2013 from the British Guild of Travel Writers. I also won several short story competitions hosted by The Telegraph, Daggerville, and Creative Ink and was runner-up in several other competitions.

 I worked for the Ministry of Defence in research and development, travelled and worked across the world as head of IT projects for an oil company, and then left to concentrate on writing.

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

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Finding Myself in San Francisco, USA

I needed an adventure. At the age of 28, with two daughters ages 9 and 3, I told my husband I was going away for a few days. I had never traveled alone; and in fact was beginning to feel that I’d never truly been alone besides small moments here and there. I needed to be me—not mom, not wife—just me. 

They dropped me off at the airport. I went in the bathroom and cried. I had never been away from my kids for more than a quick overnight getaway. I took a deep breath and got on that plane. 

I had been to San Francisco once before, with husband and baby and in-laws. I had fallen in love with the city and knew I wanted to go back. 

I explored, I ate, I took in all the sights and smells and it was glorious. I went where I wanted, when I wanted, with only myself to care for. I watched the Chinese New Year Parade in a torrential downpour. I was soaked and freezing and deliriously happy. 

On the third day, I fell. I hurt my foot and ankle quite badly. In true adventurer fashion I wrapped it up in an Ace bandage, popped a few Advil and went on my merry way—walking and riding public transport, I might add. The famous San Francisco hills proved to be too much, and by the end of the day it was swollen, hideous shades of black, blue and purple, and incredibly painful. 

I only had one more full day and was extremely disappointed. I decided to go on a bus ride so that I could keep my foot elevated most of the time and wouldn’t have to walk too much. I found a route that went across the bay to the Marin Headlands, which I had never been to before. 

I arrived and hobbled off the bus and sat down on a nearby bench. It was breathtaking. I turned my face toward the sun and closed my eyes, listening to the water and feeling the breeze and slight ocean spray. There weren’t too many people around, and those that did come went off hiking or cycling. For a moment I felt a pang of jealousy, but then I looked around once more. 

How could I not be filled with gratitude that I got to be in this beautiful place, alone, with no pressure to be anywhere else? I took a deep breath and smiled. I noticed a spider spinning a web nearby, and was mesmerized by the intricacy and watched for several minutes. Eventually I got up and walked around a bit, only to come back to the bench and simply be. 

I stayed for a few hours in silent observation, soaking in every moment, and by the time I got back on the bus I was ready for the journey home; ready to be mom and wife once again, now that I had reclaimed and recharged ME.

About the Author: Beth Leyba is a Denver native and mom to two awesome kids. An aspiring writer, her work has been featured on The Huffington Post, The Good Men Project, Elephant Journal and more. She hasn’t traveled extensively but manages to have adventures wherever she goes, be it across the country or in her beloved Colorado mountains.

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

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Winners: Independence Writing Contest 2014

Thank you to all the writers who participated in our 2014 Independence Writing Contest! We hope you will share more stories with us. The 2014 Gratitude Travel Writing Contest is now open and closes November 27, 2014.

Over fourteen hundred writers from over seventy-five countries have written about their experiences and transformations all over our planet in the last five contests.

 AND THE WINNERS ARE:

First Place Winner:  
Monet Waits by Tina Murty

 

Second Place Winner:
1974 in Nepal by Kirsti Whalen

Third Place Winner:
How Salamanders Led Me on My Travels by Tiffany Soukup

 

We really appreciate everyone who shared, tweeted, promoted and participated in our Travel Writing Contests. We hope you will join in our Gratitude  Travel Writing Contest.

Thank you to our esteemed judges!

Richard Bangs, the father of modern adventure travel, is a pioneer in travel that makes a difference, travel with a purpose. He has spent 30 years as an explorer and communicator, and along the way led first descents of 35 rivers around the globe, he is currently producing and hosting the new PBS series, Richard Bangs: Adventure Without End

AnneLise Sorensen is a travel writer, editor, photographer, and TV/radio host who has penned – and wine-tasted – her way across four continents, reporting for multiple media outlets, including New York Magazine, MSN, Time Out, Yahoo Travel, Rough Guides, Gourmet, and Galavante. AnneLise regularly appears as a travel expert on NBC and CNN and she teaches popular travel writing classes and workshops at Mediabistro and travel events and shows.

Thank you for your participation in creating a growing global community of engaged travelers and concerned citizens.

 Other Contests, Courses and Books about Travel Writing

CONGRATULATIONS TO OUR WINNERS!
THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO PARTICIPATED! 

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Mabilla Mountain, Nigeria a place to be

Mabilla you are the rose of Sharon, the lily of your heart. As a lily among the thistles, so is my beloved among mountains. As an apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my love among mountains. In his delightful shade I sit, and his fruit is sweet to my taste. She has taken me to his cellar, and his banner over me is love.

Feed me with raisin cakes; restore me with apples, for I am sick with love of you. Her left arm is under my head, his right embraces me.I charge you, daughters of Nigeria, by all gazelles and wild does, do not rouse, do not wake my beloved before she pleases. I hear my love. See how she comes leaping among mountains, bounding over the hills.

My love is like a gazelle, like a young stag. See where she stands behind our wall. He looks in at the window, she peers through the opening. My love lifts up his voice, he says to me, ‘Come then, my beloved, my lovely one, come.For see, winter is past, the rains are over and gone. You are truly my source of inspiration and hope. When am with you, I feel deep strength. As the deer pant for water Brooke, so my soul, body and spirit yens for you.

Flowers are appearing on the earth. The season of glad songs has come; the cooing of the turtledove is heard in our land.The fig tree is forming its first figs and the blossoming vines give out their fragrance. Come then, my beloved, my lovely one, come.

My dove, hiding in the clefts of the rock, in the coverts of the cliff, show me your face, let me hear your voice; for your voice is sweet and your face is lovely.’Catch the foxes for us, the little foxes that make havoc of the vineyards, for our vineyards are in fruit. My love is mine and I am his. He pastures she flock among the lilies.

If you do not know this, O loveliest of mountain, follow the tracks of the flock, and take a deep graze close to your beauty. I compare you, my love, to my mare harnessed to Pharaoh’s chariot. Your cheeks show fair between their pendants and your neck within its necklaces.

How beautiful you are, my beloved, how beautiful you are! Your eyes are doves. How beautiful you are, my love, and how you delight me! Our bed is the greensward. The beams of our house are cedar trees, its paneling the cypress.What is this coming up from the desert like a column of smoke, breathing of myrrh and frankincense and every exotic perfume? Come from Lebanon, come from Lebanon, and come on your way. Look down from the heights of Amanus, from the crests of Senir and Hermon, the haunt of lions, the mountains of leopards. You ravish my heart, my sister, my family; you ravish my heart with a single one of your glances, with a single link of your crest.

Before the day-breeze rises, before the shadows flee, return! Be, my love, like a gazelle, like a young stag, on the mountains of Mabilla Taraba State, Nigeria.

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

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